Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Hilary
As I walk to work this morning, I get that feeling.
You know the one.
Like someone’s watching you.
I tell myself it’s stupid.
This is Hammonton. The most dangerous thing here is Mrs. Delaney’s opinions about hardcover pricing.
Still, I glance over my shoulder once.
Nothing.
Just the bakery opening up and a guy walking his golden retriever.
It’s been two days since David stopped by the shop.
Two days since he told me about the Rugby Championship theme song.
Two days since he looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
I am thrilled for him.
I am.
Even if it means he’ll be leaving.
Which, let’s be honest, of course he will.
Superstars don’t relocate to small Jersey towns for the long haul.
And I know what you’re thinking, but Nathan Thorn was born here. He’s a local, so he doesn’t count.
Famous people might visit.
They might even stay the summer.
They inspire a little gossip. Then they leave.
David will leave too. Because he was always meant to.
And the fact that it breaks my heart a little?
Well, that’ll be my little secret.
Just keep moving, Larry. It’ll be okay.
I unlock The Book Shop, breathing in that familiar scent of paper and possibility. This place grounds me. Always has.
My employee, Maribel Johnson, arrives just as I’m flipping the sign to Open.
“Morning, Larry,” she calls, balancing her purse and a thermos like the queen she is.
“Morning, Ms. Johnson,” I grin. “I brought Bosco’s.”
Her eyes light up. “You spoil me.”
“I value your continued employment.”
She laughs, and just like that, the weird watching feeling eases a little.
Maribel takes the front while I head to the back office to tackle inventory. She’s a retired schoolteacher, sharp as a tack, and can handle customers better than I ever could.
We make a good team.
Soon we’re sharing her special blend coffee and splitting almond cookies from Bosco’s.
It’s warm. Comforting. Familiar.
Normal.
The icky edge in my stomach starts to fade.
Until the door chimes.
I glance up automatically.
And my entire mood drops ten degrees.
Eric.
Ugh.
“What now?” I mutter under my breath.
He’s dressed like he’s headed to a networking lunch—pressed shirt, shiny shoes, hair gelled into submission.
The same square jaw, the same slightly condescending smile I used to think was charming.
“Hey, Larry,” he starts, walking in like he owns the place. “I think something might be wrong with your phone. I’ve been texting you.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t pull something.
“Or,” I say evenly, “I’ve been ignoring you, Eric.”
He blinks like I just spoke in French.
“What? Why would you do that, Short Stuff?”
Oh hell no.
“Don’t call me that.”
I always hated it when he called me that. He just waves it off like I’m overreacting.
“You know what this weekend is—the annual dinner for my company. Big deal. Bosses from corporate flying in. I was hoping you’d go with me.”
I stare at him.
“Are you kidding me?”
He shrugs like this is perfectly reasonable.
“We broke up almost three years ago,” I remind him. “Why on earth would I go with you?”
I start to walk away because this conversation is over.
Except Eric never understood the word no.
He grabs my elbow.
Hard.
“Come on, Lar—don’t be like that.”
My skin crawls.
“Let go, Eric.”
“You and I always get along so great. And I really need you to be there for me—”
“Eric, I said let go.”
I pull back, but he tightens his grip.
And something hot and angry rises in my chest.
“I am not your accessory,” I snap. “Go find someone else to parade around your dinner.”
His jaw tightens.
“You always were too sensitive—”
The bell over the door chimes again.
And the temperature in the room changes.
I feel it before I see him.
That shift in air.
That presence.
Eric doesn’t notice.
But I do.
And for a split second—I don’t feel scared.
I feel certain.
Then he opens his mouth and his words land like a crack of thunder.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
For half a second, I don’t move.
I don’t breathe.
I don’t even blink.
Because that voice?
Low. Controlled. Furious.
It can only be David. And everything in me is completely attuned to him.
Eric’s grip tightens reflexively before he realizes someone else is in the room. He turns, annoyance flashing across his face—and then confusion.
Because David isn’t just standing there.
He’s stalking forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The air in the shop feels charged, like right before a summer storm splits the sky open.
“Excuse me?” Eric scoffs, trying to puff up his chest.
David doesn’t answer him.
He looks at me.
Not at Eric’s grip on my elbow.
Not at the scene.
At me.
And something in his expression makes my pulse kick up hard.
“You okay, linda?” he asks.
His voice is still rough, still edged, but it’s different now.
Focused.
On me.
“I—” My throat feels dry. “Yes. I told him to let go.”
David’s jaw tightens.
Eric squeezes my elbow.
But I know he feels the shift.
Because even he isn’t dumb enough to miss the way David looks standing there.
He’s huge. At least four inches taller than Eric. And he’s wider. Built.
The tattoos I can see despite his shirt look menacing, the way they scroll up and down his arms and neck.
And the look in his eye?
Complete and total focus.
Like he’s balanced. Ready.
Protective.
“What’s your problem, man?” Eric snaps.
Oh my God.
This idiot.
David straightens just slightly, rolling his shoulders back.
“My problem,” he says evenly, “is that she asked you to let go.”
The calm in his voice is worse than yelling.
Eric laughs—a sharp, ugly sound.
“This is between me and my girlfriend.”
“Ex,” I snap.
David’s eyes flick to me, and something dark flickers there.
“She doesn’t want you touching her,” he says.
That’s it.
Simple.
Clear.
Unarguable.
“So what?”
“So I suggest you stop while you still have use of that hand.”
Oh.
Oh. Wow.
I think I might have a huge problem where David Mars is concerned.