Chapter 23 Stormy
Stormy
Isit on the floor of what I hope will soon be my bookshop, papers spread around me. Frustration hums beneath my skin, not just from the mess Ford left me in after what he said to me, but from the mountain of work that stands between me and opening these doors for real.
I still don’t know what happened. After the barn, after wanting to kiss him, for him to kiss me, he seemed to just … shut down. And now, instead of letting my mind be flooded with thoughts of him, I drown myself in renovations.
At least I have lights now and the electrics are sorted, meaning I can make myself a cup of tea without worrying about sparks flying. The windows are the current project, and I watch as the man fitting them moves swiftly, his tools clicking against the glass as he seals each pane into place.
But there’s still so much left to do.
The gaping hole in the floor and crumbling floorboards need fixing, and don’t get me started on the roof.
I’ll need someone to sort the missing tiles before the weather turns bad.
As for plastering and painting, I’m going to have to attempt that myself.
I’ve spent hours watching YouTube tutorials, convincing myself I can manage an okay job. Maybe. Hopefully.
The door creaks open, and Missy strides in, both hands full, one carrying her drink, the other holding mine. Matcha tea latte with peppermint syrup. My favourite.
I sigh in contentment as she hands it over, sinking onto the ground beside me.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She grins, “I know.”
She looks down at the papers scattered between us, and picks up a few, flipping through them.
“Wow.” She pauses, taking in the sketches and notes. “This is amazing Stormy. I love everything about it.”
I smile, glancing down at the layout. Shelves lining every wall, cosy seating areas tucked between them, warm lighting to make it feel inviting, even one of those adorable bells that rings when a customer walks through the door. A bookshop built for staying and escaping.
Missy nudges my arm.
“This is going to be incredible.”
I let out a quiet breath, nodding.
“I hope so.”
She’s still studying the pages when her expression shifts and dims.
“I still can’t believe what my brother said to you.
” Her voice is low, threaded with something heavier than frustration.
“I told him it wasn’t okay.” Her brows draw together, not in fury but in thought.
“He’s always been a bit gruff, sure, but I’ve never seen him like …
that. I don’t understand it. It’s not like him. ”
I shrug, forcing the thoughts away before they settle.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But it does. It matters more than I want to admit.
I thought we were becoming friends. That things were shifting, that maybe I wasn’t so alone anymore.
And then, just like that, he flipped. Okay, yeah, maybe things almost went a teensy bit past the friends’ line, but still …
I thought we were at least getting along.
And the worst part? I was starting to like him.
Not just in a casual, harmless way. No, really like him.
The kind of like that crept in slow and quiet, so I didn’t even notice it until it was already under my skin.
The way he made me feel like I mattered, even just a little. The way he handed over the keys to his truck without hesitation. The way he humoured me when I wanted to learn his guitar, sat beside me like he had all the time in the world.
He showed up. He noticed things. Picked me up when I was walking back from the shops, just because he thought I might struggle. Helped me when the rain came pouring down and rode me home without a word of complaint.
Yeah, sometimes he was grumpy about it. But he still did it, for me.
And somewhere in all of that, I started to feel safe in his presence.
But really, those were the kinds of things any decent person would do.
I just didn’t recognise them in men, because life with Sam taught me to accept the bare minimum and call it love.
But not anymore.
I won’t put up with Ford’s hot and cold behaviour, and I’m certainly not wasting my energy on someone who clearly doesn’t want me.
Not when I know what it costs to keep chasing someone who won’t meet me halfway.
Since that moment in the field with Jensen and Ford, I’ve done everything I can to avoid him.
I don’t read in the garden in the mornings anymore, even though I’m still up early every day.
I don’t peek out of the window when I hear his truck pull up in the evenings.
And I know, without a doubt, that he’s avoiding me, too.
But if I want to make a real go of things here, if I want to build something that lasts, I need to get over it, over him. Need to power through, just like I’ve been doing these past few weeks. Even if the hollow ache in my chest suggests otherwise.
A sharp knock echoes through the shop, and before I can even call out, the door swings open.
Will steps inside, easy confidence written all over him.
“Oh—hi, Will.” I rise from the floor, brushing dust off my legs. “Thanks so much for coming. I really appreciate it.”
Missy, still seated on the ground beside me, looks between us with wide eyes, like she’s missed an entire chapter of my life.
I grin, nudging a stray paper aside with my boot. “I ran into Will again at the hardware store, and he’s been so nice, offered to help out with the shelves and things.”
Missy draws out an exaggerated, “Okaaaayyyy,” clearly suspicious, before scrambling to her feet. “Well, I guess I’ll just … leave you guys to it.”
She walks past Will, slow, and shoots him a pointed look, chin slightly lifted, brows narrowed. But Will doesn’t flinch, doesn’t take much notice, just smiles at her.
Missy turns to me, softer now, “Call me if you need me.”
I give her a small nod, and she finally exits, though I don’t miss the way she glances over her shoulder one last time before stepping through the door.
Will walks over with open arms, pulling me into a hug.
I hesitate for half a second, but return it, loosely, cautiously.
He seems genuine enough. Handsome, but not exactly my type.
He’s been helpful, and unlike Ford, I believe that more friends can’t hurt.
It’s comforting—this reminder that I’m not completely on my own.
He steps back, hands resting casually on his hips.
“Alright, boss. What’s the plan?”
I glance down at my notes, flipping through my sketches. “Shelves along the back wall, a reading nook over in the corner, and a counter here for checkout.”
“Sounds great,” he says, his hand brushing casually across my back as he moves past. “Put me to work.”
We get on with the work, bouncing ideas back and forth.
He’s easy to talk to and full of suggestions, some good, some not so much.
But there’s an edge to him. His confidence moves into arrogance, and there’s a casual flirtation woven into nearly everything he says.
But I try to look past it, he’s been nothing but nice to me since I arrived.
“You know,” he muses, leaning against the unfinished counter he’s working on, “I think you just invited me over so you could boss me around.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You literally volunteered.”
A small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth.
“Doesn’t mean you’re not secretly enjoying it.”
I snort, shaking my head as I shove a pile of tools closer to the wall as we finish up for the day.
Will straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“How about a drink after this?”
I pause, considering.
It’s harmless. Friendly. And honestly? After weeks of stress, frustration, and a mess of emotions I still haven’t untangled, it sounds nice.
I nod.
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
His smile spreads slowly, almost like he already knew I’d say yes.
“Perfect. Let’s wrap this up, then we’ll head to Hideout.”