Page 19 of His To Erase
I keep pushing the cart through the nonfiction section like I’m not seconds away from glancing back again like a crazy person. When I finally loop back around, he’s gone.
The chair is empty and the space he took up now feels too quiet. Like something was ripped out of it.
The book he wasn’t reading is still there—abandoned on the side table, spine cracked but untouched. Like it’s been sitting there collecting dust for years instead of the last two hours.
There’s no sign of him.
No evidence he was even real.
I stare at the space for a beat too long, then shake my head and move on.
Shift change is seamless, I trade the quiet, book-dust air of the library for the smoky, whiskey-laced hum of the bar. The low murmur of conversation is already picking up speed—punctuated by the sharp clink of glasses, the hiss of a soda gun, and the occasional scrape of chairs against concrete floors.
All the usual signs that tonight’s going to be loud and full of people who want attention they haven’t earned.
I tie my apron at the waist, rolling my shoulders back, and brace for another round of bullshit with a forced smile and zero patience—especially since Sarah took the night off for a date and left me to fend off the circus alone.
My gaze happens to flick toward the door every few minutes, scanning for a certain too-tall, too-inked stranger with those black hole eyes and a silence I haven’t stopped thinking about allday. I know the chance of him coming in here is practically none, but I don’t care. I’d sell my right ovary to see him again.
Only, he doesn’t show. But the second I step behind the bar, the real problem of the night makes himself known.
Frank.
He strolls in like he’s the damn headliner. His swagger just shy of a parody, grin already cocked like he knows I’m going to be annoyed and likes it.
Which—he’s not wrong.
Honestly, the only thing more persistent than Frank is my desire to hit him with a bottle and get away with it.
He slides onto his usual stool—far too comfortably—and smirks like he’s been waiting all day for this moment.
Spoiler… I haven’t.
He taps his fingers against the bar, steady and rhythmic, like he thinks it’s charming. I still don’t know what he does for work. Every time I ask, he gives me a different answer—some vague one-liner about consulting or investments or “owning things.”
Totally normal. Definitely not suspicious.
Yet, here he is again. Same stool, same cologne, and the same look that says you’ll give in eventually.
I don’t plan to, but the universe has a twisted sense of humor lately.
"You look like you missed me."
I grab a glass, already reaching for the whiskey. "You look delusional."
He chuckles, settling into his seat like he has nowhere else to be. "That’s not a no."
I arch a brow, pouring his drink. "It’s not a yes, either. It’s a go away."
His grin is easy, like he enjoys being told no just to prove it doesn’t matter. "You’d be bored without me."
I slide the glass across the bar, unimpressed. "I’d be thriving without you."
Frank lifts his drink, taking a slow sip, watching me over the rim. "We both know that’s a lie."
I roll my eyes, setting another order on the counter for the server. "You’re awfully smug for someone who hasn’t won a damn thing."
He tilts his head, that same slow, infuriatingly confident smirk playing at his lips. "Haven’t I?"
