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He’s my father’s friend. I didn’t need Coach Bell telling Pop what he thought Oliver and I got up to that night.Good God, no.
I could get my hands on Oliver’s number, if I tried. Call him. Have the talk I so desperately want yet also dread. I won’t.
Maybe it’s pride or plain old foolishness. He knows how to find me. And maybe that’s it—he doesn’t want to find me. Or worse, he’s left town. Gone.
Shaking off the unbearable weight of uncertainty, I shut down the computer, secure the register, tidy the ground floor, and lock the door. Then I venture to the second floor to do a final walk-through.
The upstairs is two-thirds the size of below and mostly open space. Unlike the ground floor, it’s dense with bookshelves, oversized chairs, a sofa, and bean bags. It’s meant to feel like a cozy living room.
I stumble to a halt at movement on the other side of the stacks and freeze in place, breath suspended.
I should be alone.What the heck?
A faint swoosh, similar to the one only a beat ago, drives a shudder through me. I check my pockets, looking for my phone, in case I have to call for help. Oh no, my phone is downstairs.
That’s okay. Everything is going to be all right. There has to be a simple explanation for the noise. No one’s there. And even if there is, for the most part, the people of Winslow Grove are kind and friendly, and the library isn’t exactly the place to rob.
Not wanting to overthink or scare myself any more than I already have, I clear my throat and project a strong, confident voice. “Who’s there?”
At first, everything stills, the air thick with a quiet that only trails in just before a storm. Nothing. Did I imagine the noise? Movement?
But no. More rustling breaks out only feet away as someone or something moves again. Before I can react, scream, or run, hands grab me from behind with a strong grip around my waist and my feet fly up from the ground.
I kick and scream for my life as everything happens in a flash. I barely register the familiar fresh pine scent or the deep rumble of laughter. It’s only when my feet land firmly on the floor a few seconds later and the culprit twirls me around to face him that my heart finally slows. Kind of.
I slap at the broad, solid shoulder in front of me. “Oliver. What the hell?”
His hazel eyes sparkle with mischief and he grins from ear to ear. “Sorry, Tyler.” His hands still anchor my waist. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I shove him again, this time with both hands. And this time, when my splayed palms push against his chiseled chest, they stay there for a beat or two longer than warranted.
Oliver Winslow.
Warm and solid.
Can I saymine?
He didn’t leave town.
I can’t stop staring, afraid to blink and break this moment. I’m too worried this is all a cruel dream. I can’t stop touching him, reveling in his warmth and playful expression.
He frowns and pulls me closer, capturing my hands on his chest between us. “Wren. Say something. What’s wrong?”
Abruptly, I escape his arms and cross mine over my middle. I’m far too vulnerable for this conversation. “Why has it taken you two days to talk to me?”
Chapter2
Oliver
Wren’s soft, full lips thin, all the blood draining from them, the longer she stares at me. She isn’t happy to see me. Or more to the point, she isn’t happy that it’s taken me two days to see her after our time in the gym. The pained tone to her question says as much.
“Shit, Tyler, you have to believe me. I wanted to go after you when you left the gym, but Coach…” My heart gallops with the urgent desire to get through to her.
I didn’t deliberately take my sweet-ass time in getting to her.
“What about him?”
“He insisted I stay. He wanted to talk about his upcoming retirement. He said he was disappointed in me for not immediately throwing my name in the ring for his position. He went on about how I’d head the athletics department, coach football, and also get to teach.”
