Chapter 29 Ava
Chapter twenty-nine
Ava
The bell above the bookstore door chimes, and I glance up from the counter, expecting a regular. Instead, I freeze.
George.
He steps in like he owns the place, like he belongs here. He doesn’t.
He’s wearing a suit, of course. He always does. Immaculately tailored, dark gray, with a blood-red tie that used to be my favorite. Now it just looks smug. Like him.
“Hello, Ava,” he says with that practiced smile. The one I now recognize as a performance.
“George,” I say, polite but clipped. I don’t offer more.
He walks closer, scanning the shelves like he’s interested in anything here. He’s not. His eyes keep drifting back to me. Watching me. Measuring.
“How… charming,” he murmurs, surveying the stacks and delicate signage. “I confess, I did not imagine you would manage to realise this… dream of yours.”
I stiffen, hands tightening around the paperback I’m supposed to be shelving.“Indeed. And it’s going rather well. Though I imagine that comes as a surprise.”
He hums, as though the point is open to debate, then leans against the counter — far too close. “You always did have a fondness for dusty corners and the underdog, didn’t you?”
I glance at the front windows. No sign of anyone. My chest feels too tight. I reach for my phone beneath the register, fingers moving instinctively.
Me: He 's here. George. Won’t leave. Please come.
I keep my face calm. Professional. But my pulse won’t slow down.
George keeps talking, something about coffee, or maybe catching up. I don’t really hear it. I’m too focused on the sound of the bell above the door, again.
And then he 's here.
Elijah.
He moves through the shop like he’s been here a hundred times. Calm. Confident. Commanding.
He doesn’t even glance at George.
His eyes go straight to me.
In two strides, he’s behind the counter, and then, his hands are on my waist, grounding me. His mouth is on mine, warm and sure and claiming. And just like that, the noise in my head goes silent.
I melt into the kiss, relief flooding me like breath after drowning. I only feel him, his steady hands, the faint press of his chest against mine, the unshakable calm in the way he centers me without a single word, just a touch, a look even.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against mine. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate. Like we’re the only two people in the world.
George clears his throat behind us, a forced sound.
Elijah doesn’t react. Not even a glance.
“I thought I’d grab a coffee,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “And see my girl.”
My girl.
I nod, my heart slamming in my chest for an entirely different reason now. “Yeah. Of course.”
Elijah finally turns, slowly, coolly, to acknowledge George. A brief glance. Nothing more.
George shifts uncomfortably. “I suppose I should be going, then.”
“Good,” Elijah says, voice pleasant but edged like a blade.
And just like that, George is gone. The bell chimes again. The door closes behind him.
I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until Elijah turns back to me and wraps me in his arms.
“You’re okay,” he whispers against my hair. “I’ve got you.”
And I believe him completely.
***
The bookstore is quiet now. Closed. The “Back Tomorrow” sign hangs gently in the front window, swaying with the hum of the air conditioner.
I’m sitting on the couch in the little back room, knees pulled up, one of Elijah’s sweatshirts wrapped around me like armor. I didn’t ask to borrow it. He just handed it to me the second we locked the door.
He’s in the kitchenette, making tea like he’s done it a hundred times. Like this space belongs to him, too.
Maybe it does.
He walks over and hands me the mug, crouching in front of me until we’re eye level.
“You’re quiet,” he says gently. Not pushing. Just noticing.
“I’m just…” I trail off, not sure how to say it. “I hate that he can still get under my skin. That I still freeze up around him. Like I’m supposed to explain myself. Or be small.”
Elijah nods, fingers brushing over my ankle. “That makes sense.”
He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He waits. Present. Steady.
“I wanted to scream at him,” I admit. “I wanted to tell him to get the hell out. But my voice just… disappeared.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Elijah says. “Not your voice. Not your space. Not your peace.”
I look at him then. Really look.
His gaze is soft, but there’s that fire beneath it. The quiet kind. The kind that burns for me, not at me. It makes me feel… protected. Powerful. Like I’m not alone inside my own story anymore.
“I didn’t have to say a word,” I whisper. “You walked in, and it felt like I could finally breathe again.”
He cups my cheek, thumb brushing lightly under my eye. “That’s what I want for you, Ava. To know you’re safe. Always. With me. Without having to ask.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away.
