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It became a quiet routine.
Seraphina never said she was coming, but Raine always seemed to expect her anyway.
Sometimes she brought pastries. Sometimes just herself. She'd settle into the same spot near the poetry shelf, her notebook open but barely written in, the pen more of a companion than a tool.
She wasn't working on lyrics, not really.
She was watching the way Raine moved through the bookstore—her gentle rearranging, the way she whispered titles under her breath like they were old friends, and how her fingers hovered an extra second on certain books Celeste used to love.
Seraphina didn't press. She didn't need to.
But Raine noticed. And slowly, almost unknowingly, she started talking more.
Not about Celeste. Not yet.
But about the books her mother used to read. The rain gutter she still hadn't fixed. The customer who returned a book three years late but left a thank-you note in the dust jacket. Little pieces.
One morning, Raine found Seraphina already inside. She was dusting the lower shelves with an old cloth she'd found by the counter.
"You don't have to do that," Raine said, raising a brow.
"I know," Seraphina replied without looking up, "but you won't."
Raine didn't argue. She handed her a cup of tea instead.
Later, Seraphina reached behind the counter to grab a stack of receipts and found a photograph taped to the side of the drawer—worn at the edges, slightly faded. It was Celeste. Standing in the middle of the bookstore with one eyebrow raised and a book upside down in her hands.
A quiet laugh escaped Seraphina.
Raine looked up from the register. Her face shifted—like someone remembering they'd left a door open.
"You can leave it there," she said softly, before Seraphina could speak. "She liked hiding in plain sight."
"I won't touch it," Seraphina said.
They didn't talk about the photo again.
But that same day, Raine handed Seraphina a key.
"Just in case," she said, a little too casual. "If I'm late or—if you want to read after hours or something."
Seraphina blinked at it. "Are you sure?"
"No," Raine admitted. "But... I'm trying."
Seraphina didn't say anything right away. Then she tucked the key into her coat pocket like it was something sacred.
For the first time, the silence between them felt like it had shape. Like something that had been waiting to be named.
It wasn't quite love.
Not yet.
But it was trust.
And that was how everything else always began.
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