Chapter 16 Selene
SIXTEEN
SELENE
Our local café and bookstore was called the Crooked Spine.
It was tucked between the bookstore’s ivy-covered side wall and an antique map shop that rarely opened before noon.
Inside, it smelled like espresso and old paper, with mismatched chairs and creaky wood floors that whispered with every step.
Fat, sleepy cats draped themselves across armchairs and windowsills, basking in squares of sunlight like royalty.
Winnie had named them all—Marmalade, Sir Pounce, and Biscuit Head among them—and greeted each one like a longtime friend.
She’d begged me to sit at the table by the window “because that’s where Biscuit Head curls up,” and sure enough, he was already there, loafing beside the glass like a furry paperweight.
The bell above the café door chimed with its usual delicate jingle, but I barely noticed it.
My eyes were on the book in my lap, a paperback with dog-eared pages I’d already read twice but had pulled off the shelf for comfort more than plot.
Winnie sat across from me, legs swinging under the table, marshmallow foam clinging to her upper lip as she sipped hot cocoa from a yellow ceramic mug that looked far too big for her hands.
She was humming something—some tune she’d learned in school or made up on the spot, impossible to tell the difference—and I tried to lose myself in the words on the page, but they blurred.
Everything blurred lately.
My body was still betraying me. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the hot press of Austin’s mouth at my jaw, the way his voice had rasped my name like a secret in the dark.
My insides went molten just remembering.
Even now, sitting in the middle of a public place, my thighs squeezed together under the table like they had a mind of their own.
And then—
“Didn’t expect to find my two favorite girls here. Are you stalking me, or is this fate?”
My head snapped up, pulse stuttering.
Austin stood just inside the threshold, sunlight hitting his shoulders like a spotlight. He wore a worn gray Henley with the slutty little buttons undone, jeans low on his hips, and that stupidly easy grin that made breathing feel optional.
He was already walking toward us, unhurried, and completely at home in his own skin.
He stopped at the edge of our table like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged there.
Winnie lit up like a sunrise. “Austin!”
He crouched next to her chair, his attention fully hers. “What’s the cocoa verdict today, kiddo? Is it any good?”
“Mom thought the cocoa was a little too hot to drink,” she said seriously. “She was right, but the whipped cream helps.”
Austin’s flirty gaze flickered my way. “I bet there isn’t much your mom is wrong about, but can I trust your taste buds?”
She offered him the mug with no hesitation. He fake-sipped, smacked his lips, and nodded solemnly. “Yep. That’s solid cocoa. You’ve got a good thing going here.”
She beamed, already back to sipping like she hadn’t just handed over her drink to a grown man with zero suspicion. That was the thing about Austin—he made people feel safe. Instantly. Easily.
And me?
I was watching him like he was made of fire.
He looked at me then. Really looked. Not just with his eyes—but with something heavier and deeper, like he remembered every inch of last night’s heat and wasn’t sorry for any of it.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, trying to stay steady. “I didn’t peg you as a café bookstore guy.”
“I saw you two in the window.” He stood to his full, impressive height, smile still teasing. “I’m still trying to crack the code on your coffee order.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
His arms crossed. “I’ve been guessing for weeks. You keep switching it on me. First it was vanilla something, then the cinnamon one.” He frowned down at the foamy cold brew in front of me. “Today there’s ice and it’s got a dusting of something. Is that nutmeg?”
I blinked, then looked down at my cup. “You’ve been paying that much attention?”
“Maybe.” His grin went crooked. “It would be a hell of a lot easier if you’d stop changing it up every day.”
My chest went tight. I hated how much I liked his answer.
Winnie slid out of her chair to dig in the little basket of books at the end of the table, humming again. Austin’s gaze followed her for a beat, soft and warm, before coming back to me.
“It’s weird, right? Not seeing each other in the mornings?” he said, voice lower now. “I almost stopped by before I realized it was Saturday.”
I nodded, because I didn’t trust my voice. Because yes. It did feel odd. Having Austin around had quickly felt comforting. It was almost like he had always been here, like his laugh belonged in our kitchen and his shoes belonged by the front door and his goddamn voice belonged in my ear at night.
He held my gaze, but I looked away first.
“Well, I’m headed to the nursery,” he said casually. “Thought I might grab a few plants for the garden. You’re welcome to pick some out . . . unless you two had plans?”
Winnie whipped her head around. “I wanna go!”
I opened my mouth to say no, to offer an out. “I mean, we could go, but it’s your day off. You probably need a break from us,” I said gently.
He tilted his head, brows lifting just slightly. “Selene,” he said, voice like velvet dragged across skin, “if I wanted to be anywhere else, I would be. Spending time with you two isn’t a job. It’s just . . . where I want to be.”
And just like that, I was melting all over again.
I gave him a slow nod as he extended a hand toward Winnie. “Let’s go find some veggies, kid.”
She squealed and darted ahead of us. I grabbed my bag, still rattled, still aching.
As I passed him on the way out, Austin’s hand grazed the small of my back—it was definitely not by accident.
“Are you going to keep looking at me like that,” he murmured so only I could hear, “or are you finally going to admit you like having me around?”
I didn’t answer, but I knew he saw my smile.
