Two weeks had passed since I'd seen where Isla lived, and I couldn't get it out of my head. That crumbling building. That dangerous neighborhood. The way she'd directed me through the streets like a soldier navigating a minefield.

We hadn't talked about it. Every time I tried to bring it up, she changed the subject with the skill of someone who'd spent a lifetime deflecting uncomfortable conversations. I let her, because pushing felt like overstepping, like claiming a right to her life that I didn't have.

So we continued our not-dating dance.

Coffee after her shifts. Texts throughout the day. Weekend "hangouts" that felt increasingly like dates without the label.

The ceramic painting outing had been a disaster in the best possible way, with Isla producing what she claimed was a giraffe but looked more like a deformed horse with a skin condition. It sat on my bookshelf now, a bright yellow monstrosity that made me smile every time I looked at it.

We were friends. That's what we told ourselves, what we told others. Just friends who spent most of their free time together. Just friends who sometimes looked at each other a beat too long.

Just friends who were slowly becoming something else entirely.

"I don't understand what you're waiting for," Theo said over beers one night. "It's obvious you're into her. It's obvious she's into you. What's the holdup?"

I didn't have a good answer for him. Or rather, I had too many answers, none of which made complete sense even to me. She didn't date. I wasn't ready to risk rejection. She had issues. I had issues. We were both broken in ways that might not fit together.

The truth was simpler and more complicated: I was afraid.

Afraid of wanting something real with her. Afraid she might actually give it to me. Afraid of what would happen if she did.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her, worrying about her. Which is how I found myself at Horizon Books on a Tuesday afternoon, pretending to browse the new releases while actually watching Isla shelve books in the travel section.

She wore a simple green dress today, her hair twisted up with a pencil stuck through it to hold it in place. Every few minutes she'd pause, tuck a strand behind her ear, consult her list, and continue. She hadn't noticed me yet, which gave me the rare opportunity to observe her without her sunshine performance.

Her movements were efficient but tired. There were shadows under her eyes that her smile usually distracted from. She winced slightly when she reached for a high shelf, like something hurt. And every time the door chimed, she glanced up with a momentary wariness before her customer-service smile slid into place.

How had I not noticed these things before? The careful way she positioned herself to always see the door. The tension in her shoulders when someone entered the store. The way her eyes scanned each new customer as if assessing a threat level.

She wasn't just existing in that rundown apartment. She was hiding.

"You're staring, Hot Wheels."

I blinked, realizing she'd spotted me while I was lost in thought. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a small smile playing at her lips. The nickname was new, something she'd started using occasionally. I should have hated it. Instead, I found it oddly endearing.

"It's called concern," I said, not bothering to deny I'd been watching her.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning at full wattage. "I don't need your concern."

"Everyone needs concern sometimes."

"Not me." She approached, books still clutched to her chest like a shield. "I'm completely, one hundred percent, absolutely fine."

"Convincing."

She rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had that big client presentation today."

"Finished early." I followed her as she moved to a different shelf. "Thought I'd see if you wanted to grab dinner after your shift."

"Can't tonight. I promised my best friend Mia I'd help her with something." She didn't look at me as she said it, focusing too intently on arranging books by height. "Rain check?"

"Sure."

A small silence fell between us, heavy with the things we weren't saying. I knew she was lying. She always got a little too focused on whatever task was at hand when she lied. But I didn't call her on it. Didn't push.

I did, however, plan to stay.

"Mind if I hang out for a while?" I asked, gesturing to the reading nook in the corner. "I've got some work I could do here."

She gave me a curious look. "Since when do you like working in public?"

"Since never. But I'm trying new things."

"Right." She didn't sound convinced. "Well, make yourself comfortable. Coffee machine's on in the back if you want some."

"Thanks."

She returned to her shelving, and I wheeled over to the reading area, set up my laptop, and pretended to work. In reality, I was watching her. Watching the store. Trying to figure out what had her so on edge today.

The afternoon passed quietly. A few customers browsed, some made purchases. Daniel, the older man who owned the store, left early for a doctor's appointment, leaving Isla alone to close up. Through it all, I kept working, occasionally actually focusing on the design I was tweaking, but mostly just being present.

At first, Isla kept glancing my way, as if trying to figure out my angle. But as the hours went by, she seemed to accept my presence, even bringing me a coffee without being asked.

