I run my thumb over the edge of the paper. My heart is full and aching in the best way. “I just wanted to give people a place to feel seen.”
He nods.
“You’re doing that.”
Then he nudges the box with his foot.
“Now let’s find the one with the emotionally unavailable protagonist. I want to see if he’s as broody as advertised.”
I laugh, and the sound echoes softly through the shop. “You mean, you want to see if he’s competition?”
Ford smirks.
“Please. I’d win on forearms alone.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling.
He shrugs unapologetically.
I glance at his arms and let my voice drop just enough to make him look twice.
“You know, if you keep showing off those forearms, I’m going to start thinking you’re trying to seduce me.”
Ford’s smirk deepens. “And if I am?”
I step closer with the box still in my hands and tilt my head. “Then you’re doing a terrible job. I’m still fully clothed.”
He laughs, low and warm, and leans in to press a quick kiss into my hair.
“Give it time.”
We head for the door together, shoulder to shoulder. His arm brushes mine like a promise.
Outside, the sky’s darker now, low and heavy, like it’s been holding its breath all evening. The first drop hits my cheek like a warning. Then comes the downpour—sudden, heavy, and relentless. Within seconds, we’re soaked. The van driver shouts something about needing to leave, waving his arms like he’s trying to swat the rain away.
My heart kicks up. I grab a box of paperbacks and sprint, trying to shield it with my arms.
“They’re going to get ruined,” I mutter, half-panicked. “We should’ve covered them. Why didn’t we cover them?”
I burst back into the shop, depositing the box just inside the doorway with water dripping from my arms.
I turn to run back, and freeze.
Ford is standing in a puddle with rain streaming down his face and his shirt plastered to his chest. He looks like he belongs to the storm. Water splashes up around him, and he grins, wild and soaked and completely unbothered. Then, without a word, he kicks the puddle.
“Ford,” I gasp, half laughing, half horrified.
He doesn’t smile, but his eyes glint with something wicked. He steps towards me, guiding me near the shop, and directly under the leaky gutter. A stream of cold water pours onto my head. I shriek, sputtering.
“You absolute menace!”
He shrugs, completely unfazed.
“You were spiralling.”
I blink at him, stunned. Then I laugh. A real laugh.
The rain keeps falling, soaking us both, and suddenly the rush doesn’t matter. The books will survive. The van driver can wait. This moment—this ridiculous, soggy, perfect moment—is mine.
