He sees her there, in her usual corner, at her usual table. She is holding her cup in the special way that only she does, smiling down at a book that has her completely enraptured. Every so often she puts the cup down to tuck that stray lock of dark hair behind her ear—the one that always seems to spring loose from her ponytail; the one that has the pleasure of caressing her cheek.

He will never say it out loud, but he is jealous of the errant curl.

She glances up and catches him looking at her. Like anyone caught in the same predicament, he pretends to look at something just over her right shoulder. There is nothing there, really, but in that moment he knows he is caught and he makes a mental note to introduce himself.

He doesn't see her smile at his ineffective cover up.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him looking at her. She enjoys his gaze. It's never intrusive, never disrespectful. Often she feels like she's floating on an unsaid compliment—if someone as beautiful as he finds something intriguing in her, well, that can't be too bad, right?

And he is beautiful: dark gold hair, eyes that, depending on what angle he stands in the sun, seem to run the spectrum from the lightest blue to the darkest navy. He has lips that curl easily into a smile, revealing a slightly crooked tooth that is more endearing than anything.

Their encounters run like clockwork: he arrives as she sits at her table, he steps up to the counter to order his usual brew and pretends not to look at her as he is waiting for his order to be filled.

She has been coming to this coffee shop longer than he has so she knows that he is new to the neighborhood. She vows that one day she will get up the nerve to introduce herself.

They continue to dance around each other for a couple of weeks, but their exchanged looks are no longer hidden. She catches him looking at her again, but this time his gaze doesn't break. His lips form a smile that makes her forget to breathe and she finds herself unable to look away.

They hold each other's attention until he is tapped on the shoulder by the cashier, impatient that he has held up the line and is making eyes at a woman who looks like she would not protest if he just walked up to her.

The spell is broken and she looks down again at her book, but she feels her skin tingling and is praying that he comes to her table to introduce himself.

He doesn't. He looks down at his watch and sees that he is late. He makes a mad dash out the door, sprinting to his car, hoping that he doesn't get inconvenienced by traffic. He is mentally berating himself because he had his chance and blew it. But he knows that there is always tomorrow.

He doesn't see her hurt expression. But then she shrugs and smiles again because she knows that he will be in the coffee shop tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow she will be braver.

The next day she arrives at the coffee shop a little later than usual and knows that she will not have the time to sit down and hoard the few precious minutes she has at the start of every day to read her book. She sees the familiar gold hair at the counter and her heart starts beating the rhythm it does when he is around.

Then she notices that he has his arm around a woman. And the way she stands just that little bit too close to him tells her that they are not casual acquaintances.

The woman is tall, with smooth alabaster skin and hair that flows like a shining black river down her back. She is dressed in an emerald silk dress that should have looked out of place in such a casual environment, but instead it makes her look perfect. And he is, as usual, perfect in his dark gray suit.

She looks down at herself and sees that her lavender cotton top and indigo denims are no match to these creatures of perfection. Her heart, once buoyed by the sight of him, sinks to her knees and she finds herself unable to take another step further. It is only when the friendly cashier waves her over does she look up and slowly make her way to the counter.

"Hey, Gwen. The usual today?"

She nods and smiles back. Hot chocolate spiced with just a little bit of cinnamon with no whipped cream. She keeps her eyes trained forward even as she feels his gaze move over her. She sighs when she feels the rebellious curl once again brushing against her cheek and she tucks it back behind her ear, shaking her head just a little bit.

"Thank you," she says as she accepts the thick paper cup from the server, raising it slightly to her nose for a quick sniff. Her heart may be in pain but that is no reason to ignore good chocolate. She pays her bill and moves out of the line. She feels his gaze on her as she makes her way out of the shop.

He feels a little hurt, too. He keeps his eyes on her as she stands just a few feet away from him. This is the closest he had ever been to her, and dammit, he knows he should have taken the chance to introduce himself. Instead, he keeps his gaze on her and hopes that she turns his way.

But there was a barely a smile on her face today and she acted like he wasn't even there.

This was the loveliest he's ever seen her. In her lavender blouse and perfectly-fitted jeans, she looked like spring. And when that curl fell on her cheek, he had to stop himself from reaching over his sister to tuck it behind her ear himself.

Gwen, he hears the cashier call her name. His lips form her name and he finds himself liking how her name rolls off his tongue. It was beautiful, unique, special—just like her.

But she seems...bothered today. Like she was carrying a weight on her shoulders. He notices that she keeps her gaze to the ground and that her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. He is bothered by that. He wants to know why she is unhappy and what he can do to change it.

