All Chapters of ENEMIES TO LOVERS: Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

Brielle didn’t sleep. Not even a little. She lay awake replaying every millisecond of the moment Jaxon’s fingers had lifted her chin. The warmth of his body leaning toward hers. The way his voice dropped when he whispered: Tell me to stop. She hadn’t. She couldn’t. And that terrified her more than anything. By morning, she had convinced herself it was just a moment. A slip. A stupid, reckless spark that didn’t mean anything. Except her reflection in the bathroom mirror said otherwise. Her cheeks were flushed. Her pulse jumped just thinking about his hand on her knee. Her stomach twisted remembering how close how close he’d been. She splashed water on her face, muttering, “Get it together.” But when she arrived at the shop, her mother was already unlocking the door. “There you are,” her mom said cheerfully. “You look… glowing.” Brielle groaned. “No. Not glowing. Absolutely not glowing.” Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Is this about a certain Reed boy I heard was taking over

The community center meeting room buzzed with chatter and folding chairs scraping the floor. Posters about the neighborhood garden lined the walls, and volunteers squeezed in with clipboards and half finished coffee cups. Brielle slipped into a seat near the front. Jaxon took the one right beside her. Of course he did. She shot him a look. “There are twenty empty seats.” He shrugged. “And yet here I am.” “You’re impossible.” “And you’re dramatic.” She opened her mouth to retort, but the coordinator started speaking, forcing her to face forward even though she could feel Jaxon watching her out of the corner of his eye. The presentation dragged on. Half vegetables, half budget talk, zero entertainment. Her knee bounced. Without thinking, Jaxon placed his hand on her leg to stop it. Time stopped. Her heartbeat kicked into a sprint. His hand was warm. Too warm. And his thumb God had the nerve to rest lightly, right above her knee. She didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Then

Brielle woke up the next morning determined to ignore the fact that Jaxon Reed existed. It lasted exactly four minutes. Because right as she walked into the kitchen, her mom already sipping tea with her leg propped up greeted her with a too bright smile. “Good morning, volunteer!” Brielle groaned. “I am not a volunteer. I am a hostage.” Her mom ignored that completely. “Jaxon stopped by.” Brielle dropped the spoon she’d been reaching for. “He WHAT?” “He brought fresh peaches. Said they were for you.” “For me?” Brielle’s voice squeaked she hated that it squeaked. “Why would he bring me peaches?” “Well,” her mom said innocently, “he said you looked like you needed something sweet.” Brielle grabbed the counter and inhaled sharply. She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him slowly. “Where are the peaches?” she asked. Her mom nodded toward the fruit bowl. Brielle walked over, glared at the peaches like they had personally betrayed her, and picked one up. It was per

The sun had barely risen over Willow Creek when Brielle Hartley turned onto Main Street, windows down, hair whipping in the breeze like she was starring in her own movie. She’d been back in town for exactly twelve hours, and already she could tell one thing hadn’t changed: Willow Creek was too small for big dreams and too small to avoid running into the wrong people. Which is why she was power walking through the Saturday farmers market like someone had lit her sneakers on fire. She wasn’t running from danger. She wasn’t running from her past. She was running from a man. A very tall, very broad, very irritating man. She caught a flash of him between booths: dark hair, sun tanned skin, a gray T-shirt stretched across shoulders that, honestly, should’ve been illegal. He was leaning over a crate of peaches, talking to the old farmer like they were best friends. Brielle muttered under her breath, “Of course he’s here.” Jaxon Reed. Small town golden boy. Local heartbreaker. The

The next two days passed in a haze Brielle couldn’t shake. She tried burying herself in work, in cleaning, in reorganizing anything to distract her from the memory of Jaxon’s hand in hers during their walk. But no amount of candle sorting or shelf rearranging kept her mind from drifting back to the feeling of his fingers threading through hers, warm and steady like he’d been waiting years to do it. Worse, she kept replaying the moment he’d looked at her really looked at her with that soft, almost stunned expression. Like holding her hand wasn’t just an accident or a joke or a moment of weakness. Like it meant something. That scared her more than anything else. By the time Friday rolled around for their next layout planning session, her nerves were wrecked. She told herself she would walk into Jaxon’s house calm, professional, detached. She would not think about his hands. She would not think about his smile. She would definitely not think about the way his voice dropped whenev