In a quiet coastal town, lies a library at the edge of the ocean.
Chapter 1:
A Morning Full of Nothing and Everything
The library was not particularly large, nor was it especially grand. Perched on a slope that overlooked the sleepy seaside village of Windmere, it had an air of quiet defiance—like a cat that refused to move for anyone, no matter how important they thought they were. It was here that Violet Chess lived, worked, and tried her best not to lose her mind.
She stood behind the library's front desk, clutching a chipped mug with the words "I read past my bedtime" in faded script. Her bangs curled rebelliously no matter how many times she smoothed them, and her warm brown eyes scanned the room, already spotting a suspiciously familiar shape skulking near the detective fiction shelf.
"Samuel," she called, raising an eyebrow. "Are you hiding snacks in the rare book section again?"
Her older brother emerged from behind the shelf with the most unconvincing innocence ever worn by a man holding a bag of shrimp chips. "Define 'hiding.' And 'snacks.'"
Before Violet could deliver the sibling lecture she'd been preparing since Tuesday, the door opened with a cheerful ding, and in stepped trouble wearing a leather jacket: Adrian Forger, sun-kissed, charming, and entirely too good at pretending he didn't have feelings.
"Good morning," he said, giving Violet a smile that made her brain skip like a scratched record.
Behind him came a colder breeze, though the door had long shut. Remus Rhys, elegant and unreadable, swept in like the second act of a mystery novel. His emerald eyes flicked briefly to Violet, then to Adrian, then back to Violet—as if measuring them both in silence.
And just as Violet opened her mouth to suggest that maybe, just maybe, this was not the time for romantic tension, a loud thump echoed from the attic.
Samuel blinked. "That better not be the raccoon again."
Violet sighed. This was her life now: an exasperated brother, a charming flirt, a cold mystery man, and possibly a raccoon squatter. All under one roof.
Welcome to chapter one.
Chapter 2:
Once Upon an Autumn Breeze
Before the raccoons, before the leather jackets and emerald eyes, there was just Violet.
Violet Chess had lived above the library her whole life. She was the kind of person who alphabetized her tea collection and cried over detective novels. At five foot one, she somehow managed to command the attention of an entire room—though she rarely intended to. She had warm brown eyes, shoulder-length black hair with stubborn bangs, and the kind of smile that could unravel even the most tightly wound grump.
Her brother, Samuel, stood a full foot taller and operated on a steady diet of sarcasm, gadgets, and mild chaos. He was the unofficial tech wizard of the village, and while Violet sorted books, he fixed everything from the library's ancient scanner to the mayor's confused tablet. Despite his aloof exterior, he was fiercely protective of his little sister, even when she drove him up the wall.
Their parents, Charles and Eliza Jane Chess, had once been city people—he a professor of literature and philosophy, she an editor at a publishing house. But something about Windmere had called to them, and one day they packed up, left the noise behind, and opened a library by the sea. It was meant to be temporary. That was seventeen years ago.
The library was their sanctuary, and above it, they raised their children with stories, puzzles, and a lot of gentle but pointed sarcasm.
And then one day, a new chapter began.
Adrian Forger first wandered into the library one rainy afternoon looking like he belonged in a cologne ad. Sun-browned skin, tousled dark brown hair, and a voice that could convince you to buy a book you already owned. He quickly became a regular—though no one knew exactly what he did for work. He had the vague air of someone who could build a boat, surf a wave, and flirt his way into free coffee all in the same morning.
He also had a very inconvenient crush on Violet.
Then came Remus Rhys. He arrived in Windmere just as the leaves turned gold and the sea turned moody. Tall, pale, and silver-haired, Rhys looked like a detective from an old mystery drama—only with less monologuing and more soul-piercing stares. He said little, observed much, and when he entered the library that first time, he paused as if remembering a dream.
Violet didn't recognize him. But he remembered her.
Rhys had visited Windmere once as a child with his parents—two kind souls long lost to the world. The library had stayed in his memory, and so had the image of a little girl tucked into an armchair, reading a mystery with serious eyes. He had returned with no plans to stay. But fate, as it often does in places like Windmere, had other ideas.
And so, on an autumn breeze, the cast of characters began to gather.
Chapter 3:
The Village Rush
The morning sunlight poured through the wide windows of the library, spilling golden warmth across the polished wood floors. Violet had just flipped the sign to OPEN when the first of the villagers began to trickle in—though "trickle" might've been too gentle a word.
Mrs. Latham, with her paisley shawl and opinions sharper than her knitting needles, was the first to arrive. "You'll never believe what Margaret said to the postman," she said without preamble, as she marched to the romance section like a woman on a mission. "Scandalous. Positively operatic."
