Crisp Pages & Cold Ink

The first time he saw her, he knew she was unique.

She was settled in the mystery section, her nose pressed into a book written by an author whose name meant nothing to him, fingers carefully treading amongst the plots and the twists of the paperback. She held the book with such grace; such gentility.

It was as if a dog eared page was the antagonist to her very own story.

William Graham's doed-eyed expression met her own as his hip sudden collided with the Summer's Best-Sellers table, sending a few stacks of books tumbling downward with fluttering wings. The young woman laughed softly as Will quickly shuffled away, cursing his own stupidity.

The second time her saw her, he knew she was real and that he hadn't imagined her the first time.

She was nestled into a corner, grasping a crisp version of a crime thriller that was, no doubt, a new purchase. He could tell by the content look on her slim face and the way her thick framed glasses were perched on her cute nose, smattered with soft freckles. The woman, flicking the page, seemed safe wrapped in her own story of death and murder and crime and killing and—

He took a deep breath, sighing. He was doing it again. That... staring thing.

William Graham turned his pale blue eyes to his own book, one far into the depth's of fiction. One not about death and murder and crime and killing.

The third time she saw him, she had concluded he had been watching her.

He had was posed comfortably at the café, hunched over a cup of coffee and a book about dogs. The spine was what had given it away, bearing some clever pun about dog-breeds and a cute mug-shot of a sheltie. His eyes were clearly jumping from word to word, and occasionally, his hand would wander up and grasp the edge of his coffee mug.

He would sip, swallow, glance up at the clock, and return to the book.

Genevieve Forde pressed her glasses back and fixed her posture.

Part of her secretly hoped he liked crime novels.

The fourth time she saw him, she decided she wanted to know his name.

The fourth time he saw her, he decided he wanted to know her name too.

But, the fifth time they had spotted one another at the bookshop, Will guessed it was fate or something ridiculous that clueless romantics (unlike himself) believed in and prayed for and made wishes on shooting stars about.

He had woken up that particular Monday morning with the intentions arriving at the café early (in order to beat the early-bookworm special), finishing his book on dog-sheltering, perhaps grabbing a cup of coffee and then heading out the door, continuing on with his day.

That stupid thing called destiny had other plans, he supposed.

He had slept through his alarm, woken up an hour late, found a mess in the kitchen (courtesy of Winston and his love of garbage), and pulled his favorite pair of pants from the drier only to find they had been plagued by the ever-so horrid stains of a blue ball-point pen.

On the other side of town, Genevieve was not having anymore luck.

This Monday had been the product of a bad night's sleep (thanks to that idiotic horror movie marathon) and the rather poor idea to wake up nice and early. Her kitten Freddy had kitty-barfed on her cardigan, her shower ran out of warm water much faster than normal, and Gen was convinced her walls were being haunted by the ghost of a woman who was murdered three doors down circa 1867.

(In reality, it was just the leaky pipes battering angrily against the framework of the apartment's walls. Genevieve was just being far too paranoid, no thanks to the Exorcist.)

But, both grinned (or in Will's case, scoffed) and bore with it. As luck would have it, both arrived at the Corner Bookshop around the same time only to realize they hadn't beaten the dreaded rush.

The smell of crisp pages and cold ink was mingling with the stench of hazelnut coffee and sweet confectionary goodies, driving Will insane. The Special Agent scooted through the chaos of the small cafe, navigating to the back corner where he had spotted an open seat.

Minutes prior, Genevieve had done the same, squirming under the gaze of a young girl who was enjoying her muffin far too much. Pretending not to notice, Genevieve tucked a carmel strand behind her ear and opened her book.

However, the story of Whitey Bulger and his Winter Hill Gang was interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

Gen froze.

"Uh."

"Hi."

"Is..." the man, the one she had been watching and the one who had been watching her, pointed to the seat across from her. He swallowed. "—Is this open?"

Gen offered a polite smile. "Yeah, go ahead. Knock yourself out. This place is packed."

It was in this moment that Will Graham realized he wanted to be normal and regular and sauve and capable of handling the pressure of social norms and—

He cleared his throat.

"Normally, I'm here earlier," he offered, settling in opposite from her, "But, this morning's been anything but cooperative."

A soft laugh left her mouth, and she nodded, softly placing her book beside her coffee. "Tell me about it. I can't tell you how accurately that describes my own morning."

Will gave a small chuckle. His green-eyes searched for something to look at, anything but her eyes. That's when he spotted her book.

"I'd never take you for the organized crime type of girl..."

Gen blushed. "Guilty pleasure, I guess. It's exciting. I've always liked the whole mobster thing... Early exposure to The Untouchables," she continued, "I guess that'll do it to a girl."

Will laughed, nodding.

Her eyes flicked to his own book. She fixed her glasses, tilting her head. "Dog-lover?"

"An understatement," Will mused, hands clasping in his lap, "I... uh, adopt, I guess. More like shelter... But, permanent."

Gen gave a sweet smile. "Strays?"

Will only nodded, a content smile flitting across his own features. He suddenly went rigid. "My apologies. I'm being rude."

His strong calloused hand reached out to meet her own soft one.

"Will Graham."

He made eye contact. He smiled.

"Genevieve Forde. It's lovely to meet you, Will."

She blinked up at him, blushing.

And that was the beginning of it all.

A/N:

So, this all really started because I noticed a lack of Will/OC stories and I definitely like reading that sort of thing. Anywho, I decided since I'm only on episode 3 that it would be fun to write about Will evolving outside of his job and trying to manage a healthy relationship. I'm so excited to write awkward and uncomfy Will. It's gunna be fun!

Any ideas for a drabble? Leave a word or idea in a review and maybe I'll write a little something about it!

Read & Review! That makes for a happy author!