“Bossy and broad-shouldered,” he repeats, sounding far too pleased.
“Don’t sound proud.”
“I’m proud of both.”
I shake my head, but the smile won’t leave my mouth. That might be the problem. Or the beginning of a much bigger one.
Connor lifts a hand to flag down the server and asks for boxes for our leftovers. His voice is polite, his attention still partly on me and partly on the room, and I watch him with a strange tug low in my stomach. He is too much in almost every category. Too big, too certain, too watchful, too able to step into a problem and make himself necessary.
The server sets the boxes down, and Connor slides one toward me.
I look at his hand, then his face, and wonder if I’m already in over my head.
3
CONNOR
It’s crazy how quickly life can change.
One day I’m going through my usual routine of early workouts, black coffee, client calls, and quiet evenings that don’t ask much of me. The next, Emi is in my life, and everything feels so fucking different. The air in my lungs. The weight of time. The shape of the years ahead, even though I’ve only known her for less than forty-eight hours.
From my corner near the front window, I watch her ring up a woman with a little girl pressed shyly against her side. Emi crouches to the kid’s level when she hands over the paper bag, and whatever she says makes the little girl smile and tuck the book against her chest with both arms.
I have no doubt she’ll be a good mother someday.
Jesus. I need to get a grip. Watching a woman sell a kid a book should not have me thinking about babies, bedtime stories, and Emi’s body round with my child. But my mind keeps doing that around her, moving past reasonable and straight into forever.
I force my attention back to the street. The bookstore window gives me a clear view of the opposite curb, the bakery, the parked cars, and most of the intersection. A red sedan rolls by slowerthan the rest of traffic. The windows reflect enough light to make the driver hard to see, and by the time I shift closer to the glass, the car has already continued out of sight.
Could be nothing. Could be a tourist looking for parking.
Could be a man with a grudge checking whether Emi is alone.
The mother and kid head for the door, and I open it for them without taking my eyes off the street for long. Then I go over to Emi instead of returning to my spot.
She’s sorting a stack of preorder slips, her hair pulled back in a clip that leaves loose pieces around her face. “You have that look again.”
“What kind of car does David drive?”
Her hands pause. “I don’t know. Why?”
“A red sedan came by slow. Could be nothing.” I keep my voice calm because I don’t want to worry her. “It was hard to see the driver.”
Emi’s gaze flicks toward the window, then back to me. “You think it was him?”
“I don’t know yet.” I stop myself from touching her, even though every protective instinct in me wants to pull her close and put my body between her and the world. “I’m on top of it.”
She studies me for a second, and I can see the argument forming. Then her expression eases. “I trust you.”
Before I move away, I notice a small stack of flyers beside the register. The top one says After-Hours Book Club, with tonight’s date written in Emi’s neat handwriting. “You host a book club tonight?”
“Once a month.” She smiles. “Why? Want to join?”
“Sure. I’m in.”
She laughs. “I was teasing.”
“I wasn’t.”
