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“Sooo sorry, Enola,” Gretchen Davies said in her signature nasal, falsely apologetic tone. “You got here late, so the basement desk is allll yours… again,” she snickered.
“Well, damn,” Enola responded, drawling the curse out. “One of these days, maybe I’ll learn my lesson,” she said, rolling her eyes and shrugging carelessly before slinging her backpack over one shoulder and heading off toward the stairs that would take her to the basement.
The joke was on Gretchen because Enola purposely made sure she was just a few minutes late every time she had a shift at the library. She liked getting stuck at the basement desk. The college had to keep a help desk down here, just so that there was at least one obligatory staff member present on the floor, and of course in the ultra-rare event that someone actually needed help finding something. But nobody ever visited the basement stacks, because it was just that. Stacks. Rows and rows of lovely, mostly forgotten books. And it was quiet most of the time, with only the hum of the fluorescent lighting for company. There was no phone to answer, no public computers with internet access down here, and no charging stations. Just a few antiquated cubbies for private study, or, as they were more frequently used, for hangover cases that were skipping class and catching up on sleep. Enola could spend her shift doing homework, or watching MMA on YouTube, or playing the escape room app on her phone, or reading a book. Most days, no one would ever bother her- as someone who enjoyed their own company best, it was bliss.
But hands-down the basement desk’s most attractive feature was that it was a completely Gretchen-free zone. There weren’t enough people down here at any given time to feed Gretchen’s constant need for attention, so she avoided it like the plague. It was a win-win, because Enola couldn’t stand her or her similarly basic clique of mean-girl friends.
Reaching the desk, Enola surveyed her territory; no one here, just how she liked it. This was only the second day of the second semester, so it was too early for the hangover patrons even. She grabbed her phone and shoved her backpack into the tall wall cabinet behind the desk. She’d been flipping through true crime podcasts for about fifteen minutes, trying to find one she hadn’t already listened to, when she thought she heard footsteps in the stairwell. She looked up, expecting someone to come into view, but saw nothing. Shrugging, she went back to her screen. She picked a podcast on the Alphabet killer, got it ready to play, and then realized she’d left her ear buds in her car. She scrunched her face in annoyance; she didn’t want to walk to her car, it was cold and rainy today. Oh well, she thought, at least I can use the bathroom on the way.
She was washing her hands when she realized that she’d forgotten to grab her car keys from her backpack; now even more annoyed, she trudged back to the desk. She yanked the cabinet open and reached in… and nearly screamed when her hand connected with something warm and soft. Something that let out a soft grunt at the contact.
There was a person crammed into the cabinet, a tall one. It was a man, she thought, but she could barely see him in the shadows of the deep cabinet.
“Please get out of that cabinet,” Enola said, alarmed and jumping back out of shock. Her hand flew to her chest as if it could calm her racing heart. Where the hell had he come from? More to the point, what was he doing in there?
“Did she follow me?” the man said in a near whisper, craning his head a little to see beyond the cabinet.
“Get out of that cabinet right now!” Enola demanded.
The man unfolded himself from the cabinet, standing up straight. He was on the slender side, and tall, very tall- at least six feet. And now that she could see him more clearly, she realized that this was not an adult man as she had initially thought, but a boy closer to her own age of eighteen years. He had brown hair that was on the longer side and brown eyes, and surely some of the most perfectly symmetrical features in existence- complete with a ridiculously sharp jawline and impossible cheekbones. Objectively speaking, Enola didn’t think she’d ever seen a more physically attractive individual. Judging by his clothes and his backpack, she surmised that he was a fellow student.
“Sorry if I scared you,” the boy said as he grinned sheepishly, his cheeks pinking up a bit.
“What were you doing in there? Who are you?” Enola asked suspiciously, not appreciating someone having gotten the jump on her.
“I was hiding,” he said, looking around anxiously. “I’m Tewkesbury, by the way,” he said, extending a hand.
Enola ignored the greeting. “Expand and explain,” she ordered curtly.
