My problem?
You put your hands on her.
But I don’t say that.
I straighten just enough.
This man is her ex, and hearing her call him that?
Well, let’s just say something dark flickers inside me.
It’s a good thing he’s her ex.
“She doesn’t want you touching her,” I repeat.
Simple.
Clear.
That should be enough.
He bristles, eyes narrowing at me. But he lets go. And I see my girl step away from him, closer to me. And that has every possessive cell in my body standing at attention.
“Who are you? You’re not from around here,” he sneers. “You just passing through?”
That one hits.
Because I am passing through.
Because I don’t know if I’m staying.
Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.
But none of that matters right now.
I step closer anyway.
Not aggressive.
Not threatening.
Just bigger.
Occupying space.
Making it clear that he doesn’t get to.
“Last warning,” I say quietly, “get out and don’t come back. There’s nothing for you here.”
The bookstore is silent behind us. I’m aware of movement near the register—the older woman watching.
Of Hilary’s breathing.
Of my own pulse hammering in my ears.
He looks between us.
Sees something he doesn’t like.