It started with a fight over the last copy of a book.

I had reached for it at the same time as him, our hands brushing against each other. “I saw it first,” I argued, glaring at him.

“And I need it more,” he shot back, his smirk infuriatingly charming.

We ended up flipping through the book together, standing awkwardly close in the cramped aisle. He was witty and surprisingly knowledgeable about the author, and our banter quickly turned playful.

“How about this,” he said, holding up the book. “I’ll buy it, and we can read it together over coffee.”

It was such a ridiculous suggestion that I couldn’t say no. We ended up at a café around the corner, splitting the book and taking turns reading aloud.

By the time we finished the first chapter, we were laughing like old friends. When the café closed, he walked me to my car, lingering by the door.

“This was fun,” he said, leaning in slightly. “We should argue over books more often.”

Before I could reply, he kissed me, leaving me both flustered and eager to see him again.