You and Spencer walked hand-in-hand to a quaint little bookstore, tucked in the heart of a small town in D.C. The air was crisp and cool, with leaves blowing in the breeze.

He held the door open for you, the smell of tea and old books in filling your noses. There were candles lit and hanging from the walls and chalk signs for each section. You made your way over to the classical literature section, scanning over the shelves.

In a small act of affection, Spencer shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. He watched as you stood on your toes, attempting to reach for one of the higher-up books, before his tall frame took it with ease. He handed it to you with a small smile, just admiring the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes.