Chapter 11
Hijo de puta.
The phrase barely covers the fury roiling through me.
I’m out of the truck before I can think, boots hitting pavement as I take in the destruction. Both front windows of Wildflower Books are gone, save for some sharp, jagged shards along the edges.
The wildflower bookend display is tossed on the sidewalk, scratched but intact.
Wrought iron doesn’t break that easily. The brackets I made for the window shelving are ripped from the wall, screws and chunks of adobe scattered on the ground.
Something I built for her, destroyed by someone who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air she does.
Glass glitters on the sidewalk like stars that fell from the night sky and shattered on the ground.
Red paint covers the adobe wall and the door, dripping in streaks that look like blood in the streetlight.
And across the door in larger letters:
Directly beneath it, like an afterthought:
Behind me, car doors slam. Footsteps. Then Jess’s voice, tight with fury: “Oh, fuck no.”
I can’t look away from the damage, the hatred.
Someone did this. Someone in this town that Sadie loves, that she wrote a book honoring, came here and did this.
Chingada madre.
I turn back to my truck. Sadie’s still in the passenger seat. Frozen. Staring through the windshield at her shop with an expression that makes my chest go tight and furious.
I go to the door and pull it open. “Sadie.”
She doesn’t move.
“Tesoro.“ I gently touch her face. “Look at me.”
Her eyes shift to mine. Empty. Hollow.
“They didn’t do enough the first time? They had to come back and make it worse?” Her voice breaks. “How can a book make someone hate me that much?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how I’ll get through this. Maybe Owen’s right. Maybe I am making a fool of myself.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I mean it to. “Don’t let him in your head. Don’t let whoever did this win.”
A tear slides down her cheek as her hand shoots out toward the building. “Look at it, Mateo. They destroyed it. They destroyed my shop.”
“They destroyed glass and paint. Not you. Not what you built.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.” I take her hands. They’re ice cold.
I can feel the tension running through her like a current.
“Sadie, listen to me. This—“ I point to the shop. ”—is fixable. Windows can be replaced. Paint can be covered. But if you leave, if you let them drive you out, that’s it. You don’t get this back.”
More tears now. Silent, devastating.
Isabel appears at my shoulder. “Police are on their way. I called them.”
“Good.” I don’t look away from Sadie. “You’re staying with me tonight.”
“Mateo, I can’t—“
“Non-negotiable.” I stand, offering her my hand. “Come on.”
She takes it, letting me pull her from the truck.
The others are gathered on the sidewalk. Dean’s already taking photos with his phone for evidence. Macy’s on the phone with someone, her voice low and angry. Jess stands with her arms crossed, staring at the vandalism like she’s burning every word into her soul so she can hunt down whoever did it.
“Is that…” Sadie starts but stops. She shakes her head and points to the ground. Among the shattered glass are torn, crumpled pieces of paper. “Is that what I think it is?”
Dean crouches down, examines the torn papers scattered among the glass. He doesn’t pick them up, but he reads for a second before he stands.
“It’s your book,” he says quietly. “They tore up a copy of Wildfire Summer.”
“Those bastards,” Jess says quietly.
“I didn’t even have a copy in the shop,” Sadie whispers.
I watch the realization settle over everyone. Someone bought her book, the book they claimed was filth, just to tear it up and leave it here.
Her tears stop.
“They bought it,” she says. “They bought my book, ripped it up, and threw it here like trash.”
“Sadie—“
She looks up at me, and there’s steel in her eyes I haven’t seen before. “They’re hoping this will make me leave. They think destroying my shop and my book will scare me away.”
“Will it?” Jess asks quietly.
“No.” Sadie’s voice doesn’t waver. “What about the camera?”
I look up at the corner where I mounted it three days ago. The lens is shattered, the housing cracked open. Someone took a bat or a rock to it.
“They got to it,” I say. “But the footage might still be on the card.”
Officers O’Brien and Vasquez arrive within minutes. They go through the motions, taking photos, writing notes, asking if Sadie has any idea who might’ve done this.
