The security cameras aren’t helping. They’re everywhere, watching everything, and though I know they’re there for our protection, I can’t shake the feeling of being under a microscope. How they managed to install this level of surveillance overnight is beyond me, but here we are. Life in Birchwood Springs, where nothing is as quiet as it seems.
Where is the nice calm small-town vibe? Not here. It’s like I’m in the twilight zone where New York is paradise and this little corner in the world is a war zone. When the bell above the door chimes, I jolt.
“Hello?” That voice. Fuck. I freeze mid-reach, my hand hovering over a book, my heart doing an uneven stutter-step. That voice—it shouldn’t catch me off guard, but somehow it always does.
I turn slowly, and there he is.
Atlas Timberbridge.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed in worn jeans and a black shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. His hair is tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his piercing blue eyes lock onto mine with a smirk that’s both familiar and infuriating.
I should have known he’d come. We don’t need more trouble. I definitely don’t need this on top of everything that’s happening, because I know he’s going to fight with his brothers. He’s going to make things even worse. And I’m not ready to tell him that I might be dating his brother. Or . . . not sure what we’re doing, but I love him. Not that I’ve said it. He said it twice, me? I’m not ready to let the words out. Not just yet.
“Hey,” I greet him, trying to sound excited because I am excited to see my friend. But I also know what’s going to happen while he’s around.
“Please, don’t sound so fucking excited,” he growls.
“It’s not that, I’m just . . . you’re here,” I say. “In the town you swore you wouldn’t set foot in ever again.”
“Yeah. And you’re here fixing books.” He nods toward the shelf behind me. “Not planting shit and creating sustainable whatever-it-was that you planned. You’re not even making wine around the country.”
“Well, someone has to fix books,” I reply, slipping the book onto the shelf and turning to face him fully. “Not all of us can just stroll in unannounced and look pretty.”
He chuckles, low and lazy, and it settles in the air between us. “You think I’m pretty?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” I fold my arms, leaning against the counter. “What are you doing here, Atlas?” I want to finish the question without looking for trouble.
“Checking on you, of course.” He steps closer, his gaze dropping to the stack of books on the counter before flicking back to me. “You’re not answering my texts and you’re still in danger.”
I scoff. He doesn’t know anything. “I’m busy.”
“You’re avoiding me,” he counters, that smirk deepening into something more dangerous. “You always do this when shit gets real. You shut out people. I don’t care when you do it to them, but I do when you do it to me.”
“I don’t shut you out,” I argue, though we both know it’s a lie. “I just—there’s a lot going on.”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, his tone softening but not losing its edge. “And yet you’re here. If you had answered my texts, I would’ve skipped the visit.”
I glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “Not everything is about you, Atlas.”
“Never said it was.” He shrugs, but there’s something behind his casual demeanor—something searching. “I just want to know you’re okay. Did you change numbers without telling me . . . again?”
I nod. “I’m fine,” I say, quieter this time.
“Sure you are.” His gaze doesn’t waver, like he’s waiting for me to crack. “And if I don’t believe you?”
“Then that’s your problem.” I grab the nearest book and pretend to read the back cover, anything to avoid the way he’s looking at me.
Atlas reaches out, gently plucking the book from my hands. “Nysa,” he says, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
For a moment, I consider it. Just laying it all out there, letting him carry some of this mess with me like he always does. But then I remember why I’ve kept my distance. Because if Atlas knew the full truth, he wouldn’t just stand here and check on me. He’d try to fix it by taking me away, and I can’t just leave. Not without Hopper and Maddie. That’s the last thing I want, leaving them behind.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” I insist.
I didn’t call him. Didn’t ask. But Atlas Timberbridge was never the type to sit on the sidelines when something was happening to the people he cares about. And now, he’s here. Standing in my grandmother’s bookstore like he never left this small town, like he never disappeared into whatever gray area he’s been living in for years.
He’s here, watching me with those blue-gray eyes, his dark blond hair longer than I remember, gathered into a short tie at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t look like the boy I used to know. He looks like a man who’s been in too many fights. A man who’s seen too much.
“I like to join the party even when I’m not invited.” His voice is lazy, but there’s an edge beneath it, something watchful.
