12. fallon
TWELVE
fallon
W ith Thomas unable to come into the store today, I hoped it’d be a slow day, but the universe played its wily tricks and increased our foot traffic. It’s the first day in a while that the sun is shining brightly on Sanderling, giving its residents a taste of the upcoming spring. I had to pull Fitz from the back and train him to ring up customers. It’s been entertaining watching him interact with the gawking women. They either bluntly flirt with him or stutter their way through the transaction. Fitz treats each one the same, though.
With disinterest. He isn’t rude, just… distant.
I hate to admit that I dressed a little cuter today. With a short black skirt over brown tights, a maroon turtleneck, and black boots, I fit the aesthetic of a quirky bookstore owner well—at least according to Pinterest, which I used when trying to put together an outfit from my outdated closet. I should find more time to do things outside of Pilates.
Fitz is more casual than usual today. He picked up on the fact that he would always leave this store with scuff marks somewhere on his body. He’s covered in black from head to toe. Black Dr. Martens, black jeans, black tee. The only color on him is the blue of his eyes. I can tell he tried to gel his hair to keep it out of his eyes, but the constant shuffling around the store has made a few strands fall handsomely over his forehead. Who am I trying to kid?
The man is visually pleasing.
I tried to find him on socials when he dropped me off at home last night, but I came up empty-handed with only ‘Fitz’ to really go off. I can’t help but be curious about the little he shared last night. From what I could gather, he is trying to avoid working for his father. I wanted to ask more questions, but he cut the conversation short.
Sore subject, I suppose.
When he finishes bagging books for a young girl, he glances my way and grins when he catches me staring at him. I duck my head and squeeze my eyes shut, falling forward to slump against the bookshelf. I’m supposed to be shelving, but I can’t stop looking at him. He’s picked up on the business so effortlessly. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little impressed. When I first met him, he didn’t seem like the type to have ever worked a day in his life.
“Has Fitz worn you down?”
I nearly drop the books in my arms. When I glance up, it takes me a few seconds to recognize the man beside me. “Jace,” I say when his name registers. “No, not at all.” I shuffle the books into one arm and motion toward Fitz at the register. “He’s right there if you’re looking for him.”
Jace leans his shoulder against the bookshelf, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “I’m content where I am.”
“Right… okay.” I busy myself with searching for where to place one of this year’s most popular books. We had a table full of them earlier this year, but the hype has died down enough to put them on a shelf. “What brings you in?”
Jace checks the time on his watch. “Almost closing time, right? I’m here to convince Fitz to join me for a night at an exclusive jazz lounge in Sanderling. Have you been?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t realize we had those here.”
“There’s a few scattered between here and Boston.” Jace takes the books from my arms and follows me to the next shelf. “You just haven’t been hanging out with the right people. Don’t worry; I’ll get you in this evening.”
I put away a book from his stack. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m dressed for a jazz club, and I don’t have anything at home?—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts. “You look great. And if Fitz turns me down, at least I’ll have you.”
I part my lips to decline his offer but pause when Fitz appears behind Jace, his head cocked slightly. “Turn you down for what, Jace?”
With a cocky grin, Jace turns and shoves the books into Fitz’s chest. “We’re going to a jazz lounge this evening, Fitz. You’re more than welcome to join us.”
I want to argue that there isn’t an us —that I was about to deny the offer altogether, but Fitz doesn’t need my reassurance. All it takes is a look shared between us to gather that information on his own. “We had dinner plans, but if Fallon is okay with changing them, we’ll join you.”
I’m not aware of any plans, but I play along. “As appetizing as sub sandwiches sound, I’d be okay experiencing a jazz lounge tonight instead.”
Jace clicks his tongue. “Damn, Fitz. Sub sandwiches. You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?”
I shove my tongue into my cheek to try and stop a smile from forming. I suppose I could’ve said something… classier, but sub sandwiches sound delicious. I planned to make one when I got home tonight, but it sounds like I’ll eat my words at a jazz lounge instead.
* * *
The low hum of conversation fills the air as we descend the stairs into the exclusive underground jazz lounge. The dim lighting and the soft glow of chandeliers create an intimate, almost secretive atmosphere. The sound of a saxophone pours over the room, smooth and soulful, winding its way around our table like a seductive whisper.
I glance at Fitz, who has been unusually quiet since we arrived. His expression is unreadable, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. Next to him, Jace is in his usual cocky, relaxed element, scanning the crowd and smirking at anyone who dares to make eye contact.
“This place is a hidden gem,” Jace said with a grin, leaning back in his chair as he watched a couple take the floor to dance. “Wouldn’t expect you to be into jazz, Fallon. Thought you’d be more of a pop music kind of girl.”
I raise an eyebrow, picking up the wine freshly delivered to our table. “I have a wide range of tastes, Jace. I’m full of surprises.”
