Falling Into You (Spicy Halloween Romance) Prt 4

 

Chapter 4

Harper POV

“So… you say you’re from the city?” I asked, glancing at her as I moved around the counter, closing up the shop for the evening. Usually, I would linger longer, letting the last stragglers finish their coffee while I cleaned. But tonight… I had a date to stress over. My bedroom would already be a battlefield from getting dressed earlier, and I knew the mess was only going to grow.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“Which city? You must have passed through at least four on your way here. Which one are you from?”

“New Heaven Brook City,” she said, without hesitation.

“So… you’re a city girl, huh?”

“I’m from the poorer side of the city,” she answered plainly. No shame, no apology.

“No judgment,” I said, shrugging. “It seems like you’re on the run or at least, trying to escape something.”

“Just looking for a change of scenery,” she said, lifting her cup and drinking it down in one smooth motion. Two empty pots sat on the table, and the donut I had left untouched still remained. I hadn’t touched it; maybe she’d change her mind and eat it when hunger finally struck.

“This place… it’s beautiful,” I said, gesturing vaguely at the trees outside. “But only in autumn and Christmas. The other seasons? Pretty boring. The city probably has all the excitement.”

“Not really,” she muttered. She still clutched the leaf, spinning it lazily between her fingers. I could have sworn she didn’t quite belong on this Earth or maybe she just had a way of making any place feel otherworldly.

“What was your city life like?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Boring,” she said, flatly, almost like a statement of fact rather than a complaint.

“Really?” I pressed. “That’s not what most people say about the city;lights, noise, everything happening all the time.”

I walked over to her table, lifting the two empty coffee pots and balancing the plate of untouched donuts. I set them carefully on the counter, taking a small moment to glance at her again. She hadn’t moved from her spot, still partially absorbed in that leaf, a quiet bubble of composure surrounding her.

I had just a few minutes left before closing up, but somehow, in those fleeting moments, the world outside; the street, the trees, the creeping evening cold, felt secondary to the presence of this strange, calm girl in my little shop.

“Everyone has different views of the city,” she said softly, still twirling the leaf in her fingers.

“You’re right,” I said, voice low, almost to myself. “Like how I couldn’t make it one day out there. The city… it’s a concrete jungle. I wouldn’t keep up, not with all the running, the chaos. I was fat, unhealthy, and not mentally prepared for it. The small town, drama and all, was good enough for me. Maybe not great for business, but it was… fine. Until it wasn’t.”

“You wouldn’t make it,” she said, a note of certainty in her calm voice.

I looked at her and giggled under my breath, soft and quiet. “You really think so, huh? Because I think so too.”

“You’re excited that you wouldn’t make it,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “I know my limits. I know what I can handle and what I can’t. So, I stay where I’m comfortable.” I glanced at her again. She was… beautiful. Only pretty girls like her seemed to live in the city. I wouldn’t say that ugly people like me didn’t exist there, they did, and I knew they suffered.

“Can I say something?” I asked, hesitating slightly.

“Sure,”

I walked over to her table, cloth in hand. She eased back, giving me room to wipe the table. And then, almost impulsively, I said, “You’re too pretty to be poor…”

Immediately, I realized how strange it was; to have this kind of deep, personal conversation with a stranger. My words hung in the air awkwardly. I threw the cloth down and extended my hand, smiling brightly.

“You wouldn’t make it in the city, not because of appearances, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, eyes locked on my outstretched hand. “It’s because you’re naive. In the city, you have to be a monster, Harper. You’re chubby. Not a monster.”

She stood, grabbing her bag.

“You know my name, but I can’t know yours,” I said softly, the greed of curiosity pressing on me.

“What would it matter if you did?” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You probably won’t see me again once I walk out that door.”

“You never know,” I giggled, “and I would like to call you out by your name.”

“You see why you wouldn’t make it in the city,” she replied, calm, almost teasing.

“Am I not supposed to call you by your name?”

“A lot of us want to remain unidentified,”

I withdrew my hand, picking up the cloth and heading back toward the counter. “I just want to know your name,” I muttered under my breath, shifting sugar and milk bottles as if to busy my hands. “I don’t know all my customers, but… you’re special,” I whispered to myself. This was the first time I’d felt drawn to someone like this, completely outside my normal routine.

Then—abruptly—I turned. My giggle caught in my throat as I noticed her shadow slipping through the door. My heart skipped a beat. She had nowhere to go, no cash in hand. She didn’t look shabby. Who says you have to look shabby to be broke?

I rushed out the door, watching her legs move quickly down the sidewalk. She brushed past a couple, almost knocking them off balance, and didn’t even flinch. My chest tightened. I really wouldn’t survive in the city. Every bump, every shoulder brushed; I’d have to apologize, carefully, constantly.

“Hey!” I called, my voice cracking a little.

She didn’t turn. Her head stayed straight, her pace unwavering.