His smile faltered a little bit as he retracted his hand. “I got cornered. Needed to make myself scarce. Cabinet was here, you weren’t,” he replied with a shrug.
“You asked if ‘she’ followed you,” Enola observed, crossing her arms.
Tewkesbury grimaced, reaching up to run one hand awkwardly through his hair. “Yeah, there’s this girl who’s a little…” he trailed off. “Well, I think she likes me…” he tried again, looking slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t realize she worked here in the library. I happened to be standing near the stairwell door when she saw me, so I came down here... I thought there would be another exit, but I guess I was wrong,” he said plaintively.
“Maybe just tell her that you’re not interested?” Enola suggested, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.
“I’ve tried,” Tewkesbury mumbled, looking down at the floor. “It’s easier just to avoid her.”
Enola stared hard at him. In her experience, good-looking people enjoyed being good-looking and desirable. This boy seemed to be uncomfortable with it and was apparently willing to go to great lengths, ridiculous lengths, to remove himself from a situation rather than hurt someone’s feelings. He was positively a mystery.
“Who are you?” he asked curiously, looking back up at Enola. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around campus.”
Suddenly there was the sound of a door slamming, followed by quick echoing footsteps coming down the stairs. Both heads swiveled toward the door; someone was coming.
“Tewkesbury? Are you still here?” Gretchen’s nasally voice floated ahead of her, announcing her impending presence.
Enola snorted and rolled her eyes- of course the poor boy’s tormentor was Gretchen. She looked back at Tewkesbury; his eyes were glued to the door, and he had gone stock still, his face drained of all color. He had an expression of pained dread on his face, of resigned capitulation. He looked like he was about to face a firing squad.
Taking reluctant pity on him, Enola scowled and touched his arm lightly; he whipped his head in her direction. She gestured impatiently for him to get under the solid wooden desk. It took him a second to figure out what she was suggesting, but when he did, he wasted no time crawling under while simultaneously mouthing ‘thank you’ in her direction, the look of relief on his face palpable.
Enola climbed back into her chair behind the desk, indelibly aware that if she extended her foot even just a little, she would kick some part of Tewkesbury. Trying her best to ignore that thought, she picked up her phone and propped her head on one hand, putting on her most bored face.
“Tewkesbury! I saw you come down here,” Gretchen said, sailing around the corner. “You can’t hide from-” Gretchen’s singsong voice broke off, and she stopped short as she caught sight of Enola at the desk.
Enola raised one eyebrow at her.
“Gretchen Davies,” Enola said, sitting up a little and taking care to sound surprised. “Are we lost?” she asked in a sweetly condescending tone.
Gretchen narrowed her eyes at Enola and walked closer to the desk. “Enola Holmes,” she said, in just as condescending a manner. “Did you see a guy come down here?” she asked, looking around. Then, lowering her voice, in a sickly-sweet tone with a smile to match, she said, “Oh wait… are guys even your thing? Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed him.”
There was a muffled noise from under the desk; whether it was a laugh or a scoff, Enola couldn’t tell. She jerked her foot until it encountered, well, whatever part of Tewkesbury’s body was nearest her foot.
Not bothering to specify which question she was answering, Enola replied noncommittally, “Maybe.”
Gretchen scowled.
“What does your ‘guy’ look like?” Enola asked in her most uninterested tone.
“Oooh,” Gretchen replied, forgetting her annoyance and leaning her elbows on the front of the desk, clearly relishing any opportunity to gush to literally anyone about him. “He’s tall, dark and handsome,” she said with a little laugh. “Actually,” she said, seeming to think better on it, “handsome doesn’t even come close to describing him. He’s flat-out hot, like some kind of Greek god. Longish brown hair, lethal smile, bone structure to die for. Oh God, and he smells so good. Tewkesbury’s practically royalty here, you know,” Gretchen said, losing herself in her apparently blissful recollection of the divine Tewkesbury.
Enola stifled a smirk; it had gone silent as the grave under the desk, not even a rustle of fabric. She wondered if Tewkesbury was even breathing; she was pretty sure that if she looked at him right now, he’d be as red as a tomato. Which made her want to smile even more…. and maybe mess with him a little.
