The copy ofGone Girlwe’d found in that tiny bookshop in Berkeley. The signed copy ofWhere the Crawdads Singthat he’d spent three months’ savings on. The complete collection of Percy Jackson first editions that Pop-Pop had given him for graduation. More.
“What are you doing with these?” But I already knew. The sick feeling in my stomach grew worse when he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“It’s none of your business.” His voice was flat.
I knew without a doubt he was going to sell them.
Another crash of thunder, but this time he held himself firm. His walls were back up.
“Mason…” What could I say? That he shouldn’t sell his treasures? That there had to be another way? I’d only shame him.
“You should go.” He stood, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m fine now. Really.”
I stood, too, and shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for him again. “The storm’s still bad.”
“I’ve survived plenty of storms alone.” The words carried a meaning that made me wince. “I’ll be fine.”
Walking away from him felt wrong, like leaving a broken bird in the rain. But he’d learned to survive storms without me. He’d learned to survive everything without me. I sighed, my heart aching.
I scribbled my number on a notepad beside his books. “Call me if you need me.” But I knew he wouldn’t. With a heaviness in my chest that made each breath an effort, I let myself out.
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, my mind was already working. An idea started forming—a collaborationopportunity that could benefit both the local artists and the bookstore.
I’d have to be careful how I presented it. Mason’s pride was as strong as his love for the bookstore. But I’d find a way to help him save his precious books, his business, his grandfather’s legacy.
I owed him that much, at least.
CHAPTER THREE
Caleb
With the storm over, the next morning dawned clear and bright, sunlight gleaming off puddles and rain-slicked streets. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries carried on the fresh breeze that had blown away last night’s darkness. But my stomach still churned with worry for Mason.
At The Coffee Cove, steam curled from the espresso machine as Cooper crafted Mason’s favorite latte for me. The rich scent of coffee and warm pastries filled the air, so different from the ozone-sharp tang of last night’s storm.
“Extra shot of espresso?” His hands moved with practiced efficiency.
I nodded. “He probably needs it this morning.”
Understanding flickered in Cooper’s eyes as he added the shot. Had he known Mason long enough to know about the storms? About his parents? The thought made something twist in my chest—I was the outsider in Seacliff Cove.
The bell above the bookstore door chimed when I entered, the sound mixing with the George Benson tune playing softly through hidden speakers. Mason stood at the counter, sorting through paperwork. My heart ached at the sight of him—hisshoulders were tight with tension, dark circles shadowing his eyes. His usual warm complexion looked pale, making his scruff stand out darker against his jaw.
He glanced up, and something flickered across his face—embarrassment? fear?—before his expression closed off. “Oh. Hi.”
“I brought coffee.” I set the cup on the counter, careful not to let our fingers brush. “Vanilla latte. Extra pump of vanilla. Extra shot of espresso.”
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for it. “You didn’t have to?—”
“I wanted to.” I wanted to reach for him, but I didn’t have that right. “How are you?”
“Fine.” The word came too quick, too sharp. He took a sip of coffee, then softened slightly. “Thank you. For the coffee. And for…” He gestured vaguely, unable to say the words.
“Of course.” I watched him fidget with the coffee cup sleeve, remembering how he’d felt in my arms last night, shaking and vulnerable. How much I’d wanted to stay. “Did you get any sleep?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, but the shadows under his eyes told a different story. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.
I wanted to pull him close, to promise I’d never let him face another storm alone. To tell him I’d never stopped loving him, that eleven years hadn’t changed a thing except to make me understand what I’d lost.