“I hate that he saw me shaken,” I say. “I don’t want to give him that power.”
Elijah’s voice drops, warm and certain. “He didn’t see you weak. He saw you loved. Protected. Untouchable.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead, slow and deliberate.
“I saw you today,” he adds, resting his forehead against mine. “You stood your ground. You didn’t flinch. You texted me. That’s strength, baby. That’s trust. That’s everything.”
I close my eyes, letting the weight of the day slide off my shoulders, bit by bit, under the press of his presence.
“You don’t have to be loud to be brave,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to fight alone. Not anymore.”
And that’s when the tears fall—not out of fear or shame, but out of release. Out of finally, finally feeling safe enough to let go.
Elijah pulls me into his arms without a word, holding me like I’m made of something precious.
And for the first time in a long time, I'm starting to believe I am.
Elijah holds me for a long time. No clock ticking. No demands. Just his arms wrapped around me like they were made for it. For me.
I don’t even realize I’ve curled into his lap until I feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. His fingers stroke gently along my spine, grounding me in the quiet.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“I am now.”
There’s a pause. Not heavy—just full. Full of things we don’t need to say aloud, because they’re already understood. But still, I find myself whispering, “Thank you for coming.”
His hand slides under my chin, tipping my face up to meet his eyes. “Always,” he says, with that quiet intensity only he carries. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I smile, but it’s shaky, like I’m still catching my breath from the storm I didn’t even realize I was in.
Elijah leans in, lips brushing mine so softly I barely feel it. He’s giving me the chance to pull away. To decide.
I don’t.
I kiss him back, gentle at first. But then it deepens, something slow and hungry waking up between us. Like we’ve both been waiting for this—for the chance to sink into each other and let the rest of the world fall away.
His hand curls in my hair, the other sliding around my waist, anchoring me as I straddle his lap. My sweatshirt rides up just enough that I feel the warmth of his palm against my bare skin, and I shiver—not from cold, but from the way he touches me. Like he’s memorizing every inch.
But there’s no rush. No edge. Just the kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way.
“I’ve got you,” he breathes against my lips.
“I know.”
I kiss him again, slower this time. Letting myself feel it. Letting him hold the pieces of me I used to keep locked away.
His lips trail down my jaw, to the corner of my neck. I sigh, tilting my head to give him more room. My hands slide under his shirt, fingers tracing the warm skin of his back.
“Let's go home.” I say quietly.
He looks at me, eyes soft but steady. “You sure?”
I nod. “I don’t want to be alone. Not after today. I want to fall asleep knowing you’re right there.”
His smile is small, reverent. “Then I’m yours, baby. All night. Forever.” And he kisses me soft and tenderly. It’s not about heat tonight, it’s about closeness. About safety. About knowing that whatever tomorrow brings, I won’t face it alone.
Because I’m his. And he’s mine. And that is everything.
Elijah doesn’t let go of me until we’re home. Not completely. One hand stays tangled with mine the whole drive, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against my knuckles. We don’t talk much, but we don’t need to.
When we step through the door, I kick off my shoes and he sets the keys on the counter. Like this is already his space, too. It is. It has been from the first night he stayed—and never stopped.
I lean against the kitchen island, finally letting my shoulders fall. “Sorry,” I murmur. “About earlier. About him.”
Elijah steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, his lips brushing my temple. “Don’t apologize for someone else’s bullshit. You didn’t ask for it.”
His voice is calm, sure, and it slices right through the static still buzzing under my skin. I nod, turning in his arms, burying my face against his chest. He smells like cedar and coffee and something uniquely him—something I now associate with safety.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I shrug against him. “Yeah. Just… I hate that he still knows how to make me feel so small.”
Elijah tilts my chin up with two fingers, just enough so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “He doesn’t. Not really. You’re here. With me. Standing tall. That’s not small. That’s strength, baby.”
Something in my chest unknots at those words.
He kisses me then—soft and slow. Like a question. Like reassurance. Like he’s reminding me of everything I am to him.
I melt into it. And just like that, the rest of the day fades. George. The bookstore. The cold echo of old wounds.
None of it matters when I’m here—wrapped in Elijah’s arms, in the place we’ve built together.
His warmth, his presence, his love—it's more than enough.
We don’t rush.