I stand before it, lips pressed together as I glance all around, making sure no one is watching as I mentally flip the sign over while making the dead bolt retreat. Silencing the bell on the door as I slip inside and head for the bookshelves, relishing the chance to browse on my own, free of Lina’s scrutiny.

The tips of my fingers graze the long row of spines, waiting for some kind of signal, a sudden warming, an itch at the tips, something to alert me to just the right one. But not getting anything, I grab one near the end and close my eyes, pressing my palms to the front and back covers, eager to see what’s inside.

“How’d you get in here?”

I jump, bumping into the shelf just behind me, knocking a pile of CDs to the floor.

Cringing at the mess at my feet, scattered jewel cases everywhere, some of them cracked, as I say, “You scared me—I—”

I drop to my knees, heart racing, face flushing, wondering not just who he is but how he could’ve possibly managed to sneak up on me when it should be impossible to do so. A mortal’s energy always announces itself long before their actual presence does. So is it possible that he—isn’t mortal?

I sneak a quick peek as he kneels down beside me, taking in his tanned skin, defined arms, and heavy clump of golden brown dreadlocks spilling over his shoulder and halfway down his back. Watching as he gathers the damaged jewel cases into his hands, searching for some kind of sign that’ll out him as an immortal, maybe even a rogue. A face that’s too perfect—an Ouroboros tattoo—but when he catches me looking, he smiles in a way that not only displays the most disarming set of dimples perfectly punctuating each cheek, but a set of teeth that are just crooked enough to prove he’s nothing like me.

“You okay?” he asks, gazing at me with eyes so green I can barely remember my name.

I nod, standing awkwardly and rubbing my palms on my jeans, wondering why I’m so breathless, unnerved, forcing the words from my lips when I say, “Yeah. I’m—fine.” Inadvertently tacking a nervous laugh onto the end that’s so high pitched and foolish I cringe and turn away. “I, um—I was just, browsing the merchandise,” I add, realizing just after I’ve said it that I probably have more right to be here than he does.

Glancing over my shoulder to find him gazing at me in a way I can’t read, I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back. “I think the real question is, how’d you get in here?” Taking in his sandy bare feet and wet board shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, averting my gaze before I can see anything more.

“I own the place.” He nods, stacking the fallen CDs, the ones that aren’t cracked, back onto the shelf before turning to me.

“Really?” I turn, eyes narrowed when I add. “Cuz I happen to know the owner, and you don’t look a thing like her.”

He cocks his head to the side, squinting in faux contemplation and rubbing his chin as he says, “Really? Most people claim to see a resemblance. Though, I have to admit, I’m with you, never seen it myself.”

“You’re related to Lina?” I gape, hoping my voice didn’t sound as panicked to his ears as it did mine.

“She’s my grandmother.” He nods. “Name’s Jude, by the way.”

He offers his hand, long, tanned, fingers extended, waiting for mine. But even though my curiosity’s piqued, I can’t do it. Despite my interest, despite my wondering why he makes me feel so—flustered and off balance—I can’t risk the barrage of knowledge a single touch brings when my psyche’s disturbed.

I nod, responding with this stupid, embarrassing sort of half wave, as I mumble my name. Trying not to wince when he gives me an odd look and lowers his hand again.

“So, now that that’s covered—” He slings his damp towel over his shoulder, sending a spray of sand through the room. “I’m back to my original question, what are you doing in here?”

I turn, feigning sudden interest in a book on dream interpretation when I say, “I’m sticking with my original answer, which was browsing, in case you’ve forgotten. Surely you allow browsers in here?” I turn, meeting his gaze—those amazing sea green eyes reminding me of an ad for a tropical getaway. Something about them so—indefinable—startling—and yet—strangely familiar—though I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.

He laughs, pushing a tangle of golden dreads off his face and exposing a scar splicing right through his brow, gaze landing just to my right as he says, “And yet, after all the summers I’ve spent here, watching customers browse the merchandise, I’ve never once seen someone browse quite like you.”

His lips pull at the sides, as his eyes study mine. Then I turn, cheeks heating, heart racing, taking a moment to compose myself before turning back to say, “You’ve never seen someone browse the back cover? That’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

“Not with their eyes closed.” He tilts his head to the side and focuses on the space to my right once again.

I swallow hard, flustered, shaky, knowing I need to change the subject before I sink any deeper. “Maybe you should be more concerned with how I got in here instead of what I’m doing in here,” I say, wishing I could take it back the second it’s out.

He looks at me, gaze narrowed. “Figured I left the door open again. Are you saying I didn’t?”

“No!” I shake my head, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my cheeks color and heat. “No, that’s—that’s exactly what I’m saying. You did leave the door open,” I add, trying not to fidget, blink, press my lips together, or otherwise give myself away. “Wide open in fact, which is not only a waste of air-conditioning but totally—” I stop, my stomach going weird when I see the smile at play on his lips.