Hot on her heels was Mr. Harrow, who wore his cardigan like a badge of honor and spent most of his mornings pretending he wasn't flirting with Mrs. Latham. "Good morning, Violet," he said with a wink. "Have the new crossword books arrived? My brain's going soft from last week's batch."
The baker's apprentice came next, delivering warm pastries as part of what he insisted was a 'mutual trade agreement.' Violet suspected he just liked how Samuel praised the cinnamon rolls like they were culinary miracles.
"Morning!" he chirped, placing a paper bag on the counter. "There's an extra one. For scientific testing."
Violet smiled and thanked him, sliding the pastries aside before Samuel could appear and inhale them like a vacuum with legs.
Outside, the town bustled with its usual early-day noise: seagulls squabbling, shop doors opening, and the hum of gossip woven into every passing conversation.
Rhys sat quietly in a back corner of the library, a book in one hand, a cup of tea untouched beside him. He rarely spoke to anyone other than Violet, and even then, it was in brief, precise sentences. But she had noticed—he always looked up when she passed by.
She was beginning to learn the rhythm of his presence: silent entrances, long glances, occasional dry comments that landed like darts when least expected. He hadn't said much, but he had started shelving books without asking.
Samuel called it suspicious. Violet called it oddly endearing.
By noon, the library was alive with shuffling pages, low laughter, and the occasional dramatic gasp from Mrs. Latham. The warmth of the village had seeped in through the walls like sunshine through lace curtains, and even Rhys, distant as he was, seemed a little less frozen by it.
Violet leaned over the desk, watching it all with a soft smile.
Maybe, she thought, normal wasn't so bad after all.
Chapter 4:
Dinner and Dissonance
Adrian was lounging on the library steps with a croissant in one hand and a smirk in the other. "You know, Samuel," he began, "for someone who claims to be a genius, you sure do take forever fixing that ancient coffee machine."
Samuel didn't look up from his screwdriver. "For someone who owns six pairs of sunglasses, you sure do ask a lot of dumb questions."
"Fashion is a language, my friend."
"Yeah, and you speak it with a mouth full of pastry crumbs."
Violet, sweeping nearby, sighed. "Please don't duel over appliance maintenance again."
Rhys, passing silently with a stack of returned books, paused just long enough to offer: "The coffee machine only sputtered because Adrian used it like a vending machine."
Adrian turned, eyes wide with mock betrayal. "Et tu, Rhys?"
"I'm not taking sides," Rhys said, setting the books down. "But you did insert a teabag into the coin slot."
Samuel snorted. Violet tried and failed to hold in a laugh.
By evening, the teasing hadn't stopped. Somehow, Rhys had become part of the banter—quietly adding perfectly timed comments that made Adrian groan and Samuel laugh.
When dinner rolled around, Charles and Eliza Jane insisted everyone stay. "You're family now," Eliza Jane said with a gentle firmness that left no room for argument.
At the dinner table, Rhys sat a little too straight, unused to the warmth and noise of a bustling household. But Charles pulled him into a philosophical debate about poetry and meaning, and Eliza Jane kept offering him second servings with an approving eye.
"So, Rhys," Charles asked, peering over his glasses. "Do you always look like a character in a gothic novel, or is it just a seasonal phase?"
Rhys blinked, unsure how to respond.
Adrian leaned in. "It's the autumn upgrade. Wait until winter. He starts quoting Latin in the snow."
Rhys did not dignify that with an answer. But he didn't leave early either.
Later that night, Violet caught him pausing at the library door, looking back at the warm glow of the house above. His expression was unreadable, but not cold.
Something was changing. Slowly. Gently.
And Violet wasn't sure when exactly it had begun—but she found herself hoping it wouldn't stop.
Chapter 5:
The Man in the Doorway
It had been a quiet autumn afternoon when he first walked in.
The library door creaked open with the gentlest sound, and in stepped a figure who looked like he'd wandered out of another century. Tall, pale, dressed in charcoal grey with silver hair glinting under the sunlight—Remus Rhys stood at the threshold like the start of a particularly dramatic novel.
Violet, seated behind the desk, looked up mid-sip and promptly forgot what tea was.
Samuel emerged from the back room, took one look at Rhys, and whispered, "Did a Jane Austen ghost just walk in?"
Adrian leaned sideways against the shelf, narrowing his eyes. "Great. Another tall man with mysterious cheekbones. Just what this village needed."
Rhys said nothing. He stepped further in, his eyes moving slowly across the room. For a moment, they lingered on Violet.
Then Charles entered from upstairs and froze.
"Eliza," he called gently. "Come here. You'll want to see this."
