Chapter 8
EIGHT
TROY
Well… Hell.
I’ve been standing in front of the greeting card display for almost five minutes when Hank finally clears his throat from behind the register.
“Troy.”
I grunt distractedly, still staring at the shelves.
There are approximately three Valentine’s cards left in the entire store despite it being nowhere near Valentine’s Day.
One says:
YOU’RE THE CHEESE TO MY MACARONI.
Absolutely not.
Another has a cartoon bear holding flowers.
Also no.
The third just says:
FOR SOMEONE SPECIAL.
Which somehow feels worse.
“You know,” Hank says slowly, “most men just grab flowers.”
“I know.”
“But instead, you’re standing in front of the card rack looking like you’re diffusing a bomb.”
I glance at him flatly.
“I don’t know what women like.”
That earns me a bark of laughter.
“You slept with the librarian and suddenly forgot how shopping works?”
Heat crawls unexpectedly up the back of my neck.
Because yeah.
Maybe I did.
The second I dropped London off yesterday, I started missing her.
Which is… new.
Annoyingly new.
I scrub one hand over my jaw before abandoning the cards entirely and wandering toward the coffee aisle instead.
That at least feels safer.
London likes coffee.
Correction:
London practically had a religious experience over coffee.
A smile threatens at the memory of her wrapped in my blanket, moaning over espresso like she’d ascended to another plane of existence.
Christ.
I’m grinning in public now.
This woman is ruining me.
“Need help?” Hank asks, leaning against the counter.
I glance between the shelves.
The selection in Swift Mountain General Store isn’t exactly extensive.
Still, I eventually grab:
· locally roasted dark beans
· cinnamon biscotti
· a ridiculously oversized fuzzy pair of reading socks with little books on them
The socks are objectively ridiculous.
London will probably love them.
Then, after another minute of hesitation, I grab a small leather-bound journal from the impulse rack near the register too.
Something about it feels like her.
Warm. Thoughtful. Full of stories waiting to happen.
“You got it bad,” Hank says knowingly while ringing everything up.
I glare at him.
He looks delighted by that.
The bell over the front door jingles before I can respond.
Ethel and Bernice march inside bundled in matching winter coats and enough scarves to survive an arctic expedition.
Both women stop short when they spot me.
Then immediately start whispering.
Jesus Christ.
Not this again.
Ethel’s eyes dart toward the socks in my basket.
Bernice clutches her chest dramatically.
I sigh.
“You can ask whatever you want.”
Their faces light up instantly.
“I knew it,” Ethel whispers triumphantly.
Bernice points at me. “You kissed her right there in the street yesterday.”
I blink.
Apparently the entire town saw that.
Good to know.
“We weren’t spying,” Ethel says quickly.
“You were absolutely spying,” Hank mutters.
“We were observing,” Bernice corrects primly.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Look,” I say, already exhausted, “if you’re here to ask whether I secretly worked for the mafia or buried bodies in the woods, the answer is no.”
The women exchange a glance.
“Oh, we already knew that,” Ethel says.
That catches me off guard enough that I lower my hand.
“You did?”
Bernice sniffs. “You return your library books on time.”
“…What?”
“No truly dangerous man respects due dates that much,” Ethel explains.
Hank snorts loudly.
Before I can process whatever the hell that logic is, Bernice’s expression suddenly shifts.
“Oh dear.”
Every muscle in my body tightens instantly.
“What?”
The women exchange another look.
“That man who walked into London’s building earlier,” Ethel says carefully. “She didn’t seem happy to see him.”
Ice floods straight through my chest.
“What man?”
“The tall blond one,” Bernice says. “Fancy coat. Mean eyes.”
The description they’re giving forms a picture in my head. A picture London showed me yesterday when she was telling me more about her past.
Caleb.
Fucking hell. My pulse kicks hard enough to hurt.
“When?” I ask sharply.
“About twenty minutes ago.”
I’m already moving before she finishes speaking.
“Troy—” Hank calls.
But I’m gone.
Snow crunches beneath my boots as I cross town fast enough to make people stare. My heartbeat pounds harder with every step while a dozen ugly possibilities fight through my head at once.
Did he touch her? Did he corner her?
Will he make her cry?
He better fucking not have made her cry. Or those rumors about me being a criminal might become a reality.
The protective fury rising inside me feels sharp enough to choke on.
By the time I reach the library, I’m half a second from kicking the damn door in.
Then I hear London’s voice.
Clear. Steady. Strong as hell.
“I wasn’t hiding from you, Caleb.”
I stop just outside the doorway.
Inside, Caleb stands near the circulation desk while London faces him with her chin lifted stubbornly.
