Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc

Six months later…

The bookstore smelled like cinnamon rolls and poor financial decisions.

Izzy loved it.

She stood on a ladder trying to reach a display shelf while simultaneously pretending she wasn’t listening to the conversation happening below.

“You know she’s listening.”

“I know.”

“Should we stop talking about her?”

“No.”

Traitor.

Izzy glanced down.

There he was.

Looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You know,” he said casually, “most people use ladders more safely.”

“Most people mind their own business.”

“That’s why they aren’t as entertaining.”

She rolled her eyes.

The smile arrived anyway. It always did. That was the annoying thing about love. At some point you stopped fighting it. Stopped analyzing it. Stopped wondering whether it would last.

You simply lived inside it. Comfortably. Like sunlight through a bookstore window. Like laughter during ordinary afternoons. Like someone knowing every version of you and staying.

He held out a coffee. Her favorite. Exactly how she liked it. Without asking. Without reminding. Without needing instructions.

The small things. The ridiculous, ordinary, everyday things. Those were the moments nobody tells you about. Not the grand declarations. Not the dramatic kisses. Not the fireworks…. The coffee. The familiarity. The feeling of finally being home.

And honestly?

That turned out to be the best part.

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