Page 19 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
“We’re both carrying other people’s expectations,” I said.
“We’re both trying to prove ourselves to the past while building something new.” He corrected gently. “There’s a difference.”
We sat in comfortable silence while the afternoon light shifted across the garden, turning everything golden and soft. I found myself studying his hands where they rested on his knees. Long fingers, slightly ink-stained at the knuckles from handling books all day. Careful hands that tended plants and brewed tea and created space for people to heal.
I wanted to reach over and take one of those hands in mine. Wanted to close the careful distance he maintained and see what happened when we stopped being quite so respectful of each other’s boundaries.
Instead, I said, “Tell me about the people who come into the bookstore. The ones you help.”
He looked surprised by the subject change, but followed my lead. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to understand how you do what you do. How you know what people need when they probably don’t know themselves.”
“I just pay attention.” He gestured back toward the bookstore, invisible from here but present in his mind. “Someone comes in looking angry, I think about books that acknowledge rage as valid emotion. Someone comes in looking lost, I think about stories about people finding their way. It’s not complicated.”
“But you do it for everyone. Every single person who walks through your door gets your full attention and your careful consideration.” I turned to face him more fully. “Don’t you ever get tired? Don’t you ever want someone to pay attention to you that way?”
The question hung between us, more vulnerable than I’d intended. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, something warm and startled and slightly afraid.
“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “More often lately.”
“Why lately?”
“Because lately someone’s been coming into my bookstore who makes me want to be seen as more than just the guy who recommends books.” His voice had dropped, gone softer. “Someone who makes me remember what it feels like to want things for myself instead of just helping other people get what they need.”
My breath caught. We were treading into territory we’d been carefully avoiding, acknowledging attraction that had been building for weeks under the cover of literary discussion and chamomile tea.
“Hollis...”
“I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that bringing you here, sharing this place, it matters to me.Youmatter to me. In ways I wasn’t expecting.”
The honesty of it made my chest tight. This careful, gentle man who helped everyone but never asked for help himself, telling me I’d gotten under his carefully maintained defenses.
“You matter to me too,” I said, and watched relief and pleasure flicker across his face.
We sat there in the golden afternoon light, not quite touching but closer than we’d been before. The garden sprawled around us, slightly wild and absolutely beautiful, tended by someone who was trying his best despite being terrified he wasn’t enough.
Just like me with the bistro. Just like both of us with life in general.
“I should tell you something,” Hollis said eventually. “Cassian Black came into the store yesterday.”
The name caught me off guard, pulling me out of the intimacy we’d been building. “Cassian?”
“He was looking for field guides. Turned out he wanted references on sustainable forestry practices and watershedmanagement.” Hollis smiled slightly. “We ended up talking for over an hour. He’s more interesting than people give him credit for.”
“He is,” I agreed, trying not to think about how much time I’d been spending with Cassian lately. The contractor meetings and permit discussions that had started feeling like more than professional courtesy.
“He mentioned he’s been helping you with the bistro planning. Said you were incredibly competent and determined.”
Heat climbed my neck. “He said that?”
“He did. With genuine respect, too.” Hollis studied me carefully. “He seems lonely. Isolated. Like he’s trying to build something new here but doesn’t quite know how to connect with people. I can understand that.”
“That sounds accurate.”
“I liked him,” Hollis said simply. “I think he and I might become friends. He needs them, and I...” He paused. “I’m realizing I might need them too. I’ve been spending so much time helping strangers that I forgot how to have actual relationships with people.”
The admission felt significant. Hollis recognizing his own isolation, actively choosing to build connections instead of just maintaining helpful distance.
