Lily woke up to the sound of rain pattering softly against her window. The morning light was dull, the sky overcast with heavy clouds that cast a shadow over Fairbrook. She lay in bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts tangled in the same loop as the night before.
The letter.
It sat on her nightstand, undisturbed, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. That whisper—she had heard it. Or had she imagined it?
A chill crawled down her spine as she reached for the parchment, her fingers hesitating just before they made contact. The paper felt cool against her skin, just as it had the day before.
Her logical mind told her it was nothing more than a strange, misplaced love letter. But something deeper, something she couldn’t explain, told her it was more than that.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to move. Dwelling on a mysterious letter wouldn’t open the bookshop or pay her bills. She had work to do.
The rain had slowed by the time she arrived at Hawthorne & Co., her small, cozy bookshop nestled between a bakery and an antique store. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and old paper greeted her as she unlocked the doors and stepped inside.
Despite its charm, the shop was quiet most mornings, especially on rainy days. She welcomed the solitude, though today, it felt heavier.
Lily busied herself behind the counter, arranging a new display of classic romance novels, but her thoughts kept drifting. What had the letter meant? Why had it been addressed to her? And why did the name James stir something unnameable in her chest?
The bell above the door jingled, snapping her from her thoughts.
She turned, expecting to see one of the regulars, but the man standing in the doorway wasn’t familiar.
Tall, dressed in a dark coat that clung to his broad frame, he hesitated just inside the entrance. A moment passed before he slowly lowered the hood of his coat, revealing tousled dark hair damp from the rain. His sharp features were almost too striking, with deep-set eyes that held an unreadable intensity.
Lily’s breath caught.
There was something about him.
Something unsettlingly familiar.
She swallowed, pushing down the strange unease curling in her stomach. “Good morning. Can I help you find something?”
The man’s gaze flickered around the shop before settling on her. His eyes—dark, but not quite black—held something she couldn’t place.
“I was just passing through,” he said, his voice smooth but distant. “Didn’t expect to find a place like this.”
Lily offered a polite smile, though her hands tightened slightly on the counter. “Fairbrook doesn’t get many travelers.”
“No,” he agreed, stepping further inside. His fingers traced the spines of the books absentmindedly as he moved through the aisles. “It’s a quiet town.”
Something about the way he said it made a shiver dance along her skin.
She studied him as he walked, noting the way he moved—graceful, precise, as if he were aware of every step he took.
His presence filled the space in a way that unsettled her.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” she asked, trying to shake the strange tension lingering between them.
He hesitated before glancing at her over his shoulder. “Do you believe in fate, Miss Hawthorne?”
The question caught her off guard.
Her pulse quickened.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, keeping her voice even.
For the briefest moment, something flickered across his expression—something sad, something knowing.
“It’s on the sign outside,” he said simply, nodding toward the shop’s front window.
Lily exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Of course. She was being ridiculous.
Still, something about this man put her on edge.
She forced a small laugh. “I suppose that makes sense. And to answer your question… I don’t know. I think some things happen for a reason, but fate? That’s a little harder to believe in.”
The man nodded slowly, as if considering her answer. “Some people think fate isn’t about choice,” he said. “That it’s something already written. Unchangeable.”
His gaze met hers then, steady and searching.
Lily’s fingers curled around the edge of the counter. “And what do you think?”
He was silent for a long moment before he said, “I think some things are worth defying fate for.”
Her breath caught.
There was something in his voice—a quiet weight, an almost unbearable longing—that sent a shiver down her spine.
For a moment, the shop seemed too quiet. The air too thick.
The man exhaled and stepped back. “I should go.”
Lily blinked, the strange spell breaking. “Oh… well, if you ever need a book, we’re open every day.”
He nodded but didn’t move right away.
Then, just as he turned toward the door, he said, “Be careful, Lily.”
Her stomach twisted.
Before she could respond, the bell chimed, and he was gone.
She stood frozen behind the counter, her heart hammering in her chest.
How had he known her first name?
Her last name was on the sign, yes—but not her first.
Lily glanced at the door, a gnawing unease settling in her gut.
Who was he?
And why did she feel like she had met him before?
That night, the storm returned. Rain lashed against her window, the wind howling through the streets like a restless ghost.
Lily sat at her desk, staring at the letter.
Her fingers traced the name at the bottom.
James.
A name that meant nothing to her.
And yet, it made something deep inside her ache.
She reached for a blank sheet of paper, hesitating only a moment before writing a single line.
Who are you?
Then, carefully, she folded the note, placed it in an envelope, and set it on the windowsill.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, she had the strangest feeling that—by morning—she would have an answer.
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