Sam's POV

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It's a cold, clear day, and all the trees have lost their leaves, so the bare branches stretch towards the blue. It's the kind of cold that reddens your cheeks and your nose, but it feels sort of refreshing, like the air is purer. 

"Hungry?" asks Cam, his voice half-muffled by his scarf. 

"Sure," I say. He squeezes my hand. Around us, Toronto is comfortingly routine; businessmen and women walk from skyscrapers to sub-shops for lunch; new mothers in fashionable coats push strollers past warm boutique windows; an older man walking a golden retriever passes us, and I stop to scratch the puppy's head. 

"What are you feeling? How about that Chinese place we like?" 

"Sounds perfect." 

Cameron half-smiles at me, dimpled, his eyes a shade of light, golden green in the sunlight. His jawline is sharp and muscular, though there's a little shaving nick on his neck. (It was only after we starting dating, and I watched with horror as he dragged a razor haphazardly across his cheeks, that I realized no one was around to teach him how to shave properly: I re-taught him, though sometimes he still resorts to his old ways). 

It's a rare afternoon that we both have off; he had morning practice and I had my last midterm earlier. So we take the long way to the restaurant, trailing through back alleyways, enjoying the crisp autumn day, and the company of each other. 

"Hailey's so excited for her birthday party next week," he says.

"I am too. I miss her. It's been awhile."

"Do you really think she'll like the Lego kit?"

"Yeah, she'll love it. I promise, Cam. Stop worrying about it." I kiss him on the cheek. And then, because we're in an empty little alleyway, little awnings and chipped doors lining the street, he kisses me for real, and I wrap my arms around his neck, and push my fingers through his dark hair.

"Cam," I say, a little breathlessly, laughing, as he starts kissing my neck. 

"Mm?"

"What's our family gonna say if they see a bunch of hickeys, hm? We're seeing them soon."

He stops to look at me and grin handsomely, making my breath hitch. "I dunno, Sam. What are they gonna say?"

It makes me laugh. Then I squint at the door over his shoulder, and he turns around to look. 

"What's that sign say?" I ask. "On the window? It's all faded."

"I can't tell."

"Look - doesn't it look like there are bookshelves inside?"

"Yeah, it does."

I take his hand and pull him towards the entrance - there's an Open sign, so I open the door, which creaks loudly. The smell hits first - like old books, musty in a sort of comforting way, and some combination of candle wax and sandalwood - and then my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. It's a small store, but absolutely crammed with bookshelves, and where bookshelves don't fit, books are stacked to the ceiling.

"Hello?" I call out.

"Oh, hello!" replies a warm voice, and a figure steps out of the shadows. It's an older woman, with greying hair and kind, wrinkled eyes. "Sorry, I was in the back. Can I help you?"

"We just wanted to look around," I say, awed. From a little window above the door, sunlight tumbles in, illuminating dancing dust particles. "I had no idea this bookstore existed - it's beautiful."

The woman laughs. "A little cluttered, but yes, I think it's beautiful too. My wife is the owner - I just help out around the store."

Cameron is already lost in thought, picking up a book and thumbing through the pages. "This book is old!" he says, looking at the publication date. I take his arm, smiling apologetically at the woman, but she winks at me like she gets it. (Maybe she does.) 

"You two let me know if you need any help," she says.

Cameron's right - the book is old. But every book is - the store is full of rare copies, old collectibles, vintage editions. We get lost in the winding shelves, trying to find the oldest book (he wins) but what I love most are the copies with little names in it.

"Look," I call out to Cameron, opening a poetry book from the 1800s and pointing to the top corner. "'To Edith, with love from Thomas.' I wonder who they were."

He opens another book in response. "This one says: Property of Mikey."

Thinking about all these people and their old books makes me feel pensive - sentimental, maybe. Was this a book they wanted to read forever and ever? Did they see themselves in the words, like each page was a thin sheet of mirror, reflecting their own thoughts? Their own fears? Did they treasure it?

"Hey, look!" calls out Cameron, and holds up triumphantly an old copy of War and Peace. The cover is bent and worn, and the pages are nearly falling out of the spine. And the thin beam of sunlight hits his face just right, lighting up his eyes, softening the edges of his face and the color of his scarf. I wish I could take a photograph, but even that wouldn't live up to the beauty; I take a mental one, and head over to him. 

"Is there a note in it?" I ask.

"No," he says. "You have a pen on you?"

I smile and pass him a blue ballpoint. Inside the cover, he writes in his choppy, blocky handwriting - CAMERON LOVES SAM.

"Now the whole world will know," he says, kissing my cheek, then burying his face in my shoulder. As if the whole world is in this little bookstore (but I guess my whole world is). 

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Sure," he says, and he squeezes my hand. 

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A/N let me know your thoughts - hope you enjoyed this soft lil chapter! :) much love to all my readers