Page 93 of Stolen Vows

He snags it with a smirk. “Stay here.”

Before I can respond, he’s out the door, the bell jingling in his wake. I stare after him, more than a little baffled. I busy myself with tidying the counter, and ten minutes later, he’s back with my oversized book tote bag.

He sets it on the counter and pulls out my sneakers. “Problem solved.”

I stare at him, then down at the shoes, then back up at him. “You drove all the way home just to get my sneakers?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “You needed them.”

Something warm and fluttery unfurls in my chest. It’s such a small thing, but it’s everything. He’s looking at me like he doesn’t understand why I’m making this a big deal. Like it was a simple solution to a simple problem. But itwasn’tsimple.

No one has ever done something like this for me. Not in the way Graham just did. Quietly, without question, without expectation.

I wet my lips, shifting my weight. “You’re kind of amazing.”

Graham shrugs. “Efficient.”

I shake my head, a soft smile playing at my lips as I toe off my sandals and slide my feet into the sneakers. Graham and Romeo watch me, their gazes steady and warm.

As I lace up my shoes, I glance at the tote bag on the counter, remembering what else I wanted to bring home. “Oh, I was going to bring Myrtle back with me. I don’t think she can survive here without me.”

He arches a single brow. “Myrtle?”

I nod, moving toward the back room. “I got her right before I moved here.” I emerge from the back room with Myrtle in my arms, her glossy green leaves brushing against my cheek.

Graham’s eyebrows lift as he takes in the small fiddle leaf fig tree in my arms.

“Myrtle, meet Graham. Graham, Myrtle,” I announce with a grin.

He blinks, then shakes his head with a chuckle. “Of course you named your plant.”

I shrug, shifting Myrtle’s weight. “Everyone deserves a name. Don’t you think?”

His eyes soften as he watches me cradle Myrtle close. His lips curve into a small, almost tender smile. “Francesca.”

How can he say so much by just uttering my name. The tone and inflection carries a hundred different meanings.

He steps closer, gently taking Myrtle from my arms. His fingers brush against mine, sending a tingle up my arm. “Let’s get her home then.”

I nod, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. Home. Our home. With Graham and Romeo and now Myrtle too. It feels right in a way I never expected.

We walk out of the bookstore together, Myrtle cradled in Graham’s arms and Romeo trotting happily beside us. The sun is just starting to set, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks.

I tip my face toward the sky, letting the warm breeze caress my skin. Graham's arm brushes against mine as we walk, a casual touch that feels anything but.

I glance over at him, taking in his strong profile, the way his forearms flex as he holds Myrtle steady. He's so handsome it steals my breath sometimes. More than that, he's good. Kind.

The type of man who drives out of his way to get his wife the right shoes without a second thought.

And I—I amsoscrewed.

31

GRAHAM

The house is quiet,save for the soft hum of my monitors and the rhythmic clicking of my keyboard. My office is dimly lit, the glow of multiple screens casting sharp angles across the room. The whiteboard is covered in notes, arrows scrawled between district names, financial ledgers, and lines of fragmented code.

I exhale slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard as I cross-check the ransomware attack patterns from North Cape School District and Glendale River School District against my database of known hackers. It’s a slow, methodical process—tracking digital signatures, tracing IP addresses that don’t want to be found.

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