Page 52 of Stolen Vows

I’m vibrating with anticipation,like some kind of windup toy that’s been turned too many times. It’s ridiculous, really. The way I’ve been glancing at the clock every ten minutes, just like every other Tuesday recently. The way my heart kicks up whenever the bell chimes above the door, hoping it will be him. The way I’m already planning how this Tuesday is going to go.

Because tonight, I’m getting Graham Carter’s number. It feels silly really, but I’m tired of only seeing him once a week. I want more. More time, more conversation, more of his quiet intensity focused solely on me. I’ve been daydreaming about it.

It’s been six weeks. Six weeks of coffee walks, of smirks and near-smiles, of subtle touches that linger just a little too long. Six weeks of getting to know him and still feeling like he’s just out of reach.

Not after tonight. I refuse to let another seven days pass without talking to him in between.

I smile to myself as I slide a book across the counter to a woman who kind of reminds me of Aunt Miriam. We spent twenty minutes narrowing down her book selection until she settled on a new thriller.

These kinds of moments are my favorites. I wouldn’t say it’s the whole reason I wanted to open a bookstore, but it’s definitely a big part of it. I think I could talk about books every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.

I tuck the receipt into the dust jacket. “Thanks for stopping in today. You’ll have to let me know if you enjoyed it. And if you solved it before the end like the last one.”

The customer laughs as she grabs her book. “I will, dear. See you next week.”

As the customer leaves, I glance at the clock again. Only a half an hour left before he’s here.

I busy myself straightening a stack of free bookmarks on the counter, trying to calm the nervous energy buzzing through me. There’s also a healthy dose of anxiety writhing around behind my ribs.

What if he doesn’t show up today? Or worse, what if he does, but he pretends like he didn’t just give me the best kiss of my life? Or what if he doesn’t want to talk to me outside of Tuesdays?

What are Graham and I even doing?

It doesn’t feel like dating exactly, but it’s definitely more than acquaintances. Something between friendship and dating, I guess.

The bell chimes. I glance up, my stomach flipping automatically, but I already know it’s too early for him. It’s only four o’clock.

“Welcome to Fiction and Folklore!” I call out, turning toward the door with a smile.

“God, Frankie. I can’t believe you’re actually working here.” The familiar tone makes my stomach drop.

I close my eyes for half a second, bracing myself, before turning around.

My twin sister Florence stands in the middle of my bookstore, one manicured hand perched on her hip, sunglasses pushed up into her sleek blonde blowout. She’s wearing a black designer jumpsuit, red-soled stilettos, and an expression of arrogant disbelief. It’s our mother’s smile, which she inherited from her mother. I pray that it skips the next generation.

“Florence? What a surprise.” I do my best to inject some pep into my voice despite the dread pooling in my stomach.

She scoffs, looking around the store with a critical eye. “Honestly, I’m surprised too. I thought for sure you’d have given up on this littleadventureof yours by now.”

I swallow back my irritation and force a neutral expression onto my face. The thing is, Iknowmy sister’s a good person. That good part of her just happens to be buried under too many layers of our mother’s and grandmother’s expectations.

“You know, I kind of thought you might come for the grand opening, considering last time we talked, you were so supportive. Did your European vacation last this whole time?”

Okay, so I’m not proud of the way I slid into that snark. Or how quickly it happened. I exhale slowly, doing my best to calm the panic swelling inside of me like it’s high tide. I feel terrible for thinking it, but if Graham walks in and Florence is still here, my two worlds are going to collide in a way that’s life-altering. Like a comet collides with a planet.

It’ll be the end of . . . whatever Graham and I are doing.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, Frankie, you know how it is. One yacht party leads to another, and before you know it, months have passed.” She steps further into the store, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors. “But I’m here now, aren’t I? Better late than never.”

“Right. And what brings you here now?” The back of my neck prickles.

She ignores my question, her gaze sweeping over the bookshop with a critical eye. “Quaint,” she remarks, her tone dripping with condescension. “The way you talked about it, I expected something bigger.”

I bristle at her words, my fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “I think it’s perfect. And so did Aunt Miriam.”

She hums, unconvinced. “Didn’t Aunt Miriam lose like all her money in this building?”

I shake my head. “What? No. Where did you hear that?”

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