Page 38 of Stolen Vows

“I caught up on some reading.” He nods to the three books between us.

I glance down at the titles, my pulse still racing. Two history books and a biography from a historian.

“Really into history, huh?” My voice comes out a little breathless.

The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You could say that. Mysteries too.”

I nod slowly, my gaze drifting back to his. He’s still leaning on the counter, close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne. Something clean and woodsy, with a hint of spice. It makes my head swim in the best way.

“Right. Well, I’m glad you found something to hold your interest.”

His eyes bore into mine, unwavering and intense. “You could say that.” A slow, deliberate statement.

I swallow thickly, dropping my gaze to the books on the counter, desperate for a reprieve from the electric current humming in the air. I busy myself with ringing them up, feeling his gaze on me like a tangible thing.

I don’t hate the way it feels. The awareness of him. The way his presence fills the space, solid and certain, like the moment before a match strikes.

“I take it you don’t read nonfiction?”

My mouth curls into a smirk. “Nah, it’s not really my thing.”

“What is your thing then?” Graham asks, his voice dry but tinged with curiosity. “I can’t imagine someone opening a bookstore when they don’t read books.” The humor peeks out from beneath his usual tone, subtle but unmistakable.

I grin at him, already mentally bracing for a scoff, an eye roll, or any number of reactions I usually get when I admit what I love to read.

“Romance. Lots and lots of romance.”

He doesn’t scoff, doesn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he nods once. “My grandmother read bodice rippers with that one guy on the cover.”

A laugh tumbles out of me, light and surprised. I finish ringing him up and turn the tablet toward him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever read one of those before. But now I kind of want to stock some titles. You’ll have to ask her for her favorites.”

“She died a couple years ago.”

My smile falters. “Oh. I’m sorry, Graham.”

He shrugs, tapping his card against the tablet until it beeps. His gaze stays fixed on the screen as he selects a few more options.

I place his books carefully in a bag, turning it so the handle faces him. Graham takes the bag, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment. A jolt of electricity zips through me at the fleeting contact, sharp and unexpected.

I swallow hard, watching as he steps back from the counter. Something panics inside my chest, sudden and fluttering. I don’t want him to go.

“Wait,” I blurt out. He pauses, one dark eyebrow arching in question. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Would you maybe want to stay and have a cupcake with me? I mean, your sister made them and everything. It would be a shame not to try one.”

Graham’s eyes flick to the white bakery box on the counter, then back to mine. Something flashes in their hazel depths, gone too quickly for me to decipher. He sets the bag of books back on the counter and nods slowly.

“Sure. I can stay for a cupcake.”

A breath rushes from my lungs, the sharp edge of anticipation smoothing into something warmer. Relief, excitement, and something else I don’t want to name.

“Great! Just give me one second.”

I hurry to the front of the store, the soles of my shoes tapping against the hardwood floor. The store is quiet now, empty except for us.

I flip the sign on the door fromopentoclosed, my fingertips lingering on the cool glass.

The reflection in the window catches my eye. Graham stands by the counter, watching me. A strange little thrill shivers down my spine.

I turn back to him, my heart beating a little faster.

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