When Beatrice was seventeen, she was absolutely certain she met the love of her life, despite having only lived 20% of it.

But then they broke up. She spent most of her twenties dreaming about fictional men instead. And when her friends kept encouraging her to get on a dating app, she eventually did, and dated a few people here and there. But nothing lasted long enough.

It was in her thirties when her sister got married and had children. Her sister was younger than her. Beatrice adored babysitting her darling niece, and she did a lot of it, since her sister worked two jobs. Romance was no longer a priority. She told herself she’d get around to it eventually.

Instead, Beatrice got a cat. His name was Oreo. She spent her forties watching her niece grow up and taking care of Oreo. But whenever she watched a movie or a show sprinkled with a starstruck romance, she couldn’t help but sigh longingly.

In her fifties, she quit being a manager at a retail store to work at a hair salon instead. Everyone there was either married, or a starry-eyed twenty-year-old with a lot of opinions. They considered her to be the work mom. She was happier there, and it helped her cope with Oreo’s death.

Beatrice eventually adopted a new kitten and named her Omelette. Her newborn grandnephew loved to play with Omelette whenever she babysat him, and her clients at the hair salon loved to listen to stories about the antics the little ones got in together.

When Beatrice was sixty-seven, she was absolutely certain she would not meet the love of her life, because she lived almost 70% of it.

Even now, in the library she took her grandnephew to, while he was busy in the manga section, she found herself wandering to the section of romance books. At least until she was abruptly stopped.

“Oomph!” Someone grunted as they bumped into her.

Before Beatrice knew it, the quiet library was grappled by the resounding noise of falling books. She fell backwards on her bum as her arms instinctively raised to shield herself from the rain of literature. It was over in two blinks of an eye.

“Désolé— erm, sorry!” The man in front of her stammered, gawking at the incident.

The man looked absolutely mortified. He appeared to be in his late sixties, donning a fedora that hid his receding hairling and glasses that framed his aging eyes. But when he saw Beatrice, his expression softened.

Her silky, short grey hair was curled beneath her ears. She wasn’t angry or upset at all—instead, she was smiling, with soft wrinkles under her cheekbones. Her eyes crinkled with amusement as she looked up at him, and he was taken aback by how beautiful she was.

“It’s okay.” Beatrice reassured with a soft chuckle, her voice thin and sharp with experience and use. “Was that… French?” She asked, referring to his apology.

The man bobbed his head into a nod. “Yes, I’m from France. I was here to sign books.” He answered with a sheepish smile, then gingerly offered his hand to her. His soft-spoken accent was soothing to hear.

“You mean you’re…” Beatrice’s voice trailed off, and she glanced over to the direction of the book signing table she recalled seeing at the front of the library. “Oh my, that’s impressive!” She grinned and took his hand. “I’ve never met an author before.”

He was surprised by how firm her grim was. Her hands seemed so delicate, yet she was quite strong. He pulled her up and let his touch linger before he retracted his hand.

“Ah, I’m only the scientist behind the research, it was my friend who put it to paper. It was a collaborative effort.” The man chuckled as he adjusted his glasses.

He bent down to pick up the books he dropped. Beatrice, despite how she just got up, knelt down too so she could help. “Still impressive.” She remarked.

The man exhaled a small, amused breath through his nose, his eyes glistening with joy. He cleared his throat and looked down to the books he was picking up. “Erm… and what brings you here?”

“I’m here with him.” Beatrice explained as she picked up a novel, and pointed to her grandnephew with the book she held.

The boy was sitting on a beanbag chair on the other side of the large room, his nose buried deep in the manga he was reading. So much so that he didn’t seem to notice her fall earlier.

“Your grandson?” The man guessed.

“No, no! My grandnephew. I don’t have children.” She laughed. She was used to this assumption.

“Ah, then, are you married?” The man asked before thinking.

Beatrice met his eyes when he asked this, causing him to immediately drop his gaze back to the ground. His heart hammered in his chest as a surge of embarrassment rippled through every beat. He was about to apologize for his boldness, but then she spoke up again.

“I’m not. Are you?” Beatrice asked with a pursed grin, mentally crossing her fingers.

“No.” The man scratched his cheek and turned his head to hide his happy smile. He sighed, recollecting himself, and met her eyes again. “I… do not have any family. I dedicated my life to my research, but now that I’m retired, I think it would be nice to find one.”

Beatrice bit her lip and stared at him with a hopeful twinkle in her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt such a fluttery feeling in her stomach.

“Uh, I’m Pierre, by the way.” He smiled shyly.

“I’m Beatrice.” She replied gently.

Silence befell them, the air thick with hesitation and quiet giddiness. She watched his changing expression as he seemed to go through as many thoughts in his head as she was. Their minds were racing, getting so close to the finish, a line they wanted cross.

“Since you’re from France, I can show you around later if you want. There’s a restaurant I know.” Beatrice suggested to break the tension, and held her breath with anticipation.

Pierre’s eyes widened. He smiled so widely that his dentures could’ve fallen out, and his eyes twinkled so brightly they could’ve reflected in his glasses. He opened his mouth to reply.

“Y-yes! That would be… that would make me happy.”