Pinky Promise You'll Love Me

"It's just you and me, Mr. Darcy," I murmured to myself, gently tracing my fingers along the embossed title.

"Personally, I'm more of a John Willoughby fan, but Mr. Darcy is tolerable," a voice interjected, catching me off guard. I looked up, searching for the source of the remark.

"Excuse me?" I queried, perplexed, as I observed the guy standing to my right, his arms full with three books, his damp coat indicating exposure to the rain, his dark hair slightly flattened.

"I'm sorry?" I furrowed my brows, observing him closely.

"John Willoughby, he's from 'Sense and Sensibility.' I assumed you read as well, based on what you just said," he explained, taking a step closer with a smile, dimples forming on his cheeks. I rose from my kneeling position, momentarily flustered.

"Oh, right," I replied, allowing a small, awkward laugh to escape.

"You've read 'Sense and Sensibility,' right?" he inquired, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Yes, I have, actually. I don't really have a favorite Austen character, so..." I trailed off, shrugging my shoulders, before refocusing my attention on the books that awaited unpacking.

He lingered nearby, as if searching for the right words to say. "Do you need help finding anything?" I offered, attempting to maintain a polite distance.

"No, I come here every weekend. I know this place like the back of my hand," he chuckled.

Smiling, I hoped he would interpret it as a sign to leave me to my task. "Yeah, well, I'll see you around," he said, stepping back. I murmured a noncommittal response, directing my focus back to the books that awaited my attention.