“As in buy books. Plural.”
“Raphael. You don’t have to?—”
“I’m aware.”
The phrase again. Always steady. Always certain.
“I want to,” he says.
And suddenly my throat felt tight. No one had ever looked at me and thought, What would make her happiest? No one had ever built an evening around the simple fact that I love stories.
I stepped toward the shelves slowly, almost reverently. My fingers trailed over spines—bright paperbacks, moody hardcovers, familiar authors, and new ones I’d been meaning to try.
“You can’t be serious,” I murmur.
“I am entirely serious.”
I picked one up. Then another. Then another. Each time I glanced back at him, as if expecting him to set a limit.
He didn’t. He stood there in his tuxedo, hands slowly filling with books, watching me like this was the most fascinating thing he’d seen all night.
I realized, suddenly, that I was grinning. I felt light. When I turned back to him with an armful of books, he studied me with quiet satisfaction.
“You’re enjoying yourself,” he observed.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I hesitated, then added one more to the stack.
“For good measure.”
He nodded solemnly. “An excellent strategy.”
I laughed softly, overwhelmed and delighted, and a little in disbelief.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I said again.
He stepped closer, just enough that the air shifted between us.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “I listen.”
I clutched the books to my chest and looked up at him.
The gala. The fortune teller. The investors. The tuxedo. None of it mattered right now. All that mattered was this small room full of stories. And the man who chose to create one just for me.
The drive home felt quieter. The kind of quiet that comes after something meaningful has happened, and neither person wants to disturb it by talking too soon.
The city lights blurred past the windows, gold streaking against black glass. I rested my hand over the stack of books in my lap like they might disappear if I didn’t anchor them there.
He carried them for me when we pulled into the drive.
Of course he did.
The house looked different tonight. It appeared softer somehow. The windows glowed warmly against the dark river beyond.
Inside, I kicked off my heels with a relieved sigh.
