Chapter 4 Elijah
Chapter four
Elijah
She looks at me like I’m the storm she never saw coming, like she wants to run but can’t decide which direction would hurt less. And fuck, I get it.
She’s standing in front of me in her quiet bookstore, looking like she doesn’t realize she glows. Like she doesn’t understand that just by existing, she pulls people in.
She’s not trying. She never does. That’s just her magic, this quiet, effortless gravity that draws you in and doesn’t let go.
I came here just to check in. That’s all. Say hi after the show, make sure she is okay, maybe throw in a casual joke.
But the second she turned and looked at me like that, like she wasn’t expecting me, like getting too close might break her, I forgot every word I had rehearsed.
I want to tell her I bought that photo. That I would’ve paid double. Triple. Because seeing her shop, her dream, her, frozen in that perfect shot, it felt like I was holding a piece of her.
Something to keep when she’s not around.
Something that made me feel closer to her, even if she has no idea. But I don’t say it. Not yet. I can’t.
Because if I say it, and she turns me down, if I lose her, I don’t know what I’ll do.
So I watch her take a step back. God, it hurts seeing her pull away.
Her voice is tight, when she tells me she needs to close up. Like she’s trying to convince herself of something. Like she’s building walls faster than I can walk around them.
“You always run when things get real?” I ask softly. I don’t want to push.
But I need to understand.
Because I know she wants this too. She wants us too.
I see it, in the way her smile grows when she sees me walking in. In the way her eyes linger a second too long.
“I don’t run,” she says with a tight, crooked smile.
“I just… move fast in the other direction.”
It’s a joke. Classic Ava. Quick to deflect. Never quick to let anyone stay.
You’re already in too deep, I remind myself. This isn’t a crush. Hasn’t been for a long time.
I want to tell her she’s safe with me. That the world could burn and I’d still be here, in the ashes, looking for her.
But I know she wouldn’t believe it. Not yet.
Maybe not ever, if she keeps convincing herself no one could want her for real.
And something in me snaps.
I follow her into the little office.
She’s rifling through the mess on her desk. God, she’s adorably chaotic. I love that about her. I love everything about her.
This is Ava: brilliant, messy, sexy as hell, and somehow heartbreakingly unaware of her own magic.
I close the door slowly behind me. The soft click makes her head snap up.
Her eyes widen when she sees me there, leaning against the door.
“What are you doing, Elijah?” she asks.
Her voice trembles. She takes a step back and bumps into her chair, falling into it.
I cross the room, slow. She tries to roll away, but I tilt my head and let a mischievous smile play on my lips.
“Are you afraid of me, Ava?”
“W–What? N–no. I’m not afraid of you. Why should I be?”
She tries to sound confident, but her voice betrays her.
“Then why do you look like a deer caught in the headlights?” I tease.
“I do not!” she says, trying to sound offended.
For a second, I hesitate. I’m trying to read her.
Trying to figure out if this is a mistake.
Maybe I’m imagining all of it. Maybe she really doesn’t want more than friendship.
I move in front of her desk. One hand scratches at my beard, the other taps lightly on the wooden surface.
I helped her build this place. This desk, these shelves, every inch of this shop has a piece of me in it.
And over time, she gave me pieces of herself too, tiny glimpses. Never the painful parts. Never her fears. But I still saw them.
I saw the way her smile sometimes faltered at the edges. How she shrugged off compliments like she doesn’t know how to accept them. How she never looked at herself in the mirror for too long, and when she did, she avoided her own eyes.
And tonight? Tonight, I’m taking the risk.
I round the desk. With every step, her breathing grows more shallow.
“Then tell me, baby girl...” My voice is low. “If you’re not afraid of me, why can I see your heart pounding in your neck? Why is your gorgeous, creamy skin flushed? And your pupils... they’re so damn wide, I can barely see the beautiful green underneath.”
I pause, watching her. Letting her feel the weight of it.
