Ghost of my Mafia Lover

Chapter 2

I guide Owen through the shop, deeper into the narrow canyons of books. The air grows closer, scented with aged paper and dust. I turn to point out a section and stop, finding him closer than I ever expected. He bumps straight into me.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” I say, my hand coming to rest on the expansive muscle of his chest. The solid heat of him burns through his shirt.

“Are you okay?” He uses the question as an excuse to place his hand on my shoulder. His firm touch is all I want, and it’s making me ache for him. It’s a touch I realize, with a sharp pang, that I’ve missed for so long.

I clear my throat and break the trance. “Um… I think this shelf has what you need.”

I pull down the book—Art Deco: The Golden Age of Design—and hand it to him. Our fingers brush again, and this time I don’t pull away quite so quickly.

This time I let myself feel it. The warmth. The solidness of another human being who doesn’t want to hurt me. I’m slowly magnetizing to him, desperate to get closer. If only for a moment.

Here in the back of the bookstore, my mind races and I feel a rush that makes me feel like a young girl with a hot guy in the library after school. It’s exciting me. It’s the most stimulating excitement I’ve felt in AldinTown.

He knows he’s got an effect on me; it shows in the glint of his eyes.

He takes a step closer… Close enough that I know if I slightly lean forward, I’d launch my lips into his orbit. If he just moves his neck toward my puckered lips, he’s going to feel my warmth.

Ding goes the bell at the door.

The chime is sharp, breaking the spell.

Mrs. Gable bustles in, shaking out a polka-dotted umbrella and already speaking.

“Darling, that book was just fantastic—” She stops mid-sentence when she sees Owen in the shop.

Both of us try our best to act normal, but she’s already sensed the chemistry in the air.

Owen straightens up, the moment gone, but the intensity in his eyes remains, a silent promise.

He gives me a slow, private smile before he opens his mouth.

“I guess I’ll be checking this out then.”

“Perfect… I hope you like it.”

I try to act normal as I go to the counter, where Mrs. Gable is theatrically facing the books but pointing her ears toward us. My fingers brush Owen’s as I take the book from him. That familiar, electric spark jolts up my arm, a sensation that makes me feel terrifyingly alive. He doesn’t pull his hand away immediately.

“Thank you. This is perfect,” he says softly.

He shifts his weight, seeming reluctant to leave. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something…”

A moment passes as he looks into my eyes, and everything and everyone in the world evaporates. It’s just him and me.

Clank!

Mrs. Gable has dropped a book. She’s trying so hard to edge closer to hear us that she’s knocked one over. She picks it up with a fussy noise and continues browsing, but she’s too close for comfort now. She can hear every word.

Owen leans closer. He’s really going to say it now; he doesn’t seem to care if we become the talk of the town. “I was wondering…” He struggles through the words. “Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

Coffee with you?

They’re the words I’ve always wanted to hear but never expected. It feels surreal.

Mrs. Gable is hearing everything and pretending to browse.

Whatever I say, she’s going to hear it. I’m risking my quiet, private life becoming public gossip. I can tell she’s taking her time, listening to the story unfold.

I’m hesitant. It’s something I’ve never attempted since I moved to this town. It’ll be a big change to let someone in again. This is the first time I’ve been asked since… since everything. Since I built these walls. To say yes would be to open a door I vowed to keep locked forever.

Owen senses the hesitation. "Uh...Yeah, well... maybe we could talk and… have a little fun.

His eyes hold mine a beat too long. Heat creeps up my neck.

Heat creeps up my neck. Mrs. Gable slowly pulls the same book from the shelf three times, not even pretending to read the spine anymore.

I take a sharp, quiet breath, feeling the walls of my safe life tremble. Mrs. Gable is frozen, a detective poised to hear the verdict.

"I'd like that," I say.

The change in Owen is immediate. His whole posture relaxes, and the smile that breaks across his face is genuine and bright, wiping away the last of his hesitation.

"That's great!" he says. "How about Saturday? There's a place on Pine Street, The Roasted Sweet Potato."

"Yes, I can do that," I hear myself say.

I’ve agreed to go out with someone.

I still have walls that I put up, but this time I’m going to give in to this.

Perhaps I can be happy in my new life—it wasn’t easy starting again… Am I going to let my past stop me now?

He gives me one more devastating smile before heading out. "Alright… I’ll see you."

The silence he leaves behind is different now—charged, fragile, and full of promise. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my fingers still tingling.

"Well, well, well."

Mrs. Gable approaches the counter, leaning in.

Her voice is a conspiratorial whisper that carries to the back shelves. "I must say, Clara, you’ve landed a good one. A very good one."

She says it like she’s confirming a piece of juicy town trivia, and my stomach gives a nervous flutter.

"He's just a patron, Mrs. Gable," I say, straightening a stack of bookmarks and forcing my voice into a tone of professional detachment.

Mrs. Gable lets out a dismissive little puff of air. "Oh, suit yourself," she says. She's not offended; she's storing my denial for later. "Still, it's a sad story. He came here after his business partner betrayed him. Took all the money, left him with the bills."

Mrs. Gable’s knows a little bit about everyone. She reads people like she reads books.

"Wow, that must’ve been devastating," I say, the words feeling inadequate.

"Left him with nothing but debt and a broken heart," she confirms, leaning closer. "He came here to start over. Quietly."

I think to myself, Then why did he just ask me out if he wants a quiet life?

She pats my hand. "He needs a soft place to land, that one. Be careful with him."

Hearing his story makes me want to comfort him. It makes me want to be that soft place.

Her voice echoes in my mind long after she checks out the book and leaves the store.

I’m back to my own fake life again, reading another book until the day elapses. The rain is still softly pattering as I place the bookmark inside the novel that I slide in my bag as I get ready to close the shop for the day.

But I can’t focus. My mind keeps circling back to Owen’s invitation, to the warmth in his eyes, to the way my body seems to remember what it feels like to want something.

A treacherous part of me wants to say I’m thrilled, that this is exactly what I need.

But it’s tangled up with a colder, sharper dread.

A voice, one that has kept me safe for three years, is screaming a warning. Am I really ready for this? What if he starts asking questions? But I really need to move on right?

Besides, I don't know him. I don’t know who anyone really is. Trust is the trap I can’t afford to fall into.

I’m excited and terrified all at once. I’m finally breaking this careful, suffocating routine, to feel a real human connection. It's the single crack letting light into my lonely dark life.

But with every pulse of that anticipation comes a wave of fear. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, one hand braced against the rock, the other reaching out into the dizzying, dangerous open air.