Sadie doesn’t hesitate. “Judith Ashford.”
O’Brien looks up from his notebook. “The historical society president?”
“She’s been leading the charge against Sadie online,” I add. “Judith confronted her publicly tonight at Sips & Stars. There were plenty of witnesses.”
“I’m not saying she did this herself, but she’s been stirring up hatred. Someone’s listening to her,” Sadie says.
Vasquez exchanges a glance with O’Brien. “We’ll look into it.”
“Also, Owen Ross, Sadie’s ex-boyfriend,” I offer. His name’s written all over this. “He’s been harassing her since her identity was revealed.”
“Harassing how?” O’Brien asks.
“Showing up at my apartment uninvited. Threatening messages. He grabbed my wrist the other night.” She glances at me. “I had to get him out, and Mateo arrived shortly after.”
O’Brien writes this down. “We’ll follow up with both of them.”
“Will you?” Macy’s voice is sharp. “Because last time you filed a report and nothing happened.”
Vasquez makes a note. “We’ll talk to both Mr. Ross and Ms. Ashford.”
As they finish up, Vasquez walks to the corner of the building and examines the smashed camera. He carefully removes what’s left of the housing and holds up the SD card, scratched but intact. “Card’s still here. The camera took the hit, but whoever did this didn’t think to pull it.”
“Can you get footage off that?” I ask.
“Maybe. Depends on whether the impact corrupted the data. We’ll send it to the county lab.”
The officers finish documenting the scene and promise to follow up before they leave.
After they’re gone, Dean helps me board up the broken windows with plywood he keeps in his truck. Jess and Macy stand next to Sadie in solidarity and comfort.
Sadie walks back to the building and stands in front of the now boarded windows.
She crouches down among the glass and starts gathering the torn pages of Wildfire Summer, one by one, picking her own words out of the wreckage with careful hands, stacking the fragments into a neat pile against her chest.
Jess moves to help, but I catch her eye and shake my head. This one’s hers.
When Sadie stands, she’s holding the torn pages like something worth keeping. Her jaw is set. Her eyes are dry.
When everything is as secure as we can make it for now, Dean claps me on the shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Isabel hugs Sadie tight. “You’re staying with Mateo?”
Sadie nods.
“Good.” Isabel glances at me, then back to Sadie. “He’ll take care of you.”
Macy’s next, pulling Sadie into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Sadie says quietly.
“I know, but—“
“No, Macy. No buts. It’s not your fault,” Sadie repeats, more firmly.
Jess is last. She pulls Sadie into a long embrace, says something I can’t hear. Sadie nods against her shoulder.
“Macy’s offered to let me stay at her place,” Jess announces when they pull apart. “You two need space tonight.”
“You don’t have to—“
“Yes, I do.” Jess squeezes Sadie’s hands. “I’ll come by in the morning. We’ll figure out the next steps. But tonight? Let Mateo take care of you.”
Sadie looks at me.
“Okay,” she whispers.
The short drive to my house is silent. Sadie stares out the window, arms wrapped around herself. I keep one hand on the wheel and reach over to take hers with the other. She holds on tight.
My house is on the quiet side of town, a small adobe with a covered porch and the workshop out back where I do smaller projects. It’s not much, but it’s mine.
I kill the engine and come around the truck to open her door. She stands in my driveway, looking lost.
“Come on.” I guide her inside with a hand on her lower back.
The living room is dark. I flip on a lamp, and warm light fills the space. It’s not fancy. A leather couch, a wooden coffee table, and bookshelves lining one wall. But it’s clean and comfortable.
“Guest room’s down the hall,” I tell her. “Second door on the left. Bathroom’s across from it.”
She nods but doesn’t move.
“Are you hungry? I can make something—“
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sadie—“
“I’m fine, Mateo. I’m hurt. And angry.” She finally looks at me. “I just... I need to be alone for a minute.”
I point down the hallway. “Guest room. Second door.”
