Page 16 of Safe Place

It’s Sophie—quietly folding her hoodie sleeves at the wrist, head tilted when she listens, her eyes wide, scanning a calendar packed to the brim like she’s holding her life together with threadbare strings.

And that’s the problem.

Because like my dad said, I don’t have time for distractions. But somehow, this girl I’ve barely known three weeks has already taken up more of my thoughts than anyone else ever has.

It seems I may be fucked.

FIVE

I’ve apparently lost all self-control

MICAH

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’ve completely lost control of my own feet.

Sophie mentioned earlier that she was stopping by the bookstore. Maybe to grab a textbook she hadn’t gotten yet. It’s been over an hour. She’s probably long gone, already in class.

So why the hell am I still walking in this direction?

I tell myself I’m just passing by, but that’s bullshit. I step into the bookstore and glance around. Empty, of course—no sign of her, not like I expected one.

Still, I drift toward the textbook section. It’s quiet—I’m sure most students are done shopping for the semester. My eyes catch the apparel corner. And there it is: the same gray Westcliffe hoodie Sophie was wearing today, hanging on display.

Before I know it, I’m reaching for one. Then a green one. Then a black crewneck. A few white long sleeve tees. Then—because I’ve apparently lost all self-control—two Westcliffe baseball caps. Green and black.

What the hell am I doing? Since when did I have so much school spirit? I've been to this store a hundred times and rarely ever bought anything that wasn't a textbook, and now I'm standing here holding an armful of hoodies like some kind of proud parent.

I head to the register and ring the bell, ready to check out and hopefully come to my senses. There’s movement behind the curtain—then I can’t help but grin.

It’s Sophie. Her chestnut hair is tied in a low ponytail, cheeks slightly flushed. One sleeve of her hoodie is rolled up, the other hanging down. And just like that, I’m smiling like a complete idiot.

“Sophie, hey. What brings you to this side of town?” I ask like a complete dumbass.

She blinks, then smiles back—but it’s small, and she doesn’t quite meet my gaze.

I tilt my head, teasing. “Sophie, why are you working three jobs? It’s three, right? Or is there another one I haven’t found you in yet?”

She lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “Just three.”

Just three. I want to ask why, but I don’t. Not yet, at least. I’ve got a feeling the answer isn’t something she hands over easily.

She looks at the mountain of merch in my arms. “What is all this?”

“What can I say?” I grin. “You inspire me.”

She eyes me suspiciously, then glances over her shoulder like she’s making sure no one’s watching. “Come here,” she says, motioning me closer.

I step forward, and she leans in.

“Westcliffe gear is kind of overpriced,” she whispers. “But I get a pretty insane employee discount. Like, seventy-five percent. And if something has a defect—” she lifts the hem of her sleeve and points to a small hole in the stitching, “—it’s practically free.”

My grin widens across my face before I can stop it, stretching ear to ear. God. She’s so cute. She’s so proud of this tiny, scrappy hack. She’s genuinely trying to help me save money, and the fact that she thinks I’d even want a discount makes it ten times cuter.

“Well?” she asks, catching my expression. “You want the deal or not?”

“Sure—let’s do it,” I say easily, like I’m agreeing to grab coffee instead of whatever secret operation she’s clearly about to rope me into. The truth is, I just want to see what she does next. I’m having way too much fun with this.

Her face lights up. “Okay. Come on.”