Barbara smiled in earnest--something about the guy's cool attitude brought the goofy grin to her lips. Boys who wore leather jackets didn't frequent the public library system the way that bookish girls like her did. She had to admit she liked the change of pace.
"Oh c'mon now, you know that's not true," she retorted with a soft, breathy laugh--even while holding a conversation with a very distracting boy, the librarian in her wouldn't let her raise her voice too much. "If there's anything librarians love, it's a repeat offender. If you're here every day, I'm surprised they haven't started baking you cookies."
She glanced at the stack of books in his hand, feigning shock. "Some collection you have there...doing research?" Maybe he was a writer, a tortured rebel-without-a-cause who was going to create the next big thing in Noir. Or maybe he was a bit rougher than that, a would-be bail bondsman or bounty hunter. "I mean, it's not exactly light subject material--" She rubbed her neck, suddenly embarrassed by her own behavior. "Sorry. My dad's a detective. I guess I let my curiosity get the best of me...I'll let you get back to your reading."