Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

Because there, at the top of the page, in bold font, is her name.

The name.

Hannah Utley.

The girl who gave me a taste of comfort.

The one who would blush as she teased me.

The girl who made me feel like I could take on the world.

The one who spent the night locked in the library with me, crying my name.

The girl who disappeared.

The one I never saw again.

Never heard from after that night.

Not a single fucking word.

“Yep, did that too,” she tells my colleague.

Dana says something, and Hannah looks at her, but she’s careful not to look at me.

Her posture is perfect. Her facial expressions are even, almost relaxed. But I can see it in her hands.

The tension.

The anxiety.

She’s not unaffected, not unaware of who I am.

And if I’d been paying attention when she walked in, I could’ve seen her reaction to finding me here.

I drum my fingers on the table as Dana speaks, but Hannah continues to ignore me.

Was she surprised by my presence?

Did she startle when she walked in? Or did it not kick in until Dana introduced me?

Or did she know before she even stepped foot in this room?

We kept everything about the purchase quiet until this week, not wanting to cause an unnecessary stir. And not wanting to draw the attention of anyone else until the deal was already done. But she’s had the last few days to do her research. So maybe she already knew.

Maybe she walked in prepared to see me.

Maybe she put that fucking outfit on just for me. Maybe she wore that formfitting shirt just to show me what I can’t have. Put on that suit to look like the fuck me librarian I still dream about.

My jaw tenses.

“What college did you go to, Miss Utley?” I cut into the conversation, putting emphasis on “Miss” since that’s what Peter called her.

I can feel the two people on my side of the table turn to look at me. Probably wondering why I’m asking about something that can be answered by reading her résumé. But I keep my attention forward, on Hannah. Because this question is personal.

She’s slow to look my way. Hesitant.

But she finally does. And when our eyes connect, I feel the floor tilt beneath me.