Chapter 7
Van
It was shameful to admit, but I’d followed Bailey down to the water and watched her wade into the ocean, looking so carefree and weightless.
Those were feelings I couldn't achieve, and it made my jealousy surge higher. She was happy, had a man who wasn't constantly hiding in the shadows, and had friends and family who adored her.
I’d become obsessed with her; I could admit that to myself.
She hadn't spent much time with the guy, and they hadn't kissed or anything when he got in his car.
But it was easy to assume they were together, that he was a new boyfriend or something.
Clearly, she and I weren't going to work out, so she’d found someone else.
It was stupid of me to feel hurt at that thought. We’d barely spoken a few words to each other, and they weren’t sweet ones. She thought she could be my friend, but I couldn't afford to make any.
I told myself I only followed her to make sure she was safe, but I knew that wasn't why. I wanted to be the one to kiss her goodnight, to walk her to her door after a date, and say goodnight properly.
I simply couldn't.
My life wasn't suited to normalcy or to being out in the open with anyone.
She deserved what I couldn't offer, and I figured she knew that.
It was a weakness to even step foot in her shop, to look at her with all her gorgeous hair and big brown eyes.
Thinking I was worthy of a woman like her was laughable.
I slept fitfully, waking too early for any sane person, and headed to work after walking Heidi.
Day in and day out, the job never changed.
It was exhausting but mindless. Since I didn't want to let my imagination wander to things it had no business focusing on, I sang under my breath or tried to remember the plot of movies I'd seen or books I’d read.
At midmorning, Liam came in with a canvas bag in his hands, breaking up the monotony.
"Wife said to give you this."
"What is it?" I asked warily, squinting at him.
"Think of it as a welcome basket."
Accepting the bag without looking inside, I set it as far from the yuck under my table as I could. "Tell her thanks."
"I will."
Awkwardness concluded, I held up the processed fish for his inspection.
"Perfect, thanks. Will we see you again soon?"
"Yeah, actually." Shifting my feet, I wriggled my toes in my boots to encourage circulation. "Your produce is awesome."
"I'll tell Ro you said so. See you later, Van."
I managed to wait until the end of my shift, washing my throbbing hands before picking up the bag.
It was the kind with their store logo, which Liam said they sold after giving the first one for free.
Stepping out into the sunshine of just past one, I scrounged in the bag to see what Liam's wife had given me.
I could suck it up and say I understood everyone's need to help everyone else in this town. Admitting that I was cheesy enough to feel warm and fuzzy about some of them accepting me as their fellow citizen didn't make me a wuss.
Accepting their gossiping about me was a harder pill to swallow.
Finding a larger tin of the goat's milk hand cream Bailey used only made me feel appreciation for Ro Pembrook. She was looking out for me, and it was nice.
But pulling out two paperbacks—one a mystery and one a police procedural—pushed my blood pressure to the limit.
I’d kept myself away from Bookish on purpose, had avoided buying a book from the woman who ran the place so she wouldn't be caught in my crosshairs, and in return she went behind my back to circumvent my desires.
Marching the multiple blocks to the bookstore, I strode through the open doors and directly up to the counter.
"Do you think it's acceptable to run your mouth about me to everyone you know?"
With a steady gaze focused over my shoulder, Bailey stepped out from behind the counter. "Are you ready to check out, Susan?"
Feeling like a fucking idiot, I moved aside so Bailey could ring up the customer I'd interrupted. Mostly, I wanted to bolt back out the door, tuck my tail between my legs, and pretend nothing had happened. I was in deep now, I could sense it.
"Have a great day, and do come again."
As a brother and son, I recognized the extremely false tone of voice of a pissed woman trying to keep it in check.
"Well, let's have it, then. What are you accusing me of, exactly?"
The sight of her arms crossed over her chest nearly made me change my mind about the entire discussion.
Unfortunately, I'd charged in like a bull and now had to finish what I'd so foolishly started.
"Why did Liam Pembrook bring me a gift from his wife that conveniently included books from your store? "
"I'm only speculating here, but it could be because he's not an asshole."
