The rain fell gently, as if the sky had no intention of frightening anyone.
A light drizzle washed over the windows of Brunne’s bookstore, leaving tiny shimmering trails beneath the warm yellow lights.
Inside, the air felt warmer than the world outside—scented with old paper, wood, and coffee that had started to go cold.
Blair stood behind the counter, her fingers slowly turning the pages of the inventory book.
Her hair was no longer neatly tied back.
A few strands slipped loose along the sides of her face, giving her a softness she rarely noticed herself.
She wasn’t waiting for anyone.
But the doorbell rang, and her small world shifted, just a little.
The man who walked in didn’t seem rushed.
His steps were slow, and the way he closed the door was almost too careful.
Raindrops clung to the edge of his black jacket.
His hair was slightly wet, falling over his forehead in a way that didn’t feel deliberate.
He didn’t speak right away.
Didn’t ask questions.
He simply walked toward the foreign fiction shelves, his fingers brushing over book spines one by one, like someone searching for something he didn’t yet have a name for.
Blair pretended to reread her notes.
In truth, her eyes lifted more often than they should have.
The man pulled out a book.
Opened it halfway.
Read quickly—like someone used to reading.
Eventually, he walked up to the counter.
“Is this okay?” he asked briefly, his voice low.
Blair gave a small nod and took the book.
Her fingers brushed the corner of the page without thinking.
“There’s a discount if you buy two,” she said automatically, work habit taking over.
He glanced at the shelves behind him.
“I’ll look for another one later.” The words were quiet, but not cold.
Silence settled between them again.
Only this time, it felt… chosen.
***
At twenty past six, the rain still hadn’t stopped.
Brunne came out from the back room with a cup of coffee in hand.
“You can head home early if you want,” he said to Blair.
“I’ll close the shop today.”
Blair shook her head.
“I can still help.”
Brunne nodded.
The man was still there by the shelves.
Blair could sense his presence without needing to look.
She walked closer, pretending to straighten the books.
“Hard to find something?” she asked.
He turned slightly.
For the first time, they stood close enough to really see each other.
“No,” he said.
“I’ve just been away from bookstores for too long.”
Blair smiled faintly.
“Then… welcome back.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
***
An hour passed without Blair fully realizing it.
When the shop was about to close, the man finally brought two books to the counter.
Blair scanned the barcodes.
“Twenty-seven euros,” she said.
He took out his wallet.
His hands were large, clean, steady.
Before taking the receipt, he paused.
“Do you work here?” he asked.
Blair nodded.
“On Sundays.”
“Only Sundays?”
“Yeah.”
He hesitated for a moment.
“What’s your name?” he asked, almost too quietly.
Blair flinched just a little, nothing visible.
“Blair.”
A brief pause.
“Blair,” he repeated, like he was testing the sound of it.
Then, uncertainly, “If I come back… will you still be here?”
Blair held herself back from smiling.
“Maybe,” she said.
And maybe it wasn’t just about the shop.
He nodded and slipped the receipt into his wallet.
“See you then,” he said, lifting his books.
“Thank you, by the way.”
He walked out.
The bell rang again.
And the shop fell silent.
***
That night, Blair walked home more slowly than usual.
Kattie was sitting on the sofa, a blanket over her shoulders.
The TV was on, volume low.
“You took forever,” Kattie said without looking over.
Blair took off her jacket and hung it by the door.
“It was busy,” she said.
That was half a lie.
Kattie glanced at her, eyes narrowing.
“You look different.”
“Different how?”
“Like… you just talked to someone who made your brain forget how to breathe.”
Blair nearly choked.
Kattie’s guess was way too accurate.
“You watch too many romance dramas,” Blair said.
“And you lie way too much,” Kattie replied casually.
Blair didn’t answer.
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, resting her head in her hand.
She wasn’t lying—she *was* thinking about him.
His eyes.
The way he stood.
The way he said her name so softly.
She didn’t even know his yet.
****
The following Sunday, it didn’t rain.
The Amsterdam sky was clear in a rare, gentle way.
Blair arrived at the shop earlier than usual.
She organized the shelves more slowly.
Around eleven, the doorbell rang again.
The same steps.
The same jacket.
That black hair—slightly neater today.
The man looked at Blair for a moment, as if confirming something.
Then he stepped closer.
“You’re here,” he said.
Blair nodded.
“I said maybe.”
“And I said maybe,” he replied.
A small pause.
Warmer.
More real.
He cleared his throat.
“My name’s Pablo,” he said at last.
Something light settled in Blair’s chest when his name landed between them.
“Blair,” she answered, even though she knew he already knew.
Pablo nodded softly.
And something they couldn’t quite name yet…
began to take shape.
Who knows.
Quiet.
Unusual.