“You disappeared,” he snaps.
“No.” She shakes her head sharply. “I left.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when the person you’re leaving refuses to listen.”
Something fierce and proud unfurls in my chest.
Caleb scoffs. “London, come on. You’ve had your little adventure. It’s time to come home.”
“I am home.”
“Oh, please. This is your home?”
“Yes.”
You’re being dramatic.”
She flinches. Then straightens her shoulders and takes on a set jaw.
“No,” she says more firmly this time. “You just liked calling me dramatic anytime I had feelings you didn’t want to deal with.”
His jaw tightens.
“You’re really throwing away five years together?”
“No,” she says quietly. “I freed myself from a lifetime of being with someone who made my life miserable for five years.”
Silence fills the room.
Heavy. Tense.
Then Caleb gestures around the library sharply.
“So what? This is your life now? Playing small-town librarian and postal worker?”
London laughs softly.
And for the first time since I arrived, she doesn’t sound hurt.
She sounds done.
“You still don’t get it,” she says. “I like this life.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No,” she says firmly. “What’s ridiculous is how long I spent letting you convince me I needed your permission to be happy.”
That’s my girl.
Caleb stares at her like he genuinely doesn’t recognize the woman standing in front of him anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t.
“You needed me,” he says finally.
London’s expression softens unexpectedly. Not with love. With pity.
“No,” she says quietly. “I never did. All I needed was to believe in myself.”
The words land like a punch to the groin. His groin.
Caleb’s face hardens instantly. For one brief second, I think he might argue again. Instead, he grabs his coat tighter.
“This place turned you into someone I don’t even know.”
“Maybe. But if it did, I like who I am now.” London lifts one shoulder calmly. “Now, either make a purchase, or get the hell out of here.”
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life.
Caleb glares at her one last time before turning sharply toward the door.
Then he sees me standing there. He glances between the two of us. Understanding dawns on his face slowly.
His gaze drops briefly to the way I’m blocking the exit. Then back to London.
Something ugly flickers across his face.
But whatever he sees in mine must convince him better than words ever could, because he mutters a curse beneath his breath and shoves past me hard enough to rattle the bell above the door.
Seconds later, tires screech outside. Then silence.
“Chickenshit,” I mutter.
It’s a damn shame. I wouldn’t have minded grabbing him by the back of his coat and tossing him out of the building.
London exhales shakily and leans back against the desk.
I move toward her slowly. “You okay?”
She nods once. Then again like she’s convincing herself.
“I think so.”
Pride swells so hard in my chest it almost hurts.
“You know,” I murmur, stepping closer, “I was fully prepared to come charging in here and rescue you.”
That finally earns a smile. Small at first. Then real.
“Sorry to ruin your chance to be a white knight.”
I cup her face gently. “Sweetheart, you didn’t need rescuing.”
Her breath catches softly.
“You handled him yourself.”
Emotion flickers across her face so quickly it nearly guts me.
“All this time,” she whispers, “I thought leaving meant I failed somehow.”
“No.” I brush my thumb slowly across her cheek. “It means you finally chose yourself and making a life you want.”
Tears gather in her eyes instantly. One slips down and I catch it, wiping it away.
“I’m really proud of you, London. I—”
She kisses me hard enough to steal the rest of the sentence straight from my mouth.
I pull her against me. One hand settling on her waist while the other tangles gently in her curls.
She tastes like coffee and hope and every damn thing I didn’t know I wanted.
“You realize,” she murmurs against my lips, smiling slightly, “half the town is probably watching us right now.”
“Let them.”
She laughs softly right before I kiss her again.
And maybe we get a little carried away.
Only a little.
Enough that by the time someone loudly clears their throat near the romance section, London’s cheeks are flushed and my hand is dangerously close to her ass.
“Well,” Ethel announces. “This is significantly less scandalous than the murder theory.”
London jumps slightly against my chest.
Bernice looks deeply offended. “You interrupted before we got answers.”
I close my eyes briefly. Of course. The women march closer immediately. You can practically see their detective hats come on.
“Who was that man?”
“Why did he leave town like a bat out of hell?”
“Were there crimes involved?”
“Where were you really all those years?”
“Are you two getting married?”
“Will you live in the cabin or in town?”
“Will there be babies?”
“Bernice!” London squeaks.
“What?” Bernice asks innocently. “We’re invested.”
To my complete shock, laughter bursts out of me.
Real laughter.
The kind I haven’t heard from myself in years.
London stares up at me in surprise before she starts laughing too.
And standing there in the middle of the library/post office/visitor center, with her in my arms and the entire town already deep in our business I realize people are going to be paying even more attention to me now.
I don’t mind it anymore.