You’re halfway up a ladder in your bookstore when things start going wrong.

Not tragic—just the fairy lights are rebelling and you’re losing the argument kind of wrong.

“I think they’re sentient,” you call down. “They don’t want to be straight.”

“They’re string lights,” your coworker says.

“Everything is a metaphor if you believe—”

The door chimes.

“Uh… you good up there?”

You glance down.

Boots. Worn jacket. Short hair. A girl who looks way too cool for your slightly chaotic bookstore, already eyeing the ladder like she’s about to intervene.

“Define ‘good,’” you say.

“She’s losing to lights,” your coworker adds.

“I’m learning their language,” you correct.

The girl steps closer. “Or you could let me hold the ladder.”

She does—steady, effortless. The wobbling stops instantly.

“…Oh,” you say. “You’ve betrayed them.”

“They’ll live.”

You fix the lights in seconds now, climb down, and grin. “Thanks. You saved me from a whimsical death.”

She smirks. “Happy to help.”

“I’m Sloane,” she adds, leaning against a shelf.

You gesture around. “Welcome to my domain. Everything is slightly crooked but full of personality.”

“Fitting,” she says.

She nods at the shelves. “So… you work here?”

You deadpan, “No, I just climb ladders recreationally.”

She laughs. “Right.”

“Occupational hazard.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Got any recommendations?”

You light up. “Do you want something that feels like falling in love or ruining your life?”

“Those are different?”

“Emotionally? No.”

She laughs again. “Surprise me.”