I stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space he left behind. Then I laugh.
A short, bitter sound.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
I pace the small office once, twice, trying to burn off the restless energy coiling inside me. Who does he think he is? Showing up, making demands, acting like he gets to dictate what I do with my life?—
No. Absolutely not. I won’t let him. I won’t letanyonetake this away from me. Not after everything it took to get here. Not after everything I’ve already lost. My hands curl into fists.
“I’m not leaving,” I say out loud.
The words feel like a promise. A line drawn in the sand.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I go through the motions—helping customers, organizing shelves, answering questions—but my mind keeps drifting back to the argument.
To Archer.
To the look on his face when I pushed him. There was something there. Something real.
And it didn’t look like control. It looked like?—
Fear. I push the thought away. Doesn’t matter. He chose not to trust me. He chose to shut me out. That’s on him.
By the time evening rolls around, I’m exhausted. Emotionally, more than anything. I lock up earlier than usual, flipping the sign to CLOSED with a quiet finality. The street outside is calm. Too calm. The memory of last night flickers at the edge of my mind—the man across the street, the way he watched the bookstore. I glance out the window automatically. Nothing. Just empty sidewalk and soft pools of lamplight.
“See?” I murmur to myself. “You’re fine.”
Still…
I double-check the lock. Then check it again. Just to be sure.
I’m halfway through restocking a shelf near the back when I hear it. A faint sound. So quiet I almost miss it. I freeze. Listen. Nothing.
I exhale slowly, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”
And then I hear it again. Another one of those soft metallic scrapes. My stomach drops.
Back door. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just listen. There.
Again. Someone is trying to open it. Very slowly. Very carefully. My heart starts pounding, loud enough I’m convinced they’ll hear it through the walls.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay, okay?—”
Think. What do you do? Call the police? Hide? Run? My gaze darts around the store, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed everything feels. Glass windows. Thin walls. Too many ways in. The handle on the back door shifts. Just slightly. But enough. Enough to confirm it’s real. That someone is out there. Trying to get in.
Cold fear slides down my spine. I back away slowly, keeping my eyes locked on the hallway leading to the back. My hands shake as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.
There’s only one person I think to call. I hit his name before I can second-guess it. He answers immediately.
“Tessa?”
His voice is sharp. Alert. Relief floods through me so fast it almost makes my knees buckle.
“There’s someone here,” I whisper. “Those same sounds at the back door again. I’m not making this up, Archer. I’m not crazy. Someone is out there, and they’re trying to get in!”
Silence. Then?—
“Lock everything,” he says. “Now.”
