Angelo Moretti pushed open the door to Barnes and Noble, his broad shoulders almost brushing the frame as he stepped inside. He glanced around, his discomfort evident. This wasn’t his scene—rows of bookshelves and quiet corners—but his sister had insisted on a specific book, and he’d be damned if he let her down.

He pulled out the crumpled note she’d given him, squinting at the scribbled title. What the hell even is this? He sighed, walking further inside, his boots heavy on the polished floor.

Then he saw her.

She was standing a few feet away, her back to him as she browsed the shelves. The soft light streaming through the windows illuminated her figure, and when she turned slightly, her icy blue eyes met his. They were piercing, almost mesmerizing, like they could see right through him. Angelo froze, momentarily forgetting his mission.

She was ethereal, like she didn’t belong in this mundane world. Her arms were full of books, and there was a delicate grace to the way she moved. He tried to look away, but his gaze kept pulling back to her, like gravity itself was bending around her presence.

“Focus, Moretti. You’re here for Mia’s book.” he muttered

Realizing he was staring, Angelo quickly turned his attention to a random book, flipping it open to feign interest. But his hands betrayed him, fidgeting slightly—a rare display of nervousness for someone so composed.

“Excuse me,” her voice came softly, brushing past his thoughts like a gentle breeze. “Could you help me grab that book up there?”

He turned to find her pointing to a high shelf. She smiled, a faint curl of her lips that nearly knocked the air out of him.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, stepping forward and effortlessly reaching for the book. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” she said, her icy blue eyes meeting his again. “Not many people in here look like you. Do you read?”

Her words were playful, but not mocking. Angelo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not unless the manual for my bike counts. I’m here for my sister—she’s the bookworm.”