Just as he is about to move closer to her, she takes her paper cup and turns to walk out the door. His heart falls because for the first time, she doesn't look at him. He is surprised at just how much that hurt.

"Arthur," his sister calls his attention. "Who is she?"

She tilts her head at the direction of the door, indicating the woman who just walked out of the coffee shop.

He shrugs and turns his attention back to the cashier who just told him the amount they need to pay.

"No one."

'Possibly the love of my life,' he thinks.

The next day, Gwen stays out of the coffee shop because she knows he was going to be there. She stops by during her lunch hour when she knows the store is going to be occupied by people who just order and dash out the door. Service is quicker and it leaves her with little time to mull over what happened yesterday.

She gives herself a mental shake and queues behind a harried-looking woman in a suit who is on her mobile phone. Gwen overhears snatches of conversation and she finds out that Ms. Suit is in deep trouble at the office. Something about a botched deal.

Gwen smiles at that. One of the good things about working in a library is that there is never any danger of making a wrong decision and have it destroy lives. The worst that can happen is that she finds herself in contact with someone who has no idea how the Dewey-Decimal system works.

She steps up to the counter and gives her usual order to the cashier. He smiles and says that he missed her during the early morning rush. She shrugs and gives a vague reply. She can't tell him that she is less likely to have her heart broken during the lunch rush, right?

She takes her cup, pays her bill, and makes her way out of the shop. She doesn't notice the blonde man in the suit who just rounded the corner and is now standing stock-still in the middle of the busy sidewalk. She also doesn't see the dark-haired woman who is standing a few steps behind the man and whose lips are curled in a smile that hints at a mischievous plan that just hatched in her mind.

Arthur stands and stares at the woman who just exited the coffee shop. Her hair, which he knows to be the darkest shade of brown he has ever seen, turned a golden bronze under the afternoon sun. The tawny perfection of her skin glows in the same light and he is mesmerized.

Gwen, he thought, and his heart lifts at the sight of her. He didn't see her in the coffee shop that morning and he ached a little when he realized that she wasn't going to come. He had resolved that today would finally be the day he introduced himself, but when he saw that she wasn't there, his already hurt ego cracked just a little more.

"So that's the girl," a voice says just over his shoulder.

He turns to see his sister following Gwen's form as she crosses the street to enter the public library. And before he can ask her what she is up to, Morgana sprints down the sidewalk and follows Gwen into the building.

"What are you doing?" He hisses, bolting down the street in pursuit.

He steps into the quiet building moments after his sister and his eyes widen when he sees her making a beeline for the woman who has effortlessly stolen his heart.

Morgana! He wants to yell, but he follows her instead, wanting to see how this pans out and just how much damage control he will have to do after whatever scheme his sister had in mind was done.

She sits at her desk and is preparing for a long afternoon of answering e-mails from various government offices and donors. It isn't a task that she relishes, but she knows that the library would be closed if not for their support. Just as she pulls up the first e-mail, the door to her office suddenly opens.

The elegant woman with long, dark hair is soon standing in front of her.

"May I help you?" She asks.

The woman holds out her hand and smiles broadly at her.

"I'm Morgana Pendragon."

Gwen glances down at the e-mail she is just about to answer. Pendragon Industries, it says. She looks up at the woman who is swathed in silk and then down again at herself. She sighs at her cotton and lace but stands up, walks around her table, and extends her hand as well.

"Guinevere Degrance."

She waves a hand at a chair and invites the woman to sit. She isn't altogether keen about this change in her schedule, but donors to the library are like visiting royalty—and they don't get more important than the Pendragons.

The conversation isn't about her job, however. Morgana says that she saw her at the coffee shop the other day and apologizes that an introduction wasn't made then.

She thinks back to that day and feels the familiar throb of irrational pain pressing on her heart. The elegant woman has that look about her—the easy confidence that comes with a social pedigree and wealth. The same impression she received from the blonde man who has captured her attention all these weeks.

Perfection deserves perfection, Gwen inwardly muses and not without a tinge of bitterness. And she is about as far as perfect as they come.

She and Morgana chat about that morning in the shop. She says that she was new in town and that she is looking forward to spending a lot of time in the library.

Gwen expresses her appreciation of Pendragon Industries' support of the library and that she will be more than happy to give Morgana a tour of the facilities if she has the time.

It was at that moment that the door of her office was flings open again, only this time it is the blonde man. He looks slightly out of breath and it was hard to ignore the blush that colored his cheeks as he trains his eyes on her.

"Morgana," he says as he straightened his tie.

"Arthur," the woman replies as she stands up and smiles.

Gwen stands up as well.

