Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Today, I woke up with the uncomfortable awareness that I hadn’t acted like my normal self last night.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling of my tiny apartment, listening to the bookstore open below me, and replay the way I leaned into Will like gravity made the decision for me.
I replay the way his hands felt certain, not demanding, not hesitant.
Like he knew exactly where they belonged.
What scares me is that I don’t regret the kiss. I regret how easy it was to kiss him.
I grab my phone to look at the time and realize I got up later than I normally do. I’ll barely have enough time to get ready. With that motivation, I scramble up out of bed and hurry into the bathroom.
By the time I head downstairs, I’ve convinced myself that the only way forward is normalcy. Routine. Shelving books. Making coffee for May and pretending I didn’t let a stranger unravel something in me I worked hard to ignore.
May hums to herself as she sorts invoices behind the counter. “If you see me climb that ladder today, tackle me,” she mutters. “My knees filed for divorce years ago.”
I smile faintly and head toward the back shelves. “Don’t worry, I got it,” I yell back at her.
The ladder waits where it always does—old, wooden, a little uneven.
I climb it without thinking, stretching for a hardcover just out of reach.
That’s when the rung shifts. It’s subtle.
Barely there, but my balance goes with it.
I gasp, fingers scrambling for purchase, and suddenly there are hands on my waist.
Solid. Certain. Too fast. I freeze, heart slamming against my ribs.
“Don’t move,” Will says quietly behind me.
My breath stutters. “How did you…”
“I’ve got you.”
The words aren’t dramatic. They’re factual. His hands tighten just enough to steady me, his body close behind mine without pressing, without crowding. He smells like clean soap and something darker underneath, cedar and vanilla. Familiar enough to make my stomach twist.
I grip the ladder, swallowing. “I was fine.”
“No,” he says calmly. “You weren’t.”
The certainty in his voice sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear. I twist slightly, trying to see him. “You weren’t here a second ago.”
“I came in through the front.”
Of course he did. Was I expecting him to sneak in through the back? I’ve definitely been reading too many romance novels lately.
May calls from the counter, “Everything alright back there?”
“Yes!” I answer a little too quickly.
Will’s grip loosens, but he doesn’t step away until both my feet are firmly on the ground. Even then, his hands linger for a beat too long before he reluctantly pulls back.
“You should tell me before you show up like this,” I say, trying to sound casual and failing.
His gaze holds mine, unreadable. “Would you tell me before you fall?”
I stiffen, standing to my full five-foot-one height. “I wasn’t falling.”
He steps back, giving me space that feels deliberate, measured. Like he’s proving something.
“You should be more careful,” he adds.
I laugh quietly. “You sound like my dad.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Smart man.”
I watch him for a second too long, searching for something I can name. I don’t find it, just that same unsettling sense that he’s always been closer than I realized. When he leaves, I’m left staring at his back, wondering how I’m supposed to focus on anything for the rest of the day.
I’m curled up on my couch with a book I haven’t turned a page of in ten minutes when my phone rings, breaking the silence of the living room.
Unknown number.
I consider letting it ring, but for some reason, I don’t.
“Hello?”
Silence stretches. Then “Lillian.”
My chest tightens as I hear my mother’s voice. Although I have been gone for a few months, I thought hearing her voice again would be different, but as it has been since I was young, it remains unchanged. Smooth. Controlled. I can hear the disappointment in just my name.
“How did you get this number?” I ask.
“That’s not important,” she replies. “What’s important is that you stop embarrassing this family.”
Anger flares, sharp and familiar. “You don’t have a family. You have a reputation.”
A pause. Then her voice gets colder. “I know where you are.”
My fingers curl around the phone. “No, you don’t.”
“I do,” she says calmly. “And this little game is over.” The line goes dead, and I sit here staring at my screen, pulse steady but heavy.
This isn’t panic, no, it’s not panic, just inevitability, because I knew at some point I would never be able to escape.
A knock sounds at my door less than five minutes later. I don’t jump. I don’t gasp.
I just know.
I open the door to find Will, leather jacket on, expression unreadable, and eyes focused with restrained intensity.
His gaze flicks over my face to the phone I’m still holding in my hand.
His eyes are sharp and assessing, like he’s reading something I can’t see.
Whatever he finds there makes him pause.
“I need to tell you something,” he says quietly.
My stomach sinks. “Now?” I ask. “Because if this is bad news, I’ve kind of hit my limit for the night.” I step aside anyway. “You might as well come in.”
He does, but only so he’s just inside the doorway. Like he’s reconsidering coming over.
I close the door behind him and turn. “So. What did you need to tell me?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just looks at me.
Really looks.
At the way my shoulders are tight. At the faint lines between my brows. At the exhaustion I didn’t bother hiding because I didn’t think I needed to. Something changes in his expression. Not fear. Regret.
“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” he says instead.
I blink. “That’s… not what I asked.”
“I know.” Silence stretches.
I cross my arms, grounding myself. “You didn’t show up unannounced to make small talk, did you?”
His jaw tightens. “No.”
“Then say it.”
He hesitates just long enough that I notice. Then he exhales slowly and shakes his head once. “It can wait.”
That stops me. “What can?”
“The conversation I came here to have.”
My pulse picks up. “You said you needed to tell me something.”
“I did,” he agrees. “I still do.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
His gaze holds mine, dark and unreadable. “Because whatever I say next would take something from you. And you look like you’ve lost enough today.”
The words land heavily. “That’s not your decision to make,” I say quietly.
“No,” he replies. “But the timing is.”
Something about that makes my chest tighten, and I feel a ball of fear in my center. “You’re avoiding something,” I say.
“Yes.” His honesty catches me off guard.
“Why?” I ask.
He steps back, giving me space again, always space. “Because if I tell you now, you won’t hear anything else I ever say.”
I swallow. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he says softly. “I can see it in your face.”
Anger hits fast, sharp, and defensive. “You don’t know me that well.”
He pauses. “I know enough,” he replies.
We stand here in the dim light of my apartment, the air between us heavy with words he isn’t saying.
“Then why come at all?” I ask.
His gaze drops to my hands, clenched at my sides. “I needed to make sure you were okay.”
I search his face. “And am I?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “You will be.”
I shake my head. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he says. “I just won’t explain how yet.”
There is no arrogance in his voice. Just certainty, the kind that comes from knowing the outcome before the game begins. That should terrify me. Instead, it leaves me unsettled in a way I can’t name. He moves toward the door, stopping with his hand on the knob.
“Get some rest, Lilly.”
“You’re really just… leaving?” I ask.
He looks back at me, something dark and restrained in his eyes.
“Yes,” he says. “Because if I stay, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Everything?” I whisper.
His hand tightens on the knob. “Enough to change the way you say my name,” he says, voice low. “And I… can’t watch that tonight.”
Then he leaves, and I lock the door and lean back against it, staring at the ceiling.
I don’t feel lied to. I feel like someone decided what I could handle without asking me.
And the worst part is that I still step forward anyway, not because I’m unaware, but because some part of me believes this choice is still mine.