Jace chuckles, clearly intrigued but not intimidated. “I bet you are.”
I shift uncomfortably, noticing the tension between him and Fitz. It isn’t just because of me; I know that, but I can’t help feeling caught in the middle of their quiet competition. Fitz, ever the enigma, seems distant and focused on the stage, but I can sense something stirring beneath his calm exterior.
On the other hand, Jace is playing the part of the charming bad boy, always teasing and flirting. It would make sense that they’d both be attracted to me, but I can’t shake the feeling that Jace sees it as more of a game than anything else. He and Fitz are close; that much is obvious, but something is lurking beneath the surface of their friendship.
As the music swells, Fitz leans in, breaking the silence. “You’re not planning to stay seated all night, right?” His voice is low, a hint of amusement threading through the words.
“Why?” I tease. “You think I can’t handle a little dancing?”
Fitz’s lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles, a hint of something deeper flickering in his eyes. “I don’t think you can, Fallon. I know you can.” He stands and offers me his hand.
The first song is slow, seductive, and full of emotion. Fitz leads, his hand firm on my waist as we sway together. His body is close to mine, and his movements are smooth and confident. There’s something magnetic about how he moves—like he isn’t just dancing with me but genuinely connecting with me. My heart races from the palpable tension between us.
“You’re a good dancer,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper above the music.
Fitz smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes that I haven’t noticed before. “You make it easy.”
As we dance, I glimpse Jace out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching us, his posture casual, but I can see the slight clenching of his jaw. There’s something about him that screams competition, even though he tries to play it off as if it’s nothing.
“You and Jace,” I begin, refocusing on Fitz. “How long have you been friends?”
“Since childhood,” he replies dryly, his hold on my waist tightening slightly. “He’s my best friend… well, one of them.”
“Andrew is the other,” I assume aloud. “I feel like a chess piece between the two of you.”
Fitz slows and places his index finger beneath my chin, ensuring he holds my gaze. “Only if you’re something to be won, Fallon. Otherwise, you don’t need to play the game.”
My pulse is thundering, and I wonder for a moment if he can hear it over the music. “I’m not interested in playing.”
“No?” Fitz suddenly spins me out and back in, and I catch myself by placing my palms against his chest. “Then what’s your story, Fallon? Why are you in New Hampshire?”
“I told you,” I snap. “I wanted something different. I like being near the water. Why are you so interested in me?”
“Because you’re not being truthful.” His hands find my waist. We’re no longer keeping in rhythm with the beat of the music, but he doesn’t seem to care. “I recognize secrets when I see them, and you’ve got one.”
I’m unable to hold his gaze because he’s right. I left Missouri for a specific reason, but he hasn’t earned the right to know why yet. And certainly not here, when his friend stares at me like I’m a piece of meat to be devoured. But Fitz… he looks at me differently. Still something to be consumed, but it’s deeper than that. Savored.
Finally, I tilt my chin up and lock eyes with him. “You know what they say, Fitz. Curiosity killed the cat.”
He lowers me into a dip and follows, leaning in close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my throat. “I’m willing to risk it to satisfy my curiosity, Fallon.”
When the song ends, Fitz silently leads me back to the table, his hand still resting on the small of my back. But as soon as I sit down, Jace stands up, offering me his hand with a grin that’s all cockiness. “It’s my turn.”
The second song is faster and more playful. Jace doesn’t hold back, pulling me into the rhythm with him. He moves with that same confident swagger, his grin wide as he spins me around the dance floor.
“You’re not like the others,” Jace murmurs, his voice low as we twirl. “You know that, right?”
I raise an eyebrow, not sure where this conversation is headed. “What do you mean?”
He grins again, but it’s no longer playful. It’s sharper, like a challenge. “You’re different. That’s why he likes you. But you should move cautiously, Fallon. Fitz has a reputation.”
I take my earlier advice and don’t try to dissect what Jace is saying. I could ask more questions, but I won’t like any of the answers he gives me. I’d rather remain naive about the man who walked into my store only a few days ago and has done nothing but cause mayhem and chaos in my life. He’s uprooted my carefully planned days and consistent, sometimes dull schedule. He’s trying to force himself into places I’ve long boarded up. And it’s working.
He’s getting under my skin.
I catch Fitz’s gaze across the room. He’s watching us, his arms crossed, a slight scowl pulling at his lips. It’s subtle, but it’s there. And suddenly, the air between Jace and me shifts. The tension between the three of us simmers, unspoken and raw. I feel the pull between Fitz and Jace, a quiet war being waged over me, and I don’t know how to handle it.
The longer I stay wedged between them, the harder it becomes to keep my emotions in check. I need to get out of here, to breathe, to think. “I’m stepping outside for a bit,” I announce, parting from Jace and beelining for the way out.