The second stop wasn’t the most striking, or the most well-known. But it was, without a doubt, the most special.

The library: Maple Honey. A place I had never known, but upon arriving, I felt I belonged there.

"This is the place I told you about," he said, parking the car. "I hope you like it."

Nolan pushed the door open carelessly, ringing a small bell identical to the one we had at the café — that alone gave this place a lot of points.

The man at the entrance greeted him with a nod. "Always a pleasure to see you, Nolan," he said, reclining in his chair. "Why haven’t you come in so long?"

"I’ve been busy, sir — a café isn’t easy to maintain."

"Same goes for a library." They laughed together. "Now you know how it feels, dreamer."

I grabbed a fold of his shirt. "Do you come here often?" I whispered.

"I used to," he replied. "I haven’t been in two weeks, but I know every corner of this place perfectly." He extended his hand. "Allow thyself to be guided by my sacred hand to thy destiny, my fair silver lady."

"Is the gentleman trying to be a knight?" I laughed a little. "I gladly yield, honorable prince — I place my life in thine hands."

He led me through the aisles without a map, turning corners I would never have known to distinguish, until we reached a small section at the back of the second floor, beside a window that looked out over the cobblestone street. There was a wooden table with two chairs, and on the windowsill someone had left a small plant that was already half dead.

"Here it is," he said, setting the pot of flowers on the table. "Allow me to present my palace."

He sat down. I sat across from him.

"Why here?" I asked.

He looked at the window for a moment before answering.

He took my hand and caressed it with something like guilt. "These past few weeks I’ve disconnected a lot from what I love," he confessed without hesitation. "And today I felt I had to make up for my mistakes." He sighed, looking me in the eyes. "Ryne... even though you see me as a perfect man, I have to confess something to you."

"W-what happened?" I managed to say before running out of air. Somehow his face, body, and tone of voice were all screaming it at me. "Nolan..."

"I’ve been lying to you," he finished, lowering his head. "I’m not the perfect man I promised you. I’ve lied to you, and that’s why I brought you here — to tell you the truth."

"And what truth is that?" Dilein, I thought. "Something so important it’s eating you up like this."

"Even if you don’t believe me, Ryne — I was a great source of mockery as a child," he began. "I was a chubby kid. Bowling ball, bottomless barrel, trash can — I had no shortage of nicknames. That’s why I shut myself inside these wooden and paper walls." He sighed. "I, Ryne, was a lonely child who lied to you. I’m not perfect — I’m just an actor who doesn’t deserve you."

He tightened his grip on my hand — I could feel both the strength and the fragility of it. "Nolan," I managed to say, placing my hand on top of his. "Do you think that would bother me?"

"I thought you’d be disappointed," he continued. "If I confessed." He laid his head down on the table. "As a kid I dreamed of becoming a writer. Doesn’t that seem pathetic to you?"

I began to laugh — not out of rudeness, but because something in my chest had released all the pressure that had been crushing it. "You’re such a fool, Nolan. I was imagining the worst," I told him, watching his face begin to brighten again. "Do you really think I’d be upset over that? You were a good child — a dreamer. There’s nothing more beautiful than that."

He joined me in my laughter, as if he’d realized how ridiculous his words had been. But I didn’t stop.

"If I’m being honest, I’m not exempt either," I confessed. "As a girl I was mocked too — mostly for my hair and my strange way of being." Now I was the one caressing his hand. "Old witch, wire hair. I can’t say they were as cruel as yours — rich children aren’t very creative with nicknames." I tried to laugh, squeezing his hand. "But their words hurt just the same. There were days I showed up to school wearing a wig because I had cut my own hair with scissors. Maybe because of them I hear laughter when I see the color white..."

"And was there no one who supported you?"

"My parents were very busy — I saw them once or twice a week," I confessed. "My grandmother was the one who tried the most. She combed and took care of my hair, told me stories, and called me her reason girl. Even this sweater—" I held the neckline, pulling it gently. "She gave it to me. It was the first time I truly loved something, even if it was just an object."

"I think we’ve both been through a lot, Ryne," he interrupted, holding both my hands. "But I’m glad we each had something to love."

I smiled. "I’m glad you see it that way."

We stayed in silence for a moment, hands intertwined on the table, the pot of flowers between us — dragon tongue peeking out one side and winter squash on the other.

"Do you know what the first thing I thought was when I saw you walk in for the first time?" said Nolan suddenly, without letting go of my hands.

