1
AVERY
He’s here again.
Third Tuesday in a row. Same time, just after five when the light through the front windows of Worn Spines, the little bookstore where I work, turns amber.
He comes through the door with such confidence you barely even notice. Like this little bookshop on Fifth Avenue in Gaslamp is just another errand on his list. Only nothing about him sayserrand.
He radiates precision.
He oozes control.
I only notice him because he tries so hard not to be noticed. Plain khakis, black T-shirt, black shoes. Nothing flashy. Nothing fancy. But the way he moves through the store with his shoulders level, eyes scanning, aware of every bit of his surroundings—that’s not how normal people browse for books. That’s how someone walks through a space they’ve already mapped in their mind.
I’m standing behind the counter, pretending to organize the new arrivals display, but I’m really watching him. I’ve beenwatching him for three weeks now. Which sounds creepy, but I can’t stop myself.
Maybe it’s because I’m eighteen and he’s clearly much older than me. Or maybe it’s because I’m barely scraping by and he has his whole life under control. Maybe it’s because he’s mysterious.
Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous.
Not pretty-boy gorgeous. Not Instagram or TikTok gorgeous. He’s the kind of gorgeous that would make you cross the street away from him at night and then hate yourself for not having the guts to stay near him.
Slicked-back blond hair, well over six feet, a jaw that could have been carved from steel, and a muscular body that even his plain clothes can’t hide. The black T-shirt stretches over his shoulders and chest like it’s seconds from tearing. His arms are thick and veiny, and when he reached for a book last week, I caught the edge of something dark on his bicep. A tattoo. Just the tip of it, disappearing beneath the fabric like a secret.
I’ve been thinking about that tattoo for days, which is crazy. Because I don’t even know his name.
Today, he goes straight to the non-fiction section, pulls out a book like he knew it would be there, then takes a seat in the leather chair by the window like he owns it. He opens the book and starts reading.
Not skimming, not checking his phone. He’s focused.
I tilt my head discretely to read the spine from across the room.
Advanced Security Systems. Electricity, Sensors, and Design.
Interesting.
Not a self-help or a book on politics for this guy. A technical manual on security systems. The kind of thing someone might read if they were trying to get past them…
Stop it, Avery. He’s probably just an engineer or a guy in the field…who just so happens to look like he could snap someone’s neck without even raising his heart rate.
I should leave him alone. But I know I can’t. Quickly, I brew two cups of the shop coffee and walk over to him.
“Just a little light reading?” I say, stopping in front of his chair, holding out a mug for him. He just looks at it, then up at me.
And wow, he’s even more stunning up close. His eyes are ice blue, almost gray, and they beam into me with a focus that I can almost feel. I’m pinned in place. For a full second, he doesn’t speak. He just looks at me, my face, my hands holding the mugs. He’s reading me the way he reads rooms.
“Can I help you with something?” His voice is low. Flat. Not rude exactly, but impenetrable.
“I just brought you a coffee,” I say, holding out the mug. “Anyone sitting in this leather chair gets a free cup. It’s a rule I invented a couple minutes ago.”
Nothing. Not a smile, not even a twitch of the lips.
“I didn’t ask for a coffee.”
“I know, I just thought it would be a nice gesture…”
Something moves behind his eyes, like he’s calculating. Trying to figure out why I’m standing here. What I want. Whether or not I’m a threat.
