Page 42 of Forever To Me

And I don’t like it.

I don’t like how she can just waltz in here and kick down the walls I’ve spent fifteen years building up.

I don’t like the way I catch myself watching her.

And I sure as hell don’t like how she looks at me like she’s figuring me out.

Because I don’t want her figuring me out. I don’t want anyone to figure me out.

I’m not a puzzle. I’m a locked door.

And locked doors don’t open.

I’ve wanted to avoid her, but I can’t. Whenever she'saround, it's a yes to anything she needs, and it's like I can't even stop myself.

It doesn’t help that she’s been working at my bar in the evenings, stepping in when Maggie volunteered her help with Cash out for a while.

She fits behind the bar too well, sliding drinks across the counter, laughing at things the regulars say, and tapping her fingers against the old wood like there’s a melody running through her veins she can’t turn off.

I tell myself it doesn’t bother me.

I tell myself she’s just passing through—that one day, she’ll pack her bags and leave, and things will return to the way they were.

But every time I see her, that idea feels like a lie.

And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?

I don’t want her to leave.

It’s late when I finally finish closing up the bar, with only the hum of the neon sign and the faint sound of crickets filling the late-night air.

Violet is still here, drying glasses behind the bar.

I should tell her to lock up and go. Should keep my distance. But I know I won't. I'll make sure she gets a ride home and is safe behind her door.

Instead, I linger, watching how she moves naturally in my space.

She looks up, catching my gaze, and something flickers in her eyes—something warm, something knowing.

“You gonna keep staring, or you wanna help me with these glasses?” she teases.

I smirk, shaking my head as I grab a towel. “Didn’t realize I was staring.”

She chuckles, handing me a glass. “Oh, you were. It’s alright, though. I know I’m fascinating.”

I roll my eyes. But damn if she isn’t right.

She leans against the counter, watching me dry the glass with a lazy kind of amusement.

“What made you come to Bridger Falls?” she asks suddenly. "You’ve been here what—fifteen years? What made you pick Bridger Falls of all places?"

I glance at her, startled by her question. I should have expected it. I’m surprised that she hasn’t asked sooner. “Needed a fresh start. Seemed as good a place as any.”

Her lips curve. “That’s vague.”

I smirk. "You ask every man you meet for his life story?"

"Only the ones who are hiding something."

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