I bury my head in my notes from class, books I borrowed from the restricted area, and the internet trying to piece this puzzle together. I have no idea why this isn’t found all in one place. It’s archaic that I must be physically in this building to find the information I need. Grumbling about it will get me nowhere, so I put my head down and keep going.

The next time I take a breath, I look up. I didn’t notice the library had cleared out, leaving me with only a few others stuck like I am. I check the time. One hour until I need to move my stuff to the 24/7 room or go home before the library closes.

I twist to stretch my back, but a pain in my lumbar vertebrae has me pushing off the table to stand. I leave my area and wander the library. There’s a fireplace at one end, but it’s too early in the season to have a fire roaring. Looking up, I decide to look once more for a book I couldn’t find earlier. Shelves full to the brim with colorful books covering everything a girl could dream of reading. Especially if she’s into medicine like I am.

Taking the stairs, I climb to the second floor of the reading room and walk the narrow aisle along the volumes until I reach the far end. Bending down, I turn my head sideways and run my gaze along the lower shelves and then higher, row by row, as my frustration grows. It has to be here. They showed it in the library at the desk earlier when I checked. I was sure it would be returned once the crowds left for the night.

Bending down in front of the next column of books, I hold the edge of the shelf for balance and start scanning.

“You look lost.”

My body freezes other than my grip, which tightens its hold on the solid wood shelf. The voice shatters me, but I keep the broken pieces inside. I won’t show weakness. I won’t show I care. I won’t—I look up to see Harbor watching over me.

The words have two meanings, but I’m not sure which one he’s doing. I know because he’s been watching over me since the day he left.

Paying my rent, not a day late, for two years.

A Visa gift card showing up like clockwork each month fully loaded with a thousand dollars.

Maybe I was being greedy to expect his love as well.

Despite how many times I told myself that I didn’t need him, that I didn’t love him anymore, I feel a beat inside my chest the second I see him again for the first time in years. Damn duplicitous heart.

I reply, “Aren’t we all sometimes?” He offers me a hand, but I pull myself up, gripping a higher shelf just in case my knees weaken and become traitors as well.

There’s no chuckle although I thought I was quite clever. Just that damn smile that always used to do me in, lying on his face. His face . . . God, I missed seeing it. I removed the photos from my phone the summer after he left. I packed away any reminders when I moved out. How can a face be so familiar that it’s like I see it every day?