His silence is answer enough. Anger flares hot in my chest.
“You don’t get to control my life because you’ve decided I need protecting.”
“I’m not controlling you?—”
“Yes, you are!” I step closer, voice rising. “You’re trying to scare me into leaving!”
“Because it’s the smart move!”
“Or because it’s easier for you?” I shoot back. “Easier than actually letting someone in?”
That hits. I see it land. His expression hardens instantly.
“Believe whatever you want,” he says coldly.
Then he turns and walks away. Just like that. I stand there, stunned, anger and hurt twisting together until I can’t tell them apart.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Walk away.”
That night, I triple-check every lock in the bookstore. Not because of Archer. Because of the feeling I can’t shake. The one that started when I saw that man across the street. I’m halfway through shelving returns when I hear it.
A soft metallic scrape. From the back door. My blood turns to ice. I freeze, listening. There it is again. Someone is trying to open it. Very slowly. Very carefully. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might give me away. I back toward the counter, grab my phone with shaking hands?—
And call Archer. He answers on the first ring.
“Tessa?”
“There’s someone here,” I whisper.
Silence. Then?—
“Lock yourself in. Now.”
“I already?—”
“I’m coming.”
The line goes dead. And the handle on the back door jerks violently. I sit on the couch in the back office, staring at the door, replaying every word Archer said—and every word he didn’t.
Sell the bookstore. Leave town.
Like it’s that simple. Like I didn’t pour everything I had—emotionally, financially, mentally—into this place. Like I didn’tchoosethis. My jaw tightens. No. He doesn’t get to undo that with a few cryptic warnings and a brooding stare.
The handle rattles again, and my entire body turns to ice. I’m on my feet instantly, moving silently back into the bookstore, moving between the shelves so that I can peer through at the door and still remain hidden.
Then… a growl. It’s not a stray dog. It’s not a feral cat. It’s… wild.
Just when I think the door is about to come off the hinges, I hear Archer’s voice at the back door.
“Tessa? Open up.”
I open to his stony face looking at me as if I’m somehow the whole problem.
“All clear back here. I don’t know what you think you heard, but you should get some sleep,” he says before turning without another word and slipping into the darkness.
—
By morning, I’ve convinced myself I’m overreacting. Mostly.