When the Q&A session ends, I direct the audience to form a line. Maya manages the book sales with practiced efficiency while I hover near Emma, ready to assist with anything she might need. The system works perfectly, but my mind keeps dividing its attention between my professional duties and the man waiting patiently at the edges of the crowd.
Emma murmurs as she signs a book, low enough for only me to hear, "He hasn't taken his eyes off you all night."
I blink, startled. "I'm sorry?"
"Brian." She smiles knowingly. "I've known him for years, and I've never seen him look at anyone like that."
Heat creeps up my neck. "We've met briefly," I say, which feels like describing a blizzard as a light dusting.
Emma raises an eyebrow but remains silent as she greets the next reader.
Eventually, the crowd starts to thin. Most of the Stag family has congregated near the refreshment table, their easy laughter carrying across the shop. Brian has migrated closer, now engaged in conversation with Thatcher and Gunnar, but even as he speaks, his gaze continuously seeks mine.
"Is Brian feeling alright?" I overhear Emerson asking as I refill the water pitcher. "He hasn't called anyone a schmuck all night or shouted once."
"Maybe he's evolving," Lucy suggests in a dry tone.
"Or having that stroke he's always threatening," Gunnar adds.
I can't help the small smile that forms as I realize that these people truly care about him. They may tease, but there's genuine affection underlying their words. Brian Klein isn't just their agent—he's family.
As the last customers get their books signed, Thatcher glances at his watch. "Emma, we should head out. You have that radio interview early tomorrow."
Emma nods, gathering her things. "Thank you for hosting, Noa. It was absolutely perfect."
"The pleasure was mine," I reply honestly.
Thatcher looks around at the remaining family members and stragglers, making an executive decision with the confidence of a man used to being obeyed. "Alright, everyone out. Let's give Ms. Bishop her shop back."
"But we were going to—" Gunnar begins.
"Nope." Thatcher cuts him off. "Go home."
The Stags move with surprising efficiency when directed, gathering their coats and saying their goodbyes. Within minutes, they've funneled through the door, leaving only Brian behind, who makes no move to follow them.
The bell chimes one final time as Maya waves goodnight, pulling the door closed behind her. Suddenly, we're alone in the shop; the silence is almost deafening after hours of crowd noise.
Brian stands in the center of the room, hands in his pockets, his chest visibly rising and falling. "That was quite an event. You're good at what you do."
"Thank you." I busy myself folding chairs, heart hammers in my chest. "I wouldn't have expected to see you back in Pittsburgh so soon."
"I moved up my trip." He takes a step closer. "I needed to be here."
I look up, abandoning any pretense of tidying. "For a meeting?"
"That's part of it." Another step. "Did you light the candles today?"
The question catches me off guard. "Not yet. I was planning to after closing up."
"I didn't light mine either," he admits. "Hotel rooms don't feel right for it."
Time seems suspended between us. The air is heavy with unspoken words. Taking a breath, I ask the question that might change everything.
"Would you like to come upstairs? Help me with the flames?"
His eyes darken, and in three quick strides, he's by my side. One hand slides to my waist while the other cups my face, his thumb gently tracing my cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you, Noa," he says, voice rough. "Not for a single minute."
