I guess you could say I'm not that tall. Alright, so that's misleading – compared to the average girl I am pretty tall (five-foot-eleven), but even I can't match up to some people. "Some people" being Sam Winchester, who is all of six feet and four inches – without shoes on.

But that's the truth: the reason that Sam and I got to where we were is because he can reach things that I can't. I met him in my art history class during the fall quarter of my sophomore year. The professor wanted us to pair up and research an artist of our choosing from the 19th century, then present the information to the class. Sam was sitting in back of me, so when I turned in my chair to see who'd be free he was the first person I made eye contact with.

"Hey," I said, "I'm Jessica." I gave him a quick wave. "You got a partner yet?"

He shook his head. "Nope." Then he grinned. "I'm Sam."

See? Nothing cosmic shifted that day. He was just a nice guy, sitting behind me in one of my classes. Although he was pretty cute. Dark hair a little too long, dimples, and a tall frame that he more-or-less had to contort just to fit into those school desks. We decided to go for coffee after class to talk about the project, but that topic wore out eventually and we moved on to what other classes we were taking, what we wanted to major in, and eventually our families.

"Do you have brothers and sisters?" I wanted to know.

"I got a brother," Sam said.

"Older or younger?"

"Older. Four years."

"That must be cool," I told him. "Someone to kinda lead you through stuff when you're little, you know? Give advice and look out for you, and all that."

Sam smiled slightly. "Yeah, that's Dean."

"I think it'd be nice to have an older sibling. Or anybody else, actually." My foot was bouncing up and down on the floor. "I'm an only child." I forgot caffeine made me never want to shut up. Sam didn't seem to mind, though. That was nice.

We talked for a couple more minutes and then Sam checked his watch.

"Shit, I gotta go," he said, standing up quickly. "Do you wanna meet again later this weekend?"

I picked up my empty mug and slung my backpack over my shoulder. "Yeah, sure. How does Sunday afternoon sound?"

He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Uh… yeah, that should work."

"Okay. Sometime around three?" I smiled.

He nodded. "Okay. Well, I'll see ya then. It was nice meeting you, Jessica."

"Oh," I said, catching him as he turned toward the door, "you can call me Jess."

"Alright. Jess, then." He grinned.

That Sunday afternoon, Sam and I were sitting at the kitchen table in his apartment. We had until Friday to finish the project, and although I was always up for a good round of procrastination something told me Sam was the work-ahead type.

Well, okay, the "something" that clued me in was the line of Post-its running down the edge of his notebook, with things like "V. IMP" scrawled on them. Nobody our age read their notes before the week of finals. It was kinda cute.

"Hey," one of Sam's roommates, Mark, stepped carefully out of the bedroom down the hall, his voice low. "Uh… would you guys mind clearing out for awhile?" His gaze flashed over to Sam. "Sorry man, I hate to do this to you. Kev's still pretty messed up from last night." Mark took another step toward us and let the bedroom door fall shut behind him. "He said something about being able to hear you guys laughing inside his skull, and, y'know… I don't wanna be stuck cleaning the bathroom once he finally passes out."

I snorted a laugh but tried to turn it into a cough. I caught Sam's eyes across the table, where I could see the corners of his mouth fighting not to tip upwards.

"No dude, that's cool," Sam said as he shut his textbook.

"Thanks," Mark nodded at us and retreated back into the room.

"Jess, you don't mind…?" Sam asked.

"Nope," I said. "I'm a fan of the library anyways."

"Yeah?" Sam smiled. "Me too." He stood up from the table.

I dumped my notebook into my backpack and tugged the zipper shut. "I just think the architecture is really ornate, you know? And there are lots of cool places to study."

Sam narrowed his eyes at me, suspicious. "I didn't think you were the 'study hard' type."

"Hey," I teased him, "I read, you know. And I'm sure you can appreciate how hard homework gets when there's a hangover in the background."

"We heard that!" Mark shouted from the bedroom. Then: "OW! Dude, settle."

Sam held the door for me when I stepped out into the hall. "Sorry about that. They're, uh… not always that obnoxious?" He winced.

I laughed at him. "Uh huh…"

"Here," I said, taking the lead as we walked up to the next floor of the Art and Architecture Library. "I wanna show you my spot."

"You have a spot?" Sam sounded impressed – and still surprised.