The nursery sat at the edge of town where the gravel turned to dirt and the fields stretched wide and sun-bleached, preparing to sleep. Autumn had settled in with its crisp quiet that made the air smell like dried leaves and earth still clinging to the last of the harvest.
We pulled into the lot just as a gust of wind kicked up a swirl of golden birch leaves, sending them skittering across the hood of my car. The greenhouse glowed in the slant of early-afternoon sun, its arched panes fogged slightly with warmth and life.
Austin’s SUV parked beside ours, and he pulled open my driver’s-side door and grinned as Winnie frantically tried to unharness herself. He turned to me. “You think she’s excited?”
“She’s vibrating,” I murmured, shaking my head.
Austin waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got that effect on women,” he said under his breath, then winked before giving me room to get out and open Winnie’s door for her.
My laugh caught in my throat, and a low roll of heat curled through me.
Winnie was squirming in the back seat. “Do you think they’ll have sugar snap peas? You said fall is for planting peas.”
“I said that one time.” Austin shook his head and smiled as he helped her unbuckle. “You’ve got a memory like a steel trap, kid.”
She beamed. “I’m very smart.”
His smile bloomed, blinding and bright. “That you are, Win.”
I stepped out of the car, grounding myself in the crunch of gravel underfoot, and in the sound of the wind chimes tinkling just above the entrance.
A part of me still couldn’t believe we were here.
Together. I glanced around, wondering whether this was something people noticed or if I was too caught up in my own thoughts.
Austin opened the greenhouse door and held it for us like being a gentleman came naturally for him. It wasn’t a date . . . but somehow felt like one anyway.
Inside the nursery, the scent of damp mulch and cedar pots wrapped around me like a sweater.
Tables were lined with hardy greens, cool-season lettuces, and little fruiting plants in ceramic pots—kale with deep-purple veining, stubby cabbages, and even a few late-bearing tomato varieties already straining against their cages.
It was quieter than in spring, the planting rush long past, but there was something peaceful about the stillness.
Humidity and the trapped sunlight warmed me, so I slipped out of my jacket, draping it over my arm.
Austin nudged Winnie toward a flat of broccoli seedlings and whispered like it was a secret mission. “Do you think your mom would eat these if you grew them?”
She squinted at him like she wasn’t sure whether that was a trick. “Only if they turn into cheese.”
They laughed at my expense, but it filled me with happiness. My cheeks pinched and my heart was full.
The greenhouse curved overhead in a long glass arch, soft light diffusing over rows of herbs and starter plants, little signs stuck into pots in loopy handwriting—basil, zucchini, beefsteak tomato, and something called 1,500-year-old cave beans.
Austin crouched beside her as she ran her fingers over fuzzy leaves. “You remember what we talked about, bug? You have to pick at least one thing you’re willing to try eating.”
She scrunched her nose and looked up at him with a wrinkle of suspicion. “Even if it’s weird?”
“Especially if it’s weird,” he said solemnly. “That’s what makes it fun.”
She pointed to a tray of rainbow carrot sprouts, still tiny and wild-haired. “These look funny.”
He grinned. “Perfect.”
I stood a few steps behind them, arms folded, trying to seem casual, but my chest was tight and my skin too warm, even without my jacket. Austin scooped her up effortlessly to let her see the hanging baskets overhead—long tendrils of sweet potato vines and bursts of red geraniums.
His hand cradled her back. His laugh was soft.
I felt it again—that ache that wasn’t just physical. It was the one that whispered what if. The one that threatened to swallow me whole if I let it.
Winnie pointed to a ceramic frog statue with a cracked eye. “I love him. Do you think he has a name?”
Austin glanced over his shoulder, catching my eye. “What do you think, Selene?”
I blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he said, voice low and just this side of intimate. “You look like someone who’d name a frog.”
I gave a wry smile. “Charming.”
He smirked. “Come on. Don’t let the frog down.”
“Willie.” I shrugged and immediately regretted it.
“Old One-Eyed Willie.” Austin’s grin widened. “It’s perfect.” He grabbed Willie by the neck and tucked the figurine into his armpit.
I turned away, pretending to examine a tray of lavender plants, but I could feel the smile tugging at my mouth anyway.
We bought far too many plants. More than would ever fit in the tiny raised bed he’d built behind the duplex, but Winnie was too thrilled to stop, and I didn’t have it in me to break the spell.
The woman at the register gave a steep discount for Willie since he was cracked, and Winnie’s smile beamed the entire time.
As he paid, Austin’s hand grazed the small of my back, light and intentional.
My breath stuttered and I didn’t move.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, voice pitched just for me. “You’re looking a little . . . flustered.”
I swallowed, pulse thudding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His hand didn’t move. “Sure you don’t.”
He turned toward Winnie before I could respond, but the heat of his palm lingered long after it left me.
As we stepped back into the sunlight, arms full of starter plants and a ceramic animal we didn’t need, he adjusted the flat of marigolds under one arm and glanced at me.
With my jacket off, I should have felt the chill in the air, but the warmth of Austin’s touch lingered like it had been burned into my skin.
“See you at home,” he said easily.
Home.
It shouldn’t have made my heart clench like that, but it did.