"You told one of them about our last encounter, didn't you?" How I'd tried to buy a book and nearly broken my skull after letting my distrust get the better of me.
Her brows lifted, and her mouth curled in a sneer. "Are you saying I'm a gossiping harpy?"
That was clearly a trick question. "Not exactly, but how did she know I wanted books and didn't get any?"
"You know." As she moved forward, her hands gesturing wildly, Charlie decided it was best to disappear under a bookshelf.
Lucky bastard.
"For someone who doesn't know me," she continued, "you sure don't mind jumping to conclusions."
She was right, of course; I didn’t know her, and she didn’t know me. Her thinking I was a nice guy was the crux of the issue. "Explain it some other way, then, Bailey!"
"Rory hasn't had time to come into my shop in ages. Same with Liam. So maybe she gave you what she already had because she's a lovely human being who wants to welcome you to our town."
Her voice had risen, her chest heaving over her rapid heartbeat. A lesser man would've cowered. As it was, the temptation to concede nearly lured me out the door.
"All I know is that each time I see someone, they know more about me than I do."
"Word travels, sure. For instance, Ellie talks about how sweet you are. But I've yet to see it, Van."
"I don't—"
"All I've seen is your back as you run from me."
Fucking Christ.
"Now you come in here accusing me of being a manipulative shrew when I've been nothing but nice to you."
We stared each other down as the clock tower on a nearby church chimed the half hour. "I got it wrong, and I apologize."
Turning on my heel, I escaped the mess I'd made. Showing her my back, as she'd correctly accused.
There was no possibility of making her understand. Avoiding her at all costs was the best solution. Why it couldn't be that easy was obvious; fate enjoyed dry fucking me.
I went home, walked Heidi, had a shower, and ate lunch.
Couldn't get the image of Bailey out of my mind.
Guilty feelings built, spread, engulfing me in their grip.
Just because I wanted her didn't mean I had a right to involve her in my chaotic life.
Knowing I was living on borrowed time, hiding across the country from the people out to kill me, was a good enough reason to stay the hell away from her and the comfort of her bookstore.
I didn't deserve a woman as good as her; I didn't even deserve her cat’s trust, much less hers.
Pacing the small apartment, I tried to convince myself it was better to stay the course. Maybe I should just accept the fact that everyone in this town was determined to get to know me, slowly winding their way into my life until I couldn't get away even if I wanted to.
Running was the easy option, but it was wearing thin. Keeping myself at a distance might work with the general population, but it was obviously not going to work with Bailey. Everything about her called to me in a manner I’d never experienced.
So here I was fucking up my plans; whether or not they were best laid, they were about to go to waste.
By the time I stepped back through her doors, the chalkboard sign sat just inside the store. Bailey looked up from the handful of books she re-shelved as I kept coming toward her, despite the heavy glare she aimed my way.
"Oh, my God, if you're here to—"
"Shut up." I cut her off, aligning myself along her body and pressing her against the shelf.
Her eyes sparked. "Don't tell me to shut up."
Feather-light, I framed her jaw with my outstretched hand. Her pulse thrummed, and she swallowed, head tilted so she could meet my gaze. "If you don't shut up, I can't do this."
Leaning forward, I exhaled a breath, rustling the hair curling along her throat. Finally, she dropped the books, brought her hands up, and hesitantly gripped the back of my shirt.
A pain-filled groan rose inside me. I knew better than to take, than to even assume I had the right. What could I offer? Nothing but heartache. Misery.
My heart was loud in my ears, but I manned up and touched my mouth to hers.
Cinnamon burst through my senses, stinging my lips.
Lightning zinged up my spine to settle at the base of my skull.
Eyes open, we tasted each other with the barest touch.
As someone who used to consume high-dollar bourbon whiskey on a regular basis, I could confirm that Bailey tasted better.
She was a unique blend of toffee, honey, cinnamon, and vanilla cream.
Bottle it and sell it, or keep it for myself, I knew I would never be the same after just one drop.
With a shaky breath, I pulled back. "Sell me a fucking book."