She disappears down the hall. I stand in my living room, listening to the silence, and resist the urge to follow her.
Two hours later, I’m still awake.
I tried going to bed. Tried closing my eyes. But every time I do, I see Sadie’s face in the truck. That hollow look. The vandalism. Those words.
NOT EVEN IN YOUR OWN BOOK
Fuck them.
I get up, pull on a t-shirt, and head to the kitchen for a drink of water.
The house is dark except for the moonlight through the windows. I’m halfway to the sink when I hear her behind me. I turn.
Sadie’s standing there in one of my old t-shirts. I must’ve left it in the guest room. It falls mid-thigh. Her hair’s down, loose around her shoulders. She’s barefoot.
“I forgot to grab stuff from my place. I hope it’s okay.”
“Of course, it’s okay, tesoro,“ I say quietly. “You okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits.
“Me neither.”
She moves closer.
“I keep seeing it. Those words. And I keep thinking—“ Her voice cracks. “What if they’re right? What if writing about this place the way I did—the sex, the romance, all of it—what if that really is something to be ashamed of? What if Owen was right about me?”
“Stop.” I cross the kitchen over to her.
She closes her eyes. “I’m so tired, Mateo. Tired of walking into my own shop, wondering who’s going to look at me like I’m disgusting. Tired of pretending the comments don’t get to me. I hate that I have to prove I belong here.”
“Then stop.”
Her eyes open. “What?”
“Stop fighting to prove you belong. You do belong. You have since the day you got here.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “Anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth convincing.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. You just can’t see it yet.”
She laughs, broken and exhausted. “Why are you always here when I need you?”
I should say something safe. Something that keeps us in the careful friend zone we’ve lived in for five years.
“Because I care about you,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because you’re important to me.”
“How important?”
The words are barely a whisper, but they hit like a sledgehammer. And I’m so fucking tired of safe.
“Very,” I admit.
And I kiss her.
Not gently or tentatively, but with five years of want crashing into five years of restraint, and the restraint finally fucking loses.
Her hands are in my hair. Mine slide to her waist, pulling her into me. She makes a sound against my mouth that destroys me.
I’ve imagined this way too many times, but nothing compares to the reality of Sadie in my arms, kissing me like she’s been wanting this too. I move her backward. We hit the wall. She gasps, and I swallow the sound, kissing her deeper, harder.
Her fingers find the hem of my shirt. Tug it up.
I break the kiss long enough to pull it over my head, and then her hands are on my chest, my shoulders, exploring like she owns me.
She does.
I kiss her jaw. Her neck. That spot below her ear that makes her breath pick up.
“Mateo—“ My name breathless on her lips is the best sound I’ve ever heard. Her hands slide to the waistband of my sweatpants.
“Wait.” The word comes out rough. Wrecked. Desire fighting logic. “Sadie, wait.”
“What?” she asks. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Absolutely not.” I cup her face, trying to catch my breath. “Everything’s exactly how it should be.” Fuck me. “But not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Not when you’re running from something.” I press my lips to hers again. “When we do this, I want you present, not trying to forget what happened tonight.”
“What if I’m ready?”
Holy hell, I want to believe her.
But I see it in her eyes. The fear. The desperation to feel something other than the hurt and anger.
“You’re not,” I say gently. “Not yet. But you will be.”
“Mateo—“
“I’ve waited five years, tesoro. I can wait a little longer.“ I kiss her softly. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“Then you won’t be.” I take her hand.
I lead her down the hall to my room. She climbs into my bed, and I slide in beside her. She rolls over, tucking herself against my side. I wrap my arm around her, and she rests her head on my chest. We just lie there in the dark.
I press a kiss to her hair. “Get some sleep.”
Her breathing evens out slowly. Within minutes, she’s asleep. I lie awake, holding her, replaying what happened in the kitchen.
The words were right there. I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for five years.
I close my eyes and let myself have this—Sadie in my arms, her heartbeat steady against mine.
Five years, and she’s finally here.