said, smiling.
“Dawn West.” I smiled, suddenly feeling a little warm. “So what brings you to the forgotten land of the magazine archives?”
“Ah, well, do you read Charm ?” he asked, then continued without waiting for me to answer. “I’m the dating columnist, Secret Agent Romance. Sometimes I come here to read the columns of the various Secret Agents Romance from eras past, so I can subtly steal their best ideas. That, and it’s a quiet place to work.”
“I see,” I said.
“Though now that I’ve admitted my secret identity, I might have to lock you down here unless you swear never to tell. No one wants to know that the laudable male opinion is coming from Elliot Kaslowski. It’s much more compelling coming from a mysterious everyman.”
The sleeves of his blue Oxford shirt were rolled to just below his elbows. It may be based on some leftover Dead Poets Society crush, but I almost always think rolled-up sleeves are hot. Is it because I like wrists? Forearm hair? The teacher-really-getting-into-the-fray look? Robert always wore his sleeves this way. I loved Robert’s wrists and hands. He had nice pronounced wrist bones and long fingers that would have made him a good pianist, with just enough hair to be manly but not enough to be hirsute. Elliot’s wrists shouldn’t have been making me think of Robert. Why was I still thinking of Robert?
“Your secret is safe, I swear it,” I said to Elliot, closing out my internal melodrama.
“And what brings you to the Charm archives, Dawn?” he asked in a mock overdone tone, like he was asking me my sign.
“Well, turns out this is my new office. You know Charm ’s Ten Girls to Watch contest? I’m working on the fiftieth anniversary of the contest, tracking down all the past winners. I’m set up right back there in the fancy storage closet.”
“Ah, very nice,” he said.
“Well, nice to meet you,” I said, abruptly ending things.
I hadn’t meant to do it! But it just slipped out thanks to a very bad habit I’d developed in elementary school, a surefire cover for all my embarrassing crushes called “being mean so they’ll never suspect you like them.” Unfortunately, unlike most people who outgrow this behavior after age eleven, I never got over it. Spending all four years of college with one person had further stunted the growth of my game. Clearly, I needed to work on my flirting abilities.
Elliot looked at me curiously as I awkwardly grabbed another couple of volumes and headed back down the aisle to my office. This was the exact sort of social faux paus Ms. Lily Harris would never commit.
“Well, good luck,” he called. “See you around.”
Once back in my office, I intended to get right down to business, but alas, I didn’t succeed. I felt edgy, wondering how long Secret Agent Romance Elliot Kaslowski was going to be lingering on floor –2, and I turned myself into a little actress in a play just for him. Just in case he should come around the corner and peek in, I flipped pages with the most graceful wrist movements. I thumbed through the volumes just so. I posed, looking at the covers with an appreciative face. I typed with immaculate posture. Because, of course, people fall in love with your posture.
After twenty minutes of such nonsense, I finally decided to see whether Elliot was still around. This I did with a notebook in hand, so it might appear as if I were on a journalistic foray. Shelf after shelf, no Elliot. And no one else either. Passing the shelf with the current year’s issues, I noted that they were as of yet unbound, and I grabbed June, July, and August. Just a little homework reading to find out the latest and greatest in Secret Agent Romance’s dating life.
Then back I went to the sixties. After the sixties, despite XADI’s instructions, I skipped to the eighties, then the nineties. I’d brought a sandwich with me, so I didn’t even leave for lunch—just reading and note taking and typing names into a
“Dawn West.” I smiled, suddenly feeling a little warm. “So what brings you to the forgotten land of the magazine archives?”
“Ah, well, do you read Charm ?” he asked, then continued without waiting for me to answer. “I’m the dating columnist, Secret Agent Romance. Sometimes I come here to read the columns of the various Secret Agents Romance from eras past, so I can subtly steal their best ideas. That, and it’s a quiet place to work.”
“I see,” I said.
“Though now that I’ve admitted my secret identity, I might have to lock you down here unless you swear never to tell. No one wants to know that the laudable male opinion is coming from Elliot Kaslowski. It’s much more compelling coming from a mysterious everyman.”
The sleeves of his blue Oxford shirt were rolled to just below his elbows. It may be based on some leftover Dead Poets Society crush, but I almost always think rolled-up sleeves are hot. Is it because I like wrists? Forearm hair? The teacher-really-getting-into-the-fray look? Robert always wore his sleeves this way. I loved Robert’s wrists and hands. He had nice pronounced wrist bones and long fingers that would have made him a good pianist, with just enough hair to be manly but not enough to be hirsute. Elliot’s wrists shouldn’t have been making me think of Robert. Why was I still thinking of Robert?
“Your secret is safe, I swear it,” I said to Elliot, closing out my internal melodrama.
“And what brings you to the Charm archives, Dawn?” he asked in a mock overdone tone, like he was asking me my sign.
“Well, turns out this is my new office. You know Charm ’s Ten Girls to Watch contest? I’m working on the fiftieth anniversary of the contest, tracking down all the past winners. I’m set up right back there in the fancy storage closet.”
“Ah, very nice,” he said.
“Well, nice to meet you,” I said, abruptly ending things.
I hadn’t meant to do it! But it just slipped out thanks to a very bad habit I’d developed in elementary school, a surefire cover for all my embarrassing crushes called “being mean so they’ll never suspect you like them.” Unfortunately, unlike most people who outgrow this behavior after age eleven, I never got over it. Spending all four years of college with one person had further stunted the growth of my game. Clearly, I needed to work on my flirting abilities.
Elliot looked at me curiously as I awkwardly grabbed another couple of volumes and headed back down the aisle to my office. This was the exact sort of social faux paus Ms. Lily Harris would never commit.
“Well, good luck,” he called. “See you around.”
Once back in my office, I intended to get right down to business, but alas, I didn’t succeed. I felt edgy, wondering how long Secret Agent Romance Elliot Kaslowski was going to be lingering on floor –2, and I turned myself into a little actress in a play just for him. Just in case he should come around the corner and peek in, I flipped pages with the most graceful wrist movements. I thumbed through the volumes just so. I posed, looking at the covers with an appreciative face. I typed with immaculate posture. Because, of course, people fall in love with your posture.
After twenty minutes of such nonsense, I finally decided to see whether Elliot was still around. This I did with a notebook in hand, so it might appear as if I were on a journalistic foray. Shelf after shelf, no Elliot. And no one else either. Passing the shelf with the current year’s issues, I noted that they were as of yet unbound, and I grabbed June, July, and August. Just a little homework reading to find out the latest and greatest in Secret Agent Romance’s dating life.
Then back I went to the sixties. After the sixties, despite XADI’s instructions, I skipped to the eighties, then the nineties. I’d brought a sandwich with me, so I didn’t even leave for lunch—just reading and note taking and typing names into a
Similar Books
