Page 14 of Stolen Vows

If it wasn’t for the steady eye contact, the quiet intensity beneath his words, I might think his short answers were a sign that he didn’t want to talk to me.

But I don’t think Graham Carter does anything he doesn’t want to do.

So as long as he’s standing in front of me, I’m going to keep talking to him.

I laugh, taking another sip of my latte. “I have to be honest—I don’t really know what that entails.”

“Most people don’t.”

There’s no arrogance in the way he says it. Just a simple, steady truth.

I tilt my head. “And are you married? Kids?”

“No.” The word is clipped, final, but not uncomfortable.

I don’t know why I expected something else—a longer answer, maybe. An explanation. But Graham Carter doesn’t offer explanations, apparently.

I study him for a beat, fingers curled around my latte, letting the cold bleed into my palms.

“Huh,” I say finally, taking another sip. “I figured someone would’ve locked you down by now.”

His lips twitch, a barely-there flicker of amusement. “Locked me down?”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah. You know, lured you in with promises of home-cooked meals and back rubs, maybe convinced you to get a dog.”

His head tilts slightly, that sharp hazel gaze never straying from mine. “I’m not a dog person.”

I press my palm against my chest and lean forward slightly, letting out an exaggerated little gasp. “Does that mean you’re a cat person?”

He huffs a little, and for half a second, it almost sounds like the beginning of a laugh. “I’m not apetperson.”

I narrow my eyes playfully. “That feels like a red flag.”

He arches a brow, but before I can tease him further, my phone vibrates inside my back pocket. I slip it out, glancing at the reminder I set earlier.

Lawyer’s office. 2:30.

Right. Back to reality. I exhale, turning back to Graham, suddenly aware that I don’t really want to leave.

“Well,” I say, gripping my cup a little tighter. “Thanks for the coffee, Graham. I owe you one.”

He studies me for a second, then dips his chin in a slow nod. “Until next time, Francesca.”

Something flutters low in my stomach, entirely unwelcome. My fingers flex around my cup, and for a split second, I almost ask for his number.

But I don’t. Because what’s the point?

Dragging someone like Graham Carter into the mess that is my family, my life, my carefully extended engagement? It would beselfish.

So I let the moment pass.

I nod instead, forcing a small smile before turning toward the door.

I don’t look back.

But I want to.

4

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