Chapter 1: A Quiet Disruption

Evelyn Harper

The hum of the library’s fluorescent lights always calmed me. Tonight, it blended perfectly with the soft whispers of scissors cutting paper and the rustle of books on the crafting table. I adjusted the bookmarks I’d made the night before, aligning their tassels until they were just right. A little excessive? Maybe. But when you loved something as much as I loved this library, you paid attention to the details.

The turnout wasn’t amazing—not that it ever was. Six loyal patrons sat around the table, chatting about their crafts or asking for more paper. I didn’t mind. This was the kind of quiet community space I’d always wanted the library to be. A safe, peaceful haven in a world that felt too fast, too loud.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the creeping fear that this world didn’t need places like this anymore. People could read on their phones or craft with an online tutorial. Who needed a library when you had Google? I adjusted my glasses and tucked a loose strand of curly red hair behind my ear, trying not to dwell on it. The nagging worry was always there, like a crack I couldn’t quite patch.

Mrs. Atwood, a regular with a talent for intricate origami, waved me over. Her thin hands folded paper cranes with the kind of precision I could only envy. “Evelyn, do you have more of this blue paper? The sky color?”

“Of course,” I said, heading toward the supply cabinet. “I’ll grab some for you.”

I returned with the paper and watched as she began folding another crane. Her concentration was steady, her hands sure. It reminded me why I loved this work—not just the books or the quiet, but the people. The ones who found solace here, who made this space theirs.

The chime of the front door interrupted my thoughts, and I glanced up, expecting one of my regulars. Instead, a man walked in. Or, more accurately, strode in, like he owned the place.

“Sorry to interrupt!” he called out, far too loudly for the quiet space. His voice was warm and smooth, but it cut through the calm like a sharp blade. He carried a stack of colorful flyers, which he started passing out without hesitation.

“Poetry night at the shop across the street,” he announced, placing a flyer in front of Mrs. Atwood. “Free coffee, great poetry, and maybe a little magic. You won’t want to miss it.”

I froze for a moment, stunned. He didn’t just look out of place in my library—he looked out of place in Willow Creek entirely. Tall and broad-shouldered, with tan skin and wavy black hair that curled at the ends, he had the kind of effortless confidence you usually only see in movies. A tattoo sleeve ran down his left arm, the bold designs visible even under his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and silver piercings gleamed in both ears. He was… well, the opposite of this library. Too loud. Too bold. Too everything.

I took a breath, adjusted my glasses, and walked toward him. “Excuse me,” I said, keeping my voice calm and measured. “This is a library, not a bulletin board.”

He turned to me, and his grin widened. His eyes—strikingly gray—locked onto mine, and I swear I saw amusement flicker across his face. “Noted,” he said, raising one hand like I’d caught him red-handed. “But hey, your patrons might enjoy a little poetry with their crafting.”

“We prefer to keep things quiet here,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Quiet is good,” he said with a nod. “But a little excitement never hurt anyone, right?”

Behind me, I heard someone chuckle softly. My cheeks burned. I knew he wasn’t trying to embarrass me, but his casual charm felt like a spotlight shining directly on my irritation. I straightened my back.

“If you’d like to promote your event,” I said, holding my ground, “you can leave a flyer at the front desk. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Got it.” He grinned again, raising his hands in mock surrender. But instead of stopping, he casually placed another flyer on the crafting table before backing toward the door. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes,” he added. “See you around.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a trail of flyers and a room full of amused patrons.

“He’s got a lot of energy, doesn’t he?” Mrs. Atwood said, her voice laced with humor.

“That’s one way to put it,” I replied, gathering the flyers with more force than necessary. By the time I’d thrown them in the trash and returned to my bookmarks, the library had settled back into its usual rhythm. But I couldn’t shake the memory of his grin—or the way he’d said, See you around.

I locked up the library later that night, the silence feeling heavier than usual. One loud, confident man wasn’t going to shake me. But as I walked home, a thought nagged at the back of my mind.

Maybe the library wasn’t as unshakable as I thought.