"You don't have to babysit me, you know," she said quietly as she set the mug down.

I looked up, meeting her eyes. "I know."

"Then why are you still here?"

I considered lying, saying I was just enjoying the atmosphere or that my apartment was being fumigated. But she deserved better than that.

"Because something's wrong," I said simply. "And you won't tell me what it is. So I'm just going to be here until you're done for the day."

Her expression softened, then hardened again. "Nothing's wrong, and I don't need a bodyguard."

"Good thing I'm just a friend hanging out in a bookstore, then."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. "Fine. But don't blame me when you die of boredom."

"I'll risk it."

She walked away, but not before I caught a small smile. Whatever was bothering her, my presence didn't seem to be making it worse. That was something, at least.

As closing time approached, the store emptied out except for a man browsing the history section. He'd been there for almost an hour, occasionally picking up a book but mostly just wandering the aisles. Something about him set my teeth on edge. Maybe it was the way he kept glancing at Isla when he thought no one was looking. Maybe it was how he positioned himself to always keep her in his view.

Or maybe I was just being paranoid, seeing threats where none existed because I was worried about her.

Isla was at the register, counting the day's earnings, when the man finally approached. He set a book on the counter, a thick military history tome.

"Find everything okay?" she asked, her customer service voice firmly in place.

"Sure did." His gaze lingered on her face, then dropped to the neckline of her dress. "You always work this late by yourself?"

The question set off alarm bells in my head. I closed my laptop, watching the interaction carefully.

"We close at eight," Isla said, not directly answering his question. She rang up the book. "That'll be $24.99."

He handed her a card. "You live nearby? Maybe we could grab a drink after you lock up."

"No thank you." Her tone was polite but firm. "I have plans."

"Cancel them." He leaned on the counter, invading her space. "I bet I'm more interesting than whatever you've got going on."

"I'm not interested." She handed him his card back along with his book. "Have a good night."

He didn't take the book, his hand closing around her wrist instead. "Don't be like that. I'm just being friendly."

I was already moving, anger surging like a wave. But before I could reach them, Isla reacted. She twisted her wrist, breaking his grip with a move that looked almost automatic.

"Don't touch me." Her voice had lost all its sunshine, replaced by something cold and hard. "Take your book and leave."

The man's face darkened. "Bitch. I was just being nice."

"Is there a problem?" I asked, wheeling up beside him.

He turned, as if noticing me for the first time. His expression shifted from anger to contempt. "This doesn't concern you."

"Funny, it looks like it concerns both of us since you're harassing my girlfriend in a store that's about to close."

The words slipped out before I could think better of them. Girlfriend. It was a lie, but one that rolled off my tongue with surprising ease.

The man looked between us, skepticism clear on his face. "Her?"

"Yes," I said evenly. "Her."

He snorted. "Whatever. Book's not worth it anyway." He turned back to Isla. "You really scraped the bottom of the barrel, didn't you?"

Time seemed to slow. I saw Isla's expression change, saw the fury bloom in her eyes, knew she was about to say something she might regret. But this wasn't about her defending me. This was about getting this asshole out of the store safely.

"We're closing now," I said, cutting her off before she could speak. "You need to leave."

He looked like he might argue, but something in my expression must have changed his mind. With a final disgusted glance at us both, he turned and stalked out, the bell chiming aggressively as the door slammed behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening. I turned to Isla, expecting to find her upset or shaken. Instead, she was staring at me.

"You didn't need to do that," she said finally.

"I know."

"I had it handled."

"I know that too."

She studied me, head tilted slightly to one side. "Then why did you step in?"

The question caught me off guard. Why had I? It wasn't because I thought she needed rescuing. I'd seen firsthand how capable she was of handling herself. It wasn't even about protecting her, not really.

"Because I wanted to," I said finally. "Because he deserved to be shut down by both of us."

She considered this, then nodded slowly. "Your girlfriend, huh?"

Heat crept up my neck. "It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Interesting." She laughed. "Lock the door while I finish closing out the register?"

I did as asked, making sure the door was secured before returning to the counter.

"Does that happen a lot?" I asked.

"What, creeps being creepy? Often enough." She didn't look up from her counting. "Hazard of customer service jobs."

"The way you broke his grip was pretty neat."

Her hands stilled for a moment, then resumed counting. "Self-defense class. After everything."

