"Yes, over in the Young Adult section," I say, pointing to the display I set up yesterday. "Second shelf from the top."
As she wanders over to find it, I can't stop thinking about the conversation upstairs. Sam knew I had my hand on the pepper spray the entire time. He noticed my wrist was strained from gripping it too tightly. He saw through me completely.
Construction worker? Maybe. But he's something else too. Military, he'd said. Personal protection work. The way he scans rooms, notices details, positions himself with clear sightlines to all exits… Those aren't skills you learn hanging drywall.
The bell jingles again, and an elderly couple enters. I welcome them with my standard smile, offer assistance, then retreat behind the counter when they decline. The store has been busier today than all of last week combined. Word is spreading about Pine Haven's new bookstore.
Under different circumstances, I'd be thrilled. This was always my dream. Owning a small bookstore, being surrounded by stories. But now each new customer is a potential threat, each friendly face a possible mask.
By noon, I'm watching the door with increasing anxiety. Wilson and Cruz haven't shown up yet. They're always punctual, always predictable. Their routine is the one constant in this chaotic new life.
Except today, they're late.
I jump when something crashes upstairs, followed by a muffled curse. Sam, dropping something heavy by the sound of it. The teenage girl browsing the fantasy section looks up at the ceiling, then at me.
"Renovations," I explain with a shrug. "Sorry about the noise."
"No worries. This place is cute." She smiles, bringing her selection to the counter. "I'm glad we finally got a good bookstore in Pine Haven. I was getting tired of ordering everything online."
"I'm glad too," I say, and for a moment, I almost mean it.
After she leaves, I find myself alone in the store again. It's 12:37. Still no sign of the agents.
I should be relieved. Every interaction with them leaves me more anxious, not less. But their absence today feels wrong, like a disruption in gravity. One more unpredictable element in a life that's already spinning out of control.
At 1:15, I can't stand it anymore. I flip the sign to "Back in 15 minutes" and lock the front door. Then I climb the stairs to the apartment, needing some space to think.
I knock softly on the apartment door, which is standing half-open.
"Sam?"
No answer.
I push the door wider and step inside. The kitchen is in disarray, cabinet doors removed and leaning against the walls. Sandpaper and tools are scattered across a tarp on the floor. But no Sam.
"Hello?" I call out, moving further into the apartment.
The bathroom door is open, showing an empty room. My bedroom door is closed, as I left it this morning.
A floorboard creaks behind me, and I whirl around, heart in my throat.
Sam stands in the doorway to the apartment, a fast-food bag in one hand and two drinks in the other.
"Sorry," he says immediately, noticing my panic. "Didn't mean to startle you. I went to grab lunch." He holds up the bag. "Brought enough for two if you're hungry."
My panic subsides, replaced by embarrassment. "I was looking for you."
"Found me." He gives a small smile, setting the food on the counter. "Everything okay downstairs?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warm apartment. "I'm just a little on edge today."
Sam stares for a moment, then gestures to the food. "Hungry? Sometimes food helps when I'm stressed."
His casual offer of comfort catches me off guard. I'm not used to kindness from strangers anymore.
"Thanks," I say, accepting the wrapped burger he offers. "That's thoughtful of you."
We eat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes, perched on stools at the kitchen counter. It's nice, this brief moment of normalcy. Of sharing a meal with another person instead of eating alone in my apartment while jumping at every sound.
