Chapter 15 Millie
Millie
He walks out of my bedroom, and my heart does a stupid, painful lurch. He’s wearing the old gray sweats I bought for him years ago, and a faded black T-shirt that’s stretched tight across his chest and shoulders.
He is so hot. It’s an unfair, cosmic joke.
After days of misery, of missing him so much it felt like a physical part of me was gone, he just walks back into my life looking like this, and I’m supposed to be rational. I’m supposed to be just his friend.
My mind is a tangled, chaotic mess. I like him. God, I like him so much it hurts to breathe. But there’s also Maddox.
The memory of his hands on my skin, the gentle way he cared for me today, the raw pain in his eyes when he showed me his bruises. I’ve liked Maddox, too. I’ve never acted on it, burying it under layers of friendship and the fear of ruining everything.
And then there’s Knox. The sheriff. The stranger. My only safe option—a man who is completely, irrevocably off-limits. A man whose presence in this town is a complication I can’t even begin to unravel.
Oh fuck!
A wave of warmth washes over me, starting in my chest and spreading downwards. It’s not just the apartment’s heating. It’s a sudden, dizzying rush of awareness, of want, and it’s directed squarely at the man standing in my living room.
My thoughts are interrupted by a loud ding from the kitchen. The oven timer. I practically run in that direction, needing a task, a distraction. I rummage through a drawer, looking for the oven mitts I know are in here somewhere.
“I got it,” Liam says, his voice close behind me.
He reaches past me, his arm brushing against mine, and pulls the lasagna from the oven with his bare hands, like the heat is nothing.
He sets the hot dish on the stovetop and turns to me, a grin spreading across his face. “Smells fucking incredible.”
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. But I’m not talking about the lasagna. He smells like me. He’s used my shower, and my scent is all over him. It’s making me feel a little dizzy, a possessive, primal thrill that I have no right to feel.
It’s just like when Maddox came in here smelling like Liam, and my whole world tilted on its axis. They need to stop doing that. This cross-contamination of scents is going to drive me insane.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softening. He touches my arm, his fingers warm against my skin. “You look a little flushed.”
I nod, pulling away slightly. “I’m fine. Just hungry.”
“Let’s eat,” he agrees.
We eat at the small table in the corner, the conversation flowing easier than I expected.
We talk about nothing and everything—the ridiculous plot of the video game, the latest gossip from the firehouse, Maren’s new obsession with sourdough bread.
It’s comfortable. It’s us. After dinner, we do the dishes together, a silent, synchronized dance of washing and drying that feels more intimate than it should.
When we’re done, he lets out a contented sigh.
“Can I… can I ask for something?” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“Anything,” he says, his eyes searching mine.
“Can I see it?” I whisper. “The tattoo.”
He lets out a soft curse, directed at Maddox. “Of course he told you.” But then he sighs, a small, resigned smile playing on his lips. He peels the T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion, and my breath catches.
There it is. A mess of jagged, dark lines, a broken circle with flames licking at the edges. And in the center, a single, stark letter “M.” My initial. He got a tattoo with my symbol in it, a permanent mark of his pain.
My hand reaches out, almost of its own accord, and I trace the edges of the inked “M.” The skin is warm, and I can feel the faint, raised texture of the scar tissue beneath.
“Did it hurt?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
He turns to face me, and the shift in position brings us incredibly close. The warmth from his bare chest radiates toward me, a magnetic pull. He looks down at me, his eyes dark and intense.
“Not at the time,” he says.
His hand comes up, his fingers gently cupping my cheek. His thumb strokes my skin, a slow, maddening caress. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut. This is it. This is the moment.
“Millie,” he says, his voice strained.
In my head, a war is raging. Why can’t we just be friends with benefits? Why can’t we fuck one last time, just to get this out of our systems?
The thoughts are selfish, reckless, and so, so tempting. I want to say it. I want to beg him for just one night, no strings, no promises, just this.
But I don’t. Because I know it would be a lie. It would never be just one night. And it would be selfish of me to ask him to risk his heart all over again when I’m still so terrified of risking my own.
Instead, I pull back, breaking the spell. “I need to head to bed,” I say, my voice shaking slightly. “I’m… I’m exhausted.”
He nods, dropping his hand from my face, and the loss of his touch is a physical ache. He leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to my forehead.
“Goodnight, Millie.”
“Goodnight, Liam.”
I retreat to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I lie down on my bed, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. My heart is still racing, my body humming with an unfulfilled energy.
What the hell is wrong with me?
