The library became a pattern.
Just… something that kept happening.
Violet would get there first, settling into the same corner table, books spread out like she was building a wall made of pages. It gave her something to focus on, something steady.
Daniel would show up not long after, easy smile, casual energy, never pushing too far.
And then—somewhere in between—Marcelo would appear.
At first, it felt accidental.
By the third day, it clearly wasn’t.
“You’re early,” Violet said one afternoon without looking up.
Marcelo dropped his bag into the chair beside her. “Practice got cut short.”
“Coach finally gave up on you?” she asked, flipping a page.
“Not a chance.”
There was a pause, then—
“He just said I needed to get my head straight.”
That made her glance up.
“And is it?”
Marc
