The rain had already settled into its usual rhythm by the time Sienna walked toward the library. She carried a warm paper bag in both hands, the heat pressing through the thin paper as she crossed the quiet street. The morning felt muted, softened by the gray that hung over Willowridge like a familiar veil. She glanced toward the awning without slowing, though her eyes lingered there for a moment longer than necessary.
It was empty.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The chime rang once, sharp against the quiet. She turned on the lamps one by one, letting warm light spread across shelves and soften the room’s edges. The library felt colder than usual, though she wasn’t sure if it was the weather or the absence she tried not to acknowledge.
She set the paper bag on the desk and pressed the fold flat with her thumb. He never said mornings were theirs. No promise, no agreement. But he had always come.
She opened the return cart and began sorting books she couldn’t yet focus on.
The door opened behind her.
“Hey.”
“You’re late.”
“Four minutes. Didn’t know we were timing this.”
“We’re not.”
“Kinda feels like maybe we are.”
She didn’t answer. Her hand rested lightly on the edge of the cart while he shook water from his sleeves.
“Sorry,” he said. “I ran into someone outside.”
“Someone.”
“Old teammate. Haven’t seen him in a while. I didn’t stay long.”
She placed a book on the shelf without really seeing it.
He picked up the warm paper bag.
“You brought breakfast.”
“It was on the way.”
“It always is.”
“It was.”
Steam rose into the space between them as he opened the bag.
“Still warm.”
“That means you’re not that late.”
“So four minutes is acceptable?”
“Barely.”
He laughed softly and set the bag down again.
The morning moved in a steady quiet. Sienna shelved books with practiced rhythm while Liam leaned against the desk, watching her with the kind of attention that didn’t press but stayed close enough to feel.
He slid a book into the wrong section.
“That’s the wrong shelf,” she said.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Feels right.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay. Tell me where it goes.”
“You know where it goes.”
“Maybe. But I want to hear you say it.”
She pointed him to the right spot, and he placed it correctly.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and something in his expression shifted—brief, controlled, then tucked away. He turned the phone face down.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
Not evasive. Not defensive. Just measured.
“You don’t have to pretend,” she said.
He looked up. Something softened.
“I know.”
The rain thinned outside, misting along the windowpanes. The quiet between them changed—no longer empty, but full in a way neither of them named.
A moment later, the door opened again. A woman stepped inside, shaking off her umbrella, her gaze moving from Sienna to Liam.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t think I’d run into you.”
Liam straightened. “Hey. I didn’t know you were still in town.”
“I extended my trip. Your mom said you might be around here.”
Sienna’s fingers tightened slightly on the clipboard.
“I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing,” the woman said. “Maybe we can catch up before I leave?”
Liam hesitated. “Yeah. Maybe.”
When the woman left, the silence that followed held its own weight.
“That was… complicated,” he said.
“Someone important?” she asked.
“Not anymore.”
Her breath steadied.
“I didn’t expect her to show up,” he added. “Or expect to feel anything about it.”
“Did you?”
“Not the way you think.”
“People change,” she said.
“Yeah. They do.”
Henry burst through the door then, clutching a rolled-up drawing.
“Sienna! I made you something!”
He handed her a picture of a long-necked dinosaur holding an umbrella under a rain cloud. In the corner: **FOR SENNA**.
“I thought maybe you get lonely when it rains,” Henry said.
Sienna froze—not visibly, but enough that Liam stepped in.
“We’re here a lot,” he told Henry. “She’s not that lonely.”
“Are you friends?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” Liam said immediately.
Sienna turned away, warmth rising in her chest.
“You didn’t have to answer for me,” she murmured.
“You were thinking too hard.”
“Friends,” she said softly.
“If you want to be,” he replied.
A gust of wind slammed against the windows, rattling the lights overhead. She flinched before she could hide it.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Sienna.”
“…I’m not good with storms.”
“That’s allowed.”
“Things shift too suddenly.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
When the wind surged again, she stepped back without meaning to. He didn’t move toward her or away—he just stayed steady.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re not scared,” he said.
“I’m not scared.”
“Sienna.”
“…I just don’t like storms.”
“Then you don’t like storms,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
A knock interrupted them. A delivery driver entered with a small damp package.
“For Monroe?”
“That’s me,” Sienna said.
Her mother’s handwriting curved across the top.
Her breath hitched—small, but unmistakable.
“Sienna?” Liam asked.
“It’s from my mother.”
Inside was tea, medicine, and a note:
*I heard your cough last week.
Take care of yourself.
—Mom*
“She worries,” Sienna said.
“That’s part of caring.”
“Not always.”
“Do you want to call her?”
“No.”
“She expecting you to?”
“Yes.”
“You trying not to worry her sounds like you worrying alone,” Liam said.
She folded the note carefully. “She doesn’t like when I sound distant.”
“Are you distant?”
“…Sometimes.”
“You deserve room to breathe,” he said softly.
Something in her expression wavered.
“I should put this away.”
“Okay.”
She returned a moment later, calmer. He was still there, waiting without impatience.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
They spent the next stretch repairing old books. He followed her instructions exactly—gentle, steady, almost precise.
