There was something captivating about his quiet presence. When he caught me staring, I snapped my eyes away, mortified.

“Fitzgerald has that effect on people,” he said with a gentle smile.

“I wouldn’t know,” I admitted. “Never read it.”

He looked appalled. “You’re missing out on a classic.”

We shared a few minutes of light banter before he stepped off the train, leaving me with a smile and a line I never forgot: “Sometimes the best stories find us when we least expect them.”

A week later, he came back into my life like a scene from a movie.

I was packed into a metro car when someone snatched my purse. Before I could scream, a blur darted past me—Brian. He tackled the thief to the ground at the next stop and returned my bag with a bloody eyebrow and a grin.

“Your book delivery service is intense,” I joked.

He laughed. “Told you I owed you a copy.”

That one act of heroism turned into coffee, then dinner, then a kiss that rewired my heartbeat. Six months later, we were in love. And my mother, Juliette? She was plotting my exit strategy.

“A librarian, Eliza? Really?” she scoffed when I told her about Brian. “What does he bring to the table besides overdue fines?”

“He brings peace. And joy. And zero ego,” I snapped.

But that wasn’t good enough for Juliette. See, she was obsessed with appearances. My family lived comfortably, but you’d think we owned castles the way she carried herself. To her, image was everything. And Brian didn’t fit hers.

When Brian proposed with a delicate sapphire ring—“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said—I was over the moon. My mother? Mortified.

“That’s it? Not even a carat? Is he saving up for the rest of it?”