Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Ozzy slides in smoothly. “We’ll take it.”
I glance at him, startled. He gives me a look that says let me. So, with a shrug, I let him. Millie rings it up and hands me the bag like it’s a gift.
Tripp signs the inside cover with a flourish, then looks up at us. “If you two get hungry, you should check out my family’s brewery restaurant.”
Ozzy tilts his head. “Brewery?”
Tripp nods. “Atta Boy. Best food in town. My brothers run it. Great beer. Great burgers. Great everything.”
Millie adds, “And if you tell them Tripp sent you, they’ll roll their eyes and pretend they don’t love him.”
Tripp grins. “They love me.”
Millie mouths, They tolerate you.
I laugh. A real laugh.
Tripp points at me like he caught it. “There it is. That laugh. Keep that.”
The words hit me unexpectedly. Keep that. Like it’s something worth protecting. I swallow and nod, not trusting my voice.
We leave the bookstore with the little bag swinging at my side, my heart oddly full. Outside, Ozzy looks down at me. “Atta Boy?”
I grin. “Atta Boy.”
We walk a few blocks down main street until we see it—brick building, big windows, a sign with bold letters.
ATTA BOY BREWERY
Inside it’s warm and lively, the smell of beer and fried food wrapping around me like an invitation. People laugh at tables. A couple plays darts near the back. Music hums low enough to talk over. It’s all so normal.
We sit at the bar. The bartender is busy, but a man behind the bar is checking the taps—dark hair, broad shoulders, easy confidence. He looks up as we settle in.
“Hey,” he says. “What can I get you?”
Ozzy gestures lightly. “Tripp Atwood sent us.”
The man’s brows lift. “Tripp?”
I nod. “At Book, Spine, and Sinker. He said we should come here.”
The man groans like his soul just left his body. “Yeah?”
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “He’s charming.”
“That’s what makes him dangerous,” the man says, then wipes his hands on a towel and offers one. “Paxton.”
“Salem,” I say.
“Ozzy,” Ozzy adds.
Paxton nods, eyes flicking between us with friendly curiosity. “You visiting?”
“Something like that,” Ozzy says smoothly, which is not an answer but also not a lie.
Paxton doesn’t push. Just nods like he gets it. “So,” he says, leaning an elbow on the bar, “What can I get you?”
Ozzy orders first. “Kunt Kicker IPA.”
I choke a little.
Paxton laughs. “Good choice.”
I look at the menu, overwhelmed by options. “Um… what’s a cider like?”
Paxton points. “Try that one. Sweet but not too sweet.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do a cider.”
Paxton nods and sets to work, chatting as he pours. “So Tripp was signing books?” he asks.
I smile. “Yeah. He was fun.”
Paxton sighs dramatically. “He is fun. He’s also insufferable.”
Ozzy smirks. “Sounds like family.”
Paxton gives him a look. “You have no idea.” He slides our drinks over.
Ozzy takes a sip of his IPA and lets out a satisfied sound. “Okay. This is good.”
I take a sip of mine. It’s crisp, sweet, and bright. My eyes widen. “Oh. That’s… really good.”
Paxton grins. “Told you.”
I glance around the brewery again, taking it all in. The bar. The people. The normal laughter. I feel… light. Like I’m wearing a version of myself that isn’t constantly bracing for impact.
Ozzy leans in slightly. “You having fun?”
I nod, smiling before I can stop it. “Yeah.”
My voice sounds almost surprised.
Ozzy watches me for a beat, then his mouth softens into something warmer than a smirk. “I like seeing you like this,” he says quietly.
My chest tightens. I look down at my drink because if I meet his eyes too long, I might do something reckless—like believe I deserve a life where I sit in breweries and buy romance novels and laugh with a man who looks at me like I’m his favorite thing.
We order food—pretzels and a burger we split because it’s huge—and Paxton tells us which sauces are best, complaining about Tripp the entire time with obvious affection.
I laugh more than I have in months. And for a little while, it’s perfect. Until the thought comes. Soft at first. A shadow at the edge of the light.
What happens next?
Once I’m deemed safe. Once Dean says the threat is gone. Once Ozzy goes back to his team and his missions and his life. Where do I go? Back to my mother? Back to the apartment that never felt like home? Back to Carl’s eyes lingering too long?
Back to a world where I’m forgettable again?
The warmth inside me dims. Ozzy notices instantly—because of course he does. His hand shifts closer on the bar, not touching, but there.
“What?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t buy it. “Salem,” he murmurs.
I stare at my cider, watching bubbles rise. “I was just thinking about… after.”
Ozzy’s jaw tightens. “After what?”
“After I’m safe,” I whisper. “After this is over.”
His gaze sharpens. “You’re safe now.”
I shake my head. “You know what I mean.”