Page 6 of When the Angel Falls First

I felt the new patron hovering in the entry of the shop, so I cleared my throat and closed the spiral-bound book of bylaws.

“Welcome to the Bookish Cat, can I…”

My heart abruptly caught in my throat, the words dying on my lips as my breath hitched. There he stood, like a ghost from the past.

Caleb.

The same Caleb who, with his devastatingly handsome features, was my first real love. The same Caleb who had vanished from my life seven years ago, leaving nothing but a mysterious blank book and a cavernous void in my heart.

How utterly strange and surreal to see him standing therein the doorway of my bookstore, like a character from a well-worn page had suddenly stepped into reality.

“What the?—”

I didn’t know what to do, so I covered my face with the bylaws, fake reading while I tried to figure out what was going on.

As Caleb strolled toward the counter, each step echoing against the worn hardwood floors, my mind was tugged into the past, to the whirlwind that was our romance. The rows of books blurred into a kaleidoscope of color as I traveled seven years back, finding myself in the middle of laughter and stolen kisses in the forests of Federal Way, Washington. Our whispered promises and shared dreams. The warmth of his palms as he cupped my breasts like he never wanted to let go. It had been intoxicating and intense, but it had also been fleeting. Painfully so.

He had said he couldn’t have a “normal” relationship—words that tumbled out of his mouth in a rush, as if they were well-rehearsed lines from a script. He had spun me tales of a life too complicated, too involved. He tried to hide behind clichés, hollow excuses that couldn’t possibly encapsulate the true depth of his reasons.

The thought had made me bristle then the way it still did now. How could anything as profound and complex as love ever be “normal”? I’d pleaded for him to share the real reasons, but I never got a real answer before he left me for good.

Until today.

“‘Time, which sees all things, has found you out,’” I quoted to the bylaws I hid behind.

“You always did loveTess of the D’Urbervilles,” he replied, as if it was entirely normal that he’d appear out of nowhere after breaking my poor, naïve heart all those years ago.

Stealing a glance over the top of the bylaws book, I studied Caleb. It was as if the last seven years had barely grazed him. His hair, still that unique shade of sandy chestnut, was longer and slightly tousled, giving him an irresistibly boyish charm. His firm jawline was shadowed with a day’s worth of stubble, adding a rugged touch to his features, and reminding me he was all man. I had to hold myself back from caressing his cheek.

His striking blue eyes, though, were the same as I remembered—deep and intense, mirroring the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean that lapped the shores of my hometown. They twinkled with a warmth that made my heart flutter like it used to. But that warm exterior lit a spark of hunger in me, a craving from deep within that wouldn’t be satisfied until he held me in his arms.

His attire had remained unaltered as well, a mix of casual and professional—a well-fitted charcoal-gray blazer over a simple white T-shirt, paired with dark jeans that sat perfectly on his hips. In spite of myself, I felt a rush of familiarity, a jolt of attraction that was just as potent now as it had been then. It was a testament to the kind of man Caleb was—irresistible, frustrating, and yet wholly unforgettable.

Damn it.

A sigh escaped my lips before I could contain it. There he was, Caleb, unchanged and somehow hotter than any man had any right to be.

If he could even be called a “man,” given his particular status on Earth.

“Can I help you find anything in particular?” I asked, feigning ignorance, my tone as casual as I could manage, given my racing heart.

“It’s been a while,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet and equally disarming.

I stubbornly stuck to my role. “In that case, welcome back to the world of books.” I gestured toward the towering shelves, lined with everything from modern prose to ancient poetry. “Our fiction section is quite extensive, if that’s what you’re after.”

He chuckled, the sound resonating in the quiet store, bouncing off the stacks of books and knick-knacks. “Josie…”

My heart somersaulted at the sound of his voice so close. His unwavering gaze broke my resolve. With a small laugh that didn’t quite reach my eyes, I put down my pretense. “Caleb. Wow, it’s been a long time. Welcome to my bookstore, the Bookish Cat.”

He just walked in—obviously he knows its name. Why am I such a mess at the sight of him?

He looked around, his eyes reflecting genuine pleasure. “Your store?”

“Yes, all mine,” I said, my voice echoing with a hint of pride in spite of myself.

“That’s wonderful. Really.” His tone was laced with sincerity.

“So…” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “What brings you here, Caleb?”

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