"I didn't realize that was tonight," I say, aiming for nonchalance. "I picked up a book there during the snowstorm. Nice place."
Six pairs of eyes turn toward me with identical expressions of surprise.
Alder stage-whispers, "Did Brian Klein just compliment a retail establishment?"
"Someone check if he has a fever," Tucker says.
Tim observes with lawyerly precision, "I've never heard you praise any location that wasn't a five-star hotel or Michelin restaurant."
I feel heat creeping up my neck. "It's just a bookstore."
"With a good-looking owner," Hawk says casually, and my head snaps up. He grins. "Lucy mentioned meeting her. Said she was 'refreshingly competent,' which is high praise from my wife."
"I wouldn't know," I lie, reaching for my glass of water to conceal my expression.
The meeting ends with handshakes and promises of revised contracts to come. As the Stags filter out, Hawk lingers behind.
"You know, when I met Lucy, I was convinced relationships and career couldn't mix," he says conversationally. "Turned out I was just afraid of what it meant to let someone matter that much."
I narrow my eyes. "What exactly are you implying?"
He raises his hands in surrender. "Nothing. Just an observation from someone who's been there. The signing starts at seven if you're interested."
For three hours, I pace around my hotel room, alternating between working on contracts for tomorrow and staring out the window in the general direction of Butler Street. The rational part of my brain catalogs all the reasons why showing up at Noa's shop is a terrible idea:
I have basically ghosted her, and my anxiety climbs higher the longer I avoid just fucking calling.
It's a professional event for her, not the place for personal matters.
I'd be surrounded by Stags, who have an uncanny ability to push my buttons.
What exactly is my endgame here?
But rational thought feels powerless next to whatever magnetic pull that draws me toward Bishop Books.
At 6:45, I give in, call for a ride, and choose a navy suit that's slightly less formal than my usual business attire. I leave the tie loose, a small concession to the more casual setting.
The shop windows glow invitingly as my car pulls up across the street. Through the glass, I can see it's packed—every chair is filled, with people standing along the walls. Noa moves confidently to the front, adjusting a microphone, her dark curls swept into a loose updo that reveals the graceful line of her neck. She's wearing a deep blue dress that hugs her curves, appearing every bit the successful business owner.
My throat tightens. She's magnificent.
I wait until she starts speaking before slipping through the door, the small bell announcing my arrival despite my attempt at discretion. I position myself at the back, behind a tall bookshelf, where I can see her but stay partially hidden.
Mid-sentence, her eyes meet mine. For a heart-stopping moment, she hesitates, a slight catch in her professional delivery that probably no one else notices. But I notice. I see the flash of surprise, the almost imperceptible widening of her eyes, the faint color rising in her cheeks.
Then, with impressive composure, she continues, her voice steady even as her gaze flickers back to me once more.
She saw me. And unless I'm completely delusional, that wasn't displeasure in her eyes.
Now, I just need to figure out what the hell to say to her.
Chapter 13
Noa
Emma Stag is a natural storyteller. For nearly an hour, she captivates the audience with tales of Pittsburgh's firefighting history, weaving personal anecdotes and meticulously researched facts together. Apparently, she and Thatcher's younger son are joining the Pittsburgh department. I stand at the back, ensuring everything runs smoothly, but my awareness is consumed by the dark-suited figure half-hidden behind the mythology section.
Every time I glance his way, Brian's eyes are already on me. Not casual observation, but focused intensity warms my skin despite the distance between us. The silver threading through his hair catches the shop lights, reminding me of how it felt between my fingers just days ago.
