Felicity popped up from behind the counter, her smile stretching wide as she bustled over to greet Willow. The women hugged, talking over each other with warmth, the kind of easy chatter that filled spaces he hadn’t known were hollow until he met Willow.
He drifted automatically toward the children’s section. Tiny, bright covers lined the shelves, and he crouched to run a finger over the spines. He pulled out a sturdy board book for Navy—something with animals she could point to—and another for Layne’s little one, already picturing the kid gumming the corner of its vinyl pages.
His attention never strayed far from Willow. He hovered close enough to hear her laugh, to make sure no shadow touched her.
And of course his thoughts betrayed him.
Out of nowhere, he thought ofher.Delilah.
Damn it.He hadn’t let himself think of that name in months. The memory sliced through anyway—her playful grin, the way she used to tease him about being too serious even when they were ducking fire. She was a pilot, fearless, dropping into hell to pull people out.
And with him, she’d been something else entirely. A secret carved out between missions.
When she died, he hadn’t been allowed to mourn. Not properly. There wasn’t supposed to be anything between them. No photos, no memories, no space to bleed. Just silence.
For years, that silence had been his cage. He’d convinced himself love was the enemy—something that could be ripped away, leaving nothing but shrapnel in his chest.
But standing here, watching Willow move through Felicity’s shop, talking with her hands, lighting up every corner, he felt it. The truth.
Delilah was gone, and she wasn’t the reason he was still here.
She was the reason he’d broken—but she wasn’t the reason he’d healed.
That had been this place. These people. Willow.
His chest tightened until he could barely breathe. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t have her either. And hell if that didn’t make his whole body ache.
Fuck.
At the counter, Willow set down the book she’d chosen, a slim self-help book on rest and renewal.
His brows pulled together, but a thread of something eased in his chest. At least she was thinking about herself for once, trying to find balance.
Felicity passed her a bag. “And here’s Carson’s order.”
“Thanks.”
She rang up Willow’s book, then produced a second one from under the counter.
Willow blinked. “Wait, Carson only ordered two.”
“This one was ordered for you.” Felicity slid the second volume across the counter. The cover showed a glossy black stallion caught mid-stride.
Black Beauty.
“It came in the same delivery. No note, no sender.”
Senses firing, Decker reached for it before Willow could. He flipped the book over, searching the cover, the spine, the inside flap. Nothing out of the ordinary, but his gut stayed tight.
Willow arched a brow at him, a smile tugging her mouth. “It’s a book, not a bomb.”
Still, he couldn’t shake the unease as he set it back down.
Felicity broke the tension with one of her cheery smiles. “You know, Willow, Decker’s almost singlehandedly keeping me in business. He’s here more than anyone.”
Willow’s eyes glimmered with interest. “We have a library at the house, you know.”
He met her gaze, steady. “I’ve already read everything there.”
