11. Tessa
TESSA
The bell above the bookstore door hasn’t stopped ringing for the last hour.
I’m smiling so much my cheeks ache, watching the space fill with people—real people, not just polite drop-ins or curious passersby. Locals I’m starting to recognize. Couples. Families. A pair of tourists clutching iced coffees and asking if this place used to be a bakery.
“It did,” I tell them. “Long before my time.”
Delilah glides past me carrying a tray of paper cups filled with mulled cider, her silver bracelets chiming softly with every movement. “And now it’s better,” she says warmly, offering drinks like she’s hosting a private salon instead of a bookstore reopening.
The scent of cinnamon and old paper mixes in the air. Someone laughs near the poetry section. A teenager flips through a stack of graphic novels like they’ve found buried treasure.
It’s working. God, it’s actually working.
I exhale slowly, steadying myself against the flood of relief threatening to overwhelm me. For the first time since I got here, Redwood Crossing doesn’t feel like a gamble. It feels like… possibility.
The bell rings again. I glance up—and my breath catches. Archer.
He steps inside like he doesn’t belong to the same world as the rest of us. The noise doesn’t touch him. The warmth doesn’t soften him. He scans the room in one sweeping motion, eyes sharp, posture alert.
Not browsing. Not visiting. Assessing.
He doesn’t come to me right away. Instead, he moves slowly along the perimeter of the shop, his presence quiet but unmistakable.
A couple near the door instinctively shifts aside as he passes.
He nods to someone—one of the older men from the hardware store, I think—then pauses near the front windows.
Watching. Always watching.
I step out from behind the counter. “Enjoying the party?” I call lightly.
His gaze snaps to mine. For just a second, something soft flickers there. Then it’s gone.
“Just making sure everything’s… running smoothly,” he says.
That pause. That careful choice of words.
I cross my arms. “It is. You don’t have to stand guard.”
“Habit.”
Before I can push further, Delilah appears at my side like she’s been summoned by tension alone.
“Archer’s always been like this,” she says, offering him a knowing smile. “Our unofficial protector.”
I blink. “Protector?”
Archer exhales sharply. “Don’t start.”
But Delilah only lifts one shoulder. “It’s true. Ever since he was young, he’s taken responsibility for this town. For the people in it.”
Something shifts in my chest—curiosity, yes, but something deeper too. Something that recognizes the weight behind his silence.
“You make it sound like he’s a superhero,” I say.
“Hardly,” Archer mutters.
But Delilah’s eyes gleam. “Every town has its guardians. Some just take the role more seriously than others.”
Archer doesn’t argue. He just looks away. And that, more than anything, unsettles me.
The crowd thins as evening settles into night. By the time I lock up, the sky has deepened into a soft indigo, streetlights casting warm pools of gold across the pavement.
Inside, the bookstore feels different now. Lived in. Claimed.
I lean against the door for a moment, letting the quiet wash over me.
“You did good,” I whisper to myself.
I flip off the main lights, leaving only the lamps glowing in the corners, and head toward the back to tidy up—
Then something makes me stop. A feeling. That prickle at the back of my neck. I turn slowly toward the front windows. Across the street, half-hidden in shadow, someone stands.
Watching. My breath catches. He’s too far away to make out clearly, but I can feel it—that unmistakable weight of his gaze locked onto the bookstore. Onto me.
I step closer to the glass. The figure doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Cold curls through my stomach. And then, as suddenly as I noticed him—
He’s gone. I didn’t expect it to feel like this. Not just busy—but alive.
—
Earlier, the bookstore hummed with a kind of energy I’ve only ever imagined when I pictured owning a place like this. Conversations overlapped in soft waves. Pages turned. Someone near the front laughed too loudly and then apologized, no one minding.
I think back to weaving through the crowd with a stack of bookmarks in my hands, offering them out like party favors.
“Free with any purchase,” I tell a woman browsing the mystery section.
She smiles. “Oh, I already bought three books. I think I qualify.”
“You absolutely qualify.”
She leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “We’ve needed something like this in town.”
My chest hurts. “I’m glad you think so.”
“No, really.” She taps the counter lightly. “It was starting to feel like everything here was… fading. Same shops, same routines. This?” She gestures around. “This feels new.”
New. The word echoes in my head long after she walks away. It’s still echoing now.
I turn slowly, taking it all in again in the empty dimness—the mismatched shelves, the cozy reading chairs, the soft glow of lamps casting warm halos over everything. New. Maybe that’s what I brought here. Or maybe… this town was waiting for something to wake it up.
—
The next morning, a man in a flannel shirt approaches the counter with a stack of books that makes me raise an eyebrow.
“Starting a personal library?” I ask.
He grins. “Trying to impress my wife.”
“Good strategy. What does she like?”
He glances down. “Honestly? I have no idea. But I figure if I bring home enough options, I’ll hit something.”
I laugh. “Quantity over precision. Bold move.”
“Reckless, even.”
As I ring him up, I feel it again—that subtle shift in the air. I glance at the door.
Archer is back. Or maybe he never left. That’s almost what it feels like. He stands just inside the entrance, one shoulder angled toward the street like he’s keeping one foot in each world. His gaze sweeps the room again, slower this time.
More deliberate. He’s not just watching people. He’s cataloging them. The realization sends a strange ripple through me.
Who they are. Where they move. How they act. It’s not casual. It’s strategic.
“Everything okay?” the man asks, noticing my distraction.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Last night was a big night.”
