He read my book. He knows it’s mine.
He knows.
The thought makes me want to throw up.
“What do you want?” I ask again, hating how small my voice sounds.
“Nothing. Yet.” He sets the book on the counter between us like evidence. “Just wanted you to know that I know before everyone else does. And everyone else will figure it out, Sadie.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Threatening?” He laughs. “I’m just being honest. You wrote a romance novel about a small town that’s clearly Sierra RoseRidge, with a bookshop owner heroine who’s clearly you. How long do you think it’ll take before someone else connects the dots?”
He’s right. They’ve already started connecting them.
“The BookTok videos are already speculating,” he continues, scrolling through his phone. “People are trying to figure out which Southwest town inspired the setting. Someone posted a whole Reddit thread comparing architectural details.” He looks up. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Why are you here, Owen?” My hands are fists at my sides.
His expression shifts, something almost like concern crossing his face. Almost.
“I’m just saying, when it all comes out—and it will—you’re not going to know how to handle it. All that attention, all those people judging you.” His eyes drop, doing that quick scan down and back up that always made me feel like I was failing some invisible test. “Writing steamy romance. Publishing it for the world to see. What do you think people are going to say?”
The shame hits like a wave. Because part of me—the part Owen spent two years carving out and shaping—knows exactly what they’ll say. The same thing my family said when they found out.
“You should go,” I whisper.
“I’m trying to help you. Someone needs to prepare you for what’s coming.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch my arm, and I step back.
“I said go.”
The bell over the door chimes. I glance over at the same moment Owen looks behind him.
Mateo.
The relief that floods through me is so intense that my knees almost buckle. Seeing him walk through that door just made the whole world tilt back into balance.
When did Mateo become the person who makes everything feel manageable?
He’s standing just beyond the doorway, still in his work clothes, covered in ash and soot from the forge. His eyes go from me to Owen and back again, and his entire body tenses.
Owen turns, that smirk sliding back into place. “Mateo. Good to see you, man. I’m just checking on Sadie. Making sure she’s okay.”
“She’s fine, and she asked you to leave,” Mateo says, his voice low and even.
“So?” Owen asks.
“So leave.”
For a second, I think Owen’s going to push back. He’s the same height as Mateo. Owen’s heavier, too, though not because of muscle. Mateo’s got that earned strength from his work. And there’s something in his stance—the set of his shoulders and the cold steadiness of his gaze—that seems to make Owen reconsider.
“Yeah, alright.” Owen taps his copy ofWildfire Summerwith his other hand. “I’ll see you around, Sadie. We should talk soon about what happens next.”
He brushes past Mateo on his way out. Mateo waits until Owen’s truck pulls away from the curb before stepping fully inside and locking the door behind him.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. Then shake my head. Then nod again.