“Because if it’s not fear… could it be… ” I tap my finger thoughtfully against my lips. “Arousal?”
She gasps, but she doesn’t deny it. So I take my chance.
I lean in, caging her against the chair with one arm, the other hand rising to gently cup her cheek.
My forehead rests against hers, and I breathe her in, sweet vanilla with a hint of something floral, delicate and intoxicating. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t push me.
“Tell me to stop, Ava,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. I don’t want to. God, I don’t. But if she asks me to, I will. Even if it shatters me.
For a second, I think she will. I brace for the word no, for the slightest push, for her to put space between us. But all she does is look at me, those gorgeous eyes wide, pleading.
Pleading for what, though? Permission? Comfort? Me? To stop?
I close my eyes for the briefest second. When I open them again, she gives the smallest nod. Barely there, but enough. It’s everything.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands framing her face like she’s something fragile and precious, because she is. And then I close the distance.
And when my lips finally brush hers, it’s not fireworks or chaos.
It’s quiet. Still. Peace.
Like the world holds its breath.
Her lips are soft, hesitant. She tastes like vanilla, coffee and nerves. Her hands stay in her lap, fists clenched like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Like she’s scared touching me might make this real.
But then, just as I start to pull away, she makes this sound. A tiny, broken sigh.
And she grabs the front of my shirt. Pulls me back in. And this time, it’s not hesitant. This time, she kisses me like she’s afraid it might be the only chance she gets.
Like she wants to memorize the shape of my mouth, the way I breathe her name between kisses.
Like she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t feel everything all at once.
I lose my hands in her hair. She rises from the chair like her body can’t stand being seated anymore,and she straddles me like being closer to me is the only thing keeping her sane.
We stay like that, tangled in each other, hearts racing.
Not just a kiss. A breaking point. A beginning.
When we finally pull apart, her forehead rests against mine. She pulls away.
Not all at once, like a slap or a shove, but slowly, like it hurts her to do it.
Like it’s the last thing she wants, and the only thing she knows how to do.
Her fingers are still curled in my shirt, like her body hasn’t caught up to her mind yet.
But her eyes… Her eyes won’t meet mine.
“Ava,” I whisper, barely able to get her name out past the ache forming in my chest.
She lets go of me like I’m fire.
“No,” she says, voice so quiet it almost doesn’t make it through the space between us. “We can’t do this.”
The words slice through the warmth we’d just built like a cold wind through a cracked door.
“I thought…” I start, then stop, because I know.
I know she felt it too.
“You thought right,” she says, shaking her head.
“That’s the problem.”
She steps back, wrapping her arms around herself like armor.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she adds. “Not without ruining it. Not without ruining you.”
I take a step toward her, but she backs up farther, bumping against the edge of the desk.
“You won’t ruin me, Ava,” I say, steady. “You never could.”
She lets out a hollow laugh.
“You say that now. But you don’t know what it’s like to be let in, only to find out the walls were there for a reason.”
“I’ve seen your walls,” I reply gently.
“I know why they’re there. I’m not trying to tear them down, I’m just…”
“Trying to love me?” she cuts in, eyes flashing.
“You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
There’s a long silence.
The kind that feels heavier than yelling.
I breathe in slowly. “Then tell me. Show me what it looks like to stay. Because I’m not walking away unless you make me.”
She looks at me then, really looks and for a split second, I see it.
The war behind her ribs. The part of her screaming to run.
And the quieter, braver part… begging her to stay.
“I need time,” she says finally. “I just… I need space to think. To breathe.”
I nod, even though everything in me wants to fight it. “Okay. You take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes close. She nods once, sharp and tight, then brushes past me.
And as the door clicks shut behind her, I stay in that office, surrounded by the scent of her, vanilla and books and something heartbreakingly her.
I stay, even though she’s gone.
Because love doesn’t leave just because someone walks away. Not when it's real.