Page 35 of Stolen Vows

Our eyes lock across the store, and it feels like everyone else fades into the background. He crosses the store, stops when he’s in front of me, close enough to touch. It feels like the best kind of déjà vu.

I inhale slowly, my fingers curling around the edge of the counter, grounding myself.

Because he’s here.

Not walking past, not just happening by. He’s here, in my bookstore, holding a goddamn pastry box.

I blink once, twice, like I need to recalibrate, like my brain needs a second to catch up to the reality standing in front of me.

Graham Carter doesn’t just feel like a person standing in a room. He feels like a shift in the atmosphere. A gravitational pull, subtle but undeniable.

Like I’msupposedto move toward him. Like I wouldn’t even have to try.

My mouth goes dry, but I force my lips into a polite smile, the kind I’ve given to every other person who’s walked through the door today. Even though this moment feels nothing like those.

“Graham,” I say, and it comes out softer than I mean it to. His name tastes different on my tongue now. Like I’ve been carrying it around for too long, waiting for the right moment to say it aloud.

The bakery box shifts in his hands, and his knuckles flex against the white cardboard. “Francesca.”

My stomach tightens, my heart picking up speed. Because the way he says my name? It’s not polite. It’s not casual.

It’spossessive. And I kind of love it.

“Congratulations.” His voice is low and gruff, like someone tore the word out of his throat against his will.

I accept the box, a small smile tilting the edges of my mouth. “Thank you. And thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you so soon.” I wink at him, a small nod to our history, the pattern of our almost-encounters.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, well.” His gaze flickers over my face, his fingers tightening around the edge of the box. “Guess I didn’t feel like waiting five more years.”

Something warm spreads through my chest, slow and sweet, like melted sugar. “Bold move, Carter.”

“I thought so too.” His voice is drier this time.

Before I can tease him further, he thrusts the white box toward me, his movements sharp, almost hurried.

“Here. These are for you.”

My heart kicks inside my chest, a wild thump. “Oh. That’s so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

He clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, a faint hint of color rising on his cheekbones. “It’s nothing.”

I take the box from him, our fingers brushing briefly. A tiny jolt of electricity zips through me at the contact.

“It’s not nothing,” I murmur, tilting my head as I hum softly under my breath. “It’s thoughtful, kind.”

Graham Carter has been many things in my fantasies over the years.

And yet, this version of him—gruff, slightly awkward, standing in the middle of my bookstore with a cake—proves to be something entirely unexpected.

Something better.

I set the box on the counter and lift the lid, revealing a dozen perfectly frosted cupcakes. They’re decorated with intricate buttercream flowers in soft shades of pink and white. “Oh.”

“My sister made them,” Graham says, shifting his weight slightly. “So if you don’t like them, then?—”

I cut him a look, my smile growing wide. “Like them? These are beautiful. Your sister is talented.”

Graham glances over his shoulder, as if suddenly wary of being in this conversation. “She said they’re carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Nothing unusual in them.”

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