You’re not as evil as people think you are #2
“Now what?” I ask, glancing out the front window. Without a word, Oliver gets out, rounds the hood, and pulls my door open.
“Now let’s go.” I follow him as we take the uneven steps down the cliff’s edge. Water surges onto the island’s rocky shore, waves rolling in, colliding with the beach.
Perched near the coastline and nestled among the tall trees, a charming, slightly misplaced building sits.
Its wooden exterior is faded by sun and sea, painted a muted shade of blue-gray that blends seamlessly with the foggy backdrop.
Large paned windows look out over the water, glowing warmly from within, golden light spilling onto the moss-covered stone path that leads to the door.
I can’t take my eyes off the building. When I step onto the white porch, the sign reads Willow Reads. I open the door; the bell jingles above us, announcing our arrival. The smell of books and vanilla hits my senses.
“Welcome in,” calls someone in the store. I smile and turn back to Oliver, who is standing at my back, looking at me with an almost soft expression. His blond hair is pushed back out of his face, and his usually dark eyes transition to hazel.
“You brought me to a bookstore.”
“I was tired of the library, thought this was the next best thing.” That is such a him thing to say, even if the number of times we’ve been there together is one, not counting the night with Amelia.
Soft amber light spills from hanging Edison bulbs and vintage lamps tucked into corners.
A wheeled ladder glides along a long shelf wall, perfect for reaching the upper rows of hardcovers and leather-bound editions.
A round table near the front window displays new arrivals and hand-written recommendations on little cards, the script slightly messy.
Other miscellaneous items fill the space, giving it a homey, comforting atmosphere.
“I didn’t even know about this place,” I say, running my fingers over propped-up books.
“I don’t know how well it’s advertised. I came down here once and noticed it. The owner is an original family of Willow Hill, hence the name.”
“God, I could spend hours in here.” I make a lap through the store, checking everything out, then head back up front. All the while, Oliver follows me, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. A middle-aged woman comes rushing around the counter, out of breath, muttering to herself.
“That’s the owner, Willow. She’s always like this.”
“I heard that,” she calls out, coming over to us, hitting him on the back of his head, and smiling at me. “Hi, so nice to meet one of Oliver’s friends. I just assumed he only had Callan and Vienna.” I raise an eyebrow at Oliver. It seems he downplayed the number of times he has come in here.
I smile back at her immediately, loving the energy she puts off. She reminds me a lot of my mom. “Hi, I’m Lyra.”
“Lyra, such a pretty name. Oliver, why have you never brought in your girlfriend?” He hooks a possessive arm around my waist.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I say before he can interject. He, however, cuts me a scathing look.
“Oh well…” She waves her hand, dismissing the notion.
“Whatever you guys call it these days, welcome! If you need anything specific that we don’t have, let me know, and we can order it to the island.
That’s what Oliver usually does for his books.
” He never mentioned that he reads. I wonder what he likes.
Cutting him a look, I reply to Willow. “Thank you. I love your store already. It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, sweetie.” She rushes off while I get back to my task of filling my tote.
“You’re here a lot?”
“There’s only so much to do.”
Oliver follows me as I glance at the shelves. “What books do you usually get?” I ask.
“More questions, Dollface?” He catches my chin, our noses almost touch.
I brace. “Oliver.”
“Come find me when you're ready to go.” He bites my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before walking away. I stand frozen, staring at the spot he vacated.
Fucking asshole.
After picking four books, incense, and a holder, I take another lap in search of Oliver.
I’ve been looking for well over an hour, lost in the little shop and all its charm.
On my second pass, I spot him, but he isn't alone.
A very pretty girl with dark hair and a killer body leans into Oliver's space.
I wait, unsure whether to walk up or sneak away to spy. I quickly decide never to spy again after what happened last time.
“Hey.” I sidle up next to him, giving a brief smile to the girl he’s with. She looks at me with distaste, clear in the firm line of her mouth.
I turn to Oliver. “Interrupting something?”
Oliver doesn't even glance at the girl. “Actually, the conversation was over two minutes ago.” Nice, Oliver is out the window. “You ready?”
I bite my lip. “Yeah.” I lift my tote, showing him my full bag. “Nothing more can fit.”
The girl, whose name I never even got, scoffs. “Is she my replacement?”
I bristle at the comment, and a sense of embarrassment washes over me. Oliver turns his eyes to her. “There would have to be something to replace.”
I think my mouth falls open as the girl flushes, walking away without another word.
“Do I have a sticky note on my forehead asking girls to be mean to me?”
Oliver grabs my bag. “Not last time I checked.”
Walking up to the front, we get in line behind others. “What’s her name?” I whisper to him.
“Who?”
Really.
“The president…who do you think?” I point to the girl standing a few spots ahead of us.
He hesitates. Oliver never hesitates. “Serena.”
My stomach dips. The way she leaned into his space as though she was comfortable around him is all the confirmation I needed.
“Don’t make that face, Lyra.” He steps in, takes my chin between two fingers until I have to meet his eyes.
“Serena was noise, and at the time it was needed. She’s how I got your room and key. She’s your RA.”
I should be happy he has her. Or had…Doesn't matter; he should go back to her and leave me alone. Right?
“I know what you’re thinking.” The corner of his mouth pulls up. “That will never happen. You’ll never get rid of me.”
“Great,” I whisper under my breath. A little louder, I ask. “Did you bring her here too?”
“Never.” That washes away some of the heated embarrassment I felt moments ago.
We check out. He insists on paying, and I don’t tell him no. It’s compensation for the shit he has put me through.
“Bye, sweetie, don’t be a stranger.”
“I’ll be back. This is my new favorite spot.” I wave to Willow as we make our way out.
Outside, Oliver threads our fingers and tugs me toward the car. “I don’t keep placeholders when I already have what I want.”