Page 37 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

“I still can’t believe you hired him,” Liberty said.

“I need the help and he wants to know more about his grandfather. This is a win-win.”

“Win-win? Since when do you use terms like that?” Poppy asked.

“Since I’m not sure how else to describe it,” Sera said, getting up to open the back door.

Wes stood there in his wool coat with the collar turned up and he handed her a bakery bag as he stepped inside. “Brought croissants. I think you said they’re your favorites.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced past her and noticed her partners sitting on the couch. “Sorry, didn’t think to bring