We kept walking, between the stacks that seemed to go on forever until we got to the very end – a corner with two soft red armchairs, a standing lamp and a wooden coffee table.

"Wow," Sam said, like the view out the window was the Grand Canyon instead of just the quad. "You really found a good one."

"Thanks," I said brightly, shrugging my backpack off and dropping it on the floor next to one of the chairs. "I get bummed when other people are back here. I like to think it's just me that knows about it." I collapsed into the armchair on the right. "Well, just me and you now, I guess."

We didn't say anything for a second.

"You ready?" Sam asked me, once he'd sat down in the other chair and pulled out his laptop. "I figured we could start with a biographical section, unless you had another idea."

"That works," I agreed. I pulled out my notebook and our textbook, and flipped to the section on Edgar Degas. I wrote "Edgar Degas" at the top of the page, and underlined it. Then I wrote the date in the corner. Then my name, just in case. Focus, Jess. The library, I loved; the work part, not so much. It didn't help being the type of person who really needs music to concentrate. I usually brought headphones when I studied here, but since I was with Sam I didn't want to seem rude.

I read a paragraph or two in the book and then got hung up on Degas' picture. Ew, he's got a beard. Not a good idea, man. For like, anybody.

"Hey, dude!" called somebody from outside. I looked out the half-open window to see a short blond guy running after one of his friends. It was nice today. Sunny but not too hot, just the right temperature.

I turned back to the book. Where was I again? No, I read that part. "…grew up in Paris, blah blah blah…" Okay. Got it. Then I looked up at Sam. He had his computer on his lap, with a notebook balanced on the arm of the chair and a pen in his hand. He was twirling it absentmindedly but he seemed really focused on whatever was on the screen. After I'd hear him click a link, he'd get this frown on his face, just for a second, while he scanned the page. Sometimes he'd scroll for a bit, stop, and jut out his bottom lip while he wrote something down. And his bangs would fall in his face, but he'd shake them out of the way again when he looked up at…

Me.

"What's up?" he said, chuckling. Damn!

"Uh…" I improvised: "I'm gonna go look for another book. This one's not super helpful." I slammed it shut, stood up, and dropped the thing in my chair before he could say anything.

I could feel my face start to burn as I walked through the stacks, ducking into the fourth or fifth aisle down. I never got embarrassed! I was really good at hiding how I felt, especially when I was around someone who didn't know me well. But Sam, he had caught me off guard.

Books… books. Which one was I looking for again? Something artsy. I glanced over the shelf at eye level. Shit, all these books are about architecture. I had to find something, though, so I didn't feel even dumber when I went back to Sam. Maybe Degas felt like painting pictures of buildings at some point? Nope. Nothing.

I was just gonna have to improvise this one. Before I could think too hard on it and lose my nerve, I walked back to the corner where Sam was.

"Hey Sam?" He looked up. "Could you help me find a good one? I can't read the labels on the top shelf, they're kinda high up." Not exactly true, but I'd had to think of something fast.

He frowned again – not like he was upset, more like he was considering what I'd said. "Yeah, sure." He stood up and set his laptop down on the table, making sure it didn't bang against the wood when he did. "What aisle were you in?"

"Down here." I waved him over to where I'd been, past one-two-three-four aisles. Number five: this one.

"I was right here," I said, planting my feet in the exact spot I'd been a minute earlier.

"Huh." I watched as Sam ran his finger along the spines of the books on the closest shelf. He tipped his head upward so he could see the ones on the higher level. I looked down at his feet. He wasn't even on tiptoe! They were flat on the ground. This guy was tall.

"Well," he said after a couple more seconds, "I think I know what your problem is." He was still staring at the spines of the books, but slowly starting to smile. "You're in the architecture section, Jess."

I took one step – that was all I needed – in his direction. "Sam."

"What? Whoa—"

He froze at first when I did it, like he wasn't sure what was happening or where his hands should go. But it was weird: I sensed it when he relaxed and leaned down into the kiss. Gently, like a question, he put a hand on each side of my face. And I quit thinking about Edgar Degas, and Paris, and paintings of buildings and the library. It was just me and Sam.

But then he laughed.

"What?" I pulled away and looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What'd I do?"

His eyes got wide. "No. Oh, no, sorry, it's not you."

"Well why're you laughing, then?" I wasn't mad. I just didn't know what was so funny.

"It's just… I always knew I loved the library…"

THE END