The Regency era. The Season, the fashion, the ton... the drama and angst. God, it had always been my favorite. I thought to myself as I slid another book onto the shelf, the spine clicking softly into place. Then the next.

Another book haul—this time from an estate sale. Whoever owned them clearly had good taste. A whole box full of Regency romances, worn just enough to show they were loved.

It was a time of poetry and passion. Stolen glances. Subtle touches. Promenades that meant something. Not just walking beside someone, but making a statement. It was about the gestures.

I could picture it—Nathan walking beside me at a proper, polite distance. His hands behind his back. Sunlight catching in his golden hair as he tilted his head, watching a single petal drift loose from the rose bush and land gently in my hair.

"Oh—you have a little..." he said, hesitating before reaching out. His eyes scanned the path first to make sure no one else was near. Then, softly, he plucked the petal from my hair and held it out between us. "It's quite a pretty shade," he said, a laugh caught in his throat.

"It is," I breathed, fingers brushing his palm as I took it. The warmth of his skin bloomed across my cheeks. Our gazes locked for a second too long before we both looked away.

Nathan cleared his throat and tucked his hands back behind him. "It is a lovely day out."

"Indeed it is," I replied, turning back to look at Jackson.

No. Nathan. I meant Nathan.

I let out a sigh and shook myself out of the daydream. Lately it was like my thoughts had a mind of their own. Harder to focus. I hadn't been writing. Barely reading. Just... floating.

And I should be excited. Inspired. I had my first real date tonight after closing. Nathan planned the whole thing—fancy little restaurant, then a walk down the pier after. Supposedly the lights there look like fireflies. Romantic, thoughtful, perfect.

There was nothing wrong with Nathan. He was sweet. Funny. Handsome in that golden retriever kind of way. A professor. No kids. His own place. And most importantly—he liked me.

So why did my brain keep pulling me back to Jackson?

"Jackson," Alex whispered, peeking around the edge of the bookshelf.

"I know," I sighed, sliding another book into place.

"Huh?" she asked, stepping out from behind it, eyebrows knitting together.

"Huh huh?" I mirrored, blinking at her as the confusion passed between us like a missed signal.

"Did you not hear the bell chime?"

"No?"

"Jackson's here. He said he needed to drop off some age verification thing for his daughter—something for taxes, I think, since she's starting next week." She paused, her tone softening. "I can say you're busy if you want. I can take the paperwork—"

"I can deal with it," I said, cutting her off gently but firmly.

I was a grown adult. I could handle this. I knew it was going to be awkward—hooking up with an employee's dad was a bad idea from the start. Now I just had to live with the fallout. Besides, I had a... sort-of boyfriend now. Nathan was sweet, and we were unofficial, sure, but I didn't have to act like some fragile little thing discarded after sex. Right?

I handed her the stack of books.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, staring at the pile in her arms as I walked away.

Jackson stood by the front counter. Leaning against it, arms crossed, one hand holding a single sheet of paper. He wasn't looking at anything in particular—just the floor—until he lifted his gaze and met mine as I approached.

"Ava," he said, soft and casual, a faint smile curving his lips as he pushed off the counter and stepped toward me.

God. The way he said my name. I wanted to bottle it. Rewind it. Beg him to say it again and again.

I tried not to look, but my gaze dipped anyway—his t-shirt clung just enough to his chest and arms to remind me exactly why I'd gotten myself into this. Why was he dressed like this anyway? Casual. Confident. Effortlessly unfair.

He tilted his head, and that's when I realized I'd been staring.

"Thank you," I blurted, reaching out for the paper like it was going to save me.

"You're... welcome," he said slowly, eyes still holding mine. "Should we talk about it?"

So it wasn't just me. The tension wasn't imaginary.

"There's nothing to talk about," I lied, smiling with every ounce of fake professionalism I could scrounge up. "I'll just make a copy for her file and then you can—"

His hand caught my wrist.

I froze.

His grip wasn't tight, but it was... intentional. My breath hitched as I looked up at him, and for a second—just a second—neither of us said anything. Then he let go.