He nods, takes his receipt, and heads out. Archer’s gaze tracks him all the way to the door. Then beyond it. Okay. That’s… not normal.
I find Delilah near the back, rearranging a display that’s slightly ransacked after last night’s festivities.
“You don’t have to do this you know.”
She smiles without looking up. “I’m curating the energy.”
“By alphabetizing candles?”
“By ensuring harmony,” she corrects.
I cross my arms. “Then maybe you can explain something to me.”
That gets her attention. She straightens slowly, her expression sharpening just enough to tell me she already knows what I’m going to ask.
“Archer,” I say.
Her lips curve. “Ah.”
“He’s not just being protective,” I continue. “He’s acting like…” I hesitate. “Like something’s wrong.”
Delilah studies me, as if weighing how much to say.
“He sees things others don’t,” she finally replies.
“That’s vague.”
“It’s meant to be.”
I sigh. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?”
“Not today.”
“Why not today?”
“Because right now… this is yours,” she says gently. “And I’d hate to cloud it with things that can wait.”
That doesn’t reassure me. It does the opposite.
“What kind of things?” I press.
Delilah’s gaze flicks toward where Archer stood only moments ago, then back to me.
“The kind that come with history,” she says quietly. “Responsibility. Burden.”
I blink. “You’re talking about him like he’s—what? The town sheriff? Secretly running some underground watch group?”
She chuckles softly. “Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
But she only pats my arm.
“You’ll see,” she says.
I hate that answer. Almost as much as I hate how much I believe her.
The day stretches on.
People come and go. The coffee I’ve decided to keep out for customers runs low. Someone asks if I’ll host book clubs. Another asks about author signings. A teenager lingers for nearly twenty minutes debating between two fantasy novels before finally buying both.
Every moment feels like a small victory. Every smile, every purchase, every conversation—
Proof that I didn’t make a mistake coming here. Still…
Every time the door opens, I glance up. Not with excitement. With anticipation. Because Archer does. Because he notices every single person who walks in. And now—
So do I.
By the time the last customer leaves on my first full day, my feet ache and my voice is hoarse. Delilah helps me stack empty cups and gather stray flyers.
“You should be proud,” she says.
“I am,” I admit. “I just didn’t expect it to matter this much.”
“It always matters this much,” she replies softly. “When you build something real.”
I glance at the door. Archer is gone. I didn’t see him leave. A strange, hollow feeling settles in my chest.
“That one’s trouble,” Delilah adds casually.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
She nods toward the door. “Archer.”
“I figured that much out on my own.”
“Not that kind of trouble,” she says. “The kind that changes things.”
I let out a breath. “Yeah. I’m getting that impression.”
She studies me, something knowing in her gaze. “Just be careful what you let him change.”
Before I can respond, she slips out into the dusk, leaving me alone in the quiet aftermath.
I take my time closing up. Not because I have to. Because I don’t want the day to end. I straighten stacks that don’t need straightening. Adjust displays that are already perfect. Run my fingers along the spines of books like I’m grounding myself in something solid.
“This is mine,” I whisper again.
The words feel stronger this time. More real. I move to the front, flipping the sign to CLOSED, and glance out at the street. It’s mostly empty now. A few cars. A couple walking hand in hand under the streetlights. Peaceful. Normal. I reach for the light switch—
And pause. Something feels… off. Not wrong. Just—
Different. Like the air has shifted. I step closer to the window, my reflection staring back at me for a moment before my eyes adjust to the darkness beyond. That’s when I see him. Across the street. Standing perfectly still. Watching.The same figure from last night.
My heart stutters. He’s not pretending to browse a phone.
Not walking. Not waiting for someone. Just…
standing there. Facing the bookstore. Facing me.
Every instinct I have screams that this isn’t casual.
This isn’t coincidence. This is deliberate.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay where I am.
To observe. To think. What do you do in this situation? Wave? Call out? Ignore him?
My fingers curl slightly against the glass. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t even seem to breathe. A chill creeps down my spine. This is wrong. I take a small step back. Still, his gaze feels locked onto me. Like he can see me clearly even through the dim light and reflections.
Like he’s studying me the same way—
Archer studies everyone else. The thought hits me like a jolt. No. Not the same. Worse. There’s no protection in this gaze. No calculation meant to keep people safe. This feels—
Predatory.
My pulse spikes. Okay. Nope. Not okay. I reach for my phone, debating whether I’m overreacting. It’s just a guy. People stand around. People look at buildings. People—
The man shifts. Just slightly. But enough. Enough to confirm he’s not just lingering. He’s aware. Of me. Of the bookstore. Of everything. And then—
He smiles. Not friendly. Not polite. Something sharp. Something knowing. Something that makes my stomach drop. I take another step back, my breath coming faster now.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Nope. Definitely nope.”
I glance at the door, suddenly hyper-aware of how alone I am. How exposed this place feels after hours. How much glass there is between me and the outside world. When I look back—
He’s gone. Just—
Gone. Like he was never there. I stare at the empty sidewalk, my heart still racing. Did he leave? Move? Hide? I scan the street, but there’s nothing. No movement. No trace. Just quiet. Too quiet. I exhale shakily, pressing a hand to my chest.
“You’re fine,” I tell myself. “It’s fine.”
But the words don’t land. Because something has shifted. The night doesn’t feel peaceful anymore. It feels—
Watched.
I wonder if Archer wasn’t being overprotective. I wonder if he was right.