9. Francesca
9
FRANCESCA
The energy in the bookshop is electric, buzzing and crackling like a live wire. I feel it humming through every nerve ending as I weave through the small crowd, offering warm smiles and gracious thank-yous to the well-wishers.
The grand opening is in full swing.
The crowd is split fairly evenly—half curious locals, half actual readers. But everyone has been so nice. So welcoming. It feels like something out of a made-for-TV movie. A picture-perfect small town where everyone shows up to support the new girl in town.
A wistful smile tugs at my lips as I take in the scene, my gaze sweeping over the cozy interior of the bookshop. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. A place where stories come alive, where words have the power to transport and transform. And now, it’s mine.
And of course, Romeo’s. He’s been a huge hit, which is a surprise to no one. No one can resist his sweet little face.
He’s currently stationed behind the counter, a latching baby gate blocking any escape. Not that he’s trying all that hard to get out though. He’s perfectly content to hang out behind the counter, popping his head up every few minutes. He balances on his hind legs, his tail wagging like crazy.
He’s raking in head pats and ear scratches like it’s his full-time job.
The little bell above the door chimes, and my gaze flies to it automatically. My heart stutters when I see a flash of blonde, but as the woman steps inside, the moment evaporates.
This woman’s hair is more peach than gold, the sunlight flashing it blonde. One of the downsides of the east-facing windows, I guess. Though I can’t bring myself to mind.
The sunlight pours through the windows, casting the entire store in a buttery golden glow. A few dust motes dance and swirl in the slanted rays like tiny flecks of magic, adding an enchanting feel to the space.
Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m reading more into this store, this day, this move across the country than I should.
Could that be like a fatal flaw? I’m forever reading more into situations and people. And relationships.
I don’t know why I keep expecting my sister to walk through the front door. I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. Not since she called me from some random yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.
I push the thought away, forcing myself to smile at the customers walking in. My real smile. Not the one that feels brittle and rough around the edges.
“Hello! Welcome to Fiction and Folklore. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“Just looking, thanks.” The woman with the peach-colored hair smiles, two younger girls trailing behind her. They quickly disappear into the shelves, their excited whispers floating across the store.
I take a deep breath, letting the hum of conversation and soft pop music wash over me. Of course, I had to play one of my favorite records today to celebrate. I have a record player behind the counter I plan to use, but for today, I decided on a playlist from the tablet connected to the speaker system.
The scent of fresh paper, sugared lemons, and aged wood blends with the crisp, clean smell of new books. It’s the perfect mix of cozy and invigorating. Like the first page of a brand-new story.
I want to meander through the store, chat with more people, just take it all in. Soak everything up.
But for now, it’s better that I stay up front. Greeting customers, checking people out, answering any questions.
For now, Fiction & Folklore has one employee: me. I built the store hours with that little detail in mind. Eventually, I’d love to hire staff, but for the first year, profit is the name of the game. Paying employees eats into that.
The bell above the door chimes again, and my heart does that little stutter-stop once more. But this time, it’s not a flash of blonde that catches my eye.
It’s him.
Graham Carter steps into my bookstore, and the air suddenly feels charged. Electric like the moment before a summer storm breaks.
He’s wearing a dark green henley that stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong, tanned forearms. Dark jeans hug his muscular thighs with black sneakers, and his hair pulled back at the nape of his neck.
He’s holding a white bakery box in his hands, and my heart does a funny little flip in my chest.
Don’t get ahead of yourself , I internally chide. Maybe he just happened to walk past on his way to something else. Some other function. Something completely unrelated.
Our eyes lock across the store, and it feels like everyone else fades into the background. He crosses the store, stops when he’s in front of me, close enough to touch. It feels like the best kind of déjà vu.
I inhale slowly, my fingers curling around the edge of the counter, grounding myself.
Because he’s here.
Not walking past, not just happening by. He’s here, in my bookstore, holding a goddamn pastry box.
I blink once, twice, like I need to recalibrate, like my brain needs a second to catch up to the reality standing in front of me.
Graham Carter doesn’t just feel like a person standing in a room. He feels like a shift in the atmosphere. A gravitational pull, subtle but undeniable.
Like I’m supposed to move toward him. Like I wouldn’t even have to try.
My mouth goes dry, but I force my lips into a polite smile, the kind I’ve given to every other person who’s walked through the door today. Even though this moment feels nothing like those.
“Graham,” I say, and it comes out softer than I mean it to. His name tastes different on my tongue now. Like I’ve been carrying it around for too long, waiting for the right moment to say it aloud.
The bakery box shifts in his hands, and his knuckles flex against the white cardboard. “Francesca.”
My stomach tightens, my heart picking up speed. Because the way he says my name? It’s not polite. It’s not casual.
It’s possessive . And I kind of love it.
“Congratulations.” His voice is low and gruff, like someone tore the word out of his throat against his will.
