"I'll get that."

The masculine voice comes from my right and I glance over, a hand still on my wallet inside my pocket. "What?"

The guy--young, cute in a boyish way, with red hair and green eyes--smiles at me. "Your coffee." He says. "Double caramel mocha with an extra shot? I thought I was the only person who liked those." And then he hands the cashier his credit card before I can even blink.

"You really don't need to--" I start, because it feels wrong to let this random stranger pay for my drink. But he laughs, cutting me off.

"No seriously, I want to. Plus," and he leans an arm on the counter, grins at me charmingly. "I figure it my help my chances."

"Your chances?" I ask, confused.

"You know. Of getting you to go out with me."

I stare, my jaw dropping a little. Is this happening? Am I seriously getting asked out by a random stranger right now?

Well, he is cute...

I smile a little. "You don't even know my name."

"Sure I do."

"Right."

"No, really. You're Gwen." He says, and taps a finger to his right temple. "I'm smart like that."

"How did you..."

"Gwen, your order's up!" The barista's voice comes from my left and I realize, stupidly, that he must've heard me tell the cashier my name. I shake my head at him as I walk to the end of the counter and grab my coffee. It's warm against my hands, and smells wonderful.

"So, you know my name..." I say, turning to face him. He's followed me, is standing only a foot away. He's very tall, I realize, looking up at him. "Do I get to know yours?"

"Peter." He says, and I smile. "Just Peter?"

"No."

I raise my eyebrows, and he smirks. "I'll tell you if you go out with me."

"You're bribing me to go on a date with you? Wow, you work fast." I tease, but my eyes are dancing and I feel a blush coming to my cheeks--he's really cute, and he's absolutely flirting with me, and I don't think I want to know why because it might make the magic go away.

"I might be."

"You might be? What does that mean?"

"Well..." He shrugs his lean shoulders, making the fabric of his hunter green t-shirt tighten across his chest attractively. "It depends."

I cross my arms, completely amused and charmed by him. "Depends on what?"

"On if it's working." He says, leaning forward a bit to wink at me.

I laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Did you think I wasn't?" He looks a little hurt by this, just the faintest darkening of his green eyes. I shrug. "Wasn't sure. You are a stranger, after all, and you know what they say..."

Peter tilts his head, frowning. "What do they say?"

I laugh, thinking he's kidding. "You know, stranger danger and all that?"

He still looks confused, but he nods like it makes sense and I wonder if he wasn't kidding. Who doesn't know that saying? What kind of mother doesn't teach their kids to avoid strangers?

Well, mine. I mean, I didn't have a mother, so... I shake my head to rid myself of the thoughts. "I'm busy." I say, smiling apologetically.

It's not like I wouldn't enjoy going out with him... he seems really nice, he's definitely funny, and totally cute. But... who just asks out a girl they've never met, right out of the blue? And I don't like that he bought my coffee. It makes me feel like a burden, like I owe him something.

Like he's subtly trying to guilt me into saying yes.

And maybe he didn't mean it that way. Maybe he's not that smart, or not that manipulative, maybe he was genuinely trying to be nice. Maybe it was just the only way he could think to get my attention.

But I still don't like it.

His face falls a little. "Just one?" He asks, hopefully. "It's dinner time, yeah? Just let me take you to dinner, we don't have to go far. You don't even have to give me your number unless you want to." He says, and while it's cute, it sounds like he's begging.

My paranoia sensor is going off, flags are raising in my head. Why does he want to go out with me so bad? Maybe he's some kind of predator.

Maybe he just likes me--but no. He doesn't know me. And I'm not that pretty.

"Sorry, but no. I've got a lot of studying to do." I decline, as politely as I can.

But he doesn't take the hint. "What're you studying?"

I shrug. "Stuff." I look away, out the window, trying to imply that I need to get going. He's starting to make me uncomfortable.

And there's something else, something familiar about this situation. Like a sense of deja vu. Like I've been here before, said these same words that I'm saying, before now.

I shake my head and the feeling vanishes.

"And I can't change your mind?" He asks, sadly.

I smile a little and shake my head no. "Sorry." I say, and I am, just a little.

Peter leans toward me, smiles unashamedly. "It's okay." He says, and I start to turn away. "Don't open the Book, Gwen." I look over my shoulder, frowning.

"What?"

He tilts his head. "I said it's okay..."

"No, after that. You told me not to open 'the book'...?"

"I didn't say that." He's looking at me like I'm crazy, and my frown deepens; I shrug my shoulders to get rid of the sensation. "Okay." I say, and walk away from him.

That was strange, I think as I walk down the street toward the library that I can't see just yet. Very strange.

Not that it matters. I'm very busy, too busy for boys and craziness. I have a research paper due tomorrow that I haven't even started, and there's something else... something else in the back of my head. A sense, again, that this is familiar. That I've walked this path on this day at this time with this same fall wind picking through my clothes and lifting my hair, that I've done all this already. And I'm doing it again.

I cross the street when the little white walk signal comes on, walking with a small crowd of people. As I step onto the opposite side, I feel a pair of eyes on me and I turn, searching the area. But there's no one looking back at me.

I turn away, start to walk again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a strange reflection in a glass storefront, a shadow with red eyes standing behind me.

I whirl, looking around, but only get odd stares from passerby. There's nothing there. I shake my head at myself, feeling goosebumps on my arms as I shiver. Stop being paranoid, Gwen. I tell myself, and push the thoughts and feelings away as I reach the Library of Congress.

I stride up the steps, enter through the huge doors, let the receptionist check my student ID and card. Then I head deep into the library, toward the religious history section. I'm supposed to write about Emperor Constantine and the effect he had on Christianity. Fun.

My laptop case bangs against my legs and I reach up absently to straighten it on my shoulder, so that it's in a better position. I need to find some books. I pull my phone from my pocket, glance at the screen; it's only 3:30 PM. I'll spend the evening here, finish up my paper, and be home before 10 hopefully.

As I move through the stacks, looking for relevant books and subjects, I feel like I'm being watched. And is it just me, or is it... too easy, to find all the books I want? Like I already knew where they were, like I've found these same books before.

I don't even get lost in the stacks, and that usually happens to me. It's like I know where I'm going. And always, at the back of my neck, is a strange, prickly sensation. But whenever I turn around, there's no one there.

Weird.

I find several books, and then a colorful spine catches my eye and I stop to pull it out, to read it--but it's not that interesting and I put it back, turn around--only to find myself somewhere I wasn't before. In front of me is a dusty shelf, and I frown, because that doesn't make any sense. There isn't any dust here. This is the Library of Congress, for goodness' sakes.

I reach forward to touch it, to assure myself that it's real. The moment I lay a hand on it, it's like I blink, and the whole world shifts. I'm standing amongst pristine shelves of books--no longer in the religious history section, though; now I'm surrounded by fantasy novels--and there's a book in my hands, one I've never seen before.

It's huge, very thick and very, very worn. Its leather cover is cracked and buckled in some places, and the pages are yellow with age. Embossed on its surface in some type of ornate silver lettering is its title: "The Book of Unhappy Endings".

I frown down at the book, shocked. What is this? What kind of cliche title is that and what is going on? But the questions are only there in the back of my mind.

At the forefront, is a thought, a pounding desire. This looks interesting. This is strange, unnerving, unlike anything that I've ever seen before.

It's probably a dream. I'm dreaming, that's it.

But even in a dream, I love books.

I flip the large tome open to the first page, hoping for a forward or blurb or something to tell me what it's about.

But I don't get to read it, because everything goes black and disappears.