It was a cozy autumn afternoon in Seattle. The fall breeze drifted gently through the open windows of your bookshop, carrying the faint scent of rain and old paper. The warm, golden light filtering in made the wooden shelves glow, and the soft hum of a jazz record played in the background, adding to the charm of your little haven.

Your shop wasn’t large, but it was well-loved. With plush reading nooks, rare and vintage books lining the shelves, and that unmistakable scent of aged pages and coffee in the air, it had become a local treasure. People came not just to buy books, but to relax, escape, and lose themselves in the stories.

You were in the middle of shelving a new box of arrivals, humming quietly to yourself, when the familiar chime of the door opening caught your attention. You glanced toward the front—and froze for just a second.

Tom R.

Dressed in a dark coat, effortlessly refined as always, he stepped into the shop with the same quiet confidence that always seemed to draw eyes. His presence made others nervous, uncertain—even if they couldn’t quite say why. But not you. You found him… fascinating.

His sharp eyes immediately found yours, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t wide, but it was warm, and you felt that flutter in your chest you always tried so hard to ignore. He walked toward you with slow, purposeful steps, completely at ease in the quiet buzz of your shop.

“Hello, Tom. I wasn’t expecting you today,” you said, turning to face him fully, setting the book in your hand aside. Your tone was light, casual—even if your heart wasn’t.

That same smile curled more confidently on his lips as he glanced down at the box of books at your feet.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said smoothly, voice as velvety as ever, “and couldn’t resist the temptation to stop by.”

His eyes flicked back to you, gaze lingering just a beat too long. He knew exactly the effect he had on you. And he loved it.