In a quiet coastal town, lies a library at the edge of the 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."