Savannah turned to face him, her grin so wide it made his chest ache. She didn’t even reply before she practically skipped through the door.
Inside, the scent of ink and parchment wrapped around her like a second skin.
The store was small, but in the way that made it feel intimate, the kind of place that held secrets in its pages. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, bending slightly under the weight of forgotten stories. A dusty chandelier hung in the center, its light dim, casting a warm glow over the wooden floorboards. There was no order to the books—no genre labels, no alphabetized system, just stacks and stacks of stories waiting to be found.
Savannah’s fingers brushed over the spines, whispering their titles under her breath, her lips parting slightly as she soaked in the sheer magic of the place.
Chase? He hadn’t so much as glanced at a book. He just stood there, leaning against a nearby shelf, watching her. The way her fingers skimmed the edges of pages like they were something fragile, something worth treasuring. The way her eyes softened when she found a well-worn paperback, its spine cracked from a hundred lifetimes of love.
She turned toward him, eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place. “You know, the guest room on the first floor would make a great study,” she said, her voice filled with quiet excitement. “The natural light from the bay windows overlooking the sound, the warm oak shelves already built in—I can picture it—rows and rows of books, a little nook under the window to sit and read. God, that would be perfect.”
Chase chuckled, shaking his head. “A library? In my house? I don’t even read.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right book yet.”
Something about the way she stood there—bathed in the soft glow of dim bookstore lighting, a novel cradled to her chest like something sacred—stirred something in him. He had never seen her like this. So at home. So completely in her element.
“You look like you belong here,” he murmured, the words slipping out quieter than he intended. Savannah stilled, fingers resting on the spine of a novel before she turned to face him fully.
A slow smile spread across her lips, warm and knowing. “Books are my love language.”
Something in Chase’s chest tightened. He stepped forward, closing the space between them, his fingers reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
His touch lingered.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “Good to know,” he said softly.
Savannah swallowed, her pulse hammering in her throat.
She had never had someone memorize her like this.
They stayed in that bookstore for over an hour. Savannah got lost in forgotten paperbacks, poetry collections, and hardcovers with yellowed pages while Chase wandered, picking up the occasional book just to watch her light up when she recognized the title.
At one point, she handed him a leather-bound novel with no cover image, just the title scrawled across the front.
“What’s this?” he asked, flipping through the pages.
“One of my favorites,” she admitted, watching him closely.
Chase smirked. “Are you testing me, Monroe?”
She tilted her head. “Maybe.”
He chuckled, slipping the book under his arm. “Then I guess I should buy it.”
Savannah blinked, surprised. “You’re actually gonna read it?”
Chase shrugged, that easy smirk still on his lips. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”
Her heart skipped. There was something in the way he said it, something that made her forget, just for a moment, that she was leaving soon.
That this—whatever this was—had an expiration date.
Savannah looked at him, this man who had never belonged to anyone.
And suddenly?
She wanted him to belong to her.
