Chapter 31 Ava
Chapter thirty-one
Ava
I wake to warmth, to the scent of cedar and skin and the deep steadiness of Elijah’s breath at the back of my neck.
It’s still early—light hasn’t quite made it through the curtains—but he’s already awake. I can feel it. The kind of stillness that isn’t sleep, but tension held just below the surface.
His arms are around me, firm and sure, but there’s something different in the way he’s holding me. Not tighter—just more careful. Like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.
Like me.
“Elijah?” I whisper, my voice thick with sleep.
He kisses the top of my shoulder, but it takes him a beat too long to answer. “I’m here.”
But he isn’t. Not fully.
I shift in his arms until I can see him. His eyes are open, trained on the ceiling like it’s got secrets only he can read. His jaw is tense, the muscle ticking like it always does when he’s overthinking something.
“Eli,” I say again, firmer this time.
His gaze drops to mine, softens instantly. “Morning, baby.”
It’s a beautiful lie. Because whatever’s sitting behind those eyes—it’s not morning-light soft. It’s midnight-heavy.
“What happened?” I ask, heart beating a little faster. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
He hesitates. Not because he wants to lie to me, but because he’s weighing how much I need to know.
That’s how he is. Always protective. Always trying to carry the whole damn world so I don’t have to feel the weight.
“Elijah,” I whisper, resting my hand over his heart. “I’m not made of glass.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. Then sighs, like letting go of a breath he’s held all night.
“I went to the Kingstons’ last night. Talked to them about everything—George showing up, the notes, the flowers, the photo.”
I go still. “The photo?”
His hand brushes a strand of hair from my face. “We’re not ignoring this anymore, Ava. I’ve got people on it now. Real people. Not cops who’ll log it and forget it happened. The Kingston’s—they’re on our side. Whatever this is, whoever’s doing this, we’ll find them.”
A chill skates down my spine. “And George?”
“I don’t think he’s the one sending the notes,” Elijah says, eyes narrowing. “But I do think he’s hiding something. That visit to the store wasn’t random.”
My mind spins, anxiety starting to stir. But Elijah leans in, his lips brushing mine—slow, grounding.
“I told them you’re mine,” he murmurs. “That you’re the only thing that matters. And they listened. They’ll help.”
He says it like a vow. Like a promise etched in steel.
And I believe him.
Still, I press closer to his chest, needing his heartbeat under my ear like a lifeline. “I don’t care about George. I care about you. Us.”
He wraps me tighter in his arms. “Then trust me when I say—nothing’s gonna touch you. Not while I’m breathing.”
I let myself sink into him, the silence settling again, heavier than before but wrapped in love instead of fear.
There’s something coming. I can feel it. But I’m not alone anymore.
***
I prop open the bookstore door at ten sharp, like I always do. The chime above it sings the same cheerful little tune it’s had since I bought the place, and the morning light spills across the floor like nothing in the world has changed.
Except everything has.
My hands move on autopilot—coffee brewed, register checked, display table adjusted just so—but there’s a buzz in my bones, a low hum of unease I can’t shake.
Mia arrives a few minutes later, cheeks pink from the wind and two lattes in hand. I try to smile when she sets mine beside me at the counter, but it feels stiff. Wrong.
“You okay?” she asks, studying me too closely.
“Fine,” I lied, and it’s not even a good one.
She gives me a look but doesn’t press. Just starts unboxing a new shipment, humming softly to herself. I’m grateful, more than I say.
I go through the motions: recommend a poetry collection to a shy college student, ring up a retired professor’s stack of historical fiction, even laugh—too brightly—at something one of the neighborhood moms says. But I can feel the weight of Elijah’s words pressing behind every interaction.
We’re not ignoring this anymore.
It’s the not-knowing that eats at me. Not knowing if George’s sudden visit was just a weird coincidence or something darker. Not knowing if the person who left that photo is watching me right now.
Not knowing who’s behind the notes that keep appearing like whispers I never asked to hear.
The last note is folded inside my bag still.
I haven’t shown Elijah yet. Not because I’m keeping secrets—but because this one scared me differently.
There were no words, no taunt or message this time.
Just a photo. Taken through the office window at the tattoo studio.
He’s lying on the couch, stretched out, and I’m…
I’m riding his face, lost in the kind of intimacy that’s raw and reverent and just ours.
My stomach churns—not because of what we were doing.
God, no. That moment was beautiful, intense, and safe.
