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I unlocked the door, letting in the golden light of the morning.
Then I took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of lavender that I always kept in a diffuser at the back of the store.
My boutique was a blend of vintage charm and modern elegance.
Every detail had been chosen with care—from the rustic wooden racks to the carefully curated pieces that filled each shelf.
Pastels, warm neutrals, and soft, textured fabrics filled the space, making it feel like a warm, inviting sanctuary.
I’d poured my heart and soul into creating a place that felt safe, a haven for anyone who walked through the doors.
I looked around, letting pride swell in my chest.
This was mine.I had done this.
Every late night spent poring over designs, every risk I’d taken, every setback I’d pushed through had led to this moment.
This wasn’t a gift, or luck, or a handout. It was mine, built from the ground up with my own two hands.
And as I stood there, I couldn’t help but let the pride settle in, warm and steady, filling the cracks I never thought could be mended.
Just as I was preparing to settle into the day, the soft chime of the doorbell rang, signaling a new customer.
I turned, expecting a local or maybe a tourist, but the sight that met me was something else entirely.
Trouble had just walked into my store.
He was tall, impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that filled the doorway.
His black hair was short and perfect, as if a single hair out of place would be an affront to him.
Sharp green eyes locked onto mine, piercing and unreadable.
His suit was perfectly tailored, hugging his frame in a way that was both sophisticated and sinfully enticing.
The air shifted, electrified, as he stepped inside, moving with a confidence that bordered on predatory.
Every line of his body spoke of command, of someone who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.
My heart gave an involuntary lurch, the lingering shadows of the dream retreating under the weight of his presence.
He looked around briefly before his gaze returned to me.
He studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, as if he could see beneath the surface, straight to the thoughts I tried to keep hidden.
“Good morning,” he greeted with a smile I couldn’t help be wary of.
COLE
Nothing about meeting Tori Blake had been accidental.
My first glimpse of her had been pure chance—a brush with fate, if you believed in that sort of thing.
The mayor of Oakridge Bay, an old friend of my father’s, had thrown a formal gathering in town, and my father had asked me to attend as a favor.
One quick look at my phone had shown me where Oakridge Bay even was—a small dot in the mountains of Washington, far removed from the spotlight where I typically operated.
The people at the party had known my name, whispering about my family and the company my father and I ran.