Page 109 of A Love Like Candle Light

I hear Kylie's voice in my head. Anxiety tickles my stomach, and I shake out my arms.

“Here we go,” I mumble under my breath and push the door open.

“Welcome!” I glance at the woman who greeted me and force my lips into a tight smile. It's not her. She's probably aunt Molly’s age. Grey strands run through her blonde hair and her kind eyes are lined with crow's feet and wrinkles.

I mumble a greeting and walk further into the store, pretending to be interested in their book displays.

The store is cute. It has a warm wooden interior, book shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, small trinkets and décor garlands lovingly placed on them. Tables are strategically arranged, filled with mountains of books and little knickknacks, like a tea assortment, mugs or warm blankets to curl up under.

Before I even realize it, my feet bring me towards them and pick one up. They’re so soft. I might have to get it for Kylie for when she's at my place.

“Hi there. Is there anything in particular you're looking for?”

I freeze and almost drop the blanket, eyes widening.

I just know it. Without seeing her, I know the owner of the voice. It's her.

My stomach churns and flips in excitement at the same time. Breathe, Erik. Don’t forget to breathe.

Ever so slowly, I turn around, bracing myself for what, or rather who, I’m about to see. “I’m only having a look for my girlfriend.” I hold up the blanket, surprised by how clearly the words come out.

“Let me make you the boyfriend of the year. What does she like? We have all kinds of books here. I'm sure you'll find one for the perfect surprise.” I keep my eyes fixated on the shelf behind her, heart beating so loudly I barely hear her question.

“Crime,” I manage to press out, then finally, I allow myself to look at her. My heart beat drowns out all other sound and my hands turn clammy.

It's her. There’s not a sliver of doubt left in my mind.

Sand-colored hair falling down to her shoulders in soft waves, striking green eyes, both so from our dad. She’s almost a replica of aunt Molly in pictures from when she was my age. And, most important of all, the little scar just above her lip.

It's her. I don’t have a slither of doubt.

Fuck, I can't believe it. I want to cry and to cheer, but instead I take a deep breath and try not to fall apart.

“We have crime books over here, if you'll follow me.” She gives me a pleasant customer-service smile and guides me to the correct section. “Does she prefer murder mysteries or thrillers?”

“She's a huge documentary fan,” I mumble, staring at the back of her head. “You know, true cases, how they got solved.”

“Right.”

Her eyes glide over the books on the shelf, and I pretend to do the same, but I keep watching her from the corner of my eye. The way she crosses her arms under her chest and slightly frowns as she focuses. The grin tugging at her lips as she pulls one of the books off the shelf.

One hundred percent aunt Molly. Emotions clog my throat to a point I can't even talk anymore.

Fuck.

“So these are all fiction,” she explains with a frown. “However, I know just the book for her. A forensic specialist wrote it, outlining the most memorable cases of his career and all the science behind how he solved them.”

“That sounds right up her alley,” I press out and clear my throat.

“If you want to, I can put in an order for you and you can come collect in two or three days. Does that work for you?”

“Yes,” I say before my brain even made sense of the words.

“Great. Come with me and I'll set your order right up. Is there anything else you're looking for?”

You.

A voice inside my head screams, but I shake my head. “That would be it for today.” I can’t. The revelation is on the tip of my tongue but I swallow it.