The next morning arrived slower than usual, wrapped in a fog so thick the world seemed to be holding its breath. The streets of Willowridge were muted shapes, softened by the mist, each building emerging and disappearing like thoughts half-formed.
Sienna walked toward the library with her hands tucked into her sleeves, her heartbeat steady but awake in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Last night’s dinner replayed in flickers—Liam’s smile across the booth, the soft timbre of his voice, the moment their silence shifted from something that pressed on her to something she leaned into.
She wasn’t used to this. To looking forward.
When she reached the library steps, she paused. The door was slightly ajar.
Nora never arrived this early.
Sienna pushed the door open quietly and found Liam inside, standing near the returns cart with a hesitant expression, as though he wasn’t sure if he belonged there.
He turned at the sound of the door. “Morning.”
His voice was softer than usual—careful.
Sienna blinked. “You’re early.”
He lifted a small paper bag in his hand. “Thought you might want breakfast. The diner had fresh muffins, and I... well, I didn’t want to leave them sitting around.”
There was an awkwardness in his posture she hadn’t seen before, as though the closeness of last night had left him unsure of the space between them now.
Sienna stepped closer. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanted to.”
He set the bag on the counter, then lingered there, fingers tapping once, twice, before stilling altogether.
“About last night…” he began.
She felt her breath catch—not in fear, but in anticipation.
“I had a good time,” he said simply. “Better than I expected. Better than I’ve had in a long while.”
She nodded, something warm loosening in her chest. “Me too.”
The quiet between them stretched—not heavy, not uncertain, but like something new, not yet named.
He exhaled slowly, relief flickering across his features. “Good. I just… didn’t want you to think it meant you owed me anything.”
“I don’t,” she said. “And you don’t owe me anything either.”
He nodded. “Fair.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other. The rain tapped gently against the windows, as though reminding them that the world outside still existed.
“You opened the door for me,” she said suddenly.
He blinked. “When?”
“Last night. At the diner. And again just now.” Her voice softened. “You don’t have to do that either.”
“I know,” he said again, quieter. “But I want to.”
Their eyes met, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.
The space between steps—between yesterday and today, between hesitation and something like hope—felt smaller than it had ever been.
And this time, she didn’t step back.
They spent the morning in a quiet that felt different from before—not cautious, not tense, but steady. Liam helped shelve a few returns while Sienna sorted through the new arrivals, both of them moving through the space as though they’d been sharing it for longer than they truly had.
Every so often, Sienna caught him glancing her way, not in the searching way he used to, but in a quiet check-in, like he was making sure she was still comfortable. And every time, she found herself meeting his eyes instead of looking away.
By noon, Nora arrived—late, for once—and froze the moment she saw them in the same corner of the library.
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Did I miss a memo? Are we… co-working now?”
Liam laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just helping out.”
“Mhm.” Nora narrowed her eyes at Sienna. “And you’re okay with that?”
Sienna opened her mouth—then paused.
She didn’t need Nora to tease her into an answer.
She didn’t need to defend herself either.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Nora’s eyebrows shot up in delighted shock. “Well then—welcome aboard, Coach.”
Liam groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”
“No promises,” Nora said, skipping away.
Sienna felt warmth creep up her neck, but not embarrassment. Something gentler.
When they stepped outside later in the afternoon, the rain had eased into a mist so thin it felt like walking through breath.
Liam opened his umbrella, then held it halfway between them—an old habit now, a quiet gesture that no longer startled her.
“Can I walk you home?” he asked.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
They walked side by side, the distance between them smaller than before. The conversation was light—how the town smelled after rain, how Henry would probably declare the fog a “dinosaur’s breath”—but beneath the words was a soft undercurrent, something warm that lingered in the pauses.
When they reached her building, Liam stopped, lowering the umbrella.
“I’m glad we did dinner,” he said.
“So am I.”
He hesitated, not stepping closer, not stepping back.
“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said softly. “But… I like being here. With you.”
Sienna felt the words settle into her like a steady heartbeat.
“I like it too.”
His smile was small, almost shy. “Then… I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed.
She waited until he turned the corner before going upstairs—waited because the quiet between them no longer frightened her.
Because she finally understood:
Not every step had to be big.
Some steps were small.
Some were barely movements at all.
But every one of them brought her closer.
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