Chapter 12 #2
The bookstore is one of those sprawling chain places that somehow still feels cozy—warm wood shelves, soft overhead lighting, the smell of paper and fresh coffee drifting from the attached café.
It’s busy but not overwhelming: college students sprawled in armchairs with textbooks, parents steering toddlers away from the display of glittery journals, a few older couples browsing the mystery section.
I’m not a huge reader but that’s only because I never feel like I have the time. So I decide that I’m going to pick up something for myself too. After all, I don’t know how long we’re going to be living like this and I need something to take my mind off the situation for at least some of the time.
I keep my movements casual, scanning exits and sightlines out of habit, but no one pays us any attention. We look like everyone else. It’s perfect.
Landon heads straight for the children’s section first. I follow at a distance, giving the young man space.
He trails his fingers along the spines of picture books, then stops at a display of activity pads—coloring books with thick pages, intricate mandalas, fantasy scenes.
He picks up one with enchanted forests and hidden creatures, flips through it, and smiles.
“These are nice,” he says when I step up beside him.
I nod. “Get it. And pencils. Whatever you want.”
He adds a tin of twenty-four colored pencils to the basket he’s carrying, then hesitates at the board-game shelf. His fingers hover over a travel-sized version of Clue, then move to a simple cooperative game about building a fairy-tale kingdom together.
“This one,” Landon decides. “It’s not competitive. We can play without anyone losing.”
I take the box from him and add it to the basket without comment.
We wander the adult shelves next. He pulls a couple of paperbacks—something with a whimsical cover about a dude opening a bookshop in a small town, another with a cozy mystery involving cats and a knitting club.
I grab a worn copy of a Jack Reacher novel from the preowned section. I’ve read it three times already; it’s comfort reading, nothing more. I know I should branch out and try something new, but maybe another time.
As Landon continues to browse, I look and see a message on my phone from Viktor. I knew it was coming, so waste no time in opening it…
VIKTOR: Report immediately. This isn’t a fucking game. I need answers.
IVAN: I had to move, no questions asked. Made sure the guard wasn’t badly hurt. Our location was compromised. It wasn’t the guards, must have been a rival family who knew about the penthouse and put it out into the world. Trust me on this.
VIKTOR: Trust you on what? The leak? Or the fact that you and the boy are clearly more than captor and captive?
I’m warning you. This is life or death. I need to know I can trust you to follow orders as and when I give them.
The boy is safe for now, but if I give the command, you must act.
Tell me that I’m not a fool for placing my faith in you.
IVAN: You can rely on me.
With that, I place the phone back in my pocket. I feel a bead of sweat forming around my hairline. Viktor is suspicious, and he knows from the footage in the penthouse what’s been going on.
Hell, he might not believe a word I say right now.
Viktor might even be sending men after me and the boy.
He might not know whether he can trust me, but the same is true from my perspective too. Fuck. This ain’t getting any easier.
“Ivan!” Landon calls out, bringing me back into the real world. “Drinks!”
“Coming,” I reply, doing my best to sound casual.
At the café counter we add two hot chocolates—whipped cream for him, plain for me—and a shared chocolate-chip cookie the size of a hubcap. We find a pair of armchairs near the back, away from the windows, and settle in.
For the next forty minutes we don’t speak much. Landon colors careful strokes, tongue caught between his teeth, while I read the same page over and over because I keep watching him instead of the words.
Every so often he glances up, catches me looking, and smiles. Small. Shy. Real.
When the announcement comes over the speakers that the store will close in fifteen minutes, Landon caps his last pencil and closes the coloring book.
“Time to go?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
We pay, bag our purchases, and step out into the night.
The air is colder now, sharp with the promise of frost. Streetlights buzz overhead. A few cars pass, headlights cutting long beams across the asphalt.
Landon stops just outside the doors, clutching the paper bag to his chest like it’s treasure. He tilts his head back and looks up at the sky. It’s cloudless tonight, stars sharp against the black.
“I wish every day could be like this,” he says softly.
I step closer. Close enough that our arms brush.
I follow his gaze upward. The stars are clearer out here, away from the worst of the city glare.
I swallow. “I wish the same.”
He turns to face me.
For a heartbeat we just stand there… two people in a bookstore parking lot, holding paper bags and impossible hopes.
Then he rises on his toes.
I meet him halfway.
The kiss is slow this time. Gentle. No chlorine. No audience. Just his mouth against mine, soft and warm and tasting faintly of chocolate and whipped cream. His free hand finds my jacket, fingers curling into the leather. Mine settles at the small of his back, steadying him.
When we finally pull apart, his eyes are bright.
“Thank you,” Landon whispers. “For today.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.
We walk to the car in silence.
I open his door. He slides in.
I circle to the driver’s side, start the engine, and pull out onto the road.
The motel isn’t far.
And as the engine’s low rumble comes up at me through the driver’s seat, I wake up to the possibility that this might be our last night with one another.
I’m risking everything for Landon.
I’m ready. He’s ready. It’s time to make this boy mine.