Eliza Jane descended the stairs with a bemused smile, and when her eyes landed on Rhys, it softened with recognition. "Remus Rhys," she said warmly. "Your father was Rhydian, wasn't he? And your mother—Maeve?"
Rhys nodded slowly. "You remember them."
Charles stepped forward, his voice quieter now. "They were dear friends. They brought you here once, years ago. You were just a boy."
A silence fell between them, full of shared memories and the gentle echo of lives gone by.
"Have you a place to stay?" Eliza Jane asked, already knowing the answer.
Rhys hesitated. "Not yet."
"Then you'll stay here," she said. "We've a guest room. It's not grand, but it's warm."
"I wouldn't want to intrude—"
"Nonsense," Charles interrupted. "You're family by memory alone."
Rhys dipped his head slightly. "Then… thank you."
And just like that, a new resident joined the house above the library.
Adrian was still sulking in the hallway. "Bet he broods handsomely while reading poetry at 3 a.m."
Samuel patted his shoulder. "You're not wrong. And we're all doomed."
Chapter 6:
The Apple Pie Incident
The village square was alive with floured aprons, sticky fingers, and the sounds of proud bakers boasting their secret recipes. Bright bunting flapped overhead as the Autumn Harvest Bake-Off officially began. Mrs. Latham, holding a megaphone she most certainly was not authorized to have, declared it "the most glorious tradition since the invention of butter."
Violet had not planned on participating.
"I said we were going to help set up," she muttered, elbow-deep in flour. "Not enter the contest."
"And yet," said Samuel innocently, leaning against the side of the table, "here we are. With Rhys. On your team."
Violet blinked, then turned her head slowly toward Rhys, who stood next to her in a pressed shirt and expression of mild horror.
"I was told I was helping with logistics," he said evenly. "There was mention of stacking chairs."
"I may have signed you up," Samuel said, totally unrepentant. "As a joke."
Adrian, standing a few stalls over handing roses to an elderly florist, glanced up just in time to see Violet and Rhys being handed matching aprons. One said "Bake It Till You Make It." The other said "Just Dough It." His smile flickered. A rose stem snapped in his hand.
"Oops," the florist said gently, "Another one?"
Violet flour-dusted her bangs and sighed. "Alright. You ever baked a pie before, Rhys?"
"No," he said. "But I am disturbingly good at following instructions."
Mrs. Latham passed their table and gave Rhys a critical once-over. "That one's got brooding energy. Good for drama. I'm rooting for them."
Meanwhile, Samuel had joined the crowd of locals placing casual bets. "Ten bucks says Violet gives up and starts winging it with cinnamon."
"She always does," said the baker. "That's when the magic happens."
The competition began. Violet started tossing ingredients with confidence, dashing in extra spices and humming as she worked. Rhys stood very still, following the recipe card like it was a crime scene report. Their conversation was short but sharp:
"You can't just add more cloves."
"You can't just read the card like a robot."
"The chemistry must be respected."
"Cooking is feelings, Rhys."
Across the square, Adrian stared in their direction so hard he forgot to give change to an elderly man buying tulip bulbs.
By the time the judging rolled around, Violet and Rhys's pie looked… unconventional. The crust was uneven but golden. The scent—intoxicating. Mr. Harrow, wearing a stolen judge badge and holding a spoon like a gavel, took a bite and shed a single tear.
"This," he said dramatically, "tastes like heartbreak and cinnamon."
They didn't win, but they were awarded an honorary ribbon for "Most Dramatic Duo."
As the evening wore down, the square lit up with fairy lights and the smell of roasted chestnuts. Violet sat on the library steps, pie plate in hand. Rhys joined her silently.
She nudged him. "You did good, professor."
He looked down at her, expression soft. "So did you… head chef of chaos."
They both laughed. It was quiet, honest. The kind of laughter that slipped under your ribs and stayed there.
In the distance, Adrian watched them from behind a pumpkin stand, chewing on a caramel apple with excessive force.
The village gossip the next morning would be unbearable.
Chapter 7:
The Bathroom Incident
It began with a scream.
Not a murder scream. More like the kind of scream you let out when you open the bathroom door at precisely the wrong moment and discover a six-foot-tall, broad-shouldered, shirtless sleuth emerging from steam like a moody forest spirit.
"OH MY GOD," Violet yelped, slamming the door shut with the reflexes of a startled squirrel.
Inside, Rhys blinked. A towel sat heroically around his hips, and condensation clung to his silver hair like glittering snow. He reached for his shirt—too late.
Samuel, somewhere in the kitchen, paused mid-toast. "What was that?"
Adrian, who had just entered with a delivery of fresh pastries, froze as Violet stomped down the stairs with flaming cheeks and murder in her eyes.
"Who forgot to lock the door?" she hissed.
