Page 40 of This Life of Mine

Please don’t be a burglar trying to break into our shop.

Thank God Val doesn’t get these alerts anymore.

She used to. Every single one of them. Every delivery truck. Every passing car. Every stray cat that wandered too close to the front door.

The notifications came nonstop—buzzing her phone at all hours, yanking her awake the moment she’d gotten the baby down. It completely wrecked her sleep. Wrecked the baby’s routine. Turned every night into a series of false alarms and adrenaline spikes.

Eventually, I told her to turn them off.

I’ve got it. I’m already awake half the time, anyway. I’ll handle the alerts. You need rest.

She hadn’t argued. She looked relieved. Guilty. Exhausted. So she turned them off, and I became the one who watched the door.

Which means these notifications are mine to handle.

I tap the latest notification while stopped at a red light.

My stomach drops.

Someone is standing outside the shop. Right at the front door.

The Ring camera footage shakes slightly every few seconds.

It’s not from wind, but from someone pounding on the glass with enough intensity to jiggle the frame.

Once. Twice. Again.

“What the hell?”

I enlarge the video. The moment the image is clear, my pulse spikes.

Of course. Of fucking course. I know who it is. I don’t even need the next notification to confirm it.

My phone lights up again. And again. And again.

Ring alerts. Missed calls. Text messages. Voicemails. I look at the numbers and curse.

Forty text messages. Twenty-two missed calls. Ten voicemails.

Jesus Christ.

The fantasy audiobook playing through my speakers fades into meaningless background noise.

EJ, his abs, and his smirk disappear from my mind. All of it evaporates beneath a surge of adrenaline and anger.

Because while one fictional man is busy saving kingdoms, a very real idiot is currently trying to break down the front door of my bookstore.

I signal a turn and crank the wheel, and the Bronco responds without hesitation.

Whatever game Cole is playing today, he’s not doing it at my shop.

Chapter thirteen

Lina

Ipull up fast, tires crunching against the curb, headlights washing over him like a spotlight he never asked for, but I see he expected.

Cole rocks back on his heels, squinting through bleary eyes. Then he smiles—relieved, as though seeing me makes everything right again.