Page 13 of Chasing Wildflowers
I drop the box with a muted thud and fold my arms. “Doesn’t matter to me if he shows up or not.”
Her brow arches, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Then you won’t mind if I shoot my shot?”
Heat sparks in my chest, quick and sharp. Jealousy, hot enough to burn, before I can smother it.
She pins me with a knowing stare. “Thought so.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to shelving the books, but her words linger like smoke curling in the back of my mind.
Later, I step outside, a brown paper bag with theBetween the Pageslogo on the side hanging from my fingers. The balmy summer air wraps around me, sweet with blossoms drifting fromPetal & Stemdown the block. I’m halfway to my car when it hits; the prickle along my neck, sharp and undeniable.
I know it’s him before I even lift my eyes.
Jameson sits at a table outsideBrewed, his forearms resting casually on the tabletop, one handwrapped around a to-go cup. His steely gaze holds the same intensity as last night. Curiosity. Apprehension. Heat.
The air thickens, and the hum of traffic fades into the background, leaving only him and me.
I don’t know how long I stand there, frozen in place, trapped in his stare. Finally, I tear my eyes away and force my legs to move, my keys clenched tightly in my hand, biting into my palm.
My pulse thrums in my ear, sharp and steady. Part fear, part arousal.
I reach my car and glance back at him. His eyes are still locked on me, his head tilted to the side like he’s trying to figure out two things at once; whether I can be trusted, and what position I'd look best in.
Heat floods through me, quick and traitorous.
Why does that thought send a surge of electricity straight to my core?
I shove the feeling away. He’s a stranger. And strangers are dangerous.
I yank the car door open and slide behind the wheel, the sun heated leather warm against the back of my thighs. I risk one last glance towardBrewed. He’s gone.
The growl of an engine has my head snapping up. Parked down the street is the green Ford Bronco I saw yesterday. My guts twist.
Does it belong to Jameson?
I quickly look away, slumping lower in my seat. The Bronco pulls out, and even though I can’t see him through the tinted windows, I know it’s him from the weight of his gaze sliding over my skin.
Who the hell is this man?
Pulse still hammering, I pull out my phone and type his name into the search bar. Jameson Crowe. New York.
No social media. Just a LinkedIn profile. Odd. Most people our age have something; Instagram, Facebook, even TikTok. Then again, I don’t either, but that’s because I have something to hide.
Does he?
I click on the LinkedIn profile. It lists his current city; Brooklyn, along with his certifications, license, and photos from previous jobs all over the country.
Normal. Boring. Just like he said.
What is it about him that has me so on edge?
I blow out a shaky breath. Why am I being this paranoid? It’s been five years, andnobodyhas come after me.
Jameson is just a gorgeous man with a boring job, passing through.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
But the truth?
