2. Cole
COLE
N othing about meeting Tori Blake had been accidental.
My first glimpse of her had been pure chance—a brush with fate, if you believed in that sort of thing.
The mayor of Oakridge Bay, an old friend of my father’s, had thrown a formal gathering in town, and my father had asked me to attend as a favor.
One quick look at my phone had shown me where Oakridge Bay even was—a small dot in the mountains of Washington, far removed from the spotlight where I typically operated.
The people at the party had known my name, whispering about my family and the company my father and I ran.
I was used to the questions, the people clamoring to be seen with me, the thinly veiled agendas under every handshake.
Most were eager for any connection they could leverage. I would’ve left the second I fulfilled my obligation—until I saw her.
Tori Blake.
The way she moved in the crowded room was different from anyone else.
She was quiet, blending in with the servers as she passed trays of drinks, her steps graceful, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
It was almost as if she was there on a mission of her own.
Not a single person had caught her attention, and she definitely hadn’t paid any attention to me.
She didn’t have that look of greed, of calculation, that so often crossed faces when people knew who I was.
I’d watched her for half the evening, noting the way she sidestepped the attention.
The guarded light in her eyes that suggested she was more comfortable on the fringes.
She wore a fitted black dress, simple but elegant, setting off her curves and hinting at the strength beneath that quiet, focused expression.
When I’d tried to approach her at the party, she’d disappeared before I could even say hello.
But the mystery of her haunted me, had me rethinking my flight back to Seattle the next day.
I’d asked a few subtle questions, and by the end of the night, I had a name—and I knew exactly where to find her boutique.
So, two days later, I found myself outside Velvet & Lace, Oakridge Bay’s answer to a high-end clothing boutique.
A small shop, filled with clothes that somehow managed to bridge elegance and comfort with a touch of class.
My kind of place. The kind of place that Tori Blake had clearly poured herself into.
I pushed the door open, and the bell jingled, sounding more cheerful than I felt.
As I stepped in, I saw her behind the counter, busying herself with some paperwork.
She looked up, and in that instant, I was caught all over again.
She didn’t smile. Just gave me a polite nod, her eyes flicking over me as if assessing whether I was worth her time or not.
It was like nothing I’d experienced before. Most women I encountered weren’t shy about their interest.
Tori? She seemed utterly uninterested. I gave her my best smile.
“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice warm, friendly.
“Morning,” Tori greeted.
She looked back at her paperwork, clearly intent on ignoring me. But that only made me want her attention more.
The silence stretched, charged in a way I hadn’t expected. I could feel the layers beneath her calm exterior, the walls she’d built.
But I also saw something in her eyes, a glint of wariness that sparked my curiosity, a flicker of a past she didn’t want exposed.
Someone had hurt her.
I could almost feel it in the way she held herself, guarded and composed, as if expecting some unspoken threat.
“Are you the owner?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
“Yes.” She looked up, and there was a momentary surprise in her gaze, as if she was unused to being addressed so directly. “How can I help you?”
I tried to read her, looking for cracks in her armor, for any sign that I might gain her trust.
“I’m here for something… unique. Something that only you can recommend,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as she studied me.
Her face was a careful mask of politeness, but there was something deeper. Interest, maybe. Or at least curiosity.
“We have several options,” she said. “Our fall collection is fresh off the line.”
“I’ll take a look,” I replied, leaning slightly closer, just enough to be casual, but also to let her feel my presence.
Her gaze flickered, as if deciding whether to engage or keep me at a distance.
She chose the latter, turning to a display without a single hint of interest beyond the professional.
I couldn’t deny how frustratingly enticing that was.
She walked over to a rack of dresses, her fingers brushing the fabric lightly.
“This one has been popular,” she said, gesturing to a flowing, burgundy dress with delicate lace details. “Perfect for events, dates, formal dinners.”
“Events and dates,” I repeated, considering her carefully. “I could see you in something like that.”
She paused, and for a split second, a crack appeared in her calm demeanor.
A slight stiffening of her shoulders, a quick glance that made me think she was trying to size up my intentions.
“I’m not the type to take my own recommendations,” she said evenly.
I didn’t miss the way she shifted her stance, the way she crossed her arms, creating a physical barrier between us.
I leaned against the counter, keeping my tone light.
“So you’re the type to let others have all the fun?” I asked.
Her eyes met mine, fierce and defiant. “I don’t need clothes for fun, Mr…?”
“Cole Valen,” I answered, watching her face for any sign that she recognized the name.
Nothing. Just that guarded look, a flicker of annoyance, and a sense of mystery I couldn’t quite crack.
“Well, Cole Valen, our shop is meant to give people what they need,” she said, her voice edged with a challenge. “I don’t think that includes being told what to wear.”
“Fair enough,” I said, nodding. “But something tells me there’s more to this place than meets the eye.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that so?”
“I can tell that every detail here has been chosen with purpose. It’s refreshing to see that level of care. Not many places have that. Or people.”
My words hung in the air, charged, and I saw her shift slightly, as if my gaze had brushed too close to something private.
She forced a polite smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you,” she replied, but her voice lacked the warmth that her expression feigned.
Something in me wanted to reach across that distance, to strip away the defenses she held up like armor.
But I knew better than to push too hard, especially with someone as guarded as her.
Whoever had hurt her, whoever had made her flinch at the smallest kindness, deserved to pay for it.
But I knew that the last thing she needed was a man trying to play protector, someone ready to sweep in like a hero.
She needed control, her own agency.
And I would give her that, no matter how fiercely my instincts clawed at me to hunt down her demons and rid her of them.
Instead, I shifted tactics, offering her a chance to engage without pressure.
“I have a sister,” I said. “We haven’t spoken in a while, and I’d like to find her something special. She has a similar taste to yours, I think.”
Tori’s eyes softened just slightly, enough that I felt a hint of the woman behind the armor.
“Your sister?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Yes. She’s the best of us, I’ll admit,” I said, letting a small smile slip through. “She’s strong, independent… a lot like you, I’d imagine.”
For a moment, she looked as if she might let her guard down, a faint smile touching her lips.
But just as quickly, it faded, and she turned back to the dresses, deflecting with practiced ease.
“Well, if you’re looking for something memorable, this would suit her,” she said, pulling a sleek, emerald-green dress off the rack.
I took the dress, nodding thoughtfully.
“She’d like it, I think. It has character, a bit of fire,” I remarked.
She gave a quiet laugh, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“Fire, maybe.” She paused, her tone softer now, almost reflective. “Or maybe just enough to keep people at a distance.”
The words hit me harder than I’d expected.
She might have been talking about the dress, but there was something in her voice.
In the way she looked away when she said it, that hinted at far more.
I wanted to reach out, to tell her she didn’t have to be on guard. But I knew better.
Trust was something I’d have to earn, and Tori Blake wasn’t a woman who handed it out freely.
Instead, I nodded, letting her see that I’d caught her meaning, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it.
“Thank you,” I said, holding her gaze a second longer. “For your recommendation. It means a lot.”
She gave me a polite nod, but there was a glint in her eye now, something that spoke of curiosity, maybe even intrigue.
The first crack in the walls she’d so carefully built.
And I’d be back—I knew that much. Because no matter how many walls she raised, I’d find a way through.