Checked Out – Lena Cove #2
By the time Thursday rolls around, I’ve cycled through every possible interpretation of his invite.
I even consider bailing at the last minute, but Rosie looks up at me as we walk into the library and says, “You look really pretty today, Miss Stella. Is it because we are going to play with Miles today?”
I arranged with another nanny, Sally, for a playdate after Storytime.
She was more than happy to help when I told her that Holden wanted to get coffee.
She only has one kid to watch, Miles, and she works three doors down from the library.
I can help her get the kids settled and still go out with Holden.
After Storytime I wave goodbye to the kids and Sally.
I make my way to Page & Bean, an indie coffee shop tucked between a used bookstore and a plant shop.
The whole place smells like freshly ground espresso beans and old books, and it’s instantly calming—until I spot Holden at a table in the corner, already waiting for me.
He looks up, catches my gaze, and smiles. That smile. The one that’s warm and easy, like we’ve been doing this forever. Like, this isn’t a big deal.
“Hey,” he says as I slide into the chair across from him. “I was starting to think you changed your mind.”
I laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I almost did.”
His eyebrows lift in amusement. “And why’s that?”
“Because I couldn’t figure out if this was a date or just coffee.”
Holden pauses, his head tilting slightly. Then he grins. “Well, now I’m curious, if you decided it was a date, were you going to bail?”
I take a slow sip of my latte, considering my answer. “No… but I might have panicked and dramatically thrown myself into a hedge or something.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Good thing you powered through.”
His eyes linger on me for a moment too long, and I swear there’s heat there, something simmering just below the surface. A little thrill runs through me.
We settle into easy conversation, but there’s an undercurrent now, something charged that wasn’t there before.
Holden tells me about how he ended up working at the library—how he originally wanted to be a writer but fell in love with the way books bring people together.
I tell him about my dream of opening an early childhood center one day, how I’ve been saving up and taking courses on the side.
But as much as I try to focus on his words, my brain keeps getting stuck on other things—like the way his fingers flex around his coffee cup, strong and sure. Or how his voice drops just slightly when he says my name.
And then there’s the way he watches me. Not just casually. Intently. Like he’s cataloging every little reaction, every tilt of my head, every time I bite my lip.
At one point, when I lean forward to make a point, his eyes flicker downward, just briefly, before dragging back up to my face. My skin burns from the attention, and suddenly, the air between us feels thick.
“So,” he says, smirking just a little, “if this were a date, would it be going well?”
My stomach flips. I tap my fingers against my cup, pretending to consider. “I don’t know. That depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not my ‘date’ is planning to kiss me.”
Holden’s eyes darken slightly, his jaw tightening. “That sounds like an important factor.”
“It is.” I meet his gaze, holding it a beat too long. “Very important.”
The tension crackles, like a wire pulled so tight it’s about to snap. But before anything else can happen, an older couple at the next table bursts into laughter, breaking the spell. I blink, pulling back slightly, and Holden exhales, shaking his head.
An hour flies by before I even realize it. When we finally step outside, the late afternoon sun is casting golden light over the street, making everything feel a little surreal. Holden walks me to my car, hands in his pockets, the silence between us comfortable but charged.
When we reach my car, I turn to him, feeling the nervous flutter in my stomach again. Is he going to kiss me? Should I kiss him?
He steps closer, and my breath catches. His eyes flick to my mouth—so fast I almost miss it. My pulse jumps.
But then he just gives me that same easy smile and says, “I’ll see you next week.”
I hesitate for half a second, waiting, but he doesn’t lean in.
Instead, he winks and walks away.
I let out a shaky breath, watching him go, wondering what the hell just happened.
HOLDEN
I should have kissed her. I wanted to kiss her. And judging by the way she looked at me outside the coffee shop, she was waiting for it. Instead, I played it safe like a damn coward.
I don’t hesitate. Ever. Not in my job, not in life, and not when it comes to women. But something about Stella makes me second-guess myself, makes me slow down in a way that both excites and terrifies me.
