The bell over the door jingled as Iris flipped the "OPEN" sign, bleary-eyed but smiling.
Her shop still smelled faintly like lavender sachets and fabric glue. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, catching on thread rolls and glass jars of buttons stacked like candy. Everything was calm. Normal.
But she wasn't.
Iris adjusted a mannequin's collar for the third time—still crooked—then gave up and flopped behind the counter with a dramatic sigh.
Jamie, already perched on a stool with a coffee and a bagel, raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Spill."
"I didn't say anything," she protested, even as her cheeks heated.
"You didn't have to. You've been floating around here like a romantic ghost all morning. Who is he?"
Iris fidgeted with the sleeve of her cardigan. "No one. I mean, not no one. Just... the guy."
"The guy?" Jamie repeated, drawing the words out like a game show host. "Like the guy who helped you carry groceries and now lives across the hall?"
She gave him a look. "How do you even know that?"
"I pay attention. Also, you mumbled something about his coat and the hallway when you were half-asleep yesterday."
Iris groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Jamie leaned forward, grinning. "And?"
"And… we went on a 2nd date. Sort of."
His eyes widened. "You didn't tell me this yesterday!"
"Because it was weird! Not bad weird. Just… intense."
She paused. "He took me to a movie. We left early. Then I almost got mugged and he—well. He handled it."
Jamie blinked. "Define handled."
Iris looked away. "The guy definitely needed dental work after."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Jamie whistled low. "So, protective mystery man who fights off muggers. Sounds hot."
Iris rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the tiny smile. "He's not like that. Not in a show-offy way. He just… acts. He doesn't hesitate."
Jamie studied her for a second. "And that doesn't freak you out?"
She shrugged, tugging a thread from her sleeve. "It should. But it didn't. I felt—safe."
Jamie tilted his head. "Okay, but like… what does he do for work?"
Iris blinked. "I… don't know."
He gave her a long look.
She rushed to explain. "It didn't come up! And I didn't want to pry."
"Iris. You've seen this man throw punches like it's muscle memory and live across from a mysteriously vacated apartment. And you didn't ask what his job is?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then muttered, "I was distracted. He is ex-military."
Jamie leaned back, arms crossed. "Girl.."
Iris laughed, half-nervous, half-smitten. "He's not dangerous."
Jamie narrowed his eyes. "That's what all the girls say in documentaries."
She threw a pillow at him.
But still—when she turned back to the front window and caught her own reflection, there was that tiny smile again. Quiet. Troubled. Warm.
And somewhere, deep down, she knew she was already in too deep.
The bell above the shop door jingled again.
Iris didn't even look up from the fabric she was measuring.
Until she heard Jamie's voice—tight and low.
"Oh hell. Not them again."
She glanced up. Two men stood inside the shop, sunlight casting long shadows behind them. One was lean, twitchy, with slicked-back hair and a toothpick clenched between his teeth. The other was built like a freight door—silent, broad, and blocking the exit.
The twitchy one smiled. "Well, well. Look at this cozy little kingdom."
Jamie stepped forward. "Marlin. You need to leave."
Marlin held out his arms. "What? Can't a guy check in on local businesses? You never know who's gonna need… protection."
"We don't," Jamie snapped. "We're fine."
Marlin's gaze slid toward Iris. "You the girl with the dresses?"
Iris stood tall, though her voice came out clipped. "Yeah. And you're not welcome here."
He gave a slow, exaggerated look around. "It's a nice setup. Handmade signs. Custom stitching. All this charm... would be a damn shame if it got trashed."
The other man moved deeper into the store, brushing his fingers along a display rack. Threads and buttons trembled.
Jamie's voice rose. "Get out. Now."
Marlin smirked. "That's not how you say thank you to someone offering help."
Iris took a step forward, voice firm. "Help is when you actually protect someone. Not when you storm in with threats and expect cash."
Marlin's smile dropped.
He stepped toward her.
"You got a smart mouth," he said.
Jamie reached for her arm. "Iris, don't—"
But it was too late.
Marlin's hand shot out.
Crack.
The sound echoed like a slap of thunder. Iris's head snapped sideways, cheek instantly swelling with heat.
Jamie lunged forward, but the big guy caught him and slammed him back into the shelves. Thread spools spilled to the floor.
Iris stumbled, grabbing the edge of the table, breathing hard through the pain. Her vision blurred, her ears ringing.
Marlin crouched in front of her.
"Consider that a preview," he said quietly. "A black eye to match your pretty little storefront. Next time, we take more than buttons."
Then he stood.
And chaos began.
The two men tore through the shop—tipping displays, slashing fabric, overturning tables. Shelves collapsed. Scissors scattered. A rack of dresses fell sideways with a crash.
Jamie shouted. Iris tried to stop them, but she couldn't even stand straight.
Then—just as suddenly as it started—they were gone.
The door swung shut with a jingle far too cheerful for what had just happened.
Silence.
Iris stood in the wreckage, one hand on her throbbing face, the other pressed against the table to stay upright.
Jamie sat slumped against the wall, a smear of blood on his lip, eyes wild. "Are you okay?"