19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
T he soft chime of the bell above the door greeted Stone and Sophie as they stepped into Graham’s Corner, located in Tribeca. Stone immediately glanced around for all viable exits. He found two. He positioned himself so that his back was not to either of them.
Then he surveyed the warmly lit bookstore, taking in the cozy reading nooks scattered between the shelves. The charming, homey atmosphere felt oddly out of place in the upscale neighborhood—a stark contrast to the location of their first book boyfriend quest.
A man with tousled brown hair and warm, inviting eyes looked up from behind the counter. “I’m Oliver,” he introduced himself, shaking their hands with a warmth that matched his smile. “Jenna sent you, right? She mentioned something about a book-boyfriend project. I’m flattered to be considered.”
Sophie’s face lit up. “Yes, that’s right. Jenna thinks you’re a perfect fit for what we call a Cinnamon Roll Hero—kind, empathetic, and community-focused. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m Sophie, and this is my boyfriend, Stone.”
For some strange reason, Stone found himself puffing out his chest like a proud peacock when Sophie introduced him as her boyfriend. Then he reminded himself he wasn’t and that Oliver Graham, with a well-groomed beard and a friendly smile, wearing a soft cardigan that seemed designed to reinforce his image as the quintessential Cinnamon Roll Hero, could be under the right circumstances.
“It is so nice to meet both of you. Care for a tour of my pride and joy?”
Oliver led them through the two-story bookstore, sharing stories about his community projects and his late wife’s legacy. The air was filled with the musty, comforting scent of old books and a faint trace of a burning vanilla candle.
Stone couldn’t help but notice how Sophie hung onto Oliver’s every word, like she was listening to a captivating storyteller weaving a spellbinding tale. Everything about her body language displayed genuine interest, admiration, and awe. And why not awe? This was the man of her fantasies. Oliver was not just fulfilling the role of Sophie’s preferred hero trope—he appeared to be setting a new standard for all who followed.
A twinge of something Stone couldn’t quite place zapped him like a high-powered taser. The zap caused a puzzle piece to click into place in his mind, one that crowded up against his self-esteem, rubbing it the wrong way.
Oliver Graham was the type of man worthy of Sophie E. Clark. The guy was genuine, caring, rooted in the community, and clearly still receptive to finding new happiness despite his past loss. And more than anything, he appeared to be an open book. A guy with no big secrets hidden in the basement just waiting to blow up Sophie’s life.
Stone should encourage Sophie not to feature Oliver but pursue him instead. That would be good for her and good for Stone. He couldn’t accidentally fall in love with a woman mooning over another right under his nose night after night.
After their tour of the bookstore, Oliver led them to his office, a small but inviting space filled with personal touches: photographs of his wife, a shelf of first editions, and a large window that looked out over the bustling street. He gestured for Sophie and Stone to take a seat across from his desk, which was neatly organized except for a stack of children’s books slated for the next community reading hour.
Sophie opened her notebook, her professional demeanor slipping into place as she prepared to go through her list of questions. The same ones she’d asked Stone this morning.
“Oliver, I have a set of questions I will ask everyone I feature in the column. They will help readers to get a better sense of who you really are beyond just what I observe.”
Oliver nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m unreserved. Ask away.”
Sophie pulled a pen from her purse. “First question: What does a perfect day look like for you?”
Oliver leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “A perfect day starts with opening the shop early, maybe finding a moment to read a chapter or two of whatever book I’m into at the moment. Then, I’d spend the day interacting with customers, helping them find books they’ll love. In the evening, I’d close and head to one of the local community centers where I volunteer, maybe help with an art class, or organize a book donation. Finally, I’d end the day at home, cooking a nice meal and unwinding with some jazz music.”
Sophie sighed appreciatively. “That sounds wonderful. Next question: What do you value most in a relationship?”
Oliver’s answer was immediate, his voice warm and sincere. “Honesty and compassion. I believe a relationship should be built on a foundation of trust, where both people feel safe to share their true selves without judgment. I’m not big on getting to know someone only to find out months later they have a huge secret they didn’t bother sharing. If you have a secret, I want to know it. I won’t tell anyone, but I want the right to know up front if I should give you my heart or not. Some secrets are deal-breakers, and that’s why people keep them a secret.” He trailed off, and he gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’ll get off my soapbox.”
Stone shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze fixed on Oliver. It was like the guy knew Stone had a secret he’d not yet shared and was passing judgment on Stone while trying to warn Sophie.
Damn. Was Oliver right? Should he tell Sophie? Of course he shouldn’t. They weren’t really an item. But if they were…
“And what’s one thing you’re passionate about?” Sophie asked.
“I’m passionate about giving back,” Oliver responded. “Whether it’s through the bookstore or my work with local charities, I feel it’s important to contribute positively to the community that has given me so much. It’s my way of keeping my late wife’s spirit alive; she was deeply committed to volunteering.”
Stone made a mental note to discover how Oliver’s wife had died.
Sophie nodded, visibly moved. “That’s admirable. Last question: Describe your ideal partner.”