After her ex, she meant. The abusive relationship she still wouldn't talk about in detail.

"Smart," I said.

"Necessary." She finished with the cash and began preparing the bank deposit. "So, Hot Wheels, you planning to escort me home too, or does your white knight service end at my work?"

There was something challenging in her tone, a defensiveness masked as teasing.

"If you want me to," I said carefully. "Or not. Your call."

She glanced up, studying my face. "Why are you really here, Callum? And don't say 'concern' again."

I considered deflecting, offering some harmless excuse. But she deserved honesty. "Because every time I try to ask what's wrong, you change the subject. Because you're exhausted and jumpy and clearly not sleeping. Because something's going on with you, and you won't tell me what it is."

"Maybe it's none of your business."

"Maybe it's not. But I care anyway."

Something flickered in her eyes, too quick to read. "I told you before. I don't need your concern."

"Not even from a friend?"

She bit her lip. "Especially not from a friend."

"Why?"

"Because," she said, zipping the deposit bag with unnecessary force, "if you start concerning yourself with my problems, you might decide I'm more trouble than I'm worth. And I like having you around."

The admission seemed to surprise her as much as it did me. She quickly turned away, busying herself with gathering her things.

"I'm not going anywhere, Isla."

She gave a hollow laugh. "Everyone says that until they don't."

"I'm not everyone."

She finally looked at me, really looked at me, her eyes searching my face for something. I don't know if she found it, but after a moment, she sighed.

"Fine. Walk me to the bus stop, at least. It's dark out."

It wasn't the opening up I'd hoped for, but it was something. "I can do better than that. I can drive you home."

"You don't have to."

"I know. I want to."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Let me just finish locking up."

I waited while she completed her closing routine, turning off lights, checking the back door, setting the alarm. Her movements were efficient. She'd done this hundreds of times before.

When we stepped outside, the night air was cool against my skin. Isla pulled a light jacket from her bag, wrapping it around herself as she locked the front door.

"My car's just around the corner," I said.

She nodded, falling into step beside me. We moved in silence through the darkened streets, the only sound the quiet whir of my chair and the distant hum of traffic. It should have been uncomfortable, this silence between us. Instead, it felt strangely intimate, like we were sharing something without words.

At my car, I went through the familiar routine of transferring to the driver's seat. Isla waited patiently, not offering help but not looking away either. Just accepting the process as part of who I was.

Once we were both settled in the car, I turned to her. "Home? Or somewhere else?"

She picked at a loose thread on her jacket. "Not home yet. I don't think I could sleep anyway."

"Diner? It's still early enough."

She nodded. "That sounds good."

We drove to the all-night diner a few blocks away, a place I frequented for its accessibility and decent coffee. The evening crowd had thinned, leaving several booths empty. We chose one near the back, away from the windows. A tired-looking waitress took our orders—coffee for me, tea and a slice of pie for Isla—and left us to our silence.

Isla stared out the window, watching the occasional car pass by. The harsh fluorescent lights washed out her complexion, emphasizing the dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted in a way that went beyond physical fatigue.

"Thank you," she said suddenly, still looking out the window. "For what you did back there."

"You didn't need my help."

"No, but it was nice to have someone else in my corner anyway." She turned to face me. "No one's ever done that before."

"Done what?"

"Stepped in without trying to take over. You didn't make it about rescuing me. You just backed me up."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "That's what friends do."

"Is that what we are? Friends?" There was something vulnerable in her question.

"I think we're a lot of things," I said carefully. "Friends is one of them."

She nodded slowly. "I'm not very good at this, you know."

"At what?"

"Letting people in. Letting them care." She wrapped her hands around her mug when it arrived, like she was trying to absorb its warmth. "I've spent so long handling everything on my own."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"I know." She took a sip of her tea. "But maybe I want to. A little bit, at least."

I waited, giving her the space to continue if she wanted to. The waitress brought her pie, a generous slice of apple with ice cream melting on top. Isla poked at it with her fork but didn't eat.

"I think I saw him," she said finally, her voice so quiet I had to lean forward to hear her. "My ex. At the bus stop last week. Just for a second, before the bus came. But it looked like him."

A cold weight settled in my stomach. "Are you sure?"

"No. That's the thing. It was just a glimpse, and it's been six years. People change. But it felt like him, you know? The way he stood. The way he moved."

