Page 48 of Stolen Vows

God help me,I don’t think he’s just talking about the pastries.

15

FRANCESCA

Next Tuesday,the bell chimes thirty minutes before closing time, and I don’t even bother pretending I wasn’t expecting it this time.

I glance toward the door, already smiling, but before I can say a word, Graham beats me to it.

“You’re back,” he says, his voice perfectly deadpan as he steps inside, holding up the familiar drink carrier and pastry bag.

I roll my eyes, my smile widening. “Isn’t that my line?”

He shrugs, setting everything down on the counter. “Thought I’d switch things up this time.” His lips twitch, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes.

I shake my head, a soft laugh bubbling up my throat. “Well, consider me surprised.” It’s a lie. I’ve been glancing at the clock every twenty minutes since noon, the day seeming to drag along at a snail’s pace.

The store kept me busy, but it wasn’t enough. Not when I was counting down the minutes until this man walked through my front door. My sister would probably have a secondhand-embarrassment-induced heart attack if she saw me this excited over him.

I reach for my iced latte, fingers brushing against his as I take it from the carrier. The brief contact sends a shiver skittering down my spine. I’m starting to crave these little moments, the fleeting touches and loaded glances. It’s a dangerous game, but I can’t seem to stop playing.

Covering up my reaction, I lift an eyebrow and lean my hip against the new release table, pretending to scrutinize him. “Graham Carter, you wouldn’t be bribing me into friendship with caffeine and sugar, would you?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk. “Friendship? Nah.” He slides the cup toward me.

I purse my lips like I’m thinking about it, then accept the drink and take a long, slow sip. “Something else then?”

Graham holds my gaze, his eyes darkening ever so slightly. “Is it working?”

The question hangs between us, charged and heavy with unspoken possibilities. My pulse kicks up a notch, heat prickling along my skin. I lick my lips, chasing the sweet caramel lingering there.

“Hm. Well, in that case . . .” I trail off, plucking the white paper bag from the counter and peeking inside. “What delightful treat did you bring to bribe me with today?”

“Bribery implies you need convincing.”

I look from the pastries to him. It’s taken several weeks, but I think I’m finally seeing glimpses of the man underneath all that stoicism. And I like it.

“I don’t?”

“Nah, I don’t think you do, Francesca.” He hums, grabbing his own drink.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, letting my lashes lower just slightly over my eyes. “Might need a little more convincing.”

“Every Tuesday.”

Dangerous. That’s what this is. The way he says things that aren’t technically promises but feel like them. The way he keeps looking at me like I’m something worth studying, worth showing up for.

I clear my throat, desperate to regain some sense of normalcy. “What’s your mood today?” I nod toward the pastry bag.

Graham leans a hip against the table, mirroring me. “Something savory this time.”

I peek inside, really looking now. Flaky, golden pastry with bits of cheese and herbs baked into the top. “Ooh, yum. What is it?”

“Gruyère and chive croissant.”

I whistle, pulling it from the bag. “You’re really committed to this pastry thing, hm?”

His smirk is slow and lazy. “You like them, don’t you?”

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