The mountain roads are slick from the rain, and every turn brings me closer to her. Storm clouds hang low over the mountains, turning everything gray and heavy. The world narrows down to headlights cutting through mist and the certainty that I'm making either the best or worst decision of my life.
By the time I reach Pine Valley, Main Street is quiet, most shops already dark. But The Reading Nook glows softly through rain-streaked windows, fairy lights casting warm shadows across exposed brick.
I pull into a parking spot and kill the engine.
She's inside, moving between tables. Her curls are loose now, falling around her shoulders as she wipes down surfaces and stacks chairs. She's changed out of her apron, wearing jeans and a soft sweater that clings to her curves. The way she moves is efficient, as though she’s used to cleaning up after other people.
I sit there watching her, hands gripping the steering wheel. What the hell am I doing here? She deserves better than a guy who can't make it twenty-four hours without finding an excuseto see her again. Better than someone carrying around seven years of guilt and a list of people he's failed.
I grab my toolkit and step out into the drizzle. Rain falls around me as I cross the street. My boots are heavy on the wet pavement, and each step feels like walking toward something I can't take back. Through the glass, she startles when I knock. Her hand flies to her chest. Then she sees me, and relief washes across her face.
She crosses to the door, unlocks it, and pulls it open partway.
"Brooks?" Her voice is soft, confused. Backlight from the bookstore turns her curls into a halo. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to double-check the outlet." I lift the toolkit slightly. "Make sure it's not going to cause any more problems."
She blinks at me, rain dripping from my cap onto the threshold between us. Her eyes search my face, deciding whether to believe me.
"It's almost ten," she says.
"I know."
"You came back to check the electrical stuff?"
"Yeah."
The silence stretches. She's still holding the door half-closed, her body angled like she's unsure whether to let me in or send me away. Her hand lingers on the doorframe, fingers curled tightly against the wood.
Then she steps back and opens the door wider. "Okay. Come in."
The bookstore is warm after the cold drizzle. It smells like coffee and old books, and vanilla hits me as I pass close to her. The fairy lights cast everything in soft gold. I set my toolkit down near the counter and crouch by the outlet, pulling off the cover.
I don't need to check the connections. They're dead. But I go through the motions anyway, testing circuits and tightening screws, because it's easier than admitting why I'm really here.
She hovers a few feet away, arms crossed. Her gaze burns into my shoulders while I work, and the back of my neck heats. The warmth of her proximity radiates down to where I'm crouched, and I'm hyperaware of her shifting weight, the soft sound of her breathing.
"You didn't have to come back," she says.
"I know."
"But you did anyway."
I glance up at her. The fairy lights highlight her curls, and my hands go still. Her eyes are cautious but curious, like she's trying to solve a puzzle she's not sure she wants the answer to.
"Yeah," I say. "I did."
She doesn't say anything else. When I finish and stand, the silence between us feels charged. My hands are steadier than they should be, considering how close she's standing now.
"Should be fine," I say. "But you still need an electrician."
"Okay." She tucks a curl behind her ear, and the movement draws my attention to the curve of her jaw, the softness of her neck. Vanilla surrounds me, warm and sweet. "Thank you again."
"It's not a problem."
"It kind of is." A small smile tugs at her mouth. "You keep saving me from things."
The words hit differently than she means them to. Saving people is what I do, well, what I’m supposed to be good at. Except I have a track record of being too late, making the wrong call, and watching people slip through my fingers.