I accept the box, a small smile tilting the edges of my mouth. “Thank you. And thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you so soon.” I wink at him, a small nod to our history, the pattern of our almost-encounters.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, well.” His gaze flickers over my face, his fingers tightening around the edge of the box. “Guess I didn’t feel like waiting five more years.”
Something warm spreads through my chest, slow and sweet, like melted sugar. “Bold move, Carter.”
“I thought so too.” His voice is drier this time.
Before I can tease him further, he thrusts the white box toward me, his movements sharp, almost hurried.
“Here. These are for you.”
My heart kicks inside my chest, a wild thump. “Oh. That’s so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.”
He clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, a faint hint of color rising on his cheekbones. “It’s nothing.”
I take the box from him, our fingers brushing briefly. A tiny jolt of electricity zips through me at the contact.
“It’s not nothing,” I murmur, tilting my head as I hum softly under my breath. “It’s thoughtful, kind.”
Graham Carter has been many things in my fantasies over the years.
And yet, this version of him—gruff, slightly awkward, standing in the middle of my bookstore with a cake—proves to be something entirely unexpected.
Something better.
I set the box on the counter and lift the lid, revealing a dozen perfectly frosted cupcakes. They’re decorated with intricate buttercream flowers in soft shades of pink and white. “Oh.”
“My sister made them,” Graham says, shifting his weight slightly. “So if you don’t like them, then?—”
I cut him a look, my smile growing wide. “Like them? These are beautiful. Your sister is talented.”
Graham glances over his shoulder, as if suddenly wary of being in this conversation. “She said they’re carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Nothing unusual in them.”
My brows furrow, but my smile doesn’t fade. “Is there normally something unusual in her carrot cake cupcakes?”
His gaze bounces across my face, never settling too long on any one thing. Like he’s greedy for more. “Sometimes. She likes to think outside the box.”
“Ah.” My brows lift, then settle. “And you? Do you think outside the box?”
“This feels like a trap,” he mutters after a beat, lips quirking up.
I grin, shrugging one shoulder. “Just curious about you, that’s all.”
Graham drags a hand over his head, almost like he forgot it’s tied back in a low knot. His fingers pause at the back of his head before dropping to his side. His gaze flickers across the store briefly, like he needs a second to recalibrate. Then it lands back on me.
“Not really.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “What kind of guy are you, Graham Carter?”
His gaze holds mine, intense and searching, like he’s trying to unravel all my secrets with a single look. “The kind of man who notices things.” His voice is low, sure. “Who pays attention to the details most people overlook.” He takes a measured step toward me. “Who notices how your smile starts slow,” he murmurs, “like you’re testing it out first, but it’s only taken over your face when you talk about your dog.” His voice is low, almost intimate, despite the quiet hum of conversation around us.
My breath catches in my throat, my pulse fluttering wildly beneath my skin. I feel stripped bare by his words, by the weight of his gaze and the surprising intimacy.
“Okay.” My voice comes out breathy, barely above a whisper.
His lips quirk, just a hint of a smirk. “Okay.”
For a long, suspended moment, it’s just the two of us, caught in our own private world amidst the bustle of the bookstore.
“Hello, dear. I think I’ve got enough to last me a month,” a woman says with a laugh as she places a stack of books on the counter. The moment between us dissolves like cotton candy on my tongue.
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “So, um, I should probably—” I gesture vaguely toward the counter, the cash register.
Graham nods, taking a small step back. “Right. Of course.”
The loss of his proximity is acute, a physical ache beneath my breastbone. I step behind the counter, scooting past Romeo, who lets out a sleepy little huff as I move around him.
“Graham.” His name slips from my lips before I even think about it.
He pauses, turning back toward me, one brow lifting in quiet curiosity.
I wet my lips, shifting on my feet. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
His head tilts slightly, and then the corner of his mouth hooks into a slow, knowing half-smirk. A breathless sort of disbelieving laugh huffs out of me, shaking my head as I turn away. I tuck the cupcake box on the high counter against the wall, well out of Romeo’s reach.
Then I face the customer with a bright, easy smile, slipping back into the rhythm of the day.
The older woman eyes Graham as he steps further into the store. “Handsome young man, Graham,” she muses, stacking her books neatly on the counter.
I blink, my cheeks warming. “Oh, do you know him?”
She waves a hand, laughing. “Avalon Falls is one of those kinds of towns.”
I swipe her books over the scanner, amusement curling in my chest. “What’s that?”
She leans in a little, like she’s sharing a secret. “ Small . Everyone knows everyone, by three degrees, max.”
I let out a little laugh. “You know, I kind of love that.”
“Just wait until you start dating.” She winks, sliding her credit card into the reader.
I shake my head with a grin, bagging up her books and indulging a little bit. “Will I be the talk of the town?”
“If you date Graham Carter, you most certainly will.” She lifts the bag, winking as she walks away.