Breaking the Thief

Chapter 1 Avery

AVERY

He’s here again.

Third Tuesday in a row. Same time, just after five when the light through the front windows of Worn Spines, the little bookstore where I work, turns amber.

He comes through the door with such confidence you barely even notice. Like this little bookshop on Fifth Avenue in Gaslamp is just another errand on his list. Only nothing about him says errand.

He radiates precision.

He oozes control.

I only notice him because he tries so hard not to be noticed.

Plain khakis, black T-shirt, black shoes.

Nothing flashy. Nothing fancy. But the way he moves through the store with his shoulders level, eyes scanning, aware of every bit of his surroundings—that’s not how normal people browse for books.

That’s how someone walks through a space they’ve already mapped in their mind.

I’m standing behind the counter, pretending to organize the new arrivals display, but I’m really watching him. I’ve been watching him for three weeks now. Which sounds creepy, but I can’t stop myself.

Maybe it’s because I’m eighteen and he’s clearly much older than me. Or maybe it’s because I’m barely scraping by and he has his whole life under control. Maybe it’s because he’s mysterious.

Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Not pretty-boy gorgeous. Not Instagram or TikTok gorgeous. He’s the kind of gorgeous that would make you cross the street away from him at night and then hate yourself for not having the guts to stay near him.

Slicked-back blond hair, well over six feet, a jaw that could have been carved from steel, and a muscular body that even his plain clothes can’t hide.

The black T-shirt stretches over his shoulders and chest like it’s seconds from tearing.

His arms are thick and veiny, and when he reached for a book last week, I caught the edge of something dark on his bicep.

A tattoo. Just the tip of it, disappearing beneath the fabric like a secret.

I’ve been thinking about that tattoo for days, which is crazy. Because I don’t even know his name.

Today, he goes straight to the non-fiction section, pulls out a book like he knew it would be there, then takes a seat in the leather chair by the window like he owns it. He opens the book and starts reading.

Not skimming, not checking his phone. He’s focused.

I tilt my head discretely to read the spine from across the room.

Advanced Security Systems. Electricity, Sensors, and Design.

Interesting.

Not a self-help or a book on politics for this guy. A technical manual on security systems. The kind of thing someone might read if they were trying to get past them…

Stop it, Avery. He’s probably just an engineer or a guy in the field…who just so happens to look like he could snap someone’s neck without even raising his heart rate.

I should leave him alone. But I know I can’t. Quickly, I brew two cups of the shop coffee and walk over to him.

“Just a little light reading?” I say, stopping in front of his chair, holding out a mug for him. He just looks at it, then up at me.

And wow, he’s even more stunning up close. His eyes are ice blue, almost gray, and they beam into me with a focus that I can almost feel. I’m pinned in place. For a full second, he doesn’t speak. He just looks at me, my face, my hands holding the mugs. He’s reading me the way he reads rooms.

“Can I help you with something?” His voice is low. Flat. Not rude exactly, but impenetrable.

“I just brought you a coffee,” I say, holding out the mug. “Anyone sitting in this leather chair gets a free cup. It’s a rule I invented a couple minutes ago.”

Nothing. Not a smile, not even a twitch of the lips.

“I didn’t ask for a coffee.”

“I know, I just thought it would be a nice gesture…”

Something moves behind his eyes, like he’s calculating. Trying to figure out why I’m standing here. What I want. Whether or not I’m a threat.

Me. All five-foot-three of me in my two-year-old Converse and torn up jeans.

“Who sent you over here?” he asks.

“Sent me? Nobody sent me. I work here. Just trying to be friendly.” I glance at his book, trying to change the subject to something he’s more into. “You’re into security systems?”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. He glances behind him, then looks back at me, squaring his shoulders. “What exactly is your interest in what I’m reading?”

I take a step back. The warmth I walked over with is swept away with something cold. Embarrassment. I drop my eyes. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Have a nice day.”

I turn to leave, feeling deflated. After three weeks of wondering about this man, thirty seconds of conversation has told me everything I need to know. He’s rude, paranoid, and probably is the kind of person you would cross the street to avoid.

“Wait.”

His voice stops me mid-step. It’s softer now, like he heard himself and realized just how harsh he was being. I stop and hesitantly glance back over my shoulder.

“This is a book for work,” he says. “I’m in security. I’m a consultant.”

Something about his face has changed. The chill is still there—the steel. But there’s a softness now. A flicker of something that might be regret. Or at least something close to it.

He’s making an effort, but I don’t say anything.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He stops and takes a breath. “I’m not used to people approaching me. My name’s Chris. What’s yours?”

He extends a hand—a strong, capable hand that has me chewing my lower lip. I set the mugs down on the table in front of him and take it. A jolt runs through my wrist and up my hand like an electric current, and in an instant, my pulse is racing.

“Avery,” I manage to say. The corner of his mouth moves. He almost smiles.

“Thanks for the coffee, Avery.”

I should walk away now while I’m still ahead. But my heart is pounding, and it’s like an invisible force pulling me closer and closer. I nod to the chair in front of him, and he nods back. I take a seat.

“Security consulting,” I say, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to look cute. “Is that an interesting profession?”

