I nod, suddenly too aware of the space between us, and how quickly it’s closing.
“I stayed for a while,” he says, his gaze flicking toward the wall where the photo of Books & Beans had been displayed. “You were glowing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
"You never interrupt, Eli." That word,never, lingers between us like an invitation he doesn't realize he's extending.
I smile faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Nicoletta was over the moon. She sold more than she expected. Someone even bought the photo of the store.”
His eyes hold mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Anonymous buyer.” I shrug, trying to sound casual, even though there’s a small ache in my chest I didn’t expect. “I was hoping to keep that one. But it’s okay. I’m glad someone saw what I see when I look at this place.”
Elijah’s mouth curves slightly at the corners, almost a smile. “Whoever bought it has good taste.”
I laugh softly. “That’s what Nicoletta said. She also said they paid four digits for it.”
His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.
I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling exposed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I like hearing you talk about things that matter to you.”
I swallow hard. The words settle deep in my chest, where something warm and nervous starts to stir.
His eyes drop to my mouth, linger, then return to mine. “You looked happy tonight.”
“I was.” I hesitate, then add, “It’s been a while since I’ve felt that way.”
A pause stretches between us, thick, charged.
He takes a step closer, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough to smell that familiar mix of cedar and something uniquely him.
“And now?” he asks softly.
I blink up at him. “Now… I’m not sure what I feel.”
He nods once, as if he understands completely, even if I don’t say more.
Then, without touching me, without breaking eye contact, he says, “You don’t have to know. Just don’t shut it out.”
Chapter four
Elijah
Shelooksatmelike I’m the storm she never saw coming, like she wants to run but can’t decide which direction would hurt less. And fuck, I get it.
She’s standing in front of me in her quiet bookstore, looking like she doesn’t realize she glows. Like she doesn’t understand that just by existing, she pulls people in.
She’s not trying. She never does. That’s just her magic, this quiet, effortless gravity that draws you in and doesn’t let go.
I came here just to check in. That’s all. Say hi after the show, make sure she is okay, maybe throw in a casual joke.
But the second she turned and looked at me like that, like she wasn’t expecting me, like getting too close might break her, I forgot every word I had rehearsed.
I want to tell her I bought that photo. That I would’ve paid double. Triple. Because seeing her shop, her dream,her, frozen in that perfect shot, it felt like I was holding a piece of her.
Something to keep when she’s not around.
Something that made me feel closer to her, even if she has no idea. But I don’t say it. Not yet. I can’t.
