George.
He steps in like he owns the place, like he belongs here. He doesn’t.
He’s wearing a suit, of course. He always does. Immaculately tailored, dark gray, with a blood-red tie that used to be my favorite. Now it just looks smug. Like him.
“Hello, Ava,” he says with that practiced smile. The one I now recognize as a performance.
“George,” I say, polite but clipped. I don’t offer more.
He walks closer, scanning the shelves like he’s interested in anything here. He’s not. His eyes keep drifting back to me. Watching me. Measuring.
“How… charming,” he murmurs, surveying the stacks and delicate signage. “I confess, I did not imagine you would manage to realise this… dream of yours.”
I stiffen, hands tightening around the paperback I’m supposed to be shelving.“Indeed. And it’s going rather well. Though I imagine that comes as a surprise.”
He hums, as though the point is open to debate, then leans against the counter — far too close. “You alwaysdidhave a fondness for dusty corners and the underdog, didn’t you?”
I glance at the front windows. No sign of anyone. My chest feels too tight. I reach for my phone beneath the register, fingers moving instinctively.
Me: He 's here. George. Won’t leave. Please come.
I keep my face calm. Professional. But my pulse won’t slow down.
George keeps talking, something about coffee, or maybe catching up. I don’t really hear it. I’m too focused on the sound of the bell above the door, again.
And then he 's here.
Elijah.
He moves through the shop like he’s been here a hundred times. Calm. Confident. Commanding.
He doesn’t even glance at George.
His eyes go straight to me.
In two strides, he’s behind the counter, and then, his hands are on my waist, grounding me. His mouth is on mine, warm and sure and claiming. And just like that, the noise in my head goes silent.
I melt into the kiss, relief flooding me like breath after drowning. I only feel him, his steady hands, the faint press of his chest against mine, the unshakable calm in the way he centers me without a single word, just a touch, a look even.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against mine. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate. Like we’re the only two people in the world.
George clears his throat behind us, a forced sound.
Elijah doesn’t react. Not even a glance.
“I thought I’d grab a coffee,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “And see my girl.”
My girl.
I nod, my heart slamming in my chest for an entirely different reason now. “Yeah. Of course.”
Elijah finally turns, slowly, coolly, to acknowledge George. A brief glance. Nothing more.
George shifts uncomfortably. “I suppose I should be going, then.”
“Good,” Elijah says, voice pleasant but edged like a blade.
And just like that, George is gone. The bell chimes again. The door closes behind him.