"Have you seen him since?"

She shook her head. "No. And I've been telling myself I imagined it. That I'm just being paranoid. But I can't shake this feeling that he's found me somehow."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"Who would I tell? The police?" She gave a humorless laugh. "They can't do anything about a maybe-sighting of someone I haven't seen in years. Besides, I don't exactly have the best history with cops."

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but now wasn't the time. "What about your friend Mia?"

"She has her own issues. She doesn't need mine too." Isla took a small bite of pie, then set her fork down. "Besides, what would anyone do? Tell me to move? I can barely afford the place I have now."

That explained why she was living in such squalor. She wasn't just limited by finances. She was hiding, keeping a low profile in a place where no one would think to look for her.

"If it is him," she continued, "and if he does find me, I don't want anyone else involved. He's not a good person, Callum. He hurt people. Not just me."

"All the more reason not to face him alone."

"It's not your problem."

"It is if I care about you."

She looked up at that, her eyes searching mine. "Do you? Care about me?"

The vulnerability in her question made my chest ache. "Yes. I do."

She nodded, accepting this without further comment. "That's why I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to worry."

"Too late."

A small smile touched her lips. "Stubborn, aren't you?"

"I've been called worse."

The tension between us eased slightly, and she finally took a real bite of her pie. We sat in silence for a few minutes, the diner's ambient sounds washing over us. The clinking of dishes. The murmur of distant conversations. The occasional call of an order from the kitchen.

"Do you have someone you could stay with?" I asked eventually. "Just until you're sure it wasn't him?"

She shook her head. "Not really. Mia's place is even smaller than mine, and she has two roommates already. And Daniel can't know about any of this. He's nice, but he's also old-school. He'd insist on calling the police, and that would just make things worse."

"You could stay with me." The offer was out before I could second-guess it. "I have a spare room, it's small but it's safe."

She stared at me. "You don't have a spare room."

"Office. Same thing."

"Callum—"

"Just think about it. No pressure. It's there if you need it."

She studied my face, like she was trying to decipher some hidden motive. "Why would you do that?"

"I told you. I care."

"That's a big leap from caring to 'here's a key to my apartment.'"

"I didn't say anything about a key."

She smiled, a real one this time. "Technicality."

"The offer stands."

She took another bite of pie, considering. "I probably imagined him anyway. It's been six years. He's probably moved on, forgotten all about me."

I didn't believe that for a second, and I didn't think she did either. Men like her ex didn't just forget and move on. But I didn't argue. "Probably."

"But thank you. For offering. It means a lot."

"Anytime."

She finished her pie in silence, and I paid the bill despite her protests. Outside, the night had grown colder, and Isla huddled deeper into her jacket as we walked to my car.

The drive to her apartment was tense. Neither of us mentioned it, but we both kept a careful eye out for anyone who might be watching the building. I pulled up as close to the entrance as possible, leaving the engine running.

"Text me when you're inside?" I asked.

She nodded. "Sure."

"And Isla?" I waited until she looked at me. "The spare room offer stands. Day or night. If you need it."

Something passed behind her eyes, an emotion too complex to name. "I know."

She leaned over suddenly and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, her lips warm against my skin. Then she was gone, hurrying up the broken steps to the dilapidated building she called home.

I waited until she was inside, then several minutes more, watching the windows for any sign of her. Eventually, a light came on in what I assumed was her apartment, and my phone buzzed with a text.

Sunshine: Inside. Safe and sound. Thanks for everything tonight. You're a good not-boyfriend.

I smiled despite the worry still gnawing at my gut.

Me: Get some sleep. Call if you need anything.

Sunshine: Will do. Goodnight, Callum.

Me: Goodnight, Isla.

I didn't drive away immediately. Instead, I sat there, watching her building, wondering what I'd do if her ex really was back in the picture. Wondering why the thought of her in danger made something primal and protective rise in my chest.

Wondering how she'd managed to become so important to me in such a short time.

We were pushing boundaries, her and I. The careful lines we'd drawn around our "friendship" were blurring more each day. And I was starting to think that maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Because when she'd asked if I cared about her, the answer had come easily. Too easily for someone who was supposedly just a friend. Too easily for someone who had spent four years building walls against exactly this kind of attachment.

Yes, I cared about her. More than I should. More than was safe for either of us.

And I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.