If October was the vibrant fall foliage in bright reds and oranges, November was the faded final stage of decay in drab browns and grays—the not-quite-appealing gatekeeper to the inauguration of the Thanksgiving holiday.

October had gone by fast, and I had thought its ending would be devastating. Instead, it became a transition to wonderful things as great as the changing seasons.

And though the cycles in time might shift and the natural world went along with it, some things in Littleton would always be the same, like the bronze statue of Pollyanna with her never-wavering smile, and the way I greeted her with equal enthusiasm every time I visited.

But I couldn't say the same for the library.

As I entered its large double doors, I no longer found the familiar empty-of-people but filled-with-books hall. I set foot into the new patron-filled two-story structure, housing even more books.

The new digital collections had come in a few days ago, and along with them were hardcover copies of newly released novels of the year.

I had the privilege of browsing the list beforehand in the email the librarian had sent me, and I was excited to pick up a few titles off the shelves. But first, there was one more matter I needed to wrap up.

"Hey, Ms. Clark," I said to the librarian as I neared her busy desk, where a line of visitors carried stacks of books to borrow.

"Hello, Alice." She beamed a smile at me as she scanned the barcodes on the back covers. "Do you need any help today?"

"No, but I came by to tell you something." I stood beside her desk.

"What is it?" she asked as she stacked one book at a time after each scan.

"I borrowed a book last month. A red leather-bound book titled How to Fall in Love," I started. It was time for me to admit I had lost it. I never even got to read it. After the Gathering of the Jack O'Lanterns, I never saw or heard of it again. Hoping it would magically turn up, I waited a couple more days. Alas, it didn't appear again.

"I remember. I hope you enjoyed reading it. It's a wonderful book," the librarian said without looking up from her work. It was peculiar how Ms. Clark was the only one who could tell the contents of the book were wonderful—the only one who could remember it. "Do you want to borrow it again?"

"No. Uhm." I hesitated for a moment. "Actually, I never returned it. I lost it," I confessed. I had never delayed a return or misplaced a book from the library before so I didn't know what the penalty was, but I was willing to pay for it.

Ms. Clark glanced up at me and frowned. Then she returned to the patron in front of her. "Hang on one second."

I didn't mean to cut the line to get the librarian's assistance, but the patron simply nodded and smiled.

Ms. Clark typed something on her computer. "That's odd. It says here you returned it last week before the due date."

"I did?" I mirrored her frown but I wasn't overly surprised. "Okay?" A part of me believed. When it came to the red leather-bound book, anything was possible.

"I also remember you bringing it in," she said.

"Huh," I checked her computer, though I couldn't see what was on the screen. "I'm just going to go and look at it again." I pointed to the bookshelves beyond the librarian's desk.

"Sure." Ms. Clark smiled and returned to entertain the line of patrons in front of her.

I climbed to the second floor, searching the shelves in the self-help section. Despite knowing its deep red color would pop into sight even from afar, I still diligently combed the rows of books. But the red leather-bound book wasn't there.

Maybe Ms. Clark was mistaken. Maybe I didn't return it, after all. Or was it possible it disappeared again?

I did a double-check to make sure, but I still couldn't find it.

Turning around, I decided to go back down. But I paused as I realized that the magical book didn't stay where it was supposed to stay.

I made my way to the history section, passing people browsing the shelves. Right where I first found it, squeezed between brown and gray books, was a red spine.

"There you are," I whispered and picked it up.

I finally had it in my hands. It was so thin that it could only be less than a hundred pages. When I first held it, I hadn't noticed the wrinkles and small cracks on its worn cover. In spite of that, the crimson shade of it was as vibrant as a recent print.

But it was aged—a book that might even be as old as the library, more than a hundred years.

I pressed my nose to its fore-edge, taking in the aroma of magic. The hint of vanilla and glue was still there as if it was brand new, combined with the scent of earth and dust, the smell of history and wisdom. It was not young or old, but timeless.

I pulled it away from my face. Holding it in my hands now, I sensed its arcane power. My heart anticipated the experience of its magic.

I placed a palm on the front cover, touching the engraved title—How to Fall in Love—and ready to open it.

But I stopped.

What if I already knew what was written on its pages? What if I already read it but, like everyone else, had forgotten it?

And if I read it again, would it make any difference? Would I remember then?

I smiled at it. "The library takes care of itself," I whispered.

I placed it back between the graying books and silently thanked it. It played its part well.

"Watson?" Finn called, finding me between the shelves.

I turned my face to him and caught the smile that deepened his dimple and glittered his dark green eyes—a fondness I had recently noted every time he gazed at me.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

I cocked my head to one side. There was one thing about our new relationship I couldn't figure out. We'd been dating for over a week now, yet he still called me by my last name.

"You never got to tell me why you keep calling me Watson," I said.

"Right. You hadn't asked again, and I forgot." Finn scratched his jaw and grinned sheepishly.

"I'm asking now." I fully turned my body to face him.

He nodded. "Do you know Sherlock Holmes?"

"You're kidding," I said, my voice rising a few tones higher and someone shushed me from the other side of the bookshelf. I ignored it, crossing my arms over my chest. "You've read Sherlock Holmes?" I whispered.

"No, I saw the movie," he answered.

I wasn't surprised.

"But I'm planning to read the book soon. Anyway, there's this guy named—"

"John H. Watson," I finished for him. How could I not have figured that out? Well, I never knew until last month that Finn liked to watch Victorian-era movies, and I certainly never had guessed he liked a beloved character from a book like Sherlock Holmes. "So, you're saying I'm your sidekick?"

"No. Watson wasn't Holmes' sidekick. They were partners, and they were even more than that. I think I liked how Sherlock called him. There's a certain suave to it," he explained.

"Is that right, Johnson?" I asked, using his last name. After all, Watson also called Sherlock by his last name. Given Finn was doing that, I figured I might as well play along.

Finn shook his head, chuckling. "I'm not going to get used to that."

I smiled and turned back to the shelf. The red leather-bound book was no longer there. "Huh." I hoped I could have a last look before I left—maybe even a last sniff of the addictive fragrance. It had given me only one chance to peek inside and I passed on it. But I didn't regret it.

"Do you want me to call you something else?" Finn asked, making me return my attention to him. "How about my little nerdy bun?"

My brows shot up. "That's not cute," I said, walking up to him and playfully swatting him on the shoulder.

"Hey, shush. We're in a library," he said, grinning. "I think it's cute because you're a book nerd who likes Bunnicula."

"I shouldn't have told you that."

Finn looped his arm over my shoulder, and we started to walk toward the stairs.

I glanced at the bookshelves and smiled, thinking I would get to spend more time here in the next year and a half before I went to college.

"You know, I heard the book was written from Watson's point of view," Finn continued to talk about Sherlock Holmes. "That makes him the main character of the story, right?"

"Not exactly," I said as I coiled my arm around his waist, pressing our sides together. "But I like where you're going with this. So, I'm the main character, and you're the partner turned love interest."

"I can get by that," he whispered and placed a warm kiss on my temple.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you so much for staying with Elsy's story until the end. I hope you enjoyed this story. 

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