It’s the fact that someone was watching us.
That someone captured it. That a moment meant to be only mine and his now exists in someone else’s mind too.
“Hey,” Mia’s voice cuts in gently. “Why don’t you go in the back for a bit? I’ve got things covered out here.”
I blink at her, startled. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” she says, kind but firm. “And it’s okay to not be.”
For a second, I want to argue. Want to keep pretending I’ve got this whole mask thing down to an art. But the words don’t come.
So I nod. “Just for a minute.”
She smiles and shoos me off with a flick of her wrist.
I slip into the back room, the one I usually use for ordering and inventory, and sink into the little armchair in the corner. It smells like old paper and cedar oil and something warm that reminds me of Elijah.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from him.
Daddy: You okay, baby?
My throat tightens. My fingers hover over the keys.
Me:Trying. Bookstore’s quiet. Mia’s keeping an eye out.
A pause. Then:
Daddy: I’ll swing by later. Don’t worry, just grabbing a coffee ??
That little emoji undoes me.
Because we both know it won’t be just coffee.
It’ll be his eyes on me like I’m the only thing in the room. His hand brushing mine in the quiet space between customers. His kiss, just behind the counter, when no one’s looking.
It’ll be safety. Steady and sure.
And until then, I just have to breathe through the fear and pretend the world hasn’t started tilting under my feet.
***
I don’t tell him right away.
I think about it every time I see his name light up my phone, every time he touches me with those sure hands and soft words, every time he brings me coffee and presses a kiss to my temple like I’m breakable and he’s careful. I want to tell him. I do. But something inside me freezes.
Because this one’s different.
The first note was just words. The flowers felt like a bad joke, at worst. But the photo—this photo—feels like a violation. Not just of my safety. Of us.
It’s hidden in the zippered side pocket of my bag. Tucked away like a sin. But I can feel it pulsing there, heavy and hot, like it knows it doesn’t belong.
It’s Friday night and the bookstore is quiet. Mia’s long gone. I locked the door twenty minutes ago, but I haven’t turned off the lights. I’m sitting on the floor behind the counter, knees pulled to my chest, hands wrapped around a mug I haven’t sipped from in ages.
The front door creaks open, soft and slow. I don’t flinch. I don’t even have to look—I know the way Elijah moves, the weight of him in a room.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, crouching down so we’re eye level. “You didn’t answer my text.”
I swallow. “I didn’t know what to say.”
His gaze sharpens, but he stays gentle. “Come here.”
I let him pull me into his lap. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in—ink and cedar and something warm I’ve started thinking of as home.
After a while, I whisper, “I lied earlier. When I said there was nothing new.”
He waits. Doesn’t push.
I reach into my bag and pull it out—the photo, already wrinkled from how tightly I’ve held it. I hand it to him without looking.
He goes still.
Then: “Ava… this was taken…”
I shift in his lap, keeping my eyes on the floor. “The day after Sandra’s incident. When we spent the night in your studio.”
He’s silent for a beat. His thumb brushes my back, slow and grounding. Then he leans back to look at me, the photo still in his hand.
“This is inside the building.”
“I know.”
“They saw that?” he says it low, more to himself than to me, but I nod anyway.
I watch the tightness bloom in his jaw. The way his eyes go dark. But it’s not anger at me. It’s fury—for me. For us.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…” I swallow hard. “Because it was ours. That moment. And now it’s… not. And I hated how it made me feel. I didn’t want to feel ashamed of something that was so—so good. So intimate.”
He exhales slowly, folding the photo in half and sliding it into his back pocket. “You don’t ever need to feel ashamed of that. Or of us.”
“I know.”
His hand finds the back of my neck, warm and steady. “This changes things. I’ll take it to Kade tonight.”
“I figured,” I whisper, pressing closer. “I just… didn’t want to ruin the calm we’ve had.”
“Baby,” he says, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “There’s no calm if you’re scared. We handle it, together. That’s what we do.”
And just like that, the fear in my chest eases a little. Not because the danger is gone.
But because I’m not facing it alone anymore.
Elijah shifts slightly on the floor, adjusting so I’m fully straddling his lap now, my knees bracketing his hips. The warm lights above seem too cold for the way he looks at me—like I’m something sacred.
His palms cradle my face, thumbs gently tracing the curve of my cheekbones. I know what he sees. The tension is still clinging to my shoulders. The unshed tears caught in my lashes. But he never flinches. Never looks away.