We’re all here, tucked into our usual corner booth at The Cocoa Nook, a fragile truce declared over mugs of coffee and plates of eggs.
Maddox is slumped in his seat, a deep weariness etched around his eyes that has nothing to do with a lack of sleep and everything to do with the secrets he carries.
He insisted on this breakfast, a mission to reinforce the newly repaired foundation of our friendship.
“I’m glad you two sorted your issues,” he says as he takes a long sip of his black coffee. He’s not looking at either of us, his gaze fixed on some point on the wall, as if to give us space even while he’s sitting right here.
“I’m okay,” I say, the words feeling both true and not.
The panic attack is a memory, a terrifying but distant storm, but the emotional landscape it left behind is still jagged and unfamiliar.
I glance at Liam, who’s sitting beside me, his arm resting casually along the back of the booth, just inches from my shoulders.
He gives me a small, reassuring smile, and a knot in my chest loosens.
Over at the counter, Jessica is dusting the shelves, her movements a little too bright, a little too energetic. She catches my eye and offers a tight, professional smile. I nod back. The sight of her no longer sends a hot stone of dread into my gut.
“We need a nice night out,” Maddox declares, finally looking at us. “All of us. No drama, no deep conversations. Just drinks. Maybe this weekend. We can hit up Bar 2.0.”
Liam and I exchange a look. It’s a good idea. A way to reset, to find our new normal. “Yeah,” Liam agrees. “I’m in.”
“Me too,” I add. “That sounds… nice.”
After we finish our breakfast, Maddox leaves, pulling me into a quick, hard hug. “Be good,” he murmurs into my hair before he’s gone, the bell jingling his departure.
Liam and I get back to work, falling into the familiar rhythm of cleaning up and getting ready for the morning rush. It’s easier now. The air between us has cleared, the unspoken words finally voiced.
I watch him as he works, the way he laughs with a customer, the easy grace with which he steams milk and creates a perfect rosetta on a latte. He’s so good at this, at making people feel seen and cared for.
He’s a warmth in the center of the room, a beacon of normalcy in a town that’s still healing, and I find myself just… watching him. A soft smile plays on my lips, a private, quiet moment of appreciation.
Around eleven, the bell jingles again, and Shepard Hale walks in. He’s dressed in a dark polo shirt, his eyes scanning the room before they land on me. My heart gives a familiar old flutter, a ghost of a feeling.
“Millie,” he says, his voice warm as he approaches the counter. “Liam. Good to see you both.”
“Shepard,” Liam replies, his tone polite but a little cool. He turns to wipe down the espresso machine, giving us a semblance of privacy.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Shepard says, his focus entirely on me. “We’re making some real progress at the library, but we’re swamped with organizing the new donations. I was wondering if you might be free to come by this evening? We could use your expertise.”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Of course,” I say, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “What time?”
“Around six? We’ll probably order pizza.”
“I’ll be there.”
He grins, that same easy smile that used to make my stomach do flips. “Great. Thanks, Millie.” He pays for his coffee, gives Liam a brief nod, and then he’s gone.
The library in the evening is a different creature.
The sun streams through the arched windows, casting low shadows across the floors.
The air smells of old paper, lemon polish, and the scent of new paint.
Scaffolding still lines one wall, a reminder of the fire’s reach, but the main space is clearing up.
Boxes are stacked in neat rows, waiting to be unpacked.
Shepard is there, as promised, along with Sadie.
They’re working together, a well-oiled machine of unpacking and sorting.
I watch them for a moment from the doorway, unseen.
Shepard reaches for a book at the same time Sadie does, their hands brushing.
He laughs, and then he leans in and kisses her.
It’s a small, sweet, utterly domestic peck on the lips.
And I wait for it. I wait for the familiar pit, that hollow, achy void that opens up in my stomach whenever I see them together. I wait for the sting of jealousy, the irrational wave of hurt that tears my heart out, piece by painful piece.
I wait.
And nothing happens.
I watch them pull apart, share a smile, and go back to work, and I feel… nothing. A quiet sense of peace.
The good news is, I’m over him.
The realization hits me with the force of a gentle wave, not a crashing storm. Seeing him with Sadie doesn’t hurt because he was never really mine to lose.
The crush I had on Shepard was a fantasy, a placeholder for the real, terrifying, and complicated feelings I have for the men in my life right now.
My heart is already occupied, tied up in a messy, beautiful, heartbreaking knot with two men who are my best friends, my home, and my biggest risk all at once.
I take a deep breath, the smell of old books filling my lungs, and I walk into the room, ready to work.