10. Aurora
CHAPTER TEN
Aurora
Who the hell was that man?
My heart was still hammering against my ribs as I walked beside Ethan, the festival lights glowing soft and golden around us, laughter and music blending into a distant hum. But all I could hear was Hank Lawson’s voice.
Your uncle ruined my life.
He stole from me, and you're just waltzing in here like nothing happened?
Page Turners doesn’t belong to you. It never will.
The words replayed over and over in my head, twisting into something dark and sticky, something I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried.
Because none of it made sense.
George Bennett had been a bookstore owner. A quiet, quirky old man whose heart had failed him—leaving me his struggling shop and a mess of financial problems.
Sure, his manager, Beatrice, had acted a little strange, but that was just because she didn’t like me. Right? Nothing to do with my uncle, who everyone I’ve met only had kind words for.
But then there was the break-in at the bookstore.
And that folder.
What kind of power did a man like that have over someone like Hank?
I didn’t know much about Medford, but I knew that Hank Lawson wasn’t just some guy. He was the kind of man who spoke in threats disguised as business deals, who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you feel small.
And yet, tonight, he had raised his voice.
Because of me.
Because of my uncle.
I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, my fingers curling into the fabric as Ethan led me away from the festival, toward the quieter side streets of town.
“Tell me what he said.”
Ethan’s voice was low, steady. Controlled in a way that told me he wasn’t.
I glanced up at him. His jaw was tight, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders tense like he was ready for a fight that hadn't come.
I let out a slow breath.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It didn’t make any sense.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked to me. “Try me.”
I hesitated, my mind still spinning. But I had to say it out loud, didn’t I? Maybe it would sound as ridiculous as it felt.
“He said George wrecked his business and life,” I started, keeping my voice low, as if saying it too loud might make it real. “That people in town helped him. And that I will never be able to own Page Turners.”
Ethan stopped walking. I barely had time to react before he turned to face me fully, his eyes sharp, his jaw ticking.
“He said what?”
I swallowed. “That it can’t be mine.”
Ethan exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “That's bullshit.”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah? Because the way he was talking, he seemed pretty damn sure about it.”
“He's trying to scare you.”
“Well, it’s working,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
The words hung between us for a moment. I hadn't meant to sound so raw, so vulnerable .
But I was.
This was supposed to be simple. Come to town, fix up the bookstore, sell it, and go back to my life.
No one said anything about town feuds. Or shady business deals. Or a man like Hank Lawson shouting threats in my face while the smell of caramel apples and grilled steak filled the air.
I exhaled, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I don’t know what's happening.”
Ethan was quiet for a moment. Then, softer than I expected, he said, “We'll figure it out.”
I looked at him.
He hadn't said you'll figure it out. He’d said we .
And that did something dangerous to my heart.
I should have pulled away. Should have reminded him—and myself—that I wasn’t staying in Medford, that I didn’t need saving.
But instead, I let him guide me forward, down the quiet streets, toward the one place I knew I shouldn’t go.
Ethan’s home.
And God help me, I didn’t want to turn back.
Ethan’s house was tucked away on the edge of town, a small craftsman-style home with warm light spilling from the front windows. It was nothing fancy, but it felt safe. The kind of place that had seen late-night talks over whiskey and early mornings with strong coffee.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let me in. I hesitated for just a second—because this was a line, wasn’t it?—before stepping over the threshold.
The air inside smelled like cedar. I wrapped my arms around myself as Ethan shut the door, locking it with a quiet click.
“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the couch. “I'll make some tea.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Tea? That's unexpected.”
He smirked, disappearing into the kitchen. “I’m full of surprises. Unless you do want something stronger?”
I considered it for a moment. “Actually, tea sounds perfect.”
I sank onto the couch, my body aching in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. My mind was still tangled in Hank’s words, but for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.
Ethan returned a few minutes later, setting a steaming mug in front of me. He sat down beside me, close but not too close, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“So,” he said, voice low. “Talk to me.”
I stared into my tea, watching the steam curl into the air. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Just start anywhere.”
I took a slow sip, gathering my thoughts. “None of this makes sense. My uncle wasn’t some scheming businessman. He was just George, as far as I know. A guy who loved books and probably had more conversations with fictional people than real ones.”
Ethan was quiet, waiting.
I sighed. “What if Hank’s right? What if there’s something I don’t know about George? Beatrice hinted at it, too.”
My parents hadn't been close to him by the time I was a freshman, so talk about him was limited in our house. With them gone too, there's no one close to me who could fill in those gaps about George.
Ethan leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Aurora, listen to me. Hank Lawson is a liar. He's a manipulator. He's using fear to make you second-guess yourself, and it’s working.”
“But what if?—”
“No.” His voice was firm, but there was something else there, too. Something gentle. “I know men like him. The more you let him get in your head, the easier it is for him to control the narrative. You don’t let him win by playing his game. And Beatrice. Well, I’m pretty sure she was in love with your uncle, so she's just upset that he's gone.”
I let his words sink in, let the weight of them settle in my chest. I wanted to believe him. More than anything, I wanted to believe that Hank was just blowing smoke and that Beatrice hadn't really meant anything.
But what if that wasn’t the case?
I glanced up at Ethan, and for the first time since I met him, I let myself really look at him. The sharp lines of his jaw, the storm brewing in his blue eyes, the way he sat so still, like he was holding something back.
He was angry. For me.
I wasn’t used to that.
Something in my chest tightened.
“Why do you care so much?” I whispered.
Ethan’s jaw flexed, and for a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then his hand moved, slow and deliberate, brushing against mine on the couch.
Not grabbing. Not demanding. Just there.
“Because I like you, and I don’t think you deserve this,” he said. “No matter what happens.”
A shiver ran through me, but it had nothing to do with the cool night air.
Because this wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just friendship.
This was something else.
Something I wasn’t ready for.
Ethan’s fingers tightened around mine, the warmth of his skin sending a slow, unraveling heat through me.
I should have pulled back. Should have reminded myself that this was a bad idea, that I’d already crossed too many lines with his brothers.
But when he turned toward me, his gaze locking onto mine, my breath caught.
The space between us shrank, the air thick with something heavy and unspoken. His eyes flicked to my lips, and my stomach clenched in response.
No. I couldn’t do this.
I wasn’t staying. I wasn’t getting attached. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to make things even more complicated than they already were.
But then Ethan leaned in.
Slow. Deliberate. Like he was giving me time to stop him.
Like he was daring me to.
I should have.
But my body betrayed me.
The moment his lips brushed against mine, soft and sure, every ounce of logic melted away.
A soft gasp escaped me as he deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up my arm, tracing heat in its wake. He kissed me like he’d been holding back for too long, like he was tired of pretending he didn’t want this.
And damn it, I kissed him back. Because it felt right.
Because the way he touched me wasn’t demanding, wasn’t possessive—it was something else entirely. Something that made my heart ache.
But then Mason’s hands flashed through my mind. Owen’s mouth against my skin.
I broke away, my breath unsteady, my head spinning.
Ethan’s forehead rested against mine, his breathing just as uneven as mine.
“Aurora,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of my hand.
What the hell had I done now?