POV: Theo Sinclair
Saturday mornings at Chapters & Brews were usually my favorite time of the week. The café would be alive with laughter and conversation, book club members huddled in the corner, their mugs of coffee steaming as they debated their latest read. But today, the energy felt... off.
The chatter was subdued, the usual buzz replaced by a quiet hum. Mia worked at the front, arranging a display of fall-themed novels and eyeing me as I leaned against the counter.
"You're awfully distracted," she said, stacking a book titled Autumn Tales and Pumpkin Dreams.
"I'm fine," I replied, wiping the counter for the third time in as many minutes.
"Sure," Mia said, her tone laced with teasing skepticism. "You're just standing there staring into space. Nothing unusual at all."
I shot her a look, but she grinned, undeterred. "Thinking about the library again?"
"I'm thinking about the event," I said, a little too quickly.
"Uh-huh," she said, clearly unconvinced. "Or maybe you're thinking about Evelyn?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Why do you always assume it's about Evelyn?"
"Because it is," Mia said, giving me a knowing look. "You've been spending all your free time there lately. And I know you—you don't stick around unless there's a reason."
"She's... interesting," I admitted, reluctantly.
Mia raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Interesting, huh?"
"Not like that," I said quickly, though even I wasn't sure if it was true. "She's just... passionate. The way she cares about that library, about making the event perfect—it's impressive."
"And maybe you find her a little bit cute," Mia added, her grin widening.
I rolled my eyes, grabbing my bag. "I'm heading to the library. Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."
"No promises," Mia called after me.
The library was bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, the golden light streaming through the tall windows and casting long shadows across the floor. The place felt almost sacred, like stepping into a sanctuary of stories and secrets.
Evelyn was sitting at a table near the back, her laptop open in front of her, her notebook filled with scribbled notes and colorful tabs. She was so focused, so utterly absorbed in her work, that she didn't notice me standing there.
Her red curls framed her face, catching the sunlight and glowing like embers. Her glasses had slid down her nose, and she pushed them back absently as her green and blue eyes flicked between the screen and her notes. There was a small crease in her brow, a telltale sign of her concentration, and she was chewing lightly on her bottom lip—a habit I was beginning to recognize.
I couldn't help but admire her. Not just the way she looked, though I'd have been lying if I said I wasn't drawn to her soft curves, the way her cardigan hugged her figure, or how her freckles stood out against her fair skin. It was more than that. It was the way she carried herself—the quiet determination, the sheer intensity of her focus. She didn't just work on something; she threw herself into it completely.
For a moment, I stayed where I was, watching her. She had this presence, this quiet strength that demanded your attention without even trying.
Finally, I cleared my throat. "Deep in thought?"
Evelyn jumped, her notebook nearly toppling off the table as she turned to face me. Her expression softened when she realized it was me, though her cheeks flushed a little. "Theo! I didn't hear you come in."
"Clearly," I said, suppressing a grin. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"Well, you did," she said, adjusting her glasses and sitting up straighter. "What are you doing here?"
"Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed any help," I said, setting my bag down.
Evelyn hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," I said, cutting her off gently.
She blinked, clearly caught off guard by my tone. After a moment, she sighed and slid the laptop toward me. "Fine. But if you mess up my system, I'll never forgive you."
"Noted," I said, sitting across from her.
We started with the volunteer schedule, a chaotic mess of overlapping shifts and missing names. Evelyn's notes were meticulous, but even she couldn't untangle the confusion.
"What if we split the shifts into smaller blocks?" I suggested, jotting down a rough draft. "That way, people don't feel like they're signing their lives away."
Evelyn tilted her head, considering. "That could work. It might make it easier to recruit more volunteers, too."
"Exactly," I said, tapping the page. "We'll save the long shifts for the true masochists."
She snorted, shaking her head. "You mean people like you?"
"Hey, I'm here voluntarily," I said, smirking. "What's your excuse?"
Her expression softened, her gaze drifting to a framed photo of her grandmother propped on the table. "This place has always been home to me," she said quietly. "The library isn't just a building. It's... a part of who I am."
Her words stirred something in me, a pang of recognition I didn't expect. I thought of the hours I'd spent as a kid, listening to my grandfather's stories in his dusty old library, my parents' expectations looming like shadows in the background.
"I get that," I said, my voice quieter now.
Evelyn looked at me, her eyes searching. "Do you?"
I nodded, hesitating before I spoke again. "I grew up in a world where everything was about legacy. Expectations. There wasn't a lot of room for... choice."
She didn't press, but the understanding in her gaze was unsettling. She didn't just hear my words; she saw the weight behind them.
The conversation shifted after that, moving to lighter topics. We started talking about books—our favorites, the ones we pretended to like, and the ones we hated but couldn't forget.
"You hated The Catcher in the Rye?" Evelyn asked, her tone incredulous.
"Couldn't stand it," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Holden Caulfield is the most annoying protagonist in the history of literature."
"That's the point!" she argued, her eyes lighting up with passion. "He's supposed to be insufferable! He's a reflection of teenage angst!"
"Or he's just a brat," I countered.
Evelyn groaned, throwing her hands up. "I don't know how we're going to work together."
I laughed, the sound surprising even me. "You'll survive."
"Barely," she muttered, but the smile tugging at her lips said otherwise.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the library in a soft amber glow, I found myself reluctant to leave. Evelyn was gathering her things, her movements slower than usual, like she wasn't ready for the day to end.
"This is actually coming together," she said, tucking her laptop into her bag.
"Told you," I said, standing and stretching. "We make a good team."
She shot me a skeptical look. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late," I said, grinning.
Evelyn rolled her eyes but didn't argue, and for some reason, that felt like a win.
"See you tomorrow, librarian," I called as I headed for the door.
"Don't be late," she said, her voice carrying a teasing edge that made me smile.
Later that night, I sat in the dimly lit café, staring at my phone. The missed calls and texts from my parents were still unanswered, their words glaring at me like accusations.
For years, I'd convinced myself that walking away was the right decision, that building something of my own was worth the cost. But now, watching Evelyn fight so fiercely for what mattered to her, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made the right choice.