Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Emma

I woke to unfamiliar shadows dancing across pristine white walls. For a moment, I was disoriented––my cottage had weathered blue walls, not this stark perfection. Then Wade’s arm tightened around my waist, and reality crashed in with brutal clarity.

Last night. The storm. Wade.

My heart thundered against my ribs as memories flooded back: his hands, his kisses, the way he’d looked at me like I was something precious. Something to keep.

That thought sent a jolt of panic through my system. I couldn’t be kept. Trapped in a world I didn’t want. Not again. Not even by someone who made me feel as safe as Wade did.

I lifted his arm with trembling fingers, easing away from his warmth. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his features softened by sleep in a way that made my chest ache. I slipped from beneath the expensive sheets, gathering my scattered clothes with silent efficiency.

Porky raised his head from his spot at the foot of the bed, and I pressed a finger to my lips. The last thing I needed was his usual morning enthusiasm giving me away. To my relief, he just watched me with drowsy eyes as I dressed.

I paused at the bedroom door, allowing myself one last look at Wade. In sleep, all his careful control was stripped away. He looked younger, vulnerable in a way that scared me more than his usual self-assured presence.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone this close, especially not someone from the world I left behind. Even if he didn’t realize who I was yet, it was only a matter of time.

I closed the door with a silent click and crept down the hallway, Porky padding quietly behind me. My shoes dangled from one hand until I reached the front door. Only then did I slip them on, hands shaking as I worked the laces.

The morning air hit my face like a slap of reality. I hurried down the drive with Porky following close behind, refusing to look back at the sprawling estate that felt too much like my past. The walk home was mercifully short, though every step felt weighted with the memories of last night.

My cottage felt impossibly small after Wade’s estate, but the familiar creaks of the floorboards and the worn comfort of my furniture helped ground me. I’d chosen every piece myself, built this life from nothing but the books Grammy left behind for me. I couldn’t let one night––no matter how perfect–– threaten everything I’d worked for, the freedom and peace I’d fought so hard for.

Porky had other ideas about my morning of self-reflection. He planted himself in front of his food bowl and let out a demanding bark that echoed through the small space.

“Shh, you’ll wake the whole neighborhood.” I rubbed my temples, trying to ward off the headache I could feel building. “Although I suppose that’s karma for the times you’ve terrorized Wade’s perfectly manicured lawn.”

The thought of Wade sent another wave of uncertainty through me. I busied myself with Porky’s breakfast, mentally listing everything I needed to do at the store today. Inventory. The new shipment of mysteries needed shelving. The summer reading program needed?—

A wet splat interrupted my mental catalog. I turned to find Porky looking entirely too innocent, a half-chewed blob of something on the floor beside him.

“What did you—“ I crouched down for a closer look and let out a strangled laugh. There, partially dissolved but still recognizable, was one of Sandy’s blueberry scones. The ones Wade used to bribe my dog mere days ago.

“Traitor,” I muttered, but my voice caught. Everything about Wade had worked its way into my life so seamlessly–– from spoiling my dog to knowing exactly how I took my coffee. And last night... last night had felt inevitable, like something I’d been moving toward since the moment he’d walked into my bookstore.

That’s what terrified me most.

I cleaned up Porky’s mess and grabbed my keys.

Work. Work will help, Emma girl.

I’d lose myself in the familiar routine of my store and forget about the way Wade’s sheets had smelled, or how adored I’d felt in his arms, or the dangerous feeling that I was falling––

No. Do not go there Emma Michaels.

“Be good,” I told Porky sternly. “No more hidden pastries.” He wagged his tail, completely unrepentant, as I left him settled in his favorite spot by the window.

The bell over the shop door chimed as I let myself in, the familiar odors of books and coffee wrapping around me like a shield. For a moment, I just stood there, letting the early morning silence settle my nerves.

Then I spotted the stack of books on the counter––the ones Wade had bought at trivia night. Right. Those still needed processing.

I flipped through the stack, logging each title in the system. Philosophy texts, mostly––not what I’d expected from him. The last book was older, a worn copy of Kant that had been sitting in our classics section for months. As I opened it to check the condition, something fluttered to the floor.

A photograph, creased and faded around the edges.

