I stare at him.
“And you didn’t think to mention that my bookstore used to belong to your family?”
His jaw works slightly. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Itdoesn’tmatter?” I echo.
“It’s just a building,” he says.
I gesture around us. “It’smybuilding. And apparently it has a whole history I didn’t know about.”
His gaze softens slightly.
“I didn’t want you to feel like you were stepping into something that wasn’t yours.”
I pause. That… actually makes sense. Annoyingly.
“Well,” I say, crossing my arms, “too late for that.”
A flicker of something passes through his eyes.
“Does it bother you?” he asks.
I think about it. About the coincidence. About the connection. About everything this place represents now.
“…I don’t know,” I admit. “It feels… significant.”
“It is,” he says quietly.
Of course he’d say that. I sigh.
“Great. So now I have a supernatural bondanda possibly fate-driven real estate situation.”
His lips twitch again.
“You’re handling it well.”
“Stop saying that like it’s a compliment,” I mutter.
He steps closer, his presence immediately shifting the air around me. There’s that pull again. Stronger now. More defined. It doesn’t overwhelm me. But it’s there. Constant.
“You’re not afraid,” he says.
“I didn’t say that,” I reply.
His brow lifts slightly.
“I’m just not letting it control me.”
Something in his expression tightens.
“Fear keeps you alive.”
“So does refusing to live in it,” I counter.
We stare at each other for a moment, the tension between us shifting—not hostile, but charged. Protective. Possessive. Complicated.
“You shouldn’t be out alone,” he says finally.