Charlotte shrugged. “Not sure. I haven’t seen them. I guess they’re a couple letters from some Florentine poet to a friend who was a philosopher. Late fifteenth century, supposedly very well-preserved. I should remember the names, but I don’t. They were in some private collection, from what I hear. Honestly, I have no idea why the university is getting them.”
“Huh.” Beatrice frowned. “We have hardly anything from that period. Most of the Italian stuff we have is late medieval.”
“I know,” Charlotte shrugged again, “but they were donated, so no one’s going to complain.”
“When do they get here?”
“A few weeks, maybe closer to a month or so.” Charlotte laughed. “I thought Christiansen was going to piss his pants, he was so excited when he told me.”
“And thank you for that mental image,” she snorted. “I’m going to go to check the dehumidifiers in the stacks. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Beatrice was still shaking her head when she entered the manuscript room, chuckling at her playful supervisor. Charlotte Martin’s enthusiasm for books and information was one of the reasons the young woman had decided to pursue a master’s degree in library science. Far from stuffy, Beatrice had discovered that most libraries were small hotbeds of gossip and personal intrigue. Intrigue that she enjoyed observing but also tried to avoid by hiding in her own small department.
She checked the moisture readings in the stacks, tracking and resetting the meter for the next twenty-four hours. She walked to the center of the room to empty the plastic container from the dehumidifier that pulled excess water from the thick, South Texas air, so it wouldn’t damage the delicate residents of the manuscript room.
After completing her duties in back, she pulled one of her favorite books from the shelves and opened it, poring over the vivid medieval illuminations in a German devotional. After a few minutes, she tore herself away to go help Charlotte with some filing before she settled at the reference desk for the evening and began to work on a paper for one of her classes.
At five-thirty, Charlotte waved good-bye, and by seven o’clock, Beatrice heard the familiar steps of Dr. Giovanni Vecchio-mysterious Ph.D., translator of Tibetan texts, and all around hot-piece-of-gossip-inducing-ass-enter the reading room.
“Good evening, Miss De Novo. How are you tonight?”
She heard his soft accent as he approached and saved the file she was working on before she looked up with a smile. He was wearing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and a grey jacket that evening. His face was angular, handsome in a way that reminded her of one of the photographs in her art history textbook. His dark, curly hair and green eyes were set off by a pale complexion that seemed out of place on someone with a Mediterranean background.
Beatrice decided that no one should be that good looking-especially if they were smart. It simply put the rest of the population at a disadvantage.
“Fine, thanks. I’m fine.” She sighed almost imperceptibly, and straightened her black skirt as she stood. “The Tibetan manuscript again?”
He flashed a smile and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Beatrice went back to retrieve what she had begun to think of as “his” manuscript and walked out to Giovanni’s table in the far corner of the small room. Setting it down, she noticed he already had his pencils, notebooks, and notes from the week before laid out on the table. He was nothing, if not organized and well-prepared.
“Do you need the spiel?” she asked as she handed him his silk gloves.
He smirked. “Not unless you are required to give it every time I’m here.”
“I’ve seen you here a few weeks now. If you won’t tell, I won’t.”
“Your flagrant disregard of protocol will be our secret, Beatrice,” he said with a wink that set her heart racing. She hated her name, but maybe she didn’t hate it quite as much when it rolled off his tongue with that sexy accent.
She just smiled and tried to breathe normally. “I’ll be at the desk if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” He nodded and slipped on the gloves to pick up the book. As always, she noticed the seemingly incongruent features which only added to the mystery he presented.
His fingers were long and graceful, reminding her more of an artist than a scholar, but the body beneath his casually professional wardrobe looked like that of a trained athlete. He appeared fastidious in his appearance, but his hair always seemed just a bit too long. No matter how he was dressed, she always smiled when she saw his expression, his concentrated frown and preoccupied gaze were one hundred percent academic.
Suppressing a snicker, she went back to writing her paper.
They both worked quietly for another hour. When she finished her homework, she looked in her bag and realized she had forgotten the paperback she was reading that morning.
“Damn,” she whispered.
He looked up from his work. “What?”
She frowned and looked up, surprised he had heard. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Just forgot my book at home.”
She thought she heard him snort a little.
“What?”
He couldn’t contain the small chuckle. “You’re in a
“What?” She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, I know, but I was reading that one. Besides, I can’t exactly go wander around in the fiction section looking for a new book. I’m working.”
“True.”
“Unless you want to finish up early so I can go do that.”
He frowned and looked at the clock on the wall. “Do you really need me to?”
Beatrice laughed out loud. “No! Of course not, I’m just teasing. I don’t expect you to cut your research time short for me.” She chuckled quietly as she turned to the computer to check her e-mail and look at her stock report online. She took careful note of a few investments she had left from her father’s estate and emailed herself a reminder to move one of them when she got back home.
She glanced at the man copying the Tibetan book and realized he almost looked annoyed. She cleared her throat. “Thanks, though…for offering. That was nice.”
He cocked one eyebrow at her. “Far be it from me to keep a woman from her book. That could become dangerous.”
She snorted and shook her head a little. Giovanni smiled and returned to his transcription. They both worked in silence for a while longer before she heard him put down his pencil.
“What was it?”
“What?” Beatrice tore her eyes from the computer monitor.
“The book. The one you forgot?”
She frowned. “Oh…uh,
His lips twitched when he heard the title. “Oh.”
“Have you read it?”
His smile almost looked rueful as he turned back to his work. “No.”
“It’s good. It’s set in New York. I’ve never been, have you?”
He nodded as he took out a blank sheet of paper and started a new page of careful notes. “I have. It’s very… fast.”
“Fast?”
“Yes, I prefer the pace of Southern cities.”
“I can see that.”
“Can you?”
She looked up to see Giovanni staring, his blue-green eyes almost burning her with the intensity of their focus.
“I-I think so,” she said, glancing down to avoid his gaze.
He stared for another minute before she noticed him look back to his notes.
Beatrice let out a breath, oddly disturbed by their conversation. After another half an hour, he stood and began to pack up his materials to leave.