I bent to pick it up, and froze. A college philosophy club meeting in a coffee shop, captured in warm sepia tones. And there, in the center of the frame, was a younger version of myself caught mid-laugh. I barely remembered that day––just another club meeting I’d attended to pad my resume for law school. But as I studied the image, something tugged at my memory... a late-night discussion that had stretched into the wee hours of the night.

The dark-haired boy sitting next to me in the photo was turned slightly away from the camera, but something about his profile...

“Oh my god,” I whispered, sinking into my chair.

Wade James.

Before he’d walked away from his family’s expectations, before he’d built his own fortune. The memories were hazy, but fragments came back––some late-night debate with a few other students, and this guy who’d pushed back against everything I’d said with an intensity that caught me off guard. Back then, I hadn’t really thought twice about it.

I was so wrapped up in my perfect, planned-out future that I couldn’t see past my own bubble. Pretty rich, looking back now––there I was, going on about questioning everything while I just smiled and nodded at my own life being mapped out for me. Funny how it took walking away and losing everything to finally understand what choosing your own path actually meant.

But for him...

Had that night helped push him toward breaking away from his family’s expectations? The thought made my head spin. And now here he was, making my carefully constructed world feel both more real and more complicated.

The bell over the door chimed, and I knew without looking who it would be. The universe, it seemed, had jokes.

“We’re not open yet,” I called out automatically, still staring at the photo.

“I know.” Wade’s voice was quiet, careful. When I looked up, he was standing just inside the door, his usual polished appearance slightly rumpled. He must have come straight from home after finding me gone.

“You left this morning.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but I could hear the hurt beneath his controlled tone.

“I had to open the store.” The lie felt bitter on my tongue. I slid the photo across the counter toward him. “Found this in one of your books.”

He crossed to the counter, his steps measured. When he saw the photo, something flickered across his face––surprise, then understanding. “Ah. I forgot that was in there.”

“Did you know?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “This whole time, did you recognize me?”

“No.” He picked up the photo, studying it with an intensity that made me want to squirm. “I knew there was something familiar about you from the first day, but I couldn’t place it. It was driving me crazy, actually. Until I ran across this old photo.” His lips quirked up slightly. “You’re very different from the girl in that coffee shop.”

“I barely remember that night,” I admitted. “It was just another philosophy club meeting to me.”

“It wasn’t to me.” He set the photo down carefully. “You completely dismantled every argument I made about following predetermined paths. Told me that true philosophy wasn’t about accepting what others had decided, but questioning everything––even our own assumptions.” He chuckled. “You have no idea how many times I replayed that conversation in my head when I finally worked up the courage to tell my parents I wasn’t going to take over the family business. Especially not if it meant a merger for a marriage.”

I stared at him, trying to reconcile this revelation with everything I thought I knew. “So last night...”

“Had nothing to do with some college memory.” He moved closer, but stopped when I tensed. “Last night was about the woman who reads stories in silly voices to children, who matches my coffee addiction like it’s a personal challenge, and who lets her dog terrorize my lawn but still somehow has me wrapped around her finger.”

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tight. “Wade...”

“You disappeared this morning.” There was that hurt again, making his voice rough. “After everything––after last night––you just left.”

“I panicked,” I admitted. “Things were getting too real, too fast. And now this...” I gestured at the photo. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Is it?” He leaned against the counter, close enough that I could smell his cologne. “Or maybe it’s proof that we were always heading somewhere like this. Different paths that led to the same place.”

“That’s a very philosophical take for someone who claims to have given up academia,” I said, trying for lightness and failing.

“Well, I had an excellent teacher, even if she doesn’t remember it.” His smile faded. “Emma, talk to me. What are you really afraid of?”

I stared down at the counter, tracing a scratch in the wood with my fingernail. “I built this life piece by piece. Every decision, every choice was mine. No family expectations, no predetermined path. Just... me.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “And you’re connected to that world I left behind. Even if you broke away too, you still know those people, those places. You’re still a part of it.”

“I’m not going to drag you back into high society, Emma. Not if you don’t want it.” He looked almost hurt that I would think it. “I’m not really part of that world anymore either, remember? I built my own fortune, and did my own thing, just like you did. I won’t say I don’t still get dragged into it on occasion––by my mostly well-meaning family––but I would never make you participate in it too, unless you chose to.”