“Hey, stranger girl!” I shouted again, sprinting to catch up. My short legs carried me as fast as they could, but part of me wanted to just let her go. She was clearly a city mouse; survival instinct written all over her. But I couldn’t sleep tonight knowing she was out here in the cold.

“Stranger girl!” I pushed myself harder, finally reaching her hoodie and grasping it gently.

She stopped, finally turning her gaze forward, not quite at me, but acknowledging my presence. “Yes?”

Woah. She was tall. Taller than I expected. Someone like her could probably eat down an entire village without even noticing. And she wasn’t skinny, there was a subtle muscle in her build, quiet strength that spoke of endurance and resilience. Every step, every movement radiated power. Not just physical, but something harder, something honed.

I felt suddenly small, clumsy, aware of my own weakness and inexperience. She was the kind of person who belonged anywhere, could navigate any city street, any crowd, any chaos. And I—well, I barely survived my own small, cozy little world.

“Where are you staying?” I asked, trying to sound casual, though my heart was hammering in my chest.

“I don’t know. A motel. Something,”

“You can stay with me,” I blurted. My rational brain screamed at me, she’s a stranger, but my gut refused to listen. She seemed… decent. Not crazy. Beautiful people don’t hurt others, right? Maybe I was delusional. But I couldn’t let her sleep in a cold, impersonal motel tonight.

Her jawline was tight, angular, every muscle tense. I realized I’d never seen her relaxed, except that brief, fleeting moment when she laughed to herself earlier. All evening, she had been sitting still, almost mechanical, staring at her phone, sipping coffee. She moved like a carefully wound machine.

“I can take care of myself, Harper,”

“You’re a woman,” I said gently, feeling my words stumble into urgency.

Her lips curved into a fleeting smirk, sharp and quick, then immediately reverted to the stone-cold expression she seemed to carry like armor.

“You’re a woman, right?”

“Mhm,” she murmured, almost reluctantly.

She looked… like a woman, so I decided to take that. “Will you stay?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t betray the desperation I felt.

“For how long?”

“As long as you want. And if you like, you can work at the shop too. I can’t pay much, but… you can stay.” My eyes caught hers, black irises that seemed like tiny voids, both mesmerizing and terrifying. I lost myself in them for a heartbeat.

“Okay,” she said simply, finally breaking the stalemate.

I jumped in excitement, almost giddy. “It’ll be like a little sleepover for us! And… I still don’t know your name. But that’s okay. In due time, you’ll tell me.”

I realized how reckless I was, bringing a stranger into my home, someone I barely knew. But something in me demanded it. My empathy, my loneliness, my need to care for someone; it overrode my caution. For once, I wanted to act from the heart, not reason.

It had always been just my daughter and me. When she went off to college, the quiet in the house became deafening. And after my ex-husband, I hadn’t really let myself consider wanting anyone else. Honestly, I didn’t feel like I deserved it—not the way I looked, the way I carried myself.

I began heading back to the shop, the evening sky deepening into dark purples and grays. Clouds rolled in fast, heavy and threatening, promising rain that would tear through the night with deep, jagged streaks. Tomorrow would bring more leaves to sweep, more damp earth to smell, more reminders of the relentless rhythm of this small town.

“I know you’re not girly, but we can do each other’s nails. We could bake cookies and pastries for the shop together. I wake up early, so if you’re not—well, I can always just wake you—”

I stopped abruptly, realizing I was talking to myself. She wasn’t beside me. My heart skipped. Then I noticed her, head tilted at an angle so unnerving, so precise, for a second I swore she wasn’t human.

I raised a brow. “Aren’t you coming, stranger?”

She began to walk toward me, almost stiff, like a statue in motion. When she stopped right in front of me, she extended her hand calmly. “Liam. I don’t want to give my last name right now.”

I giggled nervously, feeling that awkward mix of excitement and caution. “You have such a boyish name,” I said, and then my words tumbled out faster than I could stop them. “And don’t worry, I’m not going to go all stalker mode or try to dig into your business, not that I wouldn’t be curious, but… that’s none of my business. And I really don’t like invading anyone’s personal space, so… I wouldn’t—”

I trailed off, realizing I was rambling, my hands fidgeting as I tried to appear calm. She just stood there, perfectly still, black eyes steady on mine, as if she were measuring me, weighing every word. And somehow, that quiet control made me feel both exposed and inexplicably drawn to her.

“You talk too much,” she grumbled, extending the arm I hadn’t taken because I’d been busy rambling. She began striding ahead with quick, purposeful steps, and I was left hustling to catch up, my chest tightening from the sudden burst of energy.

She reached the shop door and slipped inside, letting it swing closed behind her before I could react. I pushed it open, stepping in, only to find her already back in the corner head lowered as if she were meditating on nothing at all.

“Let me just clean up, and we’ll be on our way,” I said softly, trying not to disturb her stillness.

