“You didn’t ask. I offered.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Well… thank you,” I said, genuinely touched. “That would be amazing.”
With the heavy books in place, we turned our attention to the smaller volumes that would fill the lower shelves. I’d organized them by region and mythology type, with color-coded labels for easy browsing.
“You’ve created a classification system,” he observed, examining my handwritten labels.
“It’s a modified Dewey Decimal approach with a visual component,” I explained, pleased that he’d noticed. “The red labels are creatures associated with destruction or fear, yellow for tricksters and shape-shifters, blue for water-dwelling beings, and green for forest and earth creatures.”
“Thoughtful.” He picked up a book on centaurs from the cart. “Where would I be classified?”
The question caught me off guard. “I, um…” I hesitated, not wanting to offend him. “Technically, minotaurs are usually under Greek mythology, but…”
“But?”
“But classifications are just human attempts to impose order on things we don’t fully understand,” I finished. “Now that I’ve met you, I’d say you defy classification.”
Something softened in his dark eyes. “A diplomatic answer.”
“An honest one,” I countered. “The minotaur in mythology bears little resemblance to the architect who designs civic centers and bakes excellent cookies.”
A rumble that might have been a chuckle emanated from his chest. “Fair point.”
We worked side by side, arranging books on the lower shelves. I couldn’t help but notice the contrast between us—his massive hands handling delicate volumes with surprising gentleness, my smaller ones darting around his to adjust and align. There was something oddly domestic about the scene, like we’d done this a hundred times before.
“Have you always been a librarian?” he asked, breaking a comfortable silence.
“Since I finished my Master’s in Library Science,” I replied. “So, about four years now. I worked in a university library before coming here.”
“You enjoy it?”
“I love it,” I said, realizing how true that was. “There’s something magical about connecting people with exactly the right book at exactly the right time. Plus, I get to create order out of chaos, which is deeply satisfying to my Type A personality.”
He nodded, seeming to understand. “Creation through organization.”
“Exactly! Though I suspect your creations are a bit more impressive than my book displays,” I added with a smile.
“Different, not more impressive,” he corrected. “Both serve a purpose.”
We continued working, chatting about libraries and architecture, finding unexpected commonalities in our approaches to our respective crafts. He spoke with growing animation about a public library he’d designed in Seattle,describing how he’d created spaces that encouraged both community gathering and private reflection.
“The challenge was balancing openness with intimacy,” he explained, his deep voice taking on that warm rumble that appeared when he discussed his work. “Humans need both.”
“That’s exactly what makes a good library,” I agreed enthusiastically. “It needs to be a social space and a sanctuary simultaneously.”
As we reached for the same book—a slim volume on phoenixes—our hands brushed. In most romance novels, this would be the moment for an electric spark, a dramatic pause, meaningful eye contact. Instead, what I felt was something subtler but no less powerful: a deep sense of warmth and connection that spread up my arm and settled somewhere in my chest.
I didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did he. For a brief moment, his large hand rested lightly against mine, the texture of his fur surprisingly soft against my skin.
When we finally separated, I felt a blush creeping up my neck but kept my focus on the books. “So, um, have you designed many libraries?”
“Three,” he replied, his voice slightly rougher than before. “The Seattle project was the most recent.”
“I’d love to see it someday,” I said, then realized how that might sound. “I mean, I love visiting libraries when I travel. Professional curiosity.”
He was quiet for a moment. “It was… challenging to attend the opening.”
Something in his tone made me look up. His expression had shifted, a shadow passing across his features.
