Anna was more beautiful than she knew. The unremarkable woman she saw staring back at her in the bathroom mirror every morning couldn't compare to the pretty girl Paul saw every time he walked into the Brookwood Library. Yet they were the same person.
Anna was a little on the short side, 5'2" in socks, and only barely more in the flats she favored. Her hair was medium brown, medium length, hanging just above her shoulders in kind of a bob. Her face didn't have any truly outstanding or unusual features: a regular nose (that she hated), brown eyes (that she wished were green), and lips that were neither too thin, nor too plump. All her features, hair, nose, eyes, lips, were set on a face that was neither too long nor too short, not too thin or too wide, not hideous, she would admit to herself, but nothing whatsoever to make her stand out in her peer group of Librarians. Certainly there was not much to make a man look twice at her, she thought, if any decently eligible man bothered to look at her at all. She wasn't particularly witty. She didn't have much artistic or musical talent. She felt completely and totally unremarkable, the personification of average, except shorter and better read.
But that's not what Paul saw. Paul saw a woman who absolutely radiated kindness and goodness. It showed through in the way she treated everyone, even the rude teens and the homeless addicts just looking for a warm place out of the rain. Her calm and caring voice seemed to melt and sooth him to the core. Her smile seemed so genuine, never forced. Adorably, thought Paul, she had more freckles on her nose and under her eyes than you usually see on a woman in her early thirties (Paul guessed). She wasn't tall, but Paul was only average height himself. He liked petite. He saw a woman whose features were perfect, everything symmetrical with no facial flaws. Paul had been keeping an eye on her for a couple of months now, and he was pretty sure she had a fairly nice body too, even if she did tend to cover it up with loose-fitting clothing. He'd seen it catch in all the right places when she reached for the top shelf, or bent over for the bottom.
Paul had never spoken to Anna. He came to the Library on Wednesday and Thursday evenings, and Sundays during the day. In theory, he was researching and working on his book, but he only went to the library during the days and times Anna worked. Most of the time he sat there he spent dreaming idly about her, unable to focus on the tasks he'd set for himself.
Anna had noticed Paul. His hair was brown, more wavy than curly, usually somewhat mussed or shaggy, medium length. He typically appeared deep in thought, not particularly focusing on anything, even though he always had a book open or sat in front of a computer terminal. She would guess he was around forty, give or take. He was neither particularly thin nor fat, nor short nor tall. Every day he wore jeans and the same oversize heavy blue cloth jacket, with a different collared shirt underneath. He seemed to be there on the evenings she worked, and on Sundays too, although not when she worked Mondays and Tuesdays during the day. She thought maybe...maybe...she'd caught him looking at her a couple of times, but he always looked away. So far at least, he'd never said one word to her. He looked like he knew his way around a library, and probably didn't need or want any help.
Until last fall, Anna had lived with her mother, in a small bungalow in a quiet, older neighborhood only 15 blocks from where she worked. Anna liked the way the large, mature Oak and Elm trees on either side of her street had grown so large that their branches almost met high above the center, beautiful and stark, almost cathedral-like in the winter, plenty of shade in the summer. The bare branches all around and above her on her walk home had suited her mood very much this past winter. Her mother had passed in November, succumbing at last to a long, excruciatingly long, slow battle with ALS. Mom had been Anna's life, and her hobby, and her obligation for the last 10 years. This was the first spring she'd been "free" since she was 23, and graduating from Library School. Anna was finally free, and she felt lost.
Paul had freedom of a different sort. He had never been married, never had children. He had a brother who lived about three hours away whom he had little in common with. They got along fine but rarely saw each other. Six years ago their parents had died in an automobile accident. Catastrophic mechanical failure had led to the car losing control at 70mph going over a bridge. They were killed instantly when they hit the water. Paul and his brother had sued, and after 3 years of wrangling, they settled with the insurance company. The settlement was enough, that Paul didn't actually need to work anymore. He was set up for life as long as he lived fairly modestly. So he'd decided to try and make himself into a writer like he'd dreamed of when he was in college. Only now, at forty years old and with nothing but time, Paul found it seemed like he didn't have anything to say. He volunteered six hours a day, Monday-Friday at the local soup kitchen, mostly out of a sense of guilt, and feeling like he needed to give back. But volunteering, at least so far, had failed to provide him with literary inspiration.
As he sat and pondered one fresh, lovely spring day, looking out the library window at the flowering shrubs beginning to bloom, a couple with their backs turned to him held hands at the bus stop out by the street. It occurred to Paul that the only thing in his drab existence that seemed to provide him with even the slightest inspiration at all, was the subtle, serene and perfect loveliness of Anna, his Librarian muse. That's when it hit him. His life needed purpose. Why not make her his purpose, get her to notice him, get her to like him, charm her, win her over, seduce her, ravish her, make her fall passionately and deeply in love with him, and then...well maybe by then he'd love her too? Or maybe by then he would at least have a story to tell.
But a real woman does not bend herself to a man's will as readily as letters on a page. Paul's plan started to go not quite according to plan almost from the start.
After arriving at his new life's purpose, Paul spent the next three days trying to figure out a "meet cute" scenario he could arrange for Anna and himself. He came up with ideas, but rejected all of them. He found a list of ideas that he wanted to think over in a book. There were too many to copy, so he took the book over to the copy machine and tried to access it, but he seemed to be having trouble getting the machine to read his card to pay for the copies.
"Can I help you?" A voice behind him interrupted his train of thought and growing frustration, Was it? He turned toward the voice and there she was. It was Anna.
"Oh! Um...oh...oh...I just...it's just that I was having some trouble getting this machine to read my card."
"It does that sometimes. You have to line it up just right. Do you mind?" She stepped forward and held out her hand to take the card from Paul, who quickly surrendered it.
"No. Be my guest..." Anna took the card (without touching his hand) and quickly positioned it in the reader and hit the button. The machine whirred to life.
"There. That ought to do it," she said, handing the card back to him. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No." Paul said. "Thank you. You've been very helpful."
"Thank you for using the Library today!" She turned and walked over toward a nearby group of teens who were talking a little louder than they should.
