They didn't plan it.
At least, neither of them said they did.
Yet there they were again, standing just outside the bookstore on a quiet afternoon, the bell above the door chiming softly behind them. She held a single book this time. He carried a sketchpad tucked under his arm.
"You're early," she said, glancing at her watch.
He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want to miss you."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. His ears turned red immediately, but she didn't tease him. Instead, her smile softened, something gentle settling in her eyes.
They found seats by the window inside the bookstore café nook—close enough to share a table, far enough not to feel crowded. She opened her book, reading aloud a passage she liked. He listened, chin resting on his hand, eyes tracing the way her lips moved more than the words themselves.
"That line," he said after a moment, "it sounds like you."
She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Quiet," he said. "But brave when it matters."
She closed the book slowly, heart fluttering in a way she pretended not to notice.
When they stepped back outside, the sun had dipped lower, the air cooler and easier to breathe. They walked side by side toward the café—the same one where they had first met—neither of them mentioning it, though both of them felt the significance.
Their shoulders brushed occasionally. This time, neither flinched.
He told her about his latest project, about deadlines that scared him and characters that refused to behave. She laughed when he admitted he talked to his drawings sometimes.
"I talk to my books," she confessed. "So I think we're even."
They laughed together then—real laughter, light and unguarded. The kind that surprised them both.
The café came into view, warm light spilling through the windows.
"Do you want to go in?" he asked, tentative but hopeful.
She nodded. "I'd like that."
As they walked the last few steps, the awkwardness that once lingered between them was gone, replaced by something quieter and deeper.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something moving steadily toward it.