Every time there was a lull between customers, she found somewhere else to be. Reorganizing a display. Checking stock in the back. Anything to avoid being alone with me.
Around mid-morning, she finally looked around the store with a frown.
“Where’s Shelly?”
“Changed her schedule,” I said. “She’s coming in tonight instead.”
Avery’s lips pressed together, and I could see the question in her eyes.
But she didn’t ask why, just nodded and turned to help a mother wrangling two kids toward the checkout counter.
The store stayed busy through lunch. Tourists filtered in and out, drawn by the new displays I’d set up near the entrance. A group of hikers bought trail guides and protein bars from the snack basket I’d added last week.
Through it all, Avery kept her distance, professional and pleasant and absolutely unreachable.
I wasn’t concerned. Avery just needed someone to help build up her confidence.
It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that we finally got a break. The last customer wandered out with a bag of paperbacks, and the store fell quiet except for the soft creak of the old building settling.
I leaned against the counter and watched Avery pretend to organize the staff picks table.
“You know,” I said, keeping my voice low, “I spent eight years pushing people away.”
She stilled, but didn’t turn around.
“Built my cabin way out in the woods where nobody could reach me. Told myself I liked the solitude. Told myself I didn’t need anyone.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “But the truth is, I was scared. Scared that if I let someone in again, they’d see something they didn’t like and leave.”
Avery’s shoulders tensed.
“You’re doing the same thing right now,” I rumbled. “Pulling back. Putting up walls. Hoping if you push hard enough, I’ll give up and prove you right about men.”
She spun around, her cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?” I crossed my arms.
Her jaw tightened, and then her expression crumbled, vulnerability bleeding through the cracks in her composure.
“I care about you,” she said quietly. “More than I should after only a week. But I’m scared, Flint. Irefuseto be another hookup for some mountain man who’s just scratching an itch. Are you doing more than that?”
Before I could respond, the bell over the door jingled. A middle-aged woman bustled in carrying a cardboard box, her reading glasses perched on top of her head.
“Excuse me,” she asked. “Do y’all buy used books? I’ve got a whole collection of cookbooks from my mother-in-law, and honestly, I cannotdealwith another casserole recipe.”
Avery smoothed her expression. “Yeah. We buy some used books. Let me take a look at what you’ve got.”
When the customer finally left, satisfied with the arrangement, Avery immediately started gathering her things.
It was five o’clock, and she was trying to slip out on me.
I moved before she could reach the door, stepping into her path and backing her up against the cash register. Her eyes went wide as I planted my hands on either side of her, caging her in.
“Flint, what are you—”
“You don’t get to run from me, Avery,” I murmured, leaning down until my lips brushed her ear. “I’ve got a big night planned for us.”
“Everyone’s watching,” she whispered.
“Good. Let them watch.”
