Page 29 of Stolen Vows

But for the first time in a long time, the work ahead of me feels exciting rather than daunting.

This bookstore, this fresh start, this chance to break free of my family’s expectations and follow my own path. It’s everything I’ve been dreaming of for years.

And now it’s finally within reach. I can almost taste it. I imagine it tastes like ripe, sweet strawberries, feels like warm summer sunshine on my face, like an amazing book that has me kicking my feet.

Romeo pads over and flops down at my feet, letting out a contented sigh. I grin down at him, then turn my attention back to the remaining boxes.

“Alright, you fluffy little meatball. Let’s get back to work.”

I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of unpacking and organizing, my earlier encounter with Graham slowly fading to the back of my mind. There’s something soothing about the methodical work, about seeing the bookstore come together piece by piece, detail by detail.

The minutes tick by and before I know it, the warm golden glow of the afternoon sun has faded to dusky blue twilight outside the bookstore windows. I straighten up from where I was crouched restocking the lower shelves, stretching my back with a soft groan.

Romeo perks up from his spot curled at my feet, tail thumping lazily against the hardwood floor. I crouch down to rub his fluffy ears. “Guess it’s about time to call it a day, huh, buddy? Should we go grab some dinner? Or how about a W-A-L-K first, and then dinner?”

His tail thumps harder, and he tries to lick my face. I swear he’s the most intelligent animal I’ve ever met. I started spelling his trigger words because every time one would slip out, he’d lose his mind for ten minutes with an epic case of the zoomies.

I laugh and press a quick kiss to Romeo’s fluffy head before pushing to my feet. “Alright, alright. Let me just grab my purse and then we can head out.”

I snag my bag from behind the counter and clip Romeo’s leash to his harness. He prances around my feet, his whole body wiggling with excitement. I can’t help but grin. His joy is infectious.

We step out of the bookstore, into the evening air. The last remnants of sunset streak the sky, pink and orange fading to indigo. The stars will come out and play soon.

Romeo and I stroll down Main Street, the shop lights glowing softly in the gathering dusk. The crisp evening air fills my lungs, and I feel some of the day’s tension melt from my shoulders.

There’s something magical about Avalon Falls, and tonight is a perfect example of it. Maybe it’s the way the streetlamps cast golden halos onto the worn brick sidewalks. Or the murmur of laughter spilling from the small bars and cafés, blending with the distant hum of cicadas. Or the way the whole town feels like a living, breathing story. One that I finally get to be part of.

We pass a little Italian restaurant three blocks down, the mouthwatering scent of garlic and tomato sauce wafting out to greet us. My stomach rumbles in response, making the executive decision for us.

I glance down at Romeo, his tail wagging, his warm brown eyes locked onto me like he already knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Dinner it is, buddy.”

He lets out a happy little huff. I laugh, tugging his leash gently as we step up to the outdoor hostess stand.

I feel completely, undeniably free.

8

GRAHAM

It’s been a week.

Seven days. More than 150 hours.

I’ve kept myself in check for the last week. For the most part. I took advantage of a heavy workload, buried myself in projects that actually required my full attention.

I patched a security breach for a high-profile investment firm in New York. Finished rewriting an entire firewall protocol for a government contractor. Tracked down a hacker siphoning six figures out of an offshore account.

Every task checked off, every project completed. But it’s officially day eight, and I’m awake hours before my alarm goes off.

And I can’t physically make myself wait any longer.

When I left the bookstore—herbookstore—last week, I had every intention of adding all the new pieces of information to the evolving equation that is Francesca. But two miles later, when I walked through my front door, something held me back. It felt unnatural, wrong, not letting myself solve a mystery. Especially one that’s been eating at me for years.

But the unexpected pull of something else—something deeper, something unfamiliar—was still coursing through my veins. And it tricked me. Convinced me I shouldn’t dig deeper. That I should wait.

That maybe, somehow, she’d show up on my doorstep. As if she’d been following me as closely as I’d been trying to follow her.

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