Page 37 of Stolen Vows

“If you date Graham Carter, you most certainly will.” She lifts the bag, winking as she walks away.

10

FRANCESCA

I fallinto the rhythm of the day, losing myself in the steady stream of customers. Between book recommendations, ringing up purchases, and offering warm smiles, the hours slip through my fingers like sand.

By late afternoon, my feet ache, and my stomach grumbles. A clear sign that I’ve barely stopped to breathe, let alone eat.

But I don’t care.

I feel light. Accomplished. Like I’ve built something real, something meaningful. I ride the high of it, soaking in the warmth of every kind word, every congratulations, every encouraging smile.

It’s only slightly tainted by the glaring absence of anything from my family. I told myself countless times not to count on them. Not to expect anything. So that when they actuallydoshow up for something, anything, I can be genuinely happy.

Instead of constantly disappointed.

Obviously, it’s something I’m still working on.

I exhale sharply, forcing the thought away. Because today is mine. And I refuse to let them steal even a second of it.

The bookstore officially closes in twenty minutes. Only a handful of customers remain, slowly browsing, reluctant to leave.

I reach down, gently patting Romeo’s head as he snoozes in his plush dog bed, curled up inside his crate behind the counter.

I had reservations about crate-training him at first, mostly due to misconceptions about the whole idea. But Romeo seems to be doing well. He’s turned it into a den, a safe space, a place to retreat when he wants to rest. And if he’s happy, I’m happy.

And God, am I happy.

A warmth expands in my chest, settling deep in my bones. I glance up from Romeo’s sleeping form, and a shadow falls across the counter. My heart lurches into my throat.

Graham stands there, a short stack of books in his hands.

“Hi,” I breathe, the word barely more than a whisper.

“Francesca.”

God, why does my name sound so good on him? I don’t think anyone has ever said my name the way he does. Like it’s something important. Like it means something.

“You’re still here.”

“You asked me to stay.” He says it so simply, like someone would say the sky is blue, like it’s a fact of the universe.

Like of course he stayed. Like that was always the only option.

A shiver runs down my spine.

It’s a revelation and a warning all at once. Something I don’t know how to name, don’t know how to stop.

I shift my weight, pressing my palm lightly against the countertop, needing something solid beneath my hand. “I’m sure you had better things to do than sit around here all afternoon.”

His eyes lock onto mine. The intensity in his hazel gaze sends a shiver down my spine. He sets the books on the counter between us and leans forward, bracing his hands on the worn wood.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says, his voice low and rough, wrapping around me like warm honey.

My breath catches, my heart stuttering against my ribs. I curl my fingers around the edge of the counter, an anchor against the tide of emotions swelling inside me.

“It’s been hours though.” The words slip out, barely a whisper.

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