She didn’t answer, her attention seemingly elsewhere.

**********

Liam POV

“We’re here!” she said brightly as her car rolled into the driveway. There was an almost childlike excitement in her voice, yet tempered with restraint. Her garage remained closed. “I can’t wait to show you around. Be warned, I’m a little messy.”

“Okay,” I said, stepping out, feeling the cool evening air brush against my face.

I paused for a second, taking in the house. Why was I even here? I was supposed to be crammed into a motel, trying to sleep on lumpy sheets, alone. But here I was, standing in the driveway of her home, feeling the strange pull of curiosity and maybe something more.

Looking at her house, cozy but full of lived-in energy, I realized sleep wasn’t going to come easy anyway. I’d feel every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of light, every tiny shadow. And yet, a small part of me craved it; the disruption, the discomfort, the break from my rigid, controlled life. This wasn’t about convenience or comfort. I needed to feel alive, messy, vulnerable… human.

I exhaled slowly, adjusting my backpack. “Well… let’s see what you’ve got,” I muttered, half to her, half to myself, stepping closer to the door.

I think I already know what discomfort feels like. I just never let my mind dwell on it. Who would willingly live my strict, professional life? Not anyone in their right mind. Yet, I had to remind myself that I was still living a life of privilege. Money, resources… it should have been everything. And yet, somehow, it didn’t feel like enough.

“You don’t put your car in the garage?” I asked, trying to mask my curiosity with casualness.

She giggled, light and effortless. “Oh no! I dumped all sorts of things in there.”

“Trash? You dumped trash in your garage?”

Another giggle. She was so inexplicably jolly. What was so funny about this life? “I have a few old pieces of furniture and decorations. I don’t want them scattered throughout the house, so I put them in the garage.”

“Oh.” I paused, considering. If it were me, I’d probably just toss it all. No sense holding onto old things. But then reality sank in, she clearly wasn’t privileged. Her house was modest, probably worth a fraction of what I spent for a single night with someone I barely knew. And yet… it radiated warmth. Life. Personality.

“It’s getting cold; let’s go in,” she said, hurrying to the front porch. She unlocked the door and gestured for me to enter first.

The moment I stepped inside, I was struck by the warmth of the house; not just the heat from a radiator, but the kind of warmth that seeps into your bones. Cozy, lived-in, safe. I felt it instantly, and it caught me off guard. Maybe because I’d been conditioned to expect luxury or cold efficiency. Maybe because I had never truly felt this kind of comfort growing up.

The contrast was jarring. My life had been controlled, polished, sterile. Here, nothing screamed perfection, yet everything felt… right. It was strange, and in that strangeness, I felt a pull I couldn’t ignore.

My own space was technical, bland—everything in shades of grey and black. My room lacked life, lacked personality, lacked warmth. Her house, in contrast, overflowed with color and energy. From where I stood, I could see her entire living room and kitchen, a continuous canvas of vibrancy. Colorful picture frames lined the walls; plates displayed with playful abandon. Her kitchen looked like somewhere I might actually feel happy eating a meal. The fridge was crowded with photographs, drawings, reminders of life in motion. It wasn’t my style, but there was something beautiful about it—comfortable, alive, unapologetically hers. It screamed Harper.

“I love your design,” I admitted, my voice soft.

“Don’t lie,” she laughed. “It’s awful.”

I continued to study the room, taking it in. Normally, I didn’t notice these things. I didn’t pause to observe. But this, this was like staring at a leaf in autumn. Unique, full of texture, impossible to ignore. Her space was alive in a way I couldn’t replicate. Maybe, one day, my future wife could have that kind of aura. But considering my family’s history, my wife would probably be as dull and calculated as I was.

“What’s your design type?” she asked, curious.

“Minimalist. Two colors, tops,” I answered.

“And which two colors?”

“Black and grey. Maybe a touch of white, if necessary.”

Her green eyes sparkled, and for a moment I could see her childlike wonder reflected in them. “I think it’s beautiful.”

I merely nodded, uncomfortable in my own appreciation of her praise.

“What color do you hate the most?” she asked, leaning in slightly.

“Green,” I said instinctively. Her laughter rang out, light and unselfconscious.

She pointed to her eyes. “My eyes are green. But you don’t have to stare at them if they bother you.”

Gosh, she was so sweet. Innocent even. Not the kind of innocence I had experienced in my youth—I had been sharp, hardened, thinking in terms of control. I probably would have punched someone for crossing me back then. Opinions didn’t matter, only power, only dominance. Yet here she was, offering kindness so naturally, without hesitation, without fear.

“Let me show you to your room,” she said, slipping off her jacket with an excited flourish.

She radiated positivity, energy that seemed to fill the house without effort. For the first time in a long while, I felt the pull of something other than work, money, or strategy I feel a sense of life.

NEXT PAGE >>>