Chapter 2
Shepard
Pink hair?
Seriously?
It takes me a full three seconds to stop staring like some damn idiot.
She’s standing just inside the doorway, dripping water onto the hardwood, her hoodie clinging to her frame like a second skin.
There are streaks of pink running through the blonde waves matted to her shoulders, the color almost candy-bright against the gray light outside.
I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman with pink in her hair. Not in this town. Not in this library.
She’s beautiful, though. Not in the polished, soft-focus kind of way you see in magazines.
She’s got this worn-in look—sharp cheekbones, chapped lips, a faint bruise under one eye that’s either old or just from a restless night.
Her eyes are stormy gray, maybe blue in the right light. And her energy? A little raw.
I step into the back office, cut through the short hallway, and let myself out the side door. My car’s parked behind the library, tucked between the overgrown shrubs and a crooked bike rack no one uses anymore.
Rain’s still coming down hard. My shoes soak instantly, but I pop the trunk and dig through my gym bag. Spare socks. Headphones. A mostly clean towel. And—yes—my navy blue T-shirt. It’s soft. Faded. Big enough it should cover her down to mid-thigh.
I hesitate for half a second.
Why do I care how far down it’ll fall on her legs?
I shake off the thought. This is nothing. It’s what any decent person would do for someone cold and soaked and new in town. Nothing more.
By the time I’m back inside, she’s curled up in one of the armchairs near the fake fireplace, damp and hunched. She looks like she’s trying not to fall apart.
I bring the cocoa too. It’s in one of the library’s “Reading is Sexy” mugs. She gives me a look when I hand it over.
“Best I could do,” I say, holding out the shirt.
“Thanks. You mind if I—?” She gestures toward her hoodie like she’s about to take it off, and I immediately turn around.
“No, yeah. Go ahead. I’ll just—yeah.”
I face the wall, my ears hot. I hear the wet slap of fabric hitting the floor. Then the rustle of skin on cotton. And then—
I see her reflection in the glass of the fake fireplace.
And I am not ready for it.
Black bra. Bare shoulders. Her skin’s pale but flushed from the cold.
Her stomach is flat, a little soft at the bottom.
A tattoo near her ribs, partially hidden.
The pink in her hair is brighter in the firelight, and for a second, the whole scene looks surreal—like someone pulled her out of a dream and dropped her in my library.
My body reacts before I can talk myself out of it. A gut-deep, tight-jawed, absolutely inappropriate reaction.
Fuck.
I clear my throat and squeeze my eyes shut.
This is not the time or place. She’s clearly exhausted. Wet. Cold. Probably lost. And I’m out here acting like I’ve never seen a woman in a bra before.
Get it together, Shepard.
She slips the shirt on with a soft sigh and sinks back into the chair, hands wrapped around the mug. I stay facing the other way until I’m sure she’s decent.
When I finally turn back around, she’s watching me.
“So,” I say, forcing a casual tone, “is it okay if I ask why you’re looking for the mayor?”
She taps her fingers against the ceramic. “I’m here to paint murals.”
My brows go up. “You’re the beautification plan?”
She snorts. “What the hell does that mean?”
I grin. “There’s been talk. Planting flowers. Repainting signs. Making the town more lively.”
She takes a sip of cocoa, eyes closing as she hums in appreciation.
Goddammit.
The sound goes straight to my spine.
“Well,” she says, “guess I’m the lucky one who gets to slap paint all over your precious brick.”
I laugh. “Be gentle. Some of those bricks are older than my grandmother.”
She tilts her head. “You a librarian?”
“Not exactly.” I motion to the stacks behind us. “I’m the library director. In charge of modernization, expansion, community programs… and dusting. Lots of dusting.”
She smirks. “Fancy title. You got an assistant?”
“Not yet. Unless you count Marjorie.”
“Marjorie?”
“Retired librarian. She comes in twice a week to glare at the new tech and re-shelve the nonfiction when I do it wrong.”
Sadie laughs—actually laughs—and it’s a low, rough sound that curls around my ribs.
She glances at the window. Rain’s still hammering the glass.
“You done murals before?” I ask.
She nods. “Plenty. I’d show you some, but my phone’s about to die.”
“There’s an outlet by the shelves.”
She shrugs. “Oh, that’s okay. I’m not even sure where my charger is. It’s in one of my bags, I’m just not sure which one.”
“I’ve got a power bank,” I offer.
She blinks. “Superman.”
It’s a joke, a throwaway line, but it hits harder than it should. I walk to the desk, grab the charger, and bring it back to her. Our fingers brush.
It’s electric.
Not the cliché kind—no sparks, no dramatic gasp—but a real, biological jolt that hits low and hot and wrong.
Something about her… unsteadies me.
“Thanks,” she says, plugging her phone in.
“No problem.”
She exhales and leans back, sipping more cocoa, watching the fire flicker.
“You know where I can find a gas station around here? I’m running on fumes. Phone’s on 2%. Truck’s barely hanging on. Real good first impression.”
I smile. “Most places stay closed ‘til eight. But the Shell station down on Harbor opens early. And there’s a bakery just down the street… Sugar Haven. Cora runs it. Opens before the sun’s up, bless her.”
“Cora,” she repeats. “Cute.”
“She makes the best cranberry muffins in the county. Locals line up for them.”
Her shoulders relax slightly. “Thanks. Again.”
I nod.
Then I look at her again.
Really look.
She’s in my library wearing my shirt, pink hair dripping, cocoa in one hand and my power bank in the other.
I’ve lived in Driftwood Cove for close to a decade. I know every person who passes through these doors.
But I don’t know her.
