The call ends, and the shop goes quiet again.
“Traitors,” I mutter, but my chest feels a little lighter anyway as Lila scurries out the same way she came.
I busy myself restocking a few shelves, humming under my breath, pretending everything’s fine. That’s when I hear the rumble of a truck outside.
Of course.
Crew Wright has the worst timing and the best jawline.
He steps through the door like the storm he is—dark jeans, worn boots, Henley sleeves rolled to the elbows. The sunlight hits his hair just right, because apparently God likes to torture me.
He’s carrying a box of new releases. “Delivery guy left these by the fence,” he says, voice low and smooth.
“Thank you, though I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be lifting that,” I say, keeping my tone polite. Professional. Not murderous.
He sets the box down, his hand brushing mine for half a second—just long enough to short-circuit my entire nervous system.
“Your shoulder?” I ask, desperate for neutral ground.
“Better.” He nods. “Still a little tight.”
“You’re supposed to rest.”
“You’re not supposed to lift boxes alone.”
“I manage fine.”
“I noticed.” His eyes flick down to my hands before returning to my face.
The air between us shifts.
We’re standing too close, the kind of close that remembers things bodies shouldn’t. The books around us might as well be cheering for all the noise my pulse is making.
I reach for the box, and he reaches for the same corner. Our fingers brush. Electricity.
We freeze.
He doesn’t move his hand. “Bailey.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah?”
“This counts as breaking at least one rule.”
“Which one?”
He smiles. “The one where I don’t think about kissing you when you look at me like that.”
I blink up at him, every muscle in my body vibrating. “Crew…”
He steps back first. Always the gentleman. Always the one who leaves me breathless and unfinished. “You have a smudge on your cheek,” he says quietly.
“I—what?”
He reaches out, thumb brushing the spot, skin against skin, a flash of warmth that shouldn’t feel like a promise.
“There,” he murmurs. “Got it.”
He leaves before I can say a word, the door closing behind him with a soft jingle that sounds like trouble.
