Sam Winchester pulled the brim of his baseball cap low as he walked into the secondhand bookstore. He was trying to draw as little attention as possible, which is hard when you're 6-foot-7. He couldn't help himself though, he just had to check out Majorie's Menagerie of Misfits and Melodramas. He was in need of a new place to get books of the fiction variety since he was banned from the library. Something about returning too many books with blood stains and bullet holes. And this store seemed right up his alley.

He looked around, taking in all the clutter and colors. Aside from books there were random pieces of furniture, a display of crystals, a case of tinctures, paintings, jewelry, tie-dyed clothing, and coverings all over the walls. And that is just what he could see from being two feet into the store.

Sam was gazing over the racks, trying to find something that looked good. He wasn't really interested in vampires, witches, or zombies—he had enough of those in real life. He just wanted something normal, like Robinson Caruso or Moby Dick.

"Can I help you find something?" a sultry voice said out of nowhere, startling him.

He turned to find a woman whose hair was the first thing he noticed. It was dyed in the Galaxy style. All the blues, purples, pinks and greens cascading down her shoulders and back were mesmerizing. And that was nothing compared to the woman beneath it.

She stood with the top of her head even with Sam's shoulders. Her face was tanned, her cheeks pink like she had just been doing something strenuous. Her periwinkle eyes sparkled with friendliness that Sam hadn't seen from a stranger in a long time. Her lips curled into a smile that offered so much more than just help finding a book. And it was hard to tell how old she was.

She carried a few extra pounds, but she carried them well. Her bare arms were toned. He assumed her legs would be as well, but couldn't tell from the flowing peasant skirt she was wearing. It was a royal blue and provided sharp contrast from her blood red tank top.

"Um, just looking." At you, Sam finished his sentence in his head, trying to remember the last time his interest had been piqued.

She slid her arms around his and pulled him deeper into the store. "Don't be shy! Vampires? Dragons? Murder-mystery? Fair maidens? Dashing scoundrels?" she waggled her eyebrows at him. "I don't judge."

He couldn't help but smile at her cavalier. "Definitely not anything…supernatural," he told her.

"Ah, don't believe in that stuff?" she asked.

"Just not interested," he replied. "Anything more traditional? Maybe something historical?

"Fiction or non? American history? European? Any particular time era?" she threw the questions at his fast, maybe too fast from the look on his face.

"Oh my god. I am so sorry," she laughed a little. "I'm being pushy."

He smiled. "It's ok," he assured her.

"I just love books and I want everyone else to love books too," she told him. "Sometimes I think people don't like books because they haven't found the right one, so it's my passion to help everyone find the right book."

His smile widened. "I love books, too," he offered.

She made a show of looking him up and down. His hair was a little long, but it looked good. His eyes were a bluish color that made her think of a clear sky. He wore an old t-shirt, or it could've been one of those t-shirts that were made to look old, but somehow, he didn't seem the type. It was just a tad too tight, revealing his toned arms and what she imaged were six-pack abs. And his jeans, they fit perfectly. Not too tight. Not too loose.

"You look more like you tear books in half for fun than read them," she quipped, then chuckled and playfully slapped his arm.

"You have got to be Marjorie," he said with confidence, thinking this place was the living embodiment of the woman beside him.

She smiled a she shook her head. "Marjorie is my grandmother who owns the place. I'm Helen." She held out her hand to him. "But everyone calls me 'H'. Except for Grandma. She calls me Hell's Bells."

"Sam," he grabbed her hand and shook it, enjoying the normalcy of the exchange. "Nice to meet you."

A thought visibly drifted across her face and it changed to absolute delight. "Please tell me you have a brother and his name is Dean."

Sam's face fell. Great. "Yep. You know Dean?" he replied unenthusiastically.

She started to giggle at his response, then noticed the change in his face. "Wait, you really have a brother named Dean?"

Sam nodded, not sure where this was going.

"I was just joking around," she quickly told him. She didn't mean to bring up an obviously sore subject. "I love this book series, Supernatural, and the main characters are Sam and his brother Dean."

"Oooohhhhh," Sam didn't know if that was better or worse. "You're a Carver Edlund fan…"

"You know the series?" she perked back up.

"Yeah, I know Chu…I mean Carver," he confessed.

She put her hand in front of her mouth and whispered loudly, "I know his real name is Chuck, too. We've met."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You've met?" he was very skeptical.

It was Helen's turn to nod. "He, weirdly enough, came into the store one day. Bought a couple knickknacks. Signed my books. He was very nice."

"How did you know it was him?" Sam asked. "He's a pretty private individual. There aren't any pictures of him that I'm aware of."

"You know, now that you mention it," she paused, tapping a finger on her chin. "He just came up and introduced himself. I guess I just thought he saw my books. I was kinda more in awe at actually meeting my favorite author and didn't really think about anything else too much."

Sam wondered about the coincidence. "I can see how that would go," he told her, remembering when he found out who Chuck really was.

"I mean, I was especially taken aback when he started talking about ancient texts and wanted to see my collection."

Sam perked up again. "You have a collection of ancient texts?"

She wondered if Sam could be more perfect. He was gorgeous, loved books, knew Carver Edlund AND was interested in ancient texts. She figured it was probably too soon to propose, not that she was his type. "I'm a philologist by day and run my grandmother's store by night…which means when I'm in town."

"Can I see your collection?" Sam asked. "I'm self-taught, but love reading historical texts, mythology, learning how to read dead languages."

Helen put the back of her hand against her forehead and pretended to swoon. In her best Southern accent she replied, "Be still by beating heart!"

In the process of her acting, she tangled her feet in her skirt and actually did start to fall—right into Sam. He caught her under the arms so that she didn't hit the floor. However, she did end up with her face right at his belt buckle.

She looked up at him, to see his face bright red. She wasn't sure if it was her face's nearness to his crotch or the face that, in this position, he had a perfect view down her shirt. Either way, it was sweet.

She turned out of his grip and plopped down on the floor, laughing so hard she could barely breath. Did she just really call him sweet? Her laughter was contagious and Sam soon started laughing as well.

She spun around on her butt so that she was facing Sam again. Then she held up her hands to him. Sam didn't hesitate in reaching down to help pull her up. She held on to one of his hands.

"Come on," she tugged on his hand. "They are in a room in the back."