And for some reason I can’t name yet, I really, really want to.
“How long are you staying in town?” I ask, half-hoping she says a while.
Sadie lifts her cocoa to her lips, blowing softly before answering. “As long as it takes to paint the murals.”
Her voice is casual, but it carries something heavier underneath. I force myself not to ask a follow-up question.
That could be two weeks or two months.
I nod slowly instead. “Do you know what you’re supposed to paint?”
She smiles without teeth, her eyes flicking toward the window where rain still streaks down in tired sheets. “No idea. I’ll need to walk the town first. Feel it out. I never start with a plan—I just wait until the place tells me what it wants.”
I’m just about to offer—stupidly, impulsively—to show her around myself when the alarm on my phone starts to chime.
Shit. The soft breep-breep cuts straight through the moment like a dull blade. I wince and fumble to silence it.
“Sorry,” I mutter, digging it out of my pocket.
She raises a brow. “You got somewhere you need to be?”
I hesitate. “Yeah. I’ve got a dog waiting for me.”
“A dog?”
“Yeah, Gus. I haven’t walked him today and he’s a golden retriever with lots of energy, so… I kind of have to.”
Sadie stands, stretching out of the chair, still swimming in my oversized shirt. Her hoodie dangles damp from the fireplace ledge, forgotten for now. “Well, then I’ll get out of your hair.”
No. Don’t leave yet.
I step forward quickly. “It’s a little unorthodox, but I could leave you the keys.”
She blinks. “What?”
“I’ve been here since four. Couldn’t sleep, figured I’d get some work done. But it’s been hours, and I need to go home—eat, walk my dog. You can stay until Jake gets in. He’s usually there by eight.”
Her brows lift. “You trust me not to steal anything?”
“I honestly doubt there’s anything in here worth stealing.”
She laughs, and the sound undoes something in my chest. It’s the kind of laugh that fills a space. Not loud, but full-bodied. Real. Like her.
“I mean,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair, “you could get me fired, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. But yeah. Warmer than your truck, right?”
“Definitely warmer,” she admits, arms folded against her chest. “You sure? I don’t want to be the weird outsider breaking into the library on day one.”
“You won’t be,” I promise. “We’ve got a few volunteer librarians. One of them, Millie, might come in this morning. If she’s not here when you need to go, just lock up and leave the keys at City Hall. They’ll know what to do.”
She looks down at the cocoa mug in her hands, then up at me again, searching for something in my expression. Trust, maybe. Or confirmation that I’m not messing with her.
“This town’s gotta be nice after all,” she murmurs. “Strangers giving out keys and cocoa and power banks.”
I shrug. “We try.”
She grins. “Thanks, Shepard.”
My name in her mouth sounds different. Like it’s something new she’s still trying on.
I force myself to smile back. “I’ll see you around, Sadie.”
She nods. I grab my coat from the hook and step out into the gray, the rain cooling the flush that’s been building beneath my collar since she walked in.
My car groans when I slide behind the wheel. The heater squeals before warm air sputters out, fogging the windows. I let it run for a second before shifting into gear.
The sky’s still the color of unwashed cotton, and the streets are mostly empty. I drive past the familiar storefronts—Wren’s Antiques, the old barbershop, the empty lot where the farmer’s market sets up in summer—and try to shake the residual pull in my chest.
What the hell was that?
I’ve seen beautiful women. I’ve worked side-by-side with charming people. But there’s something about Sadie—sharp around the edges but soft in the center—that sticks. There’s something a little cynical about her.
I want to get to know her.
I reach the small parking lot near my apartment and ease into my usual spot. I kill the engine. The silence presses in.
The picture is still taped to my passenger-side visor. I forgot it was there. I never see it unless I’m reaching for sunglasses or fixing the mirror, but now it’s just… staring back at me.
Her name was Camilla. My girlfriend for five years. She passed away two summers ago. It was fast. Ugly. I stopped going on dates after that. Stopped thinking about what it would feel like to start over.
I glance back toward the road.
What the hell am I doing? Leaving some woman I just met alone in the library? Giving her keys like it’s nothing?
And then it hits me. I never even got her number.
I drop my head back against the seat with a groan. Brilliant, Shepard. Real smooth.
Inside the apartment, Gus is waiting by the door, tail already thumping when I unlock it.
“Hey, buddy,” I mutter, kneeling to ruffle his fur.
He nuzzles into me like I’ve been gone for days instead of hours. I feed him, fill his water, then leash him up and head back outside. The rain’s lightened, now just a steady drizzle, but the cold has settled in for the long haul.
We walk the block, Gus trotting happily beside me, nose twitching at every passing bush. I let him tug me along, half-listening to his excited huffs, but mostly… mostly thinking about her.
Sadie, in my shirt. Sadie, cursing at the weather. Sadie, cradling that mug like it was keeping her anchored.
I don’t know her. Not really. I don’t know where she’s from or what kind of murals she paints or what happened to hollow her out the way she clearly has been. But I know something deep is living in her, just beneath the surface.
And damn if I don’t want to see what it is.
Back inside, I towel Gus off and set my soaked shoes near the heater. Pouring myself a second cup of coffee, I stare at the steam curling from the mug.
You’re being ridiculous, I tell myself. You’re not some teenager tripping over a crush. You’re thirty-five. You’ve got responsibilities. A routine. A whole life.
And she’s just passing through.
Still. I can’t stop wondering if she stayed. If she’s still at the library right now, legs curled under her, flipping through books she has no intention of checking out.
And what would it mean if she did stay longer?
It doesn’t mean anything, I snap in my own head. You helped a stranger. That’s all.
But I don’t believe myself. Not really.