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He takes it and opens it, and when he sees what’s inside, he cracks the slightest smile. “Oatmeal butterscotch?”
“O.L. oatmeal butterscotch.” I can feel my cheeks heat at the admission.
He meets my eyes. “O.L.?”
I shrug. “They always were your favorite.” I desperately look around for something—anything—to help me change the subject. I’m dangerously close to another bold confession.
Thankfully, Owen just nods and says, “You didn’t have to do that.” He picks up a cookie and takes a bite. “But I’m glad you did.”
“It was really nice of you to make sure I was okay,” I say. “And I did eat the soup after you left. And I kept it down. It was good, so thank you.”
He nods as he chews and swallows. “Good.”
“So. . .” I wave the picture in front of him. “The photo proofs are out.”
He stops chewing.
“I didn’t really get a good look,” he says.
“Neither did I. Want to look at it together?”
I move to stand beside him and hold it up.
There’s a chance my fingers are going to ignite.
Somehow, a photographer named after fancy chocolate turned a simple photoshoot in a bookstore into something magical. Like something out of a fairytale. She must’ve put some sort of special effect on it because she’d transformed the aisle of books into a moody, romantic destination, and there, at the center of the image, are me and Owen.
Or, more specifically, me in Owen’s arms.
My one arm is draped around his neck, and the other is down, dancer-like, holding a book.
I’m looking down, artistic and dreamy, and he is looking at me.
Not just casually looking either, he’s looking. Like he’s the big bad wolf and I’m Little Red Riding Hood.
I thought I’d imagined the sparks between us that day, but unless Owen is a very good actor, they were real. Very real.
And I want to recreate it.
Over and over again.
How am I ever going to shelve books in that aisle again? Thrilling romance, indeed.
He clears his throat. “Uh. . .wow.”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
He pauses, then asks, “Do you like it?”
My eyes flick to his, and I see something hopeful there. “I do.”
“Me too.”
“We look, uh. . .”
“Yeah, we look. . .”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