"I'll... I'll be right back," I murmured, voice barely above a whisper, and slipped away toward the office.

Why was this so awkward? No—this was beyond awkward. We were acting like two people who had broken up but didn't want to. But that wasn't what this was. Right? We weren't anything.

I lifted the copier lid and placed the document down with a little more force than necessary.

"Ava." His voice echoed in my head. Soft, smooth, unfair. What gave him the right to just show up here like that—after basically ghosting me? Okay, technically he was here for a legit reason. But still. He didn't need to look like that—tousled hair, casual shirt, arms that could ruin lives—and he definitely didn't need to say my name like it meant something.

"Ava."

This time it wasn't just in my head. There was warmth—real warmth—wrapping around my waist. My body stiffened as I felt myself pulled back against something solid, steady, him. My fingers reached instinctively for the forearms around me. Big. Warm. Familiar.

Shit. This really wasn't in my head. He was real. Jackson was actually here, holding me like—

"Did I do something wrong?" he whispered against my ear, his breath brushing the shell of it like some cruel form of deja vu.

"No... I just..." I blinked. My brain short-circuited. This kind of thing didn't happen in real life. It happened in dramas and Wattpad fantasies and—

"You just what?" he shifted, leaning slightly so he could look at me. There was that expression again. That open, vulnerable softness I remembered from the bath. Like he saw me. Like I was something worth listening to. Worth holding.

And for a second, it felt like we'd been doing this for longer than one night. Like we'd been dating. Like we were still dating.

Dating.

I stepped back, turning gently but with purpose, pressing my back to the edge of the copier like I needed it for support. "I have a boyfriend," I blurted.

His brow lifted. "A boyfriend?"

"Yes... well, kind of. It's not official. I mean, technically we haven't even gone on a real date yet, but we will—tonight. He planned this whole thing, and it's cute, and we're going to walk along the pier after dinner. So..." My mouth was moving before my brain could catch up. "It's nothing serious. But maybe it could be."

He let out a breath—half exhale, half laugh.

My eyes narrowed. "What's so funny? Is it that hard to believe someone else might like me?"

"Of course not," he said, still laughing softly as he stepped forward. "I just think it's funny that you're trying to push me away by saying you're taken—"

"I am—"

"—but then you say it's not serious. You're kind of sending mixed signals here, Ava."

"Stop saying my name like that."

"Like what?" he leaned in, hands braced on either side of the copier, his face now just a breath from mine. "Ava..." he said it again, slower this time, like he was savoring it.

"L-Like that," I stammered. My face burned, and I looked away because I couldn't keep meeting those eyes.

Maybe there was something more between us. Whatever it was from that night—it hadn't disappeared. It had only gone quiet, waiting, and now it was clawing its way back to the surface like it never really left.

"I want to see you again," he said.

"I don't do hook-ups anymore," I replied, and it was half a truth, half a shield.

"I don't want a hook-up." His voice dropped, not in volume but in weight. "I want to take you on a date."

"A date?"

"Yes." He smiled—small, but real—and reached up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips lingered just long enough to short-circuit my brain again. "Do you think I could maybe make your list of 'not serious but maybe' guys?"

I couldn't even hear my heartbeat anymore—it was too loud in my chest to register. It felt like he was asking to be written onto the empty line of my dance card, the beginning of a courtship.

"Yes," I breathed. That was all I could manage.

There was a knock on the doorframe, and I looked up to see Alex hovering. "Uh... there's a customer with a question that's kind of out of my ballpark so..." She gave me a look, somewhere between curiosity and apology, before awkwardly slipping away.

Jackson stepped back as if nothing had happened. I turned to the copier, grabbed the paper, and handed it to him. The exchange was stiff, overly normal—our bodies going through the motions while the air between us still buzzed with everything unsaid.

"We'll be in touch," he said as he took another step back. Then, with that same damn glint in his eyes, he added, "Good luck on your date... Ava." The way he said my name—low and teasing—made something flutter in my chest and between my legs.

I didn't say anything, but I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips as I watched him walk away.