Chapter 2
Ugh. Today was not my day.
All I wanted was to stay in my period sweats, the soft gray ones I only wore when I was crampy and crabby and riding the line between murder and sobbing at dog videos.
But of course, life had other plans.
And by life, I mean Abby.
She called just as I was about to cue up my comfort movie and dive into a family-size bag of peanut M&Ms. Her little guy had spiked a fever, and daycare was calling her to pick him up early.
Which meant someone had to cover the store.
Which meant that someone was me.
I told her it was no problem, because it wasn’t. Not really.
Abby and Reggie were good people. They’d given me a job when I moved to Willowbend two years ago.
And Books on Main had quickly become my sanctuary.
It smelled like old pages and spiced tea. Soft playlists in the background. A bell that jingled when someone came in, like it was saying, Hey. You’re safe here. Come find your next favourite book.
I just hadn’t planned to leave the house today, let alone put on pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband.
But I did.
I threw on my softest sweater dress, the oversized deep blue one that hung off one shoulder like it was trying a little too hard, but still made me feel pretty.
Tights with compression, because my uterus was staging a rebellion.
Knee-high boots, because if I had to be miserable, I could at least be cute.
Hair in a high ponytail. Just enough makeup to make me look like I had it together.
I looked in the mirror, forced a smile, and whispered, Fake it ‘til you make it, babe.
It was fall in Willowbend. The kind of fall people wrote songs about.
Golden trees. Wind that bit just enough to make you pull your sleeves down. That low sun that made everything glow like it had a filter on.
It was the kind of day meant for new beginnings.
Not that I knew that yet.
Willowbend was a tiny town tucked into the foothills of southern Alberta. About an hour southwest of Hawthorne Ridge, where I grew up.
Hawthorne was bigger, more polished. The kind of place that ended up on tourism brochures for cozy festivals and pristine downtown shopping.
It’s also where my family still lives.
The Morgans.
Everyone knew us. My parents were high school sweethearts, still incredibly disgustingly amazingly in love.
My sister Clara ran a café that had its own hashtag and seasonal menus.
My brother Chase was a doctor who now worked with my dad at our family clinic.
My mom, who used to be the stay-at-home supermom who packed themed school lunches, now splits her time between volunteering and watching Clara’s son full-time.
They were the family. Golden, grounded, glossy in that way people envy but never question.
And then there was me.
The youngest. The baby. The “writer.” The one with too many feelings and not enough structure.
The one who moved to the farthest town in the cluster, as my mom still liked to call it.
The one they didn’t quite know what to do with.
They said things like:
“Why would you work for someone else when you could open your own bookstore?”
“Why ghostwrite for other people instead of publishing your own books?”
“Why hide who you are?”
And I knew they said it with love. I did.
But that was the thing.
I wasn’t hiding.
I just needed to be someone on my own.
Not Clara’s baby sister. Not Chase’s shadow. Not the golden child who forgot how to shine the way they expected.
If I were being really honest, I didn’t even know if I wanted to shine anymore.
Didn’t know if I wanted to keep smiling just because it was expected.
I’d spent so long trying to prove I was more than a pretty face, that I could be smart enough, driven enough, enough enough... and it was exhausting.
I was tired of people, especially men, seeing me as a golden ticket.
A shortcut to a perfect life. The kind of girl you dated when you wanted your parents to be impressed.
The kind of girl you marry to upgrade your image.
But never really saw.
I wanted to be seen.
Not for who my family was.
Not for what I looked like.
But for me.
The bell over the door rang right after I unlocked it and flipped the sign.
I didn’t even have time to light the candle Abby always left burning before he walked in.
And everything... stopped.
I swear to God, I forgot how to breathe.
He looked like he’d stepped out of a dream and into my Wednesday.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Confident stride. Expensive cologne that somehow smelled like it belonged in this dusty mountain town.
His dark hair was perfectly tousled, just enough silver at the temples to make him look sophisticated.
Golden-brown eyes that locked on me like he already knew I was his next chapter.
And when he smiled, my knees hated me for it.
I’d only ever felt like that once before.
I had a massive crush on a boy who treated me like a younger sister.
Our age difference didn't work, and I secretly hoped that when he came back from college, the age difference wouldn't be so big. However, he moved away with his girlfriend.
It was crazy, a young crush. Those kinds of intense feelings that make you think you have found your forever kind of love.
I pulled myself back to the present and the intimidatingly beautiful man in front of me.
He was older. Sharper. Polished in a way that said money and trouble, and I know what I want.
And there was no ring.
I checked.
Twice.
“Hi,” he said, voice like velvet and whiskey. “I was hoping you could help me find something.”
I nodded. “Sure. What are you looking for?”
He smirked. Eyes flashing with something that made my skin prickle. “A book. For a friend.”
For a friend. Right.
He wandered the aisles with me, asking questions. Half-listening. Half-smiling. Totally leading.
Like he already knew what he wanted, but was more interested in watching me work for it.
We ended up back at the front counter, and he glanced at the time.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, pulling out his phone, thumb hovering like he didn’t actually want to leave.
Then he looked up. Met my eyes again. Held them this time.
“What’s your name?”
“Cassidy,” I said, surprised it came out steady.
“Cassidy.” He said it like a secret. Like something he planned to keep.
“I’ll be back. I think I just found my new favourite place.”
I laughed, trying to brush it off. “Because of the books?”
“Because of the pretty girl behind the counter.”
My heart stuttered. Froze. Forgot what it was supposed to do.
He slid his phone across the counter. “Can I have your number?”
I hesitated.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because I did.
Because something about this... him, felt like it could unravel me.
Like if I gave him my number, I’d never get to be the same version of myself again.
And I wasn’t sure I could afford that.
Because I didn’t want to be just the pretty girl behind the counter.
He must’ve seen the war behind my smile, because he leaned in just enough to tilt the balance.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be back. I’ll earn it. That first date.”
Then he winked. “I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be our last first date.”
And just like that, he walked out.
Left me standing behind the counter with my heart in my throat
and an ache I didn’t have a name for yet.