“Not to most people.”

“I’m not most people.” It comes out bolder than I meant. Almost like I’m flirting, which I have no idea how to do. My cheeks go hot. “I mean—this is just my day job. I really want to be a photographer one day.”

Why am I telling him this? I don’t tell anyone about my dreams. Except for my best friend, Jules.

He watches me with those pale blue eyes, and for the first time, his defensiveness seems to have softened. Now he looks at me with curiosity. The way you might look at a bird you’ve never seen before that just flew through your window and landed on your bed.

“You live around here, Avery?” he asks.

“City Heights. Not far. I rent a place with two other girls. How about you?”

The defensiveness returns. He moves his head side to side noncommittally. “Close enough.”

It’s not a real answer, but he does finally take a sip of the coffee. And he doesn’t set it down right away either. He holds it, which tells me he’s not in a hurry to leave this conversation. In fact, he pulls his chair closer to mine.

My heart jumps. Being this close, I can actually smell him. It’s a clean scent—woody with citrus notes. Maybe the soap he uses. But it goes straight up my nose and down into my core, anchoring me in place.

“So what kind of photography do you do, Avery?”

He’s asking me questions now. I almost don’t know how to answer. “Portraits mostly. I like people, I guess, so I like taking pictures of them.” I laugh and it comes out like a snort, causing my cheeks to get even hotter. How embarrassing. Chris, however, doesn’t react.

“You take pictures of strangers? Friends?”

Chris may not be used to being approached by people, but I’m definitely not used to gorgeous men asking me questions about myself. I don’t even know how I found the courage to come over here and talk to him. Now my head is swimming in the clouds.

“My friend Jules, mostly,” I say, sipping my coffee. “She doesn’t mind posing for me. Then my parents too. They live back in New Hampshire.”

His eyes search my face like he’s discovering something. That hint of a smile has broadened into something almost fully realized. And that has me squirming in my seat.

My cell buzzes in my pocket, and the bells above the front door chime. My stomach drops before I even look up. I already know.

Jules.

She sweeps into the shop like a storm front, her wavy dark hair bouncing, her oversized purse knocking into a display of birthday cards. “Avey, Avey, Avey!” she calls out, spotting me. “I’m double-parked, let’s get outta here. I got us a reservation at—”

She stops. Her eyes land on me, then move to Chris. She examines the book in his lap, then spots the edge of his tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve. Her expression instantly shifts from one of glee to one of stern concern.

“Who’s this?” It’s a rhetorical question, which really means what are you doing?

“Oh.” I glance at Chris. His expression has sealed shut again, causing my heart to sink. “Yeah, we just met. We were talking—”

“Great,” she says, already at my side, her hand closing around my arm. “We’ve got plans, so let’s go.” She flashes a fake smile at Chris with no warmth behind it. “It was wonderful to meet you.”

Chris says nothing. He just watches as Jules pulls me to my feet, his expression something I can’t decipher. Anger? Frustration?

I let Jules pull me to the door because I don’t know what else to do. Making a scene would be wrong, especially as an employee. And she clearly doesn’t want to be introduced further.

“Who the hell was that?” she barks when we reach the door.

“He’s a customer. Comes in every Tuesday.”

“Avery,” she sighs, gripping my shoulders. “That man looks like he eats iron for breakfast. Did you see his tattoo? Men get those in prison.”

I scoff. “You don’t know that. He said he was a security consultant—”

“And you believed him? You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know his name is Chris, he likes black coffee, and he is interested in my photography.”

I’m feeling defensive now. After all it took for me to go over there and get him to ease up and talk to me, now Jules is pulling me away and basically calling me dumb and na?ve.

She’s not entirely wrong, though. I am na?ve when it comes to men. I’ve never had a boyfriend or been on a real date. The only guys I talk to are the ones I’m ringing up at the store.

Still, I’m offended.

“Avery,” Jules sighs, closing her eyes before opening them and looking at me. “I need you to promise me that you won’t see this man again.”

I can see where this is headed, and I really don’t want to get into an argument with her. “Fine. I promise.” It’s a lie, but it doesn’t matter. Chris comes in every Tuesday, so I’ll just wait until next week. The next six days will be painful, though.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“One second, I have to drop my apron out back,” I tell her. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

I walk quickly through the employees-only door and hang my apron up on the rack. Part of me just wants to say screw it and go back to Chris and finish our conversation. But that will just lead to Jules causing a bigger scene and me potentially losing my job.

So I walk back out front and head for the door. I expect Chris to be gone—having bailed after Jules’s spectacular scene—but just as I’m reaching for the handle, I feel his presence. I smell him.

I turn and find myself staring into those icy blue eyes. “When do you work next?” he whispers. “Tomorrow?”

I can barely breathe, but somehow manage to reply, “No, the day after. I’m off at noon.”

Something exciting flashes in his eyes, causing my body to tense and my belly to warm. “Okay, I’ll see you in two days, Avery.”

And then he’s gone. Out the back like a phantom, leaving me standing there stunned.

Okay. Now I just have to figure out what to do with myself for the next two days.

I’ve never been more excited to return to work. Because the next time I clock in, Chris will be here.