“You’re good at taking care of things,” he said.
“That’s not always true.”
“Feels true from here.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t know what to do with them.”
“You don’t have to do anything. Just hear it.”
“…I don’t know how.”
“Then I’ll say them slowly.”
She exhaled, unsteady.
Later, as they re-shelved the mended books, he said, “You handled this morning well.”
“I didn’t feel like I handled it.”
“You did. More than you think.”
“It used to unravel me.”
“And now?”
“…Now it feels like I can stay.”
He looked at her with quiet recognition. “I’m glad I was here.”
“Because you were here,” she said.
They moved the empty cart back to its place. The storm had faded completely, leaving sunlight catching in soft streaks on the floor.
“This morning was a lot,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“But it didn’t feel as overwhelming as it should have.”
He studied her gently. “Why not?”
She looked at the sunlight, at the shelves, at the warm quiet settling around them.
Then she said, soft as breath:
“Because you were here.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Didn’t step closer.
He just let the words land.
“I’m glad,” he said.
And for the first time that day, the weight she carried felt lighter.
Not gone.
Just… shared.
She stayed right where she was, beside him, letting the quiet be enough.
The afternoon light settled into the library with a soft warmth, casting a muted gold across the wooden shelves. Most of the patrons had drifted out for lunch, leaving only the rustle of pages and the low hum of the heater in the quiet.
Sienna stepped back from the newly arranged display to examine it. The alignment was clean and balanced, exactly how she needed it to be. The order steadied something in her that the morning had shaken loose.
Liam returned from the stacks, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“You moved the display.”
“It needed fixing.”
“It looked fine before.”
“It wasn’t.”
He accepted this without argument, leaning against the end of the shelf.
“You always know exactly how you want things to look.”
“It makes the space feel calmer.”
“For you or everyone else?”
“Both.”
She returned to the desk to sort the interlibrary loan slips. Liam followed, stopping across from her. He didn’t speak for a moment. He just watched her hands move—precise, steady, controlled in a way that felt almost protective.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“I’m working.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She paused. “The morning was a lot.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“But I’m okay.”
“I know. Still figured I should ask.”
She looked up, and the tension in her chest loosened just slightly.
A teenager stepped in, asking for volunteer forms. She handled the request, returned to the desk, and found Liam’s gaze still on her—quiet, steady, without pressure.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You.”
Her breath stalled for a heartbeat.
“Why?”
“Because you’re different today.”
“In a bad way?”
“In a real way. Like you’re letting yourself take up space.”
She looked down at the forms. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I know. That’s why it feels honest.”
She turned toward the window, needing the soft light to ground her thoughts. Liam stepped beside her—not close enough to touch, but close enough that their reflections faintly overlapped in the glass.
“You ever think storms show people’s edges?” he asked.
“How?”
“They strip away the calm. Show what’s underneath.”
“Maybe.”
“You held up,” he said. “Better than you think.”
“I didn’t feel steady.”
“Doesn’t mean you weren’t.”
She didn’t answer. The quiet between them deepened, warmer now, as if shaped by something unspoken.
A single raindrop slipped down the window.
“Do storms bother you?” she asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“They remind me of things I used to fight through.”
She looked at him, surprised by the honesty.
“But you didn’t seem scared.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t. I’ve just practiced looking like I’m not.”
The truth of it settled inside her like something recognized.
“You don’t have to pretend around me,” she said.
His eyes softened.
“Okay. I won’t.”
They stayed there, breathing in the same quiet.
Nora appeared from the back office holding a tower of old CDs. “If I don’t return, I’ve drowned in ‘90s heartbreak ballads.”
Sienna blinked. “Are you okay?”
“I am thriving,” Nora declared, vanishing again.
Liam laughed under his breath.
The moment between them didn’t break; it simply shifted into something gentler.
“We should finish the inventory,” Sienna said.
“Yeah. Let’s do that.”
They walked into the aisles together, their steps matching without effort. Afternoon light filtered through the high windows, laying soft patterns across the carpet and the spines of books. The space between them felt natural, unforced.
They worked side by side, shelving the last of the returns. Their movements aligned almost perfectly—her reaching, him passing; him crouching, her shifting aside. It felt like rhythm rather than coordination, like something that had built itself quietly over time.
“You handled this morning well,” he said.
“I didn’t feel like I handled it.”
“You did. More than you think.”
She slid a book into place. “Mornings like this used to unravel me.”
“And now?”
She hesitated.
“Now it feels like I can stay.”
He looked at her—really looked—and something in his expression opened.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said.
She turned slightly toward him. “Because you were here.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. He only let the words settle.
“So was I,” he said quietly.
The last cart rolled back to its spot near the desk. The storm had passed completely now, sunlight slipping through in thin, silvery beams.
Sienna stood beside him, her shoulders no longer tight, her breath steady in a way that surprised her.
She didn’t move away.
She didn’t close off.
She simply stayed.
And the quiet between them—warm, full, unforced—felt like something that could last.
Comments (0)
See all