3. Chapter 3
three
~ Jasper ~
C louds gathered in the night sky, blotting out the stars, and a light spring rain pattered against the roof and windows.
At that late hour, the suburban neighborhood was quiet, peaceful, a respite from the busyness of the city.
Perched in my favorite reading chair by the arched picture window, I watched the rain for another minute before glancing down at the book in my lap again.
I read the page for the third time, the words distorted through blurry eyes.
To Mr. R. Thanks for believing in me.
Kendall Bauer had found her voice, and I couldn’t have been prouder.
It seemed hard to believe that the teenager who spoke in whispers and never made eye contact was now a published author, but I’d always known she had it in her.
Bright, creative, and wildly imaginative, she had only lacked confidence.
I’d been blessed to watch her bloom during her time at SafeHouse, and I felt humbled by her dedication.
This was why I had fought so hard to build the center.
Not for the gratitude or the public recognition.
I did it to help shy, uncertain kids, so they could look back one day and say that when it mattered most, someone had believed in them.
My gaze drifted back to the rain-streaked window, and I sighed.
The book had arrived at the shelter a week ago, along with an invitation to an intimate meet-and-greet at a local bookstore.
Nothing formal or fancy.
Just a quiet celebration of her success.
I’d turned the card over in my hands a dozen times since then.
There had been no pressure in her note, no expectation.
Just an offer.
I wanted to be there to support her.
Of course I did, but the thought of walking into that bookstore alone—of navigating unfamiliar faces, small talk, maybe even the awkwardness of being recognized—made my pulse race and my stomach twist.
Unfortunately, my contract with Beckett didn’t cover small public gatherings.
This fell more into the category of a friendly favor, and I didn’t know which caused me more anxiety.
Showing up alone…or asking for his help.
Placing the book down on the end table, I reached for my phone and unlocked the screen.
After bringing up my contacts, I sat there, staring at Beckett’s number while chewing my bottom lip.
I felt ridiculous, both for needing a security blanket, and for being nervous about sending a text.
Would he say no? Would he agree but resent me for it?
I liked to remind the kids at the center that they wouldn’t know the answer unless they asked.
Figuring I should probably take my own advice, I exhaled sharply and started typing.
When I finished, I reread it twice.
Deleted it. Typed it again.
Read it three more times.
Added another sentence.
Finally, with a shaking hand, I sent the message before I could talk myself out of it.
JASPER: Are you busy tomorrow night?
I was invited to a book signing, and I’d rather not show up alone.
I know this kind of thing isn’t part of our contract, so no pressure.
His response came almost immediately.
BECKETT: Yes.
Yes?
Yes, what? Yes, he was busy?
Yes, he would go? Though I had no reason to criticize his verbal communication skills, we really needed to work on his texting etiquette.
Before I could figure out a response, another text popped up on my screen.
BECKETT: Send me the details.
What did that mean? Was it acceptance?
Was he annoyed? Was he still trying to decide if he wanted to go?
Why was he making this so difficult?
JASPER: Indie bookstore downtown called Page Turner.
7:00 pm. Casual dress.
I waited, holding my breath as I stared at the screen, but nothing happened.
No new messages. No little bouncing bubbles to indicate he was typing.
Realizing I was gripping my phone like a high schooler waiting for a response from my first crush, I shook my head and closed out the app.
It occurred to me that I could text him again and ask for clarification, but I didn’t want to be a nuisance.
Or worse, make him feel pressured into accepting my invitation.
With a quiet groan, I pushed out of my chair and began my nightly routine, starting with checking the locks and security system.
I spent a few minutes straightening the living room and turning out the lights before heading to the kitchen to set the timer on the coffeemaker.
I had just made it down the hallway to my bedroom when my phone buzzed with an incoming call.
An uncomfortable mixture of relief and concern filled me when I saw Beckett’s name on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sorry about that,” he said, and he sounded a bit breathless.
“I was in the middle of class.”
I glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table with a frown.
It was already after ten.
“You have class this late?”
His warm laughter drifted over the line, and I could practically picture that cocky smirk of his.
“The gym down the street offers self-defense lessons. I teach the late class. Mostly single moms and college students.”
My lips parted, but no sound escaped since I had no idea how to respond to that information.
The news itself didn’t surprise me.
With his background in security, it made sense.
At the same time, I felt a pang of guilt bubble inside me when I realized how little I knew about him.
“So, this book signing?” he continued, saving me the need to form coherent thoughts.
“I know the place. It’s not far from my apartment. Do you want to meet there?”
I exhaled quietly, and the muscles in my shoulders slowly unknotted.
“I could pick you up?”
A lilt in my voice made the offer sound more like a question, but in a way, I supposed that was appropriate.
He might not want to arrive at the bookstore with me.
“Page Turner is only a couple of blocks from me. Why don’t you park here, and we can walk?”
My entire being melted with relief.
I had planned to drive myself, but downtown traffic could be borderline traumatic, and trying to find parking was nearly impossible, especially on the weekends.
“Thank you.”
Beckett chuckled again, the sound warm and indulgent.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Jasper.”
A shiver rippled through me when he said my name, his tone quiet and confident, his voice wrapping around me like a caress.
I gripped the phone tighter and cleared my throat.
“Goodnight, Mr. Shaw.”
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard another soft laugh drift over the line before the call disconnected.
I sighed and shook my head.
Beckett Shaw was a flirt and a tease.
He enjoyed burrowing under my skin, liked prodding my weak spots until he received a reaction, but it didn’t mean anything.
We had an arrangement.
Nothing more.
And if I didn’t hate when he pushed my buttons?
Well, that didn’t mean anything, either.
Having finalized our plans, that should have been the end of it.
