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"Mr. Romano?"

I turn toward the voice and find myself looking at Belle Hartwell. This is the first time I've been close enough to really observe her, usually when I come in, which isn't often she's busy, but she has never been this close to me.

She's shorter than I expected, maybe five-foot-four, with the kind of compact build that suggests hidden strength. Her dark hair catches the afternoon light streaming through the windows.

And then I catch it. Just beneath the sharp, medicinal edge of suppressants, there's something else. Something warm and inviting that makes my chest tighten with recognition. Vanilla and honey, with an undertone of something uniquelyherthat calls to every instinct I've been trying to ignore. The scent is faint, almost masked entirely, but it's there. Marcus's wordsecho in my mind: "What if she's our omega?" The possibility I'd dismissed so easily suddenly doesn't seem so impossible.

Those eyes are studying me with obvious intelligence, cataloging details with the same methodical attention I apply to architectural surveys. There's something immediately engaging about her gaze, like she's genuinely interested in understanding rather than simply making polite conversation. I find myself leaning slightly closer, drawn by that barely there scent that's making my alpha instincts hum with interest.

Her clothes are professional but not stuffy. Dark slacks that complement her figure without being inappropriate, and a cardigan in deep burgundy that brings out the warmth in her complexion. Everything about her appearance suggests someone who's confident in her professional competence but not trying to prove anything to anyone.

"Miss Hartwell," I reply, extending my hand for a professional shake. "Thank you for meeting with me. I'm looking forward to discussing the expansion project."

Her handshake is firm, confident, and accompanied by an immediate flood of questions that catches me completely off guard. But all I can focus on is that tantalizing hint of her true scent and the growing certainty that Marcus might have been right all along.

"Oh, please call me Belle! And thank you so much for taking on this project. I’ve seen your work on the courthouse renovation and it's absolutely beautiful, how did you manage to preserve the original stonework while updating the structural systems? And the way you handled the accessibility requirements without compromising the historical integrity was just brilliant, I read the article about it in the architectural review and I have to ask..”

She pauses, apparently realizing she's launched into full librarian mode without giving me a chance to respond. Hercheeks flush slightly pink, making her dark eyes even more striking.

"Sorry," she says with a self-deprecating laugh. "I get excited about good architecture, and probably a dozen other things that most people find incredibly boring."

"Not boring at all," I assure her, genuinely charmed by her enthusiasm. Most clients see architects as necessary evils to be endured while they get the building they want. Belle seems to understand that good design emerges from collaboration between form and function. "In fact, it's refreshing to work with someone who appreciates the complexity of historical preservation."

Her smile is radiant, transforming her entire face and making me wonder why the hell I haven't noticed Belle Hartwell as much as I have done lately. She's beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you, not the obvious beauty that demands attention, but the kind that reveals itself gradually and then becomes impossible to ignore.

"Well, if you're sure you can handle the full librarian lecture," she says, gesturing toward a round table near the circulation desk that's obviously been prepared for our meeting, "I have approximately seventeen different ideas about how we could use additional space, and I may have gotten a little carried away with my research on comparable expansion projects."

"Seventeen ideas?" I ask, settling into the chair across from her and noting how she's organized materials with obvious care: architectural plans, budget projections, and what looks like a comprehensive analysis of community needs.

"Well, maybe closer to twenty-three if you count the variations," she admits, and there's something infectious about her enthusiasm that makes me want to hear every single one. "But I figured we should start with the practical necessities and work our way up to the more ambitious possibilities."

As she begins outlining her vision for the expansion, I find myself studying her with the same attention I usually reserve for structural details. There's something compelling about watching Belle's passion for her work emerge, the way her entire posture changes when she talks about serving the community, how her hands move expressively to emphasize points, the way her voice takes on warmth when she describes programs that could help people.

"The children's programming space is our biggest immediate need," she continues, spreading out floor plans and usage charts. "Right now we're cramming story time into that corner over there, but the acoustics are terrible and there's no room for growth. Last week we had thirty-seven kids show up for our dinosaur program and we literally ran out of floor space."

"Thirty-seven?" I interrupt, genuinely impressed. "That's exceptional attendance for a town this size."

"Oh, we regularly exceed capacity," Belle says with obvious pride. "Which is wonderful for community engagement but terrible for safety regulations. And that's just children's programming, but we're also trying to expand adult education offerings, job training resources, computer literacy classes for seniors, support groups for everything from grief counseling to financial planning..."

She trails off, apparently realizing she's getting carried away again, but I find myself genuinely intrigued by the scope of her vision. This isn't just about adding more book storage as Belle sees the library as a transformative community resource that could change people's lives.

"Please, continue," I encourage, making notes on my tablet. "The more I understand about what this space needs to accomplish, the better I can design something that supports those goals."

Her smile could power the entire building. "Really? You want to hear about all of it?"

"All of it," I confirm, and realize I mean it completely. There's something addictive about Belle's enthusiasm, the way she lights up when discussing her work. I've spent years dealing with clients who see buildings as status symbols or investments. Belle sees architecture as a tool for improving people's lives.

"Well then," she says, standing and gathering a handful of materials, "let me give you the full tour. I tend to provide a lot of detail about usage patterns and community needs. Most people's eyes glaze over after the first five minutes."

"I'll try to keep up," I reply, following her toward the main circulation area.

For the next hour, Belle guides me through the library with the expertise of someone who knows every inch of the building and genuinely loves what she does. But more than that, she talks. Constantly. Enthusiastically. With the kind of passionate detail that most people reserve for their deepest interests.

Even as she talks, even as my mind, eyes and body follows her, I can't get over the scent. Hers. The one I'm trying so hard not to be captivated by.

She explains how foot traffic flows during different times of day, why certain seating arrangements work better than others, which areas get overcrowded during various programs. But she also peppers me with questions that demonstrate her genuine curiosity about the design process.

"How do you balance natural light requirements with climate control needs? I've read that south-facing windows can create heating issues but north-facing windows don't provide enough illumination for reading, but this is something you factor into preliminary designs or address during the engineering phase?"