“Hmm,” Enola made an unimpressed noise. “Haven’t seen anybody that beatific today, think it would have made a more lasting impression if I had,” she said with a shrug. “Doesn’t sound like my type at all, too pretty. If I see your boy though, I’ll tell him you were looking for him.”
Gretchen stood up, mentally searching for the hidden insult in Enola’s words. Deciding that there apparently wasn’t one, she gave Enola a conspiratorial smile- possibly the first friendly expression she had sent Enola’s way since they’d first met last semester.
“Thanks, Enola. I’ll see you later,” she said, turning to leave. When Gretchen got to the door, she turned back and gave Enola a happy little wave. Enola nodded, giving back something that passed for a smile and a half-hearted wave.
With that, Gretchen pushed the door open, and her footsteps could be heard echoing as she ascended the stairwell. Enola waited a minute, letting the upper door slam closed before she stood up, pushing the chair out of the way.
Tewkesbury did not emerge immediately.
“The coast is clear… you can come out now,” Enola said.
Slowly, Tewkesbury pulled himself out from under the desk and stood up, making a production out of dusting the floor dirt off his pants. His gaze was seemingly glued to his task, but she could tell that his face was flaming underneath the swing of his hair.
“It appears as though you’ve made a conquest, my lord,” Enola teased with a thoroughly unapologetic grin as she leaned back against the wall cabinet, too utterly elated by the whole situation to remember that she was annoyed with him.
His head came up quickly at that, red cheeks and all. He even looked appealing when he was dying of embarrassment, loath though Enola was to agree with Gretchen about anything.
“Don’t call me that,” he scowled. “And my participation is completely unwilling, I assure you.”
“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” she replied, still grinning like a fool and completely unable to curb her amusement. “Even if Gretchen’s not the one for you, I’m sure there’s someone out there willing to take you and your myriad charms on.”
He scowled again. “She’s not my type at all,” he said, mimicking Enola’s earlier words.
Enola just cackled. “Well played, my lord,” she said in between bursts of laughter.
He rolled his eyes before meeting hers again. Then, completely unable to help himself, he burst out laughing too.
Once the laughter died down, there was a thick silence that hadn’t been there before. Growing self-conscious as he looked down at her with an unreadable expression, Enola cleared her throat and checked her phone.
“The good news is,” she announced, breaking the awkward silence, “if you give it another minute or two, Gretchen will be on her break in the quad.”
He tilted his head, a questioning look on his face as if to ask how she could know that.
“She can’t go for more than two hours without being seen and adored by a large group of people,” Enola explained.
Tewkesbury shuddered.
“You can sneak out and she’ll never even know you were here. I’ll walk up with you to make sure she’s gone,” Enola offered with a genuine smile. This boy had surprisingly more to him than expected, based on the wrapping.
“Come on then,” she said, leading the way. When they got to the top of the stairs, she cracked the door. Not seeing Gretchen anywhere in the immediate vicinity, she said to him, “Stay here for a minute.”
She went over to the desk and asked the head librarian if Gretchen had already left for her break. Getting an affirmative, she looked over to the door where Tewkesbury was trying, and completely failing, to be discreet. She chuckled and waved him out. He made his way quickly over to her and together they left the library.
Stopping just outside the main door, Tewkesbury hitched his slipping backpack over his shoulder again and said to her, “You’re a lifesaver, I owe you one.”
Enola smiled magnanimously and executed a mock curtsey. He shook his head and laughed again; his smile truly was lethal. Moving in a little closer to her, he looked her in the eyes and said in a low voice, “Y’know, one of these days, I would really love to know what your type is…”
Enola’s mouth dropped open and she could feel her neck getting a little warm.
“Thank you, Enola Holmes, for helping me escape,” Tewkesbury said, flashing that million dollar smile again, before turning and walking away.
And as she watched him disappear from sight, all Enola could think about was how annoyed she was with Gretchen because dammit, she had been right again… he smelled incredible.