"What?"

"That you were the most serious person who had ever walked through that door in the entire history of the café," he replied, with that half-smile. "You came in on a Thursday afternoon, sat at the counter, ordered a coffee you didn’t finish, and spent two hours staring at the door bell."

"That bell was magical to me," I replied. "Imagine spotting a leprechaun counting the coins in his pot. That’s exactly how I felt."

"I know," he replied. "I noticed afterward. But that day I thought you were the loneliest person in the world."

"And you hired me anyway," I told him. "You came out of nowhere and said: ’Young lady, we’re about to close — do you need anything else?’"

"I don’t remember how one thing led to another," said Nolan. "But I sat beside you and we talked for two more hours."

"Your face when you looked at the clock and said ’how is it so late?’ — it was so funny I’d love to see it again."

"I only remember that you rushed to clean the kitchen and I helped you with the chairs." I laughed. "And then the next day I asked you — I stayed waiting until three to offer you a job. I still don’t know why you said yes."

"Because lonely people take care of things," he said. "People who don’t need anyone else to be alright are the ones who treat best whatever they choose to keep. And that careful attention — like placing the chairs on the marks in the floor — made me realize how much I love you."

I looked at him for a second.

"That’s very profound for an HR decision. I’m sure that was the only reason."

"Ha. Honestly I also thought it would be incredible to have a beautiful waitress by my side all day."

"That’s more honest."

"Both things are true," he shrugged. "They don’t contradict each other."

I got up from the chair slowly and walked to the windowsill. I took the small plant between my hands, checking the soil with a finger.

"Do you have any water?" I asked the man at the entrance, who was passing through the aisle at that moment.

He brought me a small watering can without asking anything.

I watered the plant with the same method as always — slowly, letting the water reach the roots without drowning them. When I finished I returned it, positioning it toward the window.

"The things that matter deserve that kind of care," I said, almost to myself. "Like you said on that first day."

I felt Nolan behind me before I heard him.

"You really liked that phrase," he murmured.

"I learned it from someone," I replied without turning. "From someone very special."

His hands found my shoulders. And the sweater, as always, chose that moment to slip from my left shoulder, exposing my collarbone with a punctuality that was no longer coincidence.

Nolan pulled it back up.

His hand stayed there a second too long.

I turned slowly.

We were too close — face to face. His hands began to slide along my sweater, so gently they didn’t even move it.

We looked directly into each other’s eyes — me into his gray-green pupils, him into mine, yellow like chamomile. The walls in the same color framed the moment, making it feel almost dreamlike.

"Nolan, may I ask you something?"

"Speak, my lady. You have my word."

I laughed a little. "We have been kindred souls for many moons now," I improvised, feeling the sweetness and embarrassment of my own words.

"I know."

"In other words — today we celebrate the day we met," I continued, holding his hand against my shoulder. "Not the day we decided to stay. That has always made me a little sad."

He frowned slightly, with that expression of his when he’s processing something before responding.

"What do you mean?"

"That I’m not a little girl," I said. "I’m twenty-two years old, Nolan. And sometimes I feel like you treat me as though I’d break if you got too close."

"It’s not that," he said.

"Then what is it?"

He didn’t answer right away.

"It’s that with you I want to do things right," he finally confessed. "And doing things right takes time and space — something I want to respect."

"It’s already taken time," I replied. "And I think that’s enough."

I threw myself into his arms.

I reached for his mouth in that magical moment.

And he — by reflex, by that instinct of his — turned slightly, and I met his cheek instead.

I stayed still for a second with my lips against his skin.

I felt small. Not in height. In another way. Like a display figurine that people circle carefully because they fear the movement of the air alone would be enough to shatter it.

I pulled back a centimeter.

"Nolan," I said against his cheek. "I’m not made of porcelain."

I heard him breathe. Feeling his heart against mine.

"I know. But I don’t know if this is what you want."

"It is what I want," I confessed. "So try to grant my wish."

Tears began to fall from my eyes — I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for them. But they started slipping down. One second. Two.

And it was he who gave me my first real kiss.

Not on the forehead, not on the cheek. But on the lips.

I felt a tingle born from my core, trembling through my entire body in an excitement I had never experienced before.

He pulled his lips from mine and whispered in my ear: "That was incredible."

And then he pulled his hands from my body.

I held the sleeve of his sweater with two fingers, whispering in his ear: "I’m not a little girl. I don’t want to stop yet."