Page 90 of Holiday Friend Zones
His grin is audible.I can feel it without even looking at him.
“I could’ve sworn you had six boxes of Little Women stacked in the back.”
“Maybe people want eight boxes this year,” I snap, shifting my gaze anywhere but his.My blush is climbing my neck, burning all the way to my ears.
“Sure,” he drawls.“Or maybe you’re just hiding something.”
I grit my teeth.“Oh, would you look at that?A customer.”
And thank God, because the bell above the door jingles at that exact second.I make a beeline for the entrance, walking as calmly as humanly possible (definitely not running, not even close).
Mr.Gibbs, a sweet older gentleman, shuffles in with his endless list of grandchildren, all of whom apparently need handpicked book recommendations for Christmas.My salvation in human form.
By the time Mr.Gibbs is gone, the store feels normal again, but my laptop is still sitting there like a loaded secret.Small miracles, sure.But I know I’m only one close call away from Roman finding the truth, and I don’t know if that will save or destroy me.
ChapterFive
ROMAN
Willow doesn’t realize how close she drives me to losing control.
One second, I’m teasing her about ordering too many copies of Little Women; the next, I’m leaning over the counter, my mouth a breath from her ear.Her laptop screen is still warm under my palm, the faint glow fading after she slammed it shut like she was hiding state secrets.Curiosity digs at me, insistent and alive.
What was she looking at?
Why did she look guilty as hell when I walked in?
Part of me wants to flip it back open and find the truth in her tabs.But the bigger part—the one pulsing in my chest right now—doesn’t care about the laptop.It cares about how her blush spills down her throat and her pulse hammers in her neck.
Her shampoo smells like vanilla and cinnamon, warm and sweet, and it goes straight to my head.If I lean forward just an inch more, I’d know if she tastes the same.If her lips are as soft as they look when she chews on them to hide a smile.
She thinks she hides it.She doesn’t.Ducking her gaze, pretending to fuss with receipts or the garland by the register, like she can will her nerves away.But I see every flush of color, every tremor in her hands, every tiny betrayal of what she won’t say out loud.
When she stammers, her lips part like she’s on the edge of admitting something—something that would undo us both—my heart leaps before my brain can stop it.I want to close the distance.I want to kiss her until all the history between us blurs into something we can’t walk back from.
And maybe I would’ve—if the bell above the door hadn’t chimed.
The sound cracks through the air like a gunshot.Willow bolts, relief etched in every step as she rushes to the front, clinging to the customer like he’s a lifeline.
I stay frozen behind the counter, fists clenched, jaw locked.Because if I don’t hold myself there, I’ll follow her.I’ll do what I’ve wanted to do for longer than I’ll ever admit—something I can’t take back.
Mr.Gibbs comes in, carrying his list of grandchildren, and I retreat—back into the storeroom, back into control.It’s safer this way.For her.For me.
But the truth is, I’m not safe anywhere she is.
Because she has no idea what I give up just to be here.
The construction company is supposed to be my full-time focus.The one I started when I came back from the city, when I finally admitted that drafting skyscrapers no one would ever remember wasn’t worth the pieces of myself I left behind.
It’s growing—fast.Too fast.Calls pour in daily, contracts stacking higher than I can keep track of.I’ve hired good people, a crew I trust, but even with them taking on the bulk of the labor, there aren’t enough hours in the day to cover everything that needs my attention.
And still—I can’t stay away from her.Not at the store.Not when December closes in and the bookstore is bursting at the seams.She pretends she’s fine—stringing lights, hauling boxes, humming carols her mom used to love—but I see the strain.
I see how thin she’s stretched, the shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders hunch when she thinks no one is watching.So I carve out time I don’t have.Mornings on job sites, nights here under twinkle lights, shelving books, and fixing whatever she won’t admit is broken.Because leaving her to carry it all alone?That’s not an option.Not for me.
So I split myself in two.Half my time running crews, sketching estimates, answering clients who don’t care if I eat or sleep.The other half here—stocking shelves, climbing ladders, fixing whatever breaks before she even has the chance to worry about it.I trade hard hats and concrete dust for twinkle lights and pine garland, and I don’t regret a second of it.
Because she won’t ask.She never asks.She thinks needing someone makes her weak—or worse, a burden.She doesn’t see that she’s the strongest damn person I’ve ever met.Strong enough to keep this shop alive when the world tried to take everything from her.Strong enough to smile at customers with ribbons in her hands, even when her grief is still stitched into every corner of this place.
