The next time Rowan came into The Rusted Spine, he didn't say anything.
Just tossed a worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray on the counter like it owed him money and said, "This place still doesn't have a self-checkout?"
Seraphina didn't look up from her tea. "This isn't a gas station."
He leaned over the counter, elbow on wood, chin in palm. "You always this friendly to paying customers?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You always this annoying before noon?"
Rowan grinned. "Only when I'm intrigued."
Her hands paused mid-scan.
That word. Intrigued.
She hadn't heard it in months. Hadn't been it in longer.
But she said nothing. Just bagged the book, handed it to him without a word, and went back to sipping her lukewarm chamomile.
Rowan left whistling a tune that sounded like trouble in minor key.
---
Days passed. Rain, fog, more Rowan.
He never stayed long. Bought one book at a time. Sometimes just asked for recommendations and ignored them. Always had a smartass comment. Never pushed.
Seraphina hated how she started looking for him.
He was the only thing in Willow's End that didn't feel safe.
---
"You like him," Daphne said one night, sorting through a box of old poetry books.
Sera didn't even look up. "I tolerate his purchases."
"Mm-hmm. And I tolerate gravity."
Sera side-eyed her boss. Daphne was in her sixties, wore combat boots and eyeliner, and spoke like someone who'd lost everything once and built a kingdom out of the wreckage.
"He's got shadows," Daphne added. "Not the dangerous kind. The sad kind."
Seraphina rolled her eyes. "I'm not looking for anyone with shadows. I've got enough to furnish a mansion."
"Maybe he's not here to take up space. Maybe he's just here to sit in the dark with you."
Sera didn't answer. Just flipped a page and pretended it wasn't trembling.
---
That Friday, after hours, Daphne hosted what she called "Fix-It Night"—which was really code for "stay late, drink wine, and pretend we're organizing inventory."
Rowan showed up with a bottle of red and a crooked smile. Sera arched an eyebrow but didn't ask how he knew. Daphne had her ways.
They lit candles. Played old records. Talked about books like they were old friends who'd betrayed them.
Rowan repaired a broken bookshelf like it was his job. Hands steady. Silent, focused. Sera watched him in between sips of wine, pretending not to.
"You've done this before," she said eventually.
"Shelves?"
"This." She gestured vaguely at the hammer, the books, the silence.
He didn't look up. "I used to build things."
"And now you just read brooding literature and haunt small-town bookstores?"
He finally looked at her, and there it was—that flicker of something hollow and heavy. Not the pain of heartbreak. Something older. Something quieter.
"Something like that," he said softly.
Sera didn't ask. Not yet.
But she filed the ache in his voice away like a clue.
---
Later that night, with Daphne snoring in her office and the wine gone warm, Rowan and Seraphina stood outside under the stars.
The ocean was louder at night. The wind colder.
"You always wear black?" he asked, hands in his pockets.
Sera looked down at her sweater. Oversized. Soft. Safe.
"Helps me disappear."
He studied her for a moment. "You don't seem like someone who wants to disappear."
She didn't answer. Because she wasn't sure anymore.
When she'd come here, she'd wanted silence. Now? She wasn't sure what she wanted—only that the quiet wasn't healing anymore. It was starting to rot.
Rowan looked at her like he could see the words she hadn't spoken. Like maybe he had some of his own.
He stepped closer. Not invading. Just… there.
"You don't have to tell me," he said. "But if you ever do… I'm good at listening."
Sera's throat tightened. She hated how kind he sounded.
"Why would you care?"
Rowan's gaze didn't flinch. "Because I know what it feels like to be left with questions and no one willing to answer them."
She blinked.
He stepped back. "Goodnight, Seraphina."
The way he said her name—it wasn't sweet. It wasn't charming. It was real. Like he saw the whole mess of her and didn't flinch.
She didn't say goodnight. But she watched him walk away.
And for the first time in three months… she wanted to stay awake.