I gulped. Unlike most guys, being blurred and far away wasn’t Aiden’s best side. He only got better when I was looking at him up close. This UPS driver was more gorgeous when I could see him and make out his features; attractive masculine features. Pipe dream, of course. No way was this dreamboat interested in me. With his brown uniform and muscled triathlon-qualified legs, he was entirely focused on deliveries. Other than the time last time when his eyes and attention wandered through the bookshelves — but only through the bookshelves.
“Hi. Thanks for the delivery. Um, I don’t think we ordered anything from Amazon.”
I shook the box. I knew the feeling of a boxed book, and this was definitely a boxed book. We definitely hadn’t ordered anything from Amazon. Maybe it was a donation or a free copy.
“I just thought you might — hey, you wanna open it?” The UPS guy was inquisitive. “I mean, just to, maybe, check for damage.”
In all my eight years working as a librarian, I had never heard of a book being damaged in transit. But maybe it was possible. And it wouldn’t hurt to open the package in front of the cute UPS guy.
I needed the box opener. “Hold on a second.” I looked around the front desk, but it wasn’t there. Maybe I could try to go without. “Do you mind — do you mind if I just open it with my hands?”
“Fine with me.” The UPS guy laughed.
I stuck my fingers down into the box and pried apart the lid. Inside was a layer of Amazon bubble wrap. I peeled it away, and inside was a book. “Wow, Khalil Gibran. The Prophet. I actually don’t think we have anything—” We did have it, but it was always stolen. It was one of those books that keep walking out of the library. Maybe people didn’t want to part with it when they were leaving the building.
“You don’t. I checked your online catalog. It was weird that you didn’t. That’s why I bought this.” The UPS man nodded.
“You… you bought this? You sent this package?”
“I hope you don’t mind the donation.” Aiden smiled.
I didn’t mind the donation. The library received donations all the time, usually when people were moving and would’ve felt bad about throwing away books. We usually received collections of useless, outdated junior-high history textbooks and pulp novels that had long gone out of fashion. Those well-intentioned dusty tomes went right to the monthly library book sale. Library volunteers at small plastic tables in the parking lot hawked them for a dollar or so each, not a bad way for the library to add some money to its sparse budget. But a brand-new donation of a brand-new book shipped directly from Amazon; that was unusual.
“I made sure it was shipped UPS, so I could deliver it to you in person.” Aiden’s eyes shimmered.
“Wow.” That was all I could think to say.
“I came here on Saturday, but your colleagues said you only work weekdays.”
“You came here—” I started to say. Claire made a gesture of covering her eyes, then her ears, shrugging.
“So, ordering this book for you on Amazon was the only way I could see you on weekdays. Since I’m making deliveries all day.” Aiden waved his UPS handheld at me as if I had forgotten that Aiden was, in fact, a UPS delivery driver.
“So, you just sent me a book—”
“Yeah.”
“You just sent me a book of romantic poetry—”
“You know Khalil Gibran?”
“I’m a librarian. Yeah, I know Khalil Gibran.”
“You didn’t have him in your collection, so I thought maybe you didn’t know—” Aiden’s eyes scanned around the room. The scruff on his face was sexy. He had just enough of a tan to show that he went outside sometimes, without being burned — and just enough wear on his face to show that he’d done some manual work, without being rough.
“We keep buying that book, and it keeps walking out of here.” I gestured toward the exit door. “People like it too much.”
“It’s one of my favorites.” Aiden smiled. This UPS driver read Khalil Gibran? Was Claire playing a prank on me? Were there hidden cameras around? It was my fantasy of fantasies. It was as if someone had read my mind.
“You, seriously, you know the book?” It wasn’t the politest thing to say, but I still wanted to make sure.
“No, I just clicked at random on Amazon, and that’s what came out. You know us UPS drivers, no education, never read any books.”
“I didn’t mean that — just that—”
“Come on. Everybody knows Khalil Gibran. Even the UPS driver.”
“You like to read?” My question was direct. It sounded like a dating qualification question. Which it kind of was. I loved to read. Working in a library somehow hadn’t extinguished my passion for books, despite all the stories I’d heard about people who lose their passions once their passions become careers.