A Bloom Between seasons

on the edge of Fairhollow. Outside, the last traces of winter clung to the ground, but inside, warmth radiated from every corner-soft lighting, the smell of aged paper, and the faintest hin

d, a low, pleasant sound. "Then I'm in the right place." He wandered to the shelves without another word, but Elena watched him curiously. He paused at the classics, fingers brushing the spine of a well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights, then moved on to poetry, lingering there. After a few minutes, he returned to the counter with a book of Neruda's love poems. "Good choice," she said as she rang it up. "A little old-fashioned, but deeply romantic." "I guess I'm feeling sentimental," he replied, then paused. "Do you believe in soulmates?" The question caught