Samuel looked thoughtful. "Technically, it's an unwritten household rule."
Rhys appeared at the top of the stairs, now fully clothed but with damp hair and zero shame. "My apologies. I'll put up a sign next time."
"You'll put up a—!" Violet turned away before she combusted.
Adrian stared between them. "…Sign for what?"
By noon, the incident had somehow already reached the village's elite gossip network, also known as Mrs. Latham and the widow Ellery.
"I heard he walks around shirtless on purpose," whispered Mrs. Latham over tea.
"They say Violet nearly fainted," replied Widow Ellery. "Tragic. Or romantic."
Mr. Harrow chimed in, "In my day, we wore suspenders to bed."
By evening, half the town had come to 'return overdue books' or 'accidentally visit' the library just to catch a glimpse of Rhys.
Violet tried to hide behind the checkout desk. Samuel brought popcorn. Adrian paced the back room.
"Is he doing this deliberately?" Adrian muttered.
"He's just existing," Samuel said with a shrug. "You should try it. Maybe take your shirt off."
Adrian gave him a look that could melt steel.
Later that night, as Violet restocked the mystery section, she found Rhys already there, quietly reading.
She stopped beside him, arms crossed.
He looked up, expression unreadable. "I should have locked the door."
She sighed. "Yeah. But I've survived worse. Like that time Samuel shaved one eyebrow by accident."
Rhys allowed a small smile.
"Also," she added, "you really need to learn how to use the hot water knob. You almost melted the mirror."
"I was testing steam pressure," he replied.
"Of course you were."
Their eyes met, and the quiet stretched between them. Not awkward. Just… warm.
Adrian passed by the hall outside, saw them standing too close by the mystery shelf, and sighed deeply into his sleeve.
This was going to be a long autumn.
Chapter 8:
Pumpkin Politics
"You volunteered what?" Violet asked, holding a stack of flyers like they had personally betrayed her.
Samuel shrugged, sipping his cider. "You love lanterns. And walking."
"You volunteered me for the Autumn Lantern Walk, Sam. That's two weeks of council meetings, arts-and-crafts night, and wrangling villagers who think pumpkin carving is a blood sport."
Samuel grinned. "You say that like it's not your natural element."
Adrian strolled in, catching the last part of the conversation. "I already signed up too. Thought you might need help managing the chaos."
Violet raised an eyebrow. "You mean adding to the chaos?"
"I bring snacks and stability," Adrian said with mock offense.
Rhys, seated at his usual table with a mystery novel and tea, looked up. "Are snacks a volunteer requirement?"
"No," Violet said.
"Yes," Adrian said.
Rhys's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll bring something. What time does the planning start?"
Samuel whispered to no one in particular, "Oh good. The brooding knight joins the lantern league."
___
That evening, the library hosted the first official Lantern Walk prep meeting. Mrs. Chess insisted they use real beeswax candles ("Anything else is an insult to autumn!"), while Mr. Chess hovered helpfully nearby with blueprints for "optimal lantern wind resistance."
The library's back room became a battlefield of scissors, glitter, and strong opinions.
Rhys arrived precisely on time, setting down a tray of delicate, almost scientific-looking apple tarts.
Adrian, already present with an armful of cinnamon buns, took one look and muttered, "Show-off."
"I prefer 'well-prepared,'" Rhys replied, calmly placing his tray next to Adrian's.
"Oh my," said Mrs. Latham, who had somehow snuck in, "What a tension-frosted table this is."
Meanwhile, Violet was trying to help a group of kids carve pumpkins without anyone losing a finger. Adrian appeared beside her with a scarf.
"You'll freeze out there," he said. "Here."
Before she could reply, Rhys stepped up on her other side and smoothly removed his coat.
"Take this," he said quietly. "You'll be warmer."
The kids went absolutely silent. Then one whispered, "She's got two husbands."
Adrian's smile tightened. Rhys's eyes narrowed. Violet took neither scarf nor coat, opting instead to disappear behind the cider barrel and mumble something about needing "emotional insulation."
Mr. Harrow, now self-declared Pumpkin Judge Supreme, began issuing arbitrary carving rankings. "This one's too smiley. That one's suspicious. I like it."
Mrs. Chess leaned in toward her husband and whispered, "I think Rhys has feelings for our daughter."
Mr. Chess nodded sagely. "So does Adrian. This will be delightfully educational."
As the night ended and lanterns were lit, the villagers filed out with glowing smiles and glitter in their hair. Violet stood by the library steps, watching them with warmth.
Rhys joined her, quiet beside her shoulder. Adrian stood a few paces behind, arms crossed, watching them both.
It wasn't a love triangle. Not yet. But the corners were starting to sharpen.