And now? Now I have to wait an entire week to see her again. By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m more eager than I’d like to admit.
I used to enjoy Storytime because it meant watching kids fall in love with books. Now? It’s because it means her.
The second Stella walks through the library doors, juggling Mia in her arms and keeping Theo from running into the bookshelves, I feel my entire body react.
She’s wearing a simple sundress, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and when she catches my eye and offers me a small smile, something warm settles in my chest.
I’m completely screwed.
The routine of Storytime feels different now.
I read How to Catch a Mermaid with my usual dramatics, making the kids laugh, but I can feel Stella watching me.
Every time our eyes meet, she looks away quickly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.
The energy between us is different—charged in a way that has my pulse kicking up.
Afterward, as the kids scatter, I sidle up next to her. “So, are we making this a tradition now?”
She lifts a brow. “Storytime? Or the date afterward?”
I smirk. “Both.”
She shakes her head, but I don’t miss the way her fingers tighten around the strap of the baby carrier, like she’s trying to keep herself from fidgeting. “I suppose I can fit it into my busy schedule, but I have to watch the kiddos until their parents get home at six.”
I chuckle. "I’m good with dinner."
She rolls her eyes but grins.
Week after week, we meet for dinner. What started as casual conversations turn into longer, deeper talks. We tease. We flirt. We learn about each other in ways that go beyond the surface level.
I learn that Stella drinks her coffee black, that she always carries a notebook filled with ideas for her future childcare center, and that she hums when she’s lost in thought. I learn that she’s independent to a fault, but she melts when one of the kids hugs her unexpectedly.
I tell her about my terrible habit of leaving books scattered all over my apartment, that I love old films, and that I have a terrible sweet tooth, which I try to pretend doesn’t exist.
Somewhere in all of that, between the dinners, the conversations, the lingering glances, something develops. I’m falling for her. I can only hope that she’s also falling for me.
STELLA
By now, dinner with Holden has become routine. The best kind of routine—the one that makes my heart race, the one that has me looking forward to Thursdays like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. But today? Today feels different.
He suggests a walk instead of our usual plans, and I don’t hesitate before saying yes.
Maybe it’s the warm, early autumn air, or maybe it’s the way Holden’s hand brushes against mine as we stroll down the tree-lined path of the nearby park, but something is buzzing between us.
A tension that has been building for weeks, stretching tighter and tighter.
We talk easily, the same way we always do.
He tells me about a new program he’s starting at the library for reluctant readers.
I tell him about a daycare philosophy course I’ve been taking online, but there’s something underneath our words, something unspoken.
A weight to the way he watches me, to the way my breath hitches when he steps a little closer.
Then, out of nowhere, he stops walking.
I turn to face him, my brows knitting together. "Holden?"
His eyes are locked on mine, intense and unreadable. And then, slowly, he reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my skin.
"I’ve wanted to do this for weeks," he murmurs.
The first kiss is soft, almost careful, like he’s testing the waters, seeing if I’ll pull away. I don’t. I can’t. Because the moment his lips move against mine, a fire ignites low in my belly, and suddenly, soft isn’t enough.
I press closer, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, and just like that, the hesitation is gone. Holden groans, deepening the kiss, one hand cupping my face while the other settles at the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.
It’s good. Too good. The kind of kiss that makes your knees weak, that makes you forget the world around you, that makes you dizzy with want.
His tongue slides against mine, teasing, coaxing, and my entire body shivers. I can feel the heat radiating from him, the barely restrained control in the way his fingers tighten against my skin.
Holden exhales sharply, his forehead dropping against mine for a half-second before he pulls away completely.
HOLDEN
I’m done pretending. That kiss shattered any illusion that this was ever casual. Maybe I told myself in the beginning that this was just a harmless flirtation, something fun to look forward to on Thursdays, but that was bullshit.
The moment I felt Stella melt against me, the moment I tasted her, really tasted her, I knew. I’m completely gone for this woman, and I want more. So much more.