“It’s not just that.” I pressed my hands flat against the counter to stop them from shaking. “Last night... the way you look at me... it makes me want things I told myself I’d never want again. To let someone in. To trust. To—“ I cut myself off.

“To fall?” he finished softly. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “You know the crazy thing? That night in college––it wasn’t even the deep philosophical stuff that stuck with me. It was how you made everything feel... real. Like you could see right through all my bullshit and get to what was actually scaring me.” He reached across the counter, his hand covering mine. “And here you are, still doing it. Even when you’re the one running.”

“I’m not running,” I protested weakly.

“No?” His thumb traced circles on my wrist. “Then why did I wake up alone?”

“Because...” I swallowed hard. “Because when I woke up this morning, it felt right. Like I could belong there. With you. And that terrified me.”

“Good.” The intensity in his voice made me look up. “It terrifies me too. But Emma?” He waited until I met his gaze. “I’d rather be terrified with you than safe with anyone else.”

I let out a rough laugh. “Talk about irony. After years of telling our parents to shove it, here we are––doing exactly what they wanted. The runaway kids, hooking up after all.”

“Jesus.” Wade messed up his hair, scowling. “I can hear my mom now. ‘Finally, someone appropriate.’” His fake posh accent was spot-on, and bitter as hell. “She won’t even care that you run a bookstore instead of being some hotshot lawyer. Just that you’re a Michaels.”

“They’ll think we’ve finally grown up,” I said, feeling sick. “Like everything we created for ourselves was just us acting out before settling down like good little kids.”

“Like we’re finally falling in line.” Wade’s jaw clenched. “Makes me want to blow town just to piss them off.”

“Is that what this is?” I asked softly. “Are we both just running? Or are we giving up?”

“Hell no.” Wade didn’t miss a beat. “Look at me, Emma.” His gaze captured mine, burning with intensity. “What we built––my company, your store, the lives we chose––that’s real and meaningful. We busted our asses for all of it. And this?” He squeezed my hand. “This is real too. We’re not their perfect society match. We’re two people who told them to take their plans and shove it, carved out our own lives, and found each other anyway.”

“On our terms,” I murmured, trying the words out.

“Exactly.” His thumb traced over my knuckles. “Let them think whatever they want. We know what’s real. And honestly?” The familiar spark of trouble lit up his eyes. “There’s something kind of awesome about finding happiness in a way that looks like their master plan but is totally our own.”

“Kind of awesome?” I couldn’t help grinning. “That’s what we’re calling this?”

“Think about it.” He was full-on smirking now. “On paper, they get what they wanted––their perfect little high society match. But really?” His eyes danced. “They get the bookstore rebel who hosts story time for kids and the recluse tech billionaire who prefers jeans and surfboards over suits and boardrooms. We’re everything they wanted, except completely not.”

“And totally ourselves,” I added quietly.

“Exactly.” He brushed my cheek. “Emma, I didn’t fall for you because you’re a Michaels. I fell for you before I knew you were a Michaels. I fell for you because you make a mean pot of chili, destroy everyone at trivia night with way too much glee, and have a dog as a sidekick who looks at me like I’m personally betraying him every time I run out of scones.”

“He does give you the sad eyes with exceptional skill,” I admitted, thinking about how Porky stared Wade down at trivia night.

“About this morning...” Wade got serious. “Next time you freak and bolt, take me with you. Or at least wake me up. I make killer crisis coffee.”

The way he said ‘next time’––not if, but when––like he just accepted my mess without trying to fix it, made my throat tight. “I’ll try,” I whispered. “I kind of suck at letting people in.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” His expression turned earnest. “But you’re letting me in now and that’s big. Even if it’s just baby steps.”

I flipped my hand over in his, tangling our fingers together. “Stay for coffee?”

“That a real invite or are you just trying to make up for ditching me this morning?”

“Can’t it be both?”

His laugh filled up the empty store, and something in my chest shifted. Getting past my hangups wouldn’t be easy. But looking at Wade––at the way he watched me like I was both a pain in his ass and the best thing ever––I knew we had something worth figuring out.

Wade smiled and I think it was that smile that really did me in. It was boyish and gentle and possessive all at the same time and though it scared me, it also made my toes curl.

Maybe I liked being kept more than I was willing to admit.

And… maybe Wade really was as safe as he felt.