Page 232 of His To Erase
“No,” she says too quickly. “I mean—yes. Kind of. Maybe. Shut up.”
I grin. “Give me details or I’m telling your mom you still don’t separate your lights and darks.”
“Rude. And I do now—mostly.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and sighs. “It’s nothing dramatic. He just…talks to me. Sends me memes. We joke about the dumbest shit. Yesterday he told me he’d die on the hill that shredded cheese tastes better than sliced, and honestly? I respect it.”
“You’re in love.”
“I might be,” she groans. “But don’t ruin it. He hasn’t asked for nudes or pitched a pyramid scheme yet, so I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts.”
I lean back into the couch cushions, warmth settling in my chest despite everything else.
“Keeping my fingers crossed."
“Me too,” she says softly. “Because if this one turns out to be another feet guy, I’m retiring from dating forever.”
I smile, looking out the window, where the sky is starting to shift. For a second, it almost feels like the world might give us both a break.
“This is why I need you in my life,” I murmur, nudging her knee with mine. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll find you. I love you that much.”
She grins. “If you didn’t chase me through the woods, you obviously don’t really love me.”
“Oh, I’ll chase you,” I say, deadly serious. “I’m not gonna fuck you, but I will throw a dildo at your fucking face, bitch.”
She snorts water out her nose and nearly chokes. “Jesus Christ, Ani.”
“You knew what this was when you signed up.”
Ani
Sloane isn’t at the library when I get there, which is weird. She’s never late. Not once in the entire year we’ve worked side-by-side—through blizzards, food poisoning, and that time she tried to “reconnect with her inner child” and wiped out on roller skates.
But now, her chair’s empty, her name tag is still hanging on the staff board, and there’s no text. No explanation. Just a weird, crawling sensation under my skin that won't quit.
People have lives, Ani. Not everything is an omen. Not everything is about you.
Still, I check the staff lounge twice. And the bathroom. And the alley behind the drop box.
Nothing.
I make it an hour and a half before she finally walks in—flushed and breathless, with her ponytail crooked and her cardigan buttoned wrong.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, tossing her bag behind the desk. “I had…uh, a thing. You’re good to take your break now though.”
I blink at her. “You sure? I haven’t finished shelving the new?—”
“I’ve got it,” she cuts in. “Seriously. You look like you need air. You’ve got that…I’ve-been-thinking-about-him-again face.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s already moving, grabbing the cart and heading for the stacks like she’s on a mission.
Weird.
Sloane never volunteers to shelve. Ever. She once called it “the most spiritually deadening task in human history.” And now she’s humming under her breath and pretending not to glance at the front door every ten seconds.
I just watch as that uneasy prickle turns into a full-on internal itch.
“You okay?” I ask finally.
“Peachy,” she says—a little too fast. Then she hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. “If anyone asks where I went, just say I had to make a deposit.”
