Chapter 17

Alanza’s POV

“Hi,” the one on the left said, with a charming smile.

The two men at my door looked related. Not just brothers, but twins. They had close-cropped brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. Everything about them screamed popular kid in high school. Now they were probably in their mid-twenties.

I gave them a small nod. “Hi.”

Suspicion tightened my chest. Was this some legendary form of solicitation? Were they here to sell me something? If so, they were out of luck. Sombra had already cleaned out my wallet.

“Mrs. Elkins sent us,” the guy on the right announced.

My gaze snapped to him. I relaxed a little. Mrs. Elkins wouldn't send people without warning me. I reached for my phone, checking the screen. A text message notification was waiting.

[MRS. ELKINS: Don't forget that Bernardo and Facundo are coming to help put up some shelves in the living room. You can send them away if you're not up to it.]

Oh, right. I vaguely remembered that conversation from last week. I probably should have added a reminder to my phone. A surprise visit was not great right now.

“The shelves,” I said, looking back up.

They both smiled. They were identical, though one was stockier and the other wore glasses.

“I’m Bernardo,” the one with glasses offered, his grin turning up the wattage.

“Facundo,” the other supplied. He reached out and shook my hand firmly. He wore a wedding ring. Bernardo didn’t. “My wife is Mrs. Elkins’ grand-niece.”

They were family. I felt much more at ease. I took a step back, inviting them into the apartment.

Sombra gave both of them a quick sniff. She yawned, then jumped onto the couch. She batted at something black with her paw.

“Looks like your dog is a bit of a couch potato,” Bernardo said with a laugh.

I looked closer. Sombra had the television remote trapped under her paw. The image made me smile. The idea of a dog who watched TV was amusing.

I felt a slight flush, but no part of me reacted to the lighthearted laugh or the interested glances Bernardo sent my way. He was just a guy.

Alpha Luciano Westwood had ruined me for romance.

I rubbed the familiar, aching spot in my sternum. We started going through a few of the boxes. We needed to figure out how many shelves the space required.

I had at least fifteen boxes of books. It turned out I felt like keeping every single one. Who gets rid of books anyway?

Some of them were old and soft-edged. Others were brand new, probably old store overstock.

Facundo pulled out a tape measure. He began jotting down numbers on a small pad as he assessed the living room walls. “Alright, if we put the tall shelves against this wall, we can fit the shorter ones under the window. How does that layout sound?”

I nodded, impressed by his planning. “That works for me. I’m not picky, as long as they’re sturdy enough to hold all these books.”

Bernardo stepped closer to me. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll make sure they’re anchored well. Wouldn’t want any accidents.” He gave me a friendly smile. The earlier flirtatious edge was gone. He must have picked up on my complete lack of interest.

They got to work. I started sorting through the boxes. I organized the books by genre. It was a huge job, but handling each book, deciding where it belonged, felt satisfying. Fiction, non-fiction, classics, contemporary. The piles grew steadily higher on the floor.

Hours passed quickly. It was a blur of measuring, drilling, and sorting. Sombra dozed on the couch. The noise didn't bother her at all.

I was surprised by my own energy. A low fever still simmered under my skin. But a purpose was buzzing in my veins. That feeling kept me going strong.

Finally, the shelves were up. Most of the books were in place. I stepped back, admiring the space. What was once a bare living room now felt like a cozy library. It was ready for rainy day reading sessions.

“Looks great, doesn’t it?” Facundo grinned. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“It really does. Thank you both so much.”

Gratitude warmed my chest. These strangers, now tentative friends, had given me more than just shelves. They had helped me build a sense of home.

As they packed up their tools, Facundo reached into his jeans pocket. “Oh, before I forget, my wife wanted me to give you this.” He handed me a colorful flyer. “We host a weekly barbecue all summer. It's a community get-together. You’re more than welcome to join us anytime.”

I took the flyer. The gesture touched me deeply. “That is so kind of you. I will definitely try to make it.”

Bernardo nodded, putting his toolbox on his shoulder. “It’s a good way to meet the neighbors. And the food’s not bad either.” He gave me a genuine wink. It felt entirely friendly this time.

We exchanged a final round of goodbyes and thank yous. I closed the door behind them. I leaned back against the cool wood, letting out a long, quiet breath.

The apartment felt different. It was more than just the new shelves. It was what they meant. A fresh start. A chance to build something entirely my own.

Sombra stretched on the couch. She blinked at me sleepily. I laughed softly. I crossed the room to join her. “Lazy pup. You slept through all the hard work.”

She yawned. She nudged her head into my hand as I started petting her.

For a moment, my mind drifted. I thought of Bernardo. His easy smiles and helpful demeanor. In some other life, maybe I would have noticed him. But now...

I sighed. I shook my head once. Luciano Westwood. Even here, hundreds of miles away, he still haunted me. The memory of his touch, his smell, the way he had looked at me, felt burned into my soul. And the way he had looked at me after…

No. I couldn't let myself think about that. I would not let him ruin this for me. This new, fragile life I was slowly building.

Romance wasn’t for me. Not now. Maybe never. I told myself that was perfectly okay.

Sombra gave a soft whine, as if she sensed my melancholy mood. I scratched behind her ears, forcing a cheerful smile onto my face.

“We’ve got each other, right? That’s enough.”

I settled back against the cushions. I looked at the new shelves. A new book caught my eye. It was a worn copy of The Secret Garden. I hadn't looked at it since I was a child. I reached out for it.

The old book cover was cool beneath my fingers. I pulled it down. The pages felt brittle. I opened it to the first page. A small, pressed flower fell out. It was a tiny purple violet.

I stared at the delicate flower. It must have been pressed there years ago. I closed the book, holding the violet carefully in my palm. My breath hitched.

“What did Luciano say about the car when he called?”