14. Francesca
14
FRANCESCA
I’m not waiting for him.
I’m absolutely not standing behind the counter, strategically placing myself so I have a direct view of the front door. I’m not glancing at the clock every few minutes, tracking the time with unnecessary precision.
And I’m definitely not holding my breath when the bell chimes at exactly 4:30 p.m.
“Welcome to Fiction and Folklore.” It’s an automatic greeting. And I’m surprised by my upbeat and friendly tone, given the way my heart kicks inside my chest like it’s on a drum line.
The weight of his gaze settles on me before I even look up. I school my expression into something casual and polite. Maybe even a little surprised. I try to convince myself to take my time, don’t look as eager as I feel, but I was never good at playing these kinds of games. I never wanted to. And I definitely don’t want to play games with him. So I look up, smile bright.
Graham Carter stands in the entrance of my bookstore like he belongs there.
He’s wearing another one of those impossibly well-fitted henleys, this one a deep charcoal gray, sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms. Dark jeans, the kind that are worn just enough to look effortless . His hair is tied back again, but a few strands have escaped, brushing against the sharp cut of his jaw.
The man looks ridiculously good. It’s a little annoying because I’m certain he spends less than sixty seconds thinking about his appearance each day.
“Francesca.” His voice is the same as always. Gruff, low, a little too aware. But there’s a softness to the way he says my name that wasn’t there last week.
I tip my head, my smile growing almost giddy. I should wipe it away, but I don’t. “Graham.”
He steps forward, setting a familiar drink carrier and a small white paper bag onto the counter.
My heart gives a ridiculous little kick. “You’re really committed to this Tuesday tradition, huh?”
He hands me my latte. “I’m not afraid of commitment.”
I blink at him, my fingers curling around the cold plastic cup. There’s something about the way he says it, like he’s talking about more than coffee walks with Romeo.
But before I can unpack that particular revelation, I notice something different about the bag he placed on the counter. An unfamiliar pink logo on the front.
My brow furrows as I peer inside. “Is there a new bakery in town?”
He lifts his shoulders and drops them just as quickly. “I was in Rosewood today. Thought you might like to try something different.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. It’s a simple statement, nothing particularly groundbreaking. But it’s the thoughtfulness behind it that gets me.
He’s so goddamn attentive. I’d mentioned that I wanted to drive to the neighboring town and try something from Sugar & Spice Bakery last week. But it was just a casual thing, like most of our conversations on our walks.
My throat tightens slightly as I glance up at him. “You don’t have to keep bringing me things, you know.”
He tilts his head slightly, his lips curving just enough to make my stomach dip. “I know.”
I exhale, shaking my head with a soft laugh. “Well, I appreciate it.”
He gestures toward the door with a lazy tilt of his chin. “You ready?”
I glance at Romeo, who’s already trotting toward the entrance, his tail wagging in excitement. I shake my head fondly and grab his leash. “You’re spoiling both of us, you know.”
Graham smirks, holding the door open as I step outside. “Good.”
God help me , I don’t think he’s just talking about the pastries.