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“Did it work?” Grayson asked, enraptured.

“The fact that you’re sitting here means it did, right?” Charles laughed. “I kept asking her out, until eventually she said yes. She got promoted a little while after that, and I switched divisions, so the rivalry ended, and a new relationship began.”

Charles shared more stories with them about his first date with Sophie and how they came to open the bookstore. But Lucy was only half listening. She had heard these stories before, had told them all to Bia, even. Instead, she focused on Grayson, watching his reactions.

She thought about the feel of his mouth on hers, the way he had kissed her slow and sweet. Him asking her out. How she had failed in her answer.

She wondered if he would ever ask her out again.

But he had rejected her when she’d attempted to reset the moment. It was an important thing to remember; otherwise, she would do something catastrophic like fall in love with him. It didn’t matter that it had likely been a misunderstanding, because he was leaving. She had to remember that, too.

While she was no longer trying to force him to go sooner, he would still leave in three months; that was always his plan.

“How did Grayson’s parents meet?” Lucy asked Charles. She had a feeling Grayson wanted to hear about it but was too scared to ask.

She had probably heard much more about Claire than Grayson ever had, seeing as he was only six when he moved away.

Charles laughed, eyes warming. “Well, Edmund came to America to study and met Claire in school. A real simple story, it was basically love at first sight. Anyone who saw them saw it clear as day, they were that type of couple. You know, the type that’d get up and dance anywhere: at restaurants, on the street, out in the rain.”

Lucy’s heart felt soft as she listened. She hoped to be that in love one day. Her gaze went to Grayson, who was listening intently, hanging on every word Charles said, blue eyes wide and focused.

“He was always trying to make her laugh, which wasn’t a difficult feat, but a joy to see nonetheless,” Charles continued, smiling, even as his eyes grew misty. “Claire was always giggling like a little girl.”

“So it was happily-ever-after from the get-go?” Lucy asked, though she already knew it wasn’t. Grayson inched closer, listening.

“Ah, no. Sorry to say it, Gray, but I didn’t like your father at first,” Charles said with a laugh. “He was a bit pompous and stuck up—I’d met a lot of his type on Wall Street, rich assholes from abroad, and well, you know how your uncle is.”

Grayson let out a little laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“They’re a very well-off, important sort of family,” Charles said to Lucy. “I was afraid Claire would move away from me. But Ed loved her so much he ended up moving here, which basically secured him in my affections from that day on.”

Lucy looked over at Grayson, this time wondering if he would ever consider staying. She shook her head, scolding herself for the ridiculous thought.

Of course not. She was being silly.

“How did your parents meet?” Grayson asked, turning to Lucy.

“They met at school, and … that was that,” she said. Her response felt so weak compared to the stories Charles had told them about him and Sophie, Edmund and Claire, but there wasn’t much else to share about Andrew and Iffat. Or if there was, she didn’t know about it.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat.

Lucy got up and went to the counter to put her plate down and make herself a cup of tea. When it was finished, she held the heartdecorated mug in her hands, feeling the heat seep into her fingers.

Grayson came over and began making himself a cup of tea, too. As it brewed, he stood next to her, shoulder brushing hers.

“Thanks for asking Charles about my parents,” he said.

She turned to him. “Of course. I’ve heard about them loads, and I know Charles likes talking about them. They always sound so wonderful.” She sighed. “I wish I could have met them.”

His eyes went soft. “I wish you could have, too…”

He trailed off, releasing a long breath. His eyes focused again. “You didn’t say much about your parents—did they not have a dramatic love story like my grandparents or my parents?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said, shrugging. “We don’t talk much.”

He furrowed his brows but said nothing. Lucy took a deep breath.

“You asked me once if I love them, and the truth is, I don’t think I do,” she said, voice breaking. “I do like them, I suppose. They’re decent people, and I respect them, and I’m grateful to them, but I don’t love them the way I love other things: wholeheartedly, entirely, fully.”