William Grieves was an ordinary man. He stood at a compact 5'10" and kept his muscles well-corded and sleek with Pilates and cycling. He had a mop of sun-bleached curls and wore wire-rimmed glasses that often slid to the bottom of his nose. His most striking features were sharp cheekbones and startling blue eyes.

He was a fairly simple man. He didn't own a car, preferring to ride his bicycle anywhere he needed to go. He lived in a neat brownstone in a neighborhood that was a throw-back to the 1950s, complete with corner drug store with a soda fountain and a juke box. The trip to work took just five minutes on his bicycle. Down the sidewalk, to the corner, left to Margate and right to Main.

"Buy the Book" was small, comfortable and loaded with shelf after shelf of some of the most unusual books imaginable. Some books were brand new, their covers still gleaming, their pages crisp and white. Some were lovingly used, pages dog-eared from being marked, their covers soft and worn. Whether it was a rare childhood favorite like Lopshire's I Am Better Than You about a lizard named Sam who thought that nobody was better than him, or the mystical Caritas Book of the Dead which housed ancient Aztec spells and potions, one could find it on the overloaded shelves of "Buy the Book." That which couldn't be found, William would hunt down for the customer himself. His dream had been to own a bookstore since he was a small child. At the determined age of 25, he had done it. Now, at 32, he was successful and comfortable.

The jingle bells chimed musically as the shop door opened and closed.

"Oh, Mr. Grieves," smiled a young woman with sea-green eyes. "I can't thank you enough for your suggestion! Willow loved Sappho's Leap. You always seem to know exactly what I need."

"It's my pleasure, Tara," he said, returning her smile from behind the register. "And how many times must I beg of you, please call me William?"

"And how many times must I beg of you, please come by for dinner?" She retorted.

He sighed and nodded, taking his glasses from their perch upon his nose to polish them on his shirt sleeve.

"Tell me when and I'll be there," he promised, giving in to the young woman's understated charm.

"Tonight. At 6."

He nodded again, returning the glasses to their proper place before they slid slowly to the edge of his nose, once again.

She reached into her purse and retrieved a business card of cream-colored parchment. It read "Maclay-Rose Herbs and Brews." Tara and her life-partner, Willow, owned a little store front on Miller that sold home remedies and, to those who were in the know, ingredients for spells and potions.

"We live upstairs," she told him. "Willow makes a mean vegetarian lasagna. Come hungry!"

He pushed his nose back into a new arrival as soon as Tara left. It was a book of Victorian Erotica that had recently been shipped from England. The Sins of our Fathers would soon join the rest of his extensive collection of Victorian literature at home.

"I... I don't know, Willow," Buffy told her friend on the phone. "I... I just don't think I'm ready for this kind of thing."

"It's been two years, honey," Willow reminded her softly. "I hate to disagree, but really, it's time. You've turned into a recluse, Buffy. Let's start those baby steps. Baby step it over here for dinner tonight."

Buffy sighed, knowing she was defeated.

"I'm making my famous vegetarian lasagna and Tara baked a caramel cheesecake," she tried, well aware of Buffy's weakness for sweets. "And you can leave as early as you want. No resolve face or Wiccan guilt thrown your way if you aren't having a good time."

"Will," her friend interrupted. "You had me at cheesecake."

William glanced at his watch, surprised that it already read 6 PM. He had lost himself in a sea of customers and then a sea of tranquility as he delved back into his book. Tara would think that he had stood her up. He pulled her business card from his pocket and dialed her number quickly.

"I lost track of time," he explained when she answered. "Let me just lock up and I'll be on my way."

Buffy stared at the clock. It was already after 6 PM. She was already late. And she was still wearing one of Angel's old black t-shirts and a pair of ratty sweatpants. She looked around at the neatly stacked boxes and sighed. Willow would just have to understand.