Page 55 of Holy Hearts
I can already picture it. Warm light filtering in through those huge front windows, illuminating shelves crammed with paperbacks—each one a passport to someone else’s world. I’d host book clubs in the evenings, letting the cozy hum of gossip and laughter fill the air. Maybe a small café corner with lavender lattes and pastries… a haven.
A safe space for people like me—people who didn’t always fit the mold they were born into. People who craved escape, not just from reality but from the weight of expectations pressing down on them.
Here, no one would snatch books from trembling hands. No one would call stories “silly fantasies” or toss them into the fire. Instead, they’d be treasured—stacked high, their spines creased and worn from love.
And maybe… just maybe… this shop could be the start of something I built for myself. No titles, no expectations.
A love story of my own making.
The opportunities are endless, and by the time I pull into the driveway at home, I’m fumbling for my phone and quickly emailing the leasing office about the space. If it’s still available, and I can tour it, I’ll take it as a sign. And if not, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
I’m so distracted that I don’t notice Kai standing there—or the way his car is parked on the other side of the driveway—until I’m walking up to the front door.
“Hey,” he says, immediately taking the heavy bucket from my hands, his fingers brushing mine for just a moment longer than necessary.
“Oh, hi!” I chirp, my heart picking up pace despite myself. My eyes drift over his black button-up shirt, the sleeves neatly folded to his elbows, dark trousers, and polished leather shoes that seem oddly formal for a quick house call. His jaw is shadowed with scruff, giving him an unkempt edge. When he catches me glancing, he smirks, dragging his hand—marked by that small cross tattoo—over his mouth.
“Hi,” he says again, with the slightest tilt of his head, his gaze knowing and calm. He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to; he knows I’m flustered, and that he’s the reason.
It’s just after five, so he must’ve come straight from Saint Helena Academy. The image of him in front of his students, offering them religious guidance while looking like this—tall, self-assured, and authoritative—flits through my mind, uninvited. I shove the thought aside, telling myself to stay focused.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” I mutter as I push open the front door, more to myself than him.
“What was that?” He arches an eyebrow, his gaze glinting with amusement as he steps inside.
“Nothing,” I mumble, motioning for him to follow me inside. Once he sets the bucket down, he straightens, his expression softening as he takes in the space, finally landing his gaze back on me.
“I had a couple of hours free and figured I could fix that garbage disposal we spoke about?” His tone is casual, almost too relaxed.
My mouth falls open slightly, caught off guard. I’d completely forgotten about the disposal—about the contractor’s mistake with the pipes. I’d mentioned it the day before the party, andhe’d offered to fix it, but with everything that happened, I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t follow through.
I had it on my list to hire out, but of course life had been busy.
“Oh. Right. Of course. Come in.” I turn quickly, eager to escape the force of his gaze, but I don’t get far.
“Sophie, wait.”
I stop mid-step, turning to find him watching me with an unreadable expression, his hands resting in his trouser pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as if he’s choosing his words carefully.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For what I said at the party. I know you’d never hurt Julian on purpose. I just… saw you with that other guy, and I reacted. Poorly.” His gaze is steady, and it softens as he watches me.
The memory returns, stark and stinging, the words he’d thrown at me that night.
Julian deserves better.
The words still hit their mark, even now.
“Thank you,” I say shortly, crossing my arms in front of me as if I can physically guard myself from him.
Kai’s eyes trace the movement, lingering on my folded arms before meeting my gaze again. He studies me for a few beats, as though he’s on the edge of saying something else. Then he takes a step toward me, slow and unhurried. I should move, or say something to fill the silence, but I don’t. The moment stretches, the tension between us thickening.
“It wasn’t just the kiss with the other guy,” he finally admits, his gaze fixed somewhere near his shoes. “It was… everything. Seeing you like that. Seeing Julian trust you so completely.”
My brows pull together, but I don’t interrupt. He lets out a tight breath, almost like he’s holding something back.
“I wasn’t angry because I thought you were cheating,” he continues, his voice lower now, heavier. “I think I was angrybecause… I wanted it to be me. And I hate that. Don’t tell Julian I said that,” he adds quickly. “Fuck, sorry. I just mean… I think I was jealous. That’s all.”
My heart skips a beat, but I say nothing, letting his confession settle like dust in the quiet entryway.