Instead of sleeping peacefully, however, I spent the next eighteen hours overthinking every possible thing that could go sideways.
And I hadn’t been entirely wrong.
Traffic on the interstate had been worse than anticipated, and I’d had to circle the block twice before finding the entrance to Beckett’s apartment building.
As such, I had arrived late, frazzled, and nearing a state of complete shutdown.
Maybe he’d heard it in my voice when I’d called him, or maybe he had just sensed my growing panic.
Whatever the reason, he met me downstairs at the entrance of the parking garage and directed me to one of the empty visitor spaces.
It might seem like a small thing to some, but I appreciated that he hadn’t left me to figure out the logistics on my own.
Because having to navigate one more thing, even something as simple as finding a parking spot, might have broken me.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said as soon as I exited the driver’s door.
His gaze raked over me, charged, evaluating.
“Jasper, we still have half an hour.”
Well, yes, and I knew the bookstore was only a ten-minute walk from his apartment because I had looked it up.
Being on time wasn’t good enough, though.
What if he decided he wanted to drive instead?
Then we would have to find additional parking and walk from there.
“Nice car,” he added, though his tone sounded more amused than complimentary.
I glanced over my shoulder at the gleaming white hood of the Toyota Corolla behind me.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure at first, but it has an extensive list of safety features, and the gas mileage is amazing.”
“I see.” One side of his mouth crooked upward, and he shook his head.
“Very practical.”
He was teasing me.
I had come to recognize that gleam in his eyes, and I also assumed it had to do with the fact I didn’t drive a car that cost more than some houses.
“Were you expecting a Porche, maybe?”
“Not really.” Gesturing toward the exit, he waited for me to start walking, then fell into step beside me.
“It suits you.”
He sounded sincere, if still somewhat amused, so I let it drop.
I had more important things to worry about than what he thought of my choice in vehicles.
Like the fact that we apparently had very different definitions of casual , and I might be overdressed for the occasion.
Beckett appeared effortlessly handsome in his relaxed jeans, navy crewneck, and a hint of stubble covering his jawline.
I, on the other hand, looked like a middle school librarian in my black chinos and sage button-down.
“I think I misunderstood the assignment,” I muttered as we rounded the block.
“How so?”
Coming to a stop, I held my arms out to my sides, then let them fall in defeat.
“Look at me.”
Beckett frowned, and his brow creased.
“I am looking at you. What’s the problem?”
“I look like I’m going to a PTA meeting!”
“Okay, okay, breathe.” He laughed, but rather than mocking, it sounded soft and reassuring.
“Do you want my help?”
Obviously, but I didn’t see the point.
“There’s no fixing this.”
“Have a little faith.”
I stood there, in the middle of downtown, awkward and unsure, while Beckett adjusted my clothes.
First, he rolled up the sleeves to the elbows and undid the top three buttons of my dress shirt.
Then he stepped behind me to pull my hair free from its low ponytail so he could gather it into a high, messy bun.
As he worked, I struggled to keep my spine straight and my shoulders relaxed while I breathed evenly through my nose.
Because though I fought to ignore it, I remained acutely aware of his proximity, of the warmth pouring off him in concentrated waves.
The scent of his cologne invaded my senses and filled my head.
I didn’t recognize the fragrance—something bold and spicy with a hint of musk—but I had the errant thought that it had been made just for him.
My heart throbbed against my ribs, my pulse racing with the speed of my thoughts.
Electrical currents zinged across my skin where his touch lingered, and an involuntary shiver swept over me when he ran his fingers through my hair.
“There,” he said a minute later.
“Not perfect, but you’ll do.”
I exhaled sharply, both thankful and oddly disappointed when he finally stepped away.
Turning, I surveyed his handiwork in the reflection of a nearby window.
No, it wasn’t perfect, but then again, I hadn’t given him much to work with.
Instead of a studious math professor, I now looked like I owned a coffee shop that hung bicycles and rusted pipes from the ceiling as décor.
An improvement, but still…
I sighed and bobbed my head a couple of times as we started walking again.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“So, what’s the deal with this book signing? No offense, but it doesn’t really sound like your scene.”
“The author is—”
His words penetrated my self-absorption, and I jerked around to stare at his profile.
Preoccupied with my own worries, it hadn’t occurred to me that he knew next to nothing about the event.
Yet, he had still agreed to accompany me.
No contracts. No questions.
No conditions.
He had simply shown up because it was important to me.
Even if he didn’t understand why.
“Everything okay?”
I swallowed thickly and nodded.
“Yes, sorry.” Hearing the gravel in my voice, I coughed to clear my throat.
“The author is Kendall Bauer. She used to attend the after-school programs at the center as a teenager.”
“Tell me about her.”
While I typically held disdain for boastfulness, in this instance, I was more than happy to brag about Kendall.
The conversation flowed naturally and carried us through the remainder of the walk.
When I would start to think I was oversharing or boring him, Beckett would ask another question.
“And in the end, she builds a team and starts her own paranormal investigation business,” I said, concluding a synopsis of the story that really didn’t do it justice.
“There’s going to be another book, right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at how adamant he sounded, his tone layered with a tinge of concern.
Since I had felt the same way after finishing the last chapter, I couldn’t say that I blamed him.
“Yes, I checked her website,” I explained as we climbed the few steps to the teal-painted doors of Page Turner.
“The next book is already on pre-order and will be releasing in the fall.”
“Okay, you’ve sold me.” Beckett grasped the gold handle and pulled the door open, sweeping his arm out to usher me across the threshold first. “I need a copy of this book.”
“Then I would say you’re in the right place.”
Our arms brushed together as I stepped past him into the bookstore, and I couldn’t help but think that, maybe, so was I.