CHAPTER 8
A Moment That Feels Like More
Kathy — POV
The shop was closing.
That was Kathy's excuse, at least.
The sun had started lowering outside, turning Merrow Street into soft gold and long shadows. She had already flipped the sign to "CLOSED" ten minutes ago. The door was locked. The register was counted.
And Brad was still here.
He hadn't left when she started closing up.
Neither of them had mentioned it.
He just stayed.
Leaning against the counter in that quiet way of his, watching her move around the shop like he had nowhere else to be.
Kathy wiped down the counter slowly, not rushing. The cloth moved in small circles — cleaning something that wasn't dirty, just to keep her hands busy.
"You know," she said without looking at him, "most people leave when the shop closes."
"Most people aren't me," Brad replied.
She glanced up. "That sounded arrogant."
"It wasn't meant to be."
"Then what was it?"
He paused.
Then said, "Honest."
Kathy stopped wiping.
She looked at him fully now.
The light through the window caught the side of his face — strong jaw, dark hair that was slightly messier than when he first started coming here. He looked less put together than before. Less controlled.
She didn't know when that had happened.
Or why she noticed.
"Brad," she said quietly.
"Yes?"
She opened her mouth to say something — she wasn't sure what. Something about boundaries. Something about how this was becoming too familiar. Something about how she didn't trust men who stayed after hours because they always wanted something.
But the words didn't come.
Because he wasn't moving closer.
Wasn't reaching for her.
Wasn't doing anything except standing there.
Waiting.
That was the difference.
He wasn't pushing.
He was just... present.
Kathy set down the cloth.
"You're making this complicated," she said.
"How?"
"By not leaving."
Brad's expression didn't change. "I can leave if you want me to."
That was the problem.
She didn't want him to.
And she hated that she didn't want him to.
Kathy stepped around the counter slowly.
Not toward him.
Not away.
Just closer to the door.
But she stopped halfway.
The space between them was small now. Smaller than it had ever been.
She could see the slight tension in his jaw. The way his hands stayed still at his sides, like he was physically stopping himself from doing something.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
Brad looked at her.
"I'm thinking," he said carefully, "that I should step back."
"But you're not moving."
"No," he admitted. "I'm not."
Kathy's heart beat faster. She could feel it — a thrum in her chest, a flutter in her throat.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Something she didn't want to name.
"You're dangerous," she whispered.
Brad shook his head slightly. "I'm just standing here."
"That's the dangerous part."
He didn't argue.
Neither of them moved.
The silence stretched between them — thick, warm, full of things neither was saying.
Kathy looked at his face.
Then at his lips.
Just for a second.
Then away.
But he saw it.
Of course he saw it.
"Kathy," he said, and her name sounded different now. Softer. Lower.
"We can't," she said quickly.
Brad didn't ask why.
He just nodded.
"I know," he said.
Another pause.
Then he stepped back.
One step.
That was all.
But it felt like miles.
Kathy exhaled — she didn't realize she had been holding her breath.
"Not yet," she said quietly.
Brad nodded again. "Not yet."
He didn't push.
Didn't argue.
Didn't try to change her mind.
He just stood there, a step away, respecting a line she hadn't even drawn clearly.
That —
that was what scared her most.
Because men like him didn't do that.
Not in her experience.
But he did.
And she didn't know what to do with a man who stopped when she asked him to.
"I should go," Brad said finally.
Kathy nodded. "Yeah."
But neither of them moved for another long moment.
Then he turned.
Unlocked the door himself — because he had watched her do it enough times to know how.
The bell rang softly as he stepped out.
Kathy watched him through the glass.
He paused outside.
Like always.
But this time, he looked back.
Just once.
Then walked away.
Kathy leaned against the counter and pressed her hand to her chest.
Her heart was still racing.
"Not yet," she whispered again.
But even as she said it —
she wasn't sure how much longer "not yet" was going to last.