Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly I’m seeing her in a whole new light. She’s been through something—something bad. I don’t know what, but it’s enough to make her recoil when someone raises their voice. And it makes me feel like an absolute ass for not seeing it sooner.
“I’m not him,” I say, the words coming out rougher than I intended. I don’t even know who he is, but I know there’s a him. There’s always a him. “I don’t know what happened to you, Ruby, but I’m not that guy.”
She flinches slightly, and I realize I’ve hit too close to the mark. But I can’t take the words back now. I take a deep breath and try again, softer this time. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Her jaw tightens, and I can see the war going on inside her. Part of her wants to believe me, I can tell, but the other part... the other part is too damn scared to let anyone in.
“I don’t need your protection,” she mutters, her voice tight with tension. She wraps her arms around herself like she’s shielding herself from me—from everything. “I can handle myself.”
I watch her, my own chest tightening at the sight of her trying to pull herself together. She’s strong—stronger than most people I’ve met. But even strong people have cracks. And right now, Ruby’s are showing.
“You don’t have to handle everything alone,” I say quietly. I don’t know why I’m still pushing, but something about the way she’s standing there, arms wrapped around herself like she’s about to fall apart, makes me want to help. I shouldn’t care this much, but damn it, I do.
Ruby shakes her head again, and her gaze flicks to mine for the briefest of moments. Her eyes are glassy, and I know she’s fighting like hell not to let anything spill over. “It’s not that simple,” she whispers, her voice cracking just a little.
I want to tell her that it can be simple, that she doesn’t have to keep everything bottled up. But I know better than anyone that things are rarely that easy. I’ve got my own walls, my own scars. So I don’t push. Instead, I take a step back, giving her the space she needs.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” I say softly, trying to let her know that I’m here if she needs me, but I’m not going to force anything. “But if you ever want to... I’m here.”
She nods, her throat too tight to speak, and I can see the gratitude flicker in her eyes before she turns away, walking off the construction site with her shoulders hunched just slightly, like she’s carrying the weight of the world.
I watch her go, feeling something stir in my chest—something I haven’t felt in a long time. Concern. Real, bone-deep concern. I’m not used to this. I’m not used to caring. But Ruby...she’s gotten under my skin in a way I can’t explain. She’s not just the stubborn librarian who shows up every day with her notebook and her opinions. She’s more than that. She’s guarded, she’s hurting, and for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about how to help her heal.
As she disappears down the path, I turn back to the beam I was working on, but my mind isn’t on the library anymore. It’s on her. And I know, without a doubt, that this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter Five
Ruby
The scent of sawdust fills the air, mingling with the cool mountain breeze as I make my way across the construction site. It’s late, but the glow of the work lights casts long, dancing shadows against the skeletal frame of the new library. Pope’s somewhere on the other side of the building, likely with that same grumpy scowl he’s worn since the day I knocked over that stack of lumber.
I clutch my notebook tightly, running my fingers over its worn edges. I’ve settled into a routine here, showing up at the site each evening to ensure the library reflects the community’s needs. Despite Pope’s constant grumbling, I can tell he’s warming up to the collaboration. His gruff exterior is beginning to peel back, revealing a man deeply passionate about his craft. Watching him work is mesmerizing—his hands move with precision, and there’s an intensity in his focus that makes it hard to look away.
I approach cautiously, trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips as I hear the rhythmic sound of his hammering. "Pope?" I call out, my voice cutting through the hum of power tools.
He straightens up, turning toward me with that familiar look of irritation. “You again,” he grumbles, wiping his hands on a rag. His tone is clipped, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“You didn’t think I’d stop coming, did you?” I tease, stepping closer. “I’m here to keep you on your toes.”