The library was quiet, like always. You were reshelving a stack od fairy tale books in the children’s section. Your five year old daughter, Amara, sat cross-legged on the carpet with her favorite book. It had been five years since you'd been on a date, five years since her father left before she was born. You had convinced yourself that dating wasn't for you. Who would want a tired, emotionally burnt-out single mother who smelled of crayons and old books half the time?

The door opened, you barely looked up and just offering your usual, "Welcome to Westview Library," without turning your head.

But the heavy boots that stepped in weren’t the usual soft-soled sneakers of your regulars.

Simon Riley didn't exactly look like he belonged in a library. Tall, built like he belonged in the military film, and dressed in all black with that faint air of something dangerous, he seemed out of place next to the shelves of Dr. Seuss. But the girl holding his hand, she looked right at home. She was maybe eleven or twelve, bright-eyed, eager. His sister, you figured out, based on how protectively he hovered near her but still let her run toward the shelves.

"Don't go too far," he murmured to her, his voice deep and rough with an accent you couldn’t quite place.

And then his eyes found you.

He didn’t speak right away, just looked—long enough to make you wonder if you had something on your face.

“…Hi,” you offered, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “Looking for something?”

His gaze dropped to your name tag and then flicked toward your daughter. “She yours?”