I suck in a breath.
“Elijah...” I start, but words fail me. So instead, I slide off the chair and onto the floor with him. My arms wrap around his neck, and I bury my face against his shoulder.
He holds me like I’m something precious. Not fragile. Just... worth being held.
“I’m still figuring things out,” I murmur.
He nods. “We’ll figure them out together.”
“Baby, you’ve been walking barefoot for so long, just because you’re afraid the other shoe will drop. Like if you let yourself be happy—really happy—it’ll all fall apart.”
I open my mouth to argue, to deny it, but I can’t. Because he’s right. I’ve spent so long preparing for disappointment, for heartbreak, that I forgot what it feels like to just stand still and let something good touch me.
He leans in, brushing his knuckles down my cheek.
“I’m not the past. I’m not the people who hurt you, or the ones who left. I’m the guy who stayed. Who keeps showing up. Who will keep showing up—even when you’re scared. Even when you’re pushing me away.”
Tears sting my eyes, blurring his face.
“I don’t know how to stop expecting the worst,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to. Just don’t run when something good shows up in front of you.”
He presses his forehead to mine.
“You don’t have to walk barefoot anymore, Ava. You don’t have to be ready for the worst. Just let yourself feel something good, just be happy."
My lip trembles, and I close my eyes.
“What if I fall?”
His voice is a breath against my skin.
“Then I’ll catch you.” - he says and he leans down and kisses me. The kiss is slow, but full of all the things he knows I'm not ready to hear or to believe.
And in that moment, I believe him.
Not because he promises it perfectly, but because he means it. Because even if we crash, he’ll be right there beside me in the wreckage—helping me build something new. Something that feels a lot like home.
And there, in the middle of my kitchen floor, surrounded by cold pancakes and half-drunk coffee, something that had always felt impossibly out of reach starts to feel real.
Not perfect. But real. And real is more than enough.
Chapter eight
Ava
Thebellabovethedoor jingles, snapping me out of my daydream. Elijah steps inside Books & Beans, and just like that, my heart forgets how to beat properly. He wears that confident smirk—half mischief, half intent. That look always means trouble. The good kind.
I’m shelving books when I feel him behind me. The world quiets, like the universe is holding its breath.
Then, without a word, he turns me around, his hands warm on my waist, pulling me into him. The air between us crackles. And before I can react, he kisses me. Right there in the middle of the shop. In front of customers. In front of everyone.
His lips are soft, familiar, and completely disarming. The kiss starts gentle—a brush, a whisper—but when I gasp, he smiles against my mouth. Then he deepens it, a teasing swipe of his tongue against my bottom lip. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. My hands find his chest, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.
The room fades. The chatter dims. It’s just him. Just us.
When he finally pulls back, his voice is low and sure.
