Apparently, we were enjoying ourselves a little too much, because a sharp “Shhh!”cut through the air.The librarian behind the desk—mid-sixties, with horn-rimmed glasses—was glaring at us like we’d just started singing in the middle of the room.
We both mumbled an apology, grinning like kids who’d just been caught passing notes in class.
Noah lowered his voice, but he didn’t stop.“So what else?Bellevue, favorite books, what’s next?Siblings?Weird hobbies?What makes you happy?”
I should have shut it down.This wasn’t supposed to be personal.But the truth was, I liked the questions.I liked that he was listening—not just waiting for his turn to talk.And the more I spoke, the more I caught that glint in his eyes, like he was memorizing me one answer at a time.
Noah’s phone buzzed on the table.He glanced down at the screen, and just like that, the warmth in his eyes dimmed.
“Sorry,” he whispered, reaching for it.“I’ve gotta cut this short.Someone I work with called out sick, so I’ve gotta take his place.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Where do you work?”
For the first time since I’d met him, Noah actually looked flustered.Color rose along his cheekbones, and he mumbled, “It’s… a bar.Called Babylon.”
The words slipped out before I could stop it.“That’s very biblical.”
That earned me another blush—deeper this time—before he ducked his head, gathering his notes and shoving them into his bag.“Yeah.Guess it is.”He gave me a quick grin, more shy than his usual smirk, and then he was gone, moving through the library with easy strides until the doors closed behind him.
I stayed where I was, staring at the space he’d left behind.
The thing was, I’d never had many friends growing up.No one stuck around long enough to get past my nose-in-a-book, homework-over-weekends personality.School had always been my companion, my project partner, my safety net.People were… complicated.
But Noah didn’t feel like a complication right now.Then an idea slid into my mind, uninvited but impossible to ignore.
Go to Babylon.
It was a bar, which meant he was probably a bartender.I could sit at the counter, order a glass of wine, and we could keep talking.Pick up where we left off about Winesburg, Ohio or argue about whether every novel was secretly a love story.
But showing up at his job might send the wrong message.
Then again… was it the wrong message?
ChapterFive
Henry
Song of Songs 2:9 — Behold, he stands behind our wall, looking through the windows, peering through the lattice.
* * *
The city bus rattled along, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and my knee bounced like it was trying to drum a hole through the grimy floor.I kept telling myself this was a good idea—surprising Noah at work, showing him I wasn’t afraid of where he lived his life.He’d smile when he saw me, right?That easy, mischievous smile that made me forget to breathe for a second.Maybe he’d even pick up our conversation about books like we hadn’t been interrupted, as though this was perfectly natural: me visiting him, him welcoming me.
Or maybe I’d walk through the door of this place with the biblical name—Babylon, for God’s sake—and my brain would turn to static.I’d stand there like some lost Sunday school teacher, clutching my bag and sweating through my shirt.
I tried out lines in my head like a deranged rehearsal.
“So, Noah, I figured if you wouldn’t stay at the library, I’d bring the library to you.”
No.Too weird.
“Funny running into you here.What are the odds?”
Except the odds were one hundred percent because I tracked him down.
“Do you serve communion wafers with those drinks, or is that just a Sunday night thing?”
Good Lord.That one made me snort out loud.
