“Uh, yeah, sure. Please! If you get it open, I owe you a big one.”
“You owe me a big one?” he repeats, a slow, flirtatious smile tugging at his lips. “Good thing I like them that way.”
My heart stutters, but that can't possibly mean what it sounds like. Men like him don’t flirt with women like me. Besides, I’m not looking for anything—not now, maybe not ever. So I give him a polite smile, choosing to ignore, or at least pretend to ignore, his comment.
He climbs the four steps and joins me at the door, brow furrowed as he eyes the stubborn lock. Then, with complete seriousness, he says, “Open Sesame.”
I blink at him, turning fully. “What did you just say?”
He meets my gaze, then throws his head back and laughs, and oh God, what a sound. His voice is already sexy, but his laugh? His laugh wraps around you like silk, warm and addictive, the kind of laugh that makes you want to say something funny just to hear it again.
“I’m sorry,” he says between chuckles. “Since you won’t hand over the keys, I figured I’d try magic.”
But when he sees I’m not laughing, his smile falters. His voice softens, sincere now. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I joke like that sometimes. I forget not everyone gets it, or finds it funny.”
I give him my best serious face and raise an eyebrow.
“Hmm. I don’t know if forty thieves could break into this place,not with this lock, but you’re definitely missing a turban.”
His eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly vanish into his hair. For a second, he looks stunned, then his eyes light up with amusement, and we both burst into laughter. It feels good. Freeing.
When the laughter fades, I hand him the keys. Our fingers brush, and a jolt shoots straight through me. My skin prickles,my breath catches, and one thing becomes terrifyingly clear: I need to stay far, far away from Elijah.
Because if I don’t… It'll happen again.
And this time, I won’t survive it.
Chapter one
Ava
Present day
Everydayforalmostfour years, I’ve stopped in front of my shop, smiled, and soaked it all in. Even now, I still find it hard to believe this place is mine, and that it’s actually thriving.
Like any new business, getting started was tough. There were long nights, stressful days, and moments I doubted everything. But we kept pushing, and now, every day is an adventure I’m genuinely grateful for.
Today marks exactly four years since I signed that lease. Four years since I took a leap that changed everything. This little coffee shop/bookstore has given me more than just a career, it’s given me joy, peace, purpose, and friends who’ve become family. One of those friends is Eli.
Yes, we’re just friends. After that infamous door incident, where he opened the stubborn thing like it was nothing, I invited him to lunch. We talked about everything, and somewhere between the jokes and coffee, I let it slip that I was divorced and completely closed off to dating. He didn’t push.
Sure, he still flirts now and then, but it's always light, never crossing a line. And even though my friends constantly tease me about him, I value what we have. His friendship is something I don’t want to lose, even if a tiny part of me wishes for more.
But that’s what book boyfriends are for… them, and my little battery friend which, let’s be honest, might as well be classified as a high-end sex toy at this point. That thing knows how to hit the spot better than most men I’ve met.
I walk intoBooks & Beanswith a smile, instantly wrapped in the comforting scent of fresh coffee, warm pastries, and the paper-and-ink perfume of new books.
No, we don’t bake here, our pastries come fresh each morning from a neighborhood bakery that partnered with us a couple of years ago. But the vibe? All ours.
“Good morning, boss,” my friend and employee, Mía, calls out from behind the counter.
“Hey, Mia. How are you? How was the big date last night?” I ask.
She sighs. “It wasn’t bad, if you ignore the fact that she spent the entire evening ranting about her ex. And apparently, ordering a cheeseburger and fries is a personal offense now.”
Poor Mía. Every week it’s a new dating app story, and somehow, each one is worse than the last.
Before I can offer sympathy, the front door swings open and a familiar voice echoes through the space.
