Chapter 3 Ava #2
We have everything ready when the first few people trickle in, local readers, curious neighbors, a few familiar faces from the stores down the block. The bell over the door chimes gently with each arrival, and the quiet hum of conversation starts to fill the space.
At the heart of today’s event is a small photography exhibit, a series of black-and-white shots taken by a local artist named Nicoletta Black.
Her photos are raw and intimate, capturing the quiet beauty of the city in ways I hadn’t noticed until I saw them through her lens: an elderly man reading the newspaper on a park bench, a little girl holding her mom’s hand outside a bakery, a stray cat sunbathing near a worn-down stoop.
And then there are the storefronts, my own included.
I hadn’t expected the sight of Books & Beans on the wall to hit me so hard. It's a photo from the early days, just after Elijah painted the sign but before we were fully open.
The windows are still dusty. The curtains are slightly crooked. But there’s a quiet pride in that image, proof of the dream becoming real.
Beside it is another shot: the sleek, moody front of Elijah’s tattoo studio. The reflection of the setting sun hits the glass just right, casting the inside in warm gold and deep shadow. It’s beautiful. Strong. Just like the man himself.
I catch movement in the corner of my eye and turn slightly.
There he is.
Elijah slips inside unnoticed by most, lingering near the back where the shadows stretch a little longer.
He doesn’t approach, doesn’t interrupt, he just watches.
His arms are crossed, the black sleeves of his Henley pushed up to his elbows again, revealing the ink that always makes my fingers twitch with curiosity.
His gaze is steady, warm, fixed entirely on me.
My pulse stumbles.
I force myself to keep moving, to greet the guests, to talk about the exhibit, about Nicoletta’s work, about what this bookstore hopes to be for the community. I smile, I laugh, I pour coffee. But I feel Elijah’s presence like a second skin, like gravity pulling quietly at my center.
And when our eyes meet across the room, just for a second, just long enough and I know he sees it all.
Every wall I’m still trying to hold up.
Every crack is already forming. And he doesn’t look away.
The presentation was a success, people loved the photographs, and more than one person made a purchase.
At the end of the day, I love that our neighborhood is opening up to new artists.
Nicoletta was beyond delighted, so much so that she's already thinking about doing it again. I was just happy to support her.
"I'm so happy your art was so well received, and that you even sold some pieces," I say as we sit together on one of the cozy sofas, coffee cups in hand. Mia’s still at the door, saying goodbye to the last customers.
"Yes! Thank you so much for the opportunity," Nicoletta replies, her smile bright.
"By the way, what would the price be for the photograph of the store?" I ask, glancing toward the now-empty display wall. "If it’s not too much, I’d love to keep it here."
Her expression shifts. "Ahh, Ava! I’m so sorry, but I sold it to an anonymous buyer. Oh my goodness, I should’ve asked you first. I should’ve known you’d want it."
"Hey, it’s okay." I give her a reassuring smile. "I’m just glad you sold it. Honestly. I wanted to mention it earlier, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind. I’m just happy someone else saw the beauty in your work, enough to take a piece of this shop home with them."
"For what they paid, they better enjoy it," she laughs.
"Was it a lot?" Mia pipes up, her curiosity beating out her filter. I’m curious too, but she’s always the bold one.
"Mia!" I scold, playful but firm. "You can’t ask that!"
They both burst out laughing, but Nicoletta answers anyway, her eyes gleaming.
"Let’s just say it was four digits, and the buyer insisted on remaining completely anonymous."
Mia and I gape, jaws nearly hitting the floor.
"So let’s toast to this successful day and that extraordinary sale!" Mia says, raising her coffee cup like a champagne flute.
After they leave, I stay behind to tidy up.
They invited me out to dinner, and I know I should’ve joined them.
A night out, some laughter, a distraction, yes, I could’ve used that.
But my body is tired, and my mind is caught somewhere between last night’s moment with Elijah and the lingering weight of that nightmare.
I’m in the back office when I hear a knock at the door. When I step out to the front of the store, I see him. Elijah.
He’s still wearing the same clothes, but something in his eyes is different, guarded, searching. I can’t quite read him.
Elijah stands just inside the door, the last rays of dusk casting a soft glow behind him. The store is quiet now, emptied of the earlier crowd, the echo of laughter and conversation slowly fading into silence.
I hadn’t expected him to come back tonight.
My heart stutters at the sight of him, still in the same clothes, sleeves pushed up, a hint of ink at his forearms, that quiet intensity in his eyes that always seems to find me no matter where I am.
“You came back,” I say, voice low.
He steps further into the store, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t get to talk to you earlier.”
I nod, suddenly too aware of the space between us, and how quickly it’s closing.
“I stayed for a while,” he says, his gaze flicking toward the wall where the photo of Books & Beans had been displayed. “You were glowing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
"You never interrupt, Eli." That word, never, lingers between us like an invitation he doesn't realize he's extending.
I smile faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Nicoletta was over the moon. She sold more than she expected. Someone even bought the photo of the store.”
His eyes hold mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Anonymous buyer.” I shrug, trying to sound casual, even though there’s a small ache in my chest I didn’t expect. “I was hoping to keep that one. But it’s okay. I’m glad someone saw what I see when I look at this place.”
Elijah’s mouth curves slightly at the corners, almost a smile. “Whoever bought it has good taste.”
I laugh softly. “That’s what Nicoletta said. She also said they paid four digits for it.”
His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.
I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling exposed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I like hearing you talk about things that matter to you.”
I swallow hard. The words settle deep in my chest, where something warm and nervous starts to stir.
His eyes drop to my mouth, linger, then return to mine. “You looked happy tonight.”
“I was.” I hesitate, then add, “It’s been a while since I’ve felt that way.”
A pause stretches between us, thick, charged.
He takes a step closer, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough to smell that familiar mix of cedar and something uniquely him.
“And now?” he asks softly.
I blink up at him. “Now… I’m not sure what I feel.”
He nods once, as if he understands completely, even if I don’t say more.
Then, without touching me, without breaking eye contact, he says, “You don’t have to know. Just don’t shut it out.”