'Arthur', she says his name in her head. 'Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.'

She stands silently as she waits for Arthur to come closer. She knows his eyes are on her and while it pleased her, she also feels a little bad for Morgana. Shouldn't he be looking at her, instead?

"Gwen," Morgana says once Arthur is beside her. "This is Arthur, my younger brother."

Gwen's eyes met Arthur and for the life of her she is unable to stop the smile that bows her lips.

Arthur sees her smile and his heart lifts again. He barely hears Morgana's introductions and instead concentrates on keeping his hands at his sides when all he wants to do is to reach across and touch Gwen's cheek.

"Arthur is the person to thank for the donations," Morgana says.

"Thank you, Mr. Pendragon."

Her voice is warmth and sunshine and at that moment, Arthur knows that he is undeniably, irrevocably hers.

"Arthur," he corrects her. "I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

Another smile. Arthur takes a step closer, drawn to the spell cast by her presence.

"Arthur, then. I'm Guinevere Degrance, but most people just call me Gwen."

Guinevere. His heart beats the cadence of her name.

They are both unaware of Morgana stepping back and making her way out the door. He barely acknowledges her explanation of needing to go back to the office and that she will understand if he doesn't come back.

The spell is broken when they hear the door close as Morgana leaves.

"I guess she's gone," Guinevere says, a note of wonder in her voice.

Arthur takes another step closer. "I guess so."

She looks up at him and Arthur sees realization slowly dawn in her eyes.

"Forgive me," she says. "Please take a seat Mr. Pendragon and would you like anything to drink?"

"Go out with me," Arthur blurts out and takes her hand in his.

She looks at their hands and slowly laces her fingers with his. He notices the slight shiver that passes through her as she does.

"Yes," she says and with that word Arthur feels ready to take on the world.

He lifts her hand to his lips and places a light kiss on her fingers. Her breath catches in her throat.

They come to the coffee shop together these days. He always opens the door for her—and Morgana, too when she comes with them—and she always waits for him to enter before walking over to the counter where they place their orders. Sometimes they sit at her table, but that usually happens on weekends when they have more time.

It is her hand that he holds now, her shoulders that his arm is across. Often, it is his fingers that brush away that rebellious curl that always escapes the braid or ponytail she usually styles her hair in. She always leans up for a kiss every time he does.

Today is a Saturday and it means a leisurely morning spent with each other while sipping their favorite drinks. But instead of taking it at their usual table, Arthur orders it to go and they have a picnic instead. They are under the shade of large tree; privacy is not an issue as this one is on the grounds of the Pendragon estate.

Arthur's head is on Guinevere's lap and she is leaning against the trunk of the tree. They are both quiet, relishing the warmth of the morning sun. Her hand is in his and she smiles as he draws it to his lips, kissing her fingers, her knuckles, her palm, and the inside of her wrist.

"Guinevere," Arthur says and proceeds to get up.

"Hmm?" She answers, shifting as he stands.

He puts out his hands and he invites her to rise as well. She does, coming gracefully to her feet. He envelops her in an embrace and buries his face in her neck, inhaling the fragrance of the curls that settle there, loving how she fits perfectly in his arms.

She is surprised when he lets go and takes a step back from her.

"Arthur?" She asks.

His hands travel down her arms and she gasps as he goes down on one knee.

"Arthur?" Her voice is now breathy and she suddenly finds that there are tears in her eyes.

He plants kisses on her palms before letting them go to fish something out from the pocket of his trousers. He pulls out a small velvet box and opens it. A ring is nestled inside and Guinevere doesn't know if the shine coming from it is caused by the sun or by the tears that are threatening to fall.

He makes a speech about how she is perfect in every way and that he is complete only when she is with him. He tells her that he loves her with his heart and soul and that he is devoting all his tomorrows to her. He looks into her eyes as he says these and he sees the tears that are about to spill, noting how she has not said a word, and hoping against all hope that she will not say no.

"Will you marry me, Guinevere?"

There is a silence and Arthur feels like he is standing on the edge of a cliff.

"Yes," Guinevere whispers and at once Arthur feels victorious and humbled at the same time.

He slips the ring on her finger and she barely looks at it before flinging herself into his arms. He loses his balance and they tumble to the ground. Guinevere is on top of him and he feels the warmth of her tears against his neck. She is weeping and saying I love you and yes—over and over and over again.

Arthur smiles and kisses the top of her head—she has yet to move and he is actually quite fine with having her just where she is. And then he slowly moves so he is sitting against the trunk of the tree and she is nestled beside him.

Their drinks are forgotten but it doesn't matter, they can always go back to the shop.