Oliver paused, considering his words carefully. “My ideal partner would be someone kind-hearted and supportive, someone who shares a passion for making a difference and values quiet evenings as much as lively gatherings. Someone who understands the joy of a good book and the simple pleasure of a cup of coffee shared in good company.”
As he spoke, Sophie leaned in as if totally caught up in his words.
Stone watched the exchange, a knot forming in his stomach. Oliver’s answers weren’t just hero-worthy—they were a direct echo of Sophie’s own values and desires.
The interview concluded with Oliver’s gracious thanks and an invitation to return anytime.
As they stepped out of Oliver’s bookstore, Stone glanced down at his T-shirt emblazoned with To Be Continued . A counterpart to her own that said Chapter One . He found himself not resenting the implication that he was a part of her forward journey. Not today. The sense of belonging, even if it was just a fa?ade crafted for the sake of their undercover act, felt surprisingly comfortable. Like an extra blanket on a cold stakeout, wrapped around his carefully guarded heart, making him wish it could be real.
As they walked, Stone caught his reflection in a shop window. The cardigan and tee ensemble he wore was supposed to mimic Oliver’s style, a part of the whole boyfriend image Sophie wanted to project. He eyed his image critically.
Oliver, with his genuine warmth and effortless charm, had worn the look naturally, embodying the role with grace. Oliver didn’t just wear the clothes; he seemed to live them, weaving each thread with the same care he extended to everyone around him.
Stone, on the other hand, wore the outfit simply because Sophie wished it, the fabric feeling more like a costume than a second skin. He was a fraud. A battle-weary knight awkwardly disguised as a poet, trying to fit into her world.
Sophie deserved a guy like Oliver, a man whose life wasn’t as shadowed and complicated as his. A man who didn’t have secrets that could potentially be nonstarters. A man she could kiss goodbye to go to work and feel quite confident he’d return…unharmed.
Stone’s gaze shifted to Sophie, who was animatedly discussing Oliver’s answers to her questions. He watched her, admiring her energy. She was so fiercely dedicated to her quest for the perfect story, the perfect hero, yet oblivious to the complexities she wove into his life with each step they took.
In her Chapter One T-shirt, she seemed ready to begin a new venture. As the man currently wearing To Be Continued on his chest, he couldn’t help but wonder just how the in-between chapters would unfold. Was he a subplot, and it was Oliver who would become the central thread in the tapestry of her life? Or was Oliver nothing more than a complication they would overcome?
Later, as they sat at a small café table, surrounded by the quiet hum of conversations, Stone decided it was time to test the waters.
“Sophie,” he began, while she was still scribbling down notes, “have you ever thought that maybe some stories are meant to be lived, not just written about?”
Sophie looked up, her expression curious. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Oliver,” Stone forced himself to say. “He’s exactly the kind of man you describe wanting. But if you put him out there as this ideal book boyfriend, you’re opening his world to every other single woman in Manhattan. Why not keep him for yourself and find another to share with the masses?”
Once, when he’d been very young, Clarabelle had taken him and his brothers to church. The preacher had spoken about birds, and how if you loved them, you let them go. If they never came back, they were never yours to begin with. This was him letting Sophie go. Pushing her toward a guy worthy to be called a book boyfriend hero.
Sophie paused, her pen hovering over her notebook. “That reminds me, I forgot to ask him if he would be willing to participate in the bachelor auction should he be chosen for one of my columns.”
“All the more reason not to choose him for a feature,” Stone pushed.
Sophie’s brow furrowed. “Well, he is awfully yummy. But what if I didn’t choose him and then he didn’t even ask me out on a date? What a waste that would be.”
“But what if he did, and you hit it off, and you found your fairytale ending?”
“Hmm,” she replied, obviously chewing on the thought.
Stone watched her face as she imagined a life with Oliver. “He is everything you want in a man…right?”
“Maybe,” she said, surprising him with her indecision. “Maybe not.”
His hands fisted in frustration. “What do you mean not? I thought you knew what you wanted.”
“I did. I do.” She sighed as if he’d just asked her to explain quantum physics. “I don’t know. It’s complex.”
Her sudden uncertainty rubbed him the wrong way. Now was not the time for her to be hesitant. “And yet you’ve insisted I look the part of your idea of the perfect man. As in, you knew what you wanted in a guy, and you demanded your way or the highway.”
“I am not a demander. I am a suggestion-er. And no offense, but you’ve not mastered the ways of a cinnamon roll.”
“Says who? I’ve seen myself in a mirror.”
“Sure, you’ve got the clothes, but not the right attitude, or the easy-going body language, nor the low-key energy. You are way more a wrong-side-of-the-tracks guy than a cinnamon roll.”
“Considering I’m a brat abandoned at a fire station—because my birth mom decided three boys were too much trouble to raise—and then trapped in the foster system for five years, there’s no big surprise in that revelation.”
A slow smile tugged her lips, confusing the hell out of him.
“What?” He’d said nothing that would make a normal person smile.
“Sorry. Your story is tragic.”
“Then why the smile?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Did I ever tell you, Stone Blackthorn, in my fantasies—my naughty ones—I like my guys with a tragic backstory?”
He clamped down on his back molars to keep from speaking. Women. They were as unpredictable as his current magic situation.