16. Francesca
16
FRANCESCA
I lean against the counter, tapping my fingers against the smooth wood, my gaze flicking toward the door.
I’m not impatient. Not exactly. But the latte I made myself hours ago sits half-drunk beside me, long since watered down by melted ice. Which is not because I didn’t want to drink it, but because I know another one is coming. Hopefully.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
This is getting ridiculous. I shouldn’t be this excited about a walk. Except it’s so much more than that.
Every Tuesday, Graham Carter walks into my bookstore, and the rest of the world blurs at the edges.
And every Tuesday, I tell myself this will be the week I play it cool.
The bell chimes at 4:30 on the dot. I straighten, pulse kicking up.
Romeo’s tail thumps against the floor as Graham steps inside, his usual drink carrier in one hand, but instead of one pastry bag, he’s holding two. A white one and a smaller black one with a silver bone stamped on the front.
“You waiting for me, Francesca?”
My breath catches at the teasing lilt in his voice, a flush creeping up my neck. “Maybe,” I admit, unable to keep the smile from my face. “Though technically, I think Romeo might be the one waiting.” I nod toward my dog, who’s wagging his tail so hard, his entire backside is swaying.
Graham chuckles, a low, warm sound that curls through me. He crouches down, setting the bags and drink carrier aside to give Romeo an affectionate scratch behind the ears. “Hey, buddy. I brought you something special today.”
My heart does something stupid in my chest.
“Wait.” I blink, glancing between the small bag and Graham. “You bought Romeo a treat too?”
Graham shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean everything .
He pulls out a little pastry box from inside Romeo’s bag and opens it, revealing six frosted tiny bones sitting neatly arranged. I don’t know what’s more concerning—the fact that I might actually swoon over this, or the fact that Graham looks completely unaffected, like this is just something he does .
“Where did you even get these?” The question comes out in a hushed sort of whisper.
“Can I?” He gestures with the box toward Romeo. At my nod, he plucks a bone from the top of the little pile and holds it out to my patient dog. “I special ordered them.”
Romeo gently takes the edge of the treat between his teeth. And as much as I want to praise him, my mind is stuck on unraveling the man in front of me.
I lift my gaze to his. “Why?”
His eyes flick to Romeo, who’s drooling a little and ready for another one. “You said last week you felt bad he couldn’t have any of the pastries.”
My breath catches. I glance down at Romeo, then back at Graham. “Jesus,” I murmur, disbelief thick on my tongue. “Are you sure you’re single, because I cannot for the life of me figure out why you’re not taken.”
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I was just waiting for you.”
I swallow hard, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and struggling to keep my expression neutral even as heat blooms across my cheeks.
“Waiting for me, huh?” I aim for teasing, but my voice comes out a little breathless.
Graham’s eyes hold mine, dark and intense. “If I was?”
A shiver rolls down my spine, anticipation and something headier unfurling in my belly. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “I guess it’s a good thing I moved to town, isn’t it?”
Graham’s eyes darken, his gaze dipping to my lips for a moment before snapping back to mine. “A very good thing,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
My pulse leaps at his words, at the undercurrent of something deeper, something more, flowing between us. It’s moments like these that make me wonder if I’m imagining this connection, or if it’s as real and intense as it feels.
Needing to break the tension before I do something reckless like lean across the counter and kiss him, I clear my throat and gesture to the drink carrier. “Thank you, Graham.”
“It’s my pleasure.”