He gave me a quick, two-finger salute before climbing behind the wheel. I winced and hurried out of his way, muttering a prayer under my breath.

My legs burned by the time I tossed my bag in the back and peeled out of the parking lot. Thankfully, Olivia’s school let out an hour after mine, which gave me some free time. Before the accident, I would’ve headed off to the mall or movies. Now I went the one free place no other kids my age would go—the Allentown Public Library.

Three minutes later, I pulled in front of the squat, two-story building and grabbed my bag. Cool, stale air greeted me as I pushed open the glass doors. Mrs. Compton was where she always was, standing behind the circulation desk. A friendly smile pulled her lips up as she saw me. Shoving a pen into her gray bun, she leaned a plump hip against the counter.

“How was school, Ember?”

“Blech.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “One day, when you’re my age, you’ll look back at high school and wish you were back there. Trust me.”

Not likely, but I smiled as I headed to my spot by the window. Curling up on the overstuffed chair that had seen better days, I pulled out the worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. I hoped to get a chapter or two done for my essay before I’d have to leave to pick up Olivia.

I thumbed the book open, preparing myself for the bizarreness that was Oscar Wilde. Only ten or fifteen minutes had passed before a shadow blocked the sunlight streaming through the window behind me. I lifted my head and my heart stuttered.

I was hallucinating again, because Hot Dude was standing in front of me.

The sun cast a halo around him, making him appear surreal. His arresting mouth formed a crooked grin and one lock of brown hair, tinted red by the light, fell over his forehead. I blinked, but he didn’t vanish.

“Hi,” he said in a deep, soft voice that sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I looked around, checking to see if anyone else had noticed him, but there was no one near us. My gaze returned to him. Up close, he was actually sort of breathtaking, with his tousled hair and olive skin. His sooty eyelashes had to be the envy of every girl he crossed paths with.

He ran a hand through his hair and rocked back on his heels. The awkward silence stretched out, and I suddenly became painfully aware of how different I was from two years ago. I’d always had something witty and flirty to say. Now I just stared up at him like an idiot. A fierce blush stole over my cheeks, spreading down my neck.

“Uh… I’ve seen you around here a couple of times,” he tried again, staring at the book I held. “‘I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.’”