Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
David
I try to stay away from her.
I really do.
Two days pass.
And that’s it.
That’s all I can stand to go without seeing her.
Just two damn days before I find myself parked across the street from her bookstore like some kind of creep.
Engine off.
Windows tinted.
I’m just waiting. Watching.
Like a fucking creeper.
“Jesus,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “Get it together.”
This is not normal.
This is not who I am.
I don’t sit outside women’s jobs waiting for a glimpse of them like a lovesick idiot.
I especially don’t do it for women I barely know.
And yet—here I am.
Losing my mind and all because of her.
The bell above the shop door jingles faintly as she steps inside, unlocking for the morning.
And just like that?
Everything in me settles.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
She’s wearing yellow today.
Bright. Soft. Impossible to ignore.
A daffodil-colored blouse tucked into a long, flowy skirt—navy blue, scattered with tiny flowers like someone painted a whole field across the fabric.
The slits along the sides flash just enough leg when she moves to make my brain short-circuit for a second.
She looks like—Sunshine. My Sunshine.
Like the physical embodiment of joy.
Warm. Light.
Untouched by anything ugly.
And I want it.
I want her.
The thought hits hard. Clean. Unavoidable.
I shift in my seat, jaw tightening.
“No,” I murmur. “Not going there.”
I’ve got no right.
No business.
She’s not part of my world.
And dragging her into it?
That’s not happening.
I watch as the older woman—her employee, I assume—arrives a few minutes later. They greet each other like they’ve done it a thousand times.
Easy. Familiar.
Coffee appears.
A paper bag from the bakery down the street.
Cookies, maybe.
Yeah, she’s the kind of girl who might eat cookies for breakfast—and I love that about her. My mouth waters, and damn it, I want one now, too.
I want to share breakfast with her. Want to steal a bite right from her mouth.
Hilary laughs at something the woman says—head tipped back slightly, curls bouncing, that bright, unguarded smile lighting up her whole face.
My chest tightens.
There she is. My girl.
The thought slips in before I can stop it. And it hits just as hard as everything else.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I mutter.
She’s not mine.
She’s not anything to me.
And yet I can’t look away.
Because there’s something about her I can’t shake.
Something real. Something steady.
Something that makes everything else feel too loud. Too fake. And it makes me greedy for more of her. Makes me want things I have no business wanting.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to lean back.
This isn’t why I came here.
I came here to figure my shit out.
To decide what I’m doing with my career.
With my life.
Instead, I’m playing house in a town that isn’t mine, avoiding calls, ignoring emails, pretending I don’t have a deadline staring me down.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder.
My manager and producer.
Again.
Deadline’s tomorrow.
I need to make a decision.
I reach for the ignition.
Time to go.
Then movement catches my eye.
It’s some guy.
Tall. Broad. Square jaw. Clean-cut in a way that immediately pisses me off for no logical reason.
He walks into the shop like he owns the place.
Something in my gut twists.
I sit up straighter.
I watch.
Hilary approaches him.
Polite. Professional. But she’s annoyed.
I can tell.
And that puts me on edge. She shouldn’t have to be annoyed. Not in her place of business.
Not at all, in my not so humble opinion.
Then she steps away from him. Dismissing him.
And this prick grabs her elbow.
Everything in me snaps.
My vision goes red.
Hot.
Instant.
I’m out of the car before my brain catches up.
Door slams.
I cross the street fast, barely registering anything except that his hand is still on her.
This is so not happening on my watch. No way.
Not fucking happening.
Anger and rage I haven’t felt in years slither through my veins. Emotions I’ve been numb to come rushing back like a fucking tide and I can’t stop it.
It’s wrong. Baseless. She is not mine to protect. I got nothing to do with her—and yet, his hand on her arm—it’s making me seethe.
And there is no way I’m letting this prick manhandle her.
The bell over the shop door slams open as I push inside.
And yeah.
I’ve seen enough.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” I growl.
The words come out low. Controlled.
But there’s nothing calm about what’s underneath them.
The guy turns, startled.
Hilary’s eyes go wide.
And suddenly—every decision I’ve been avoiding?
Every line I told myself I wouldn’t cross?
Gone.
Because the second someone puts their hands on her—I don’t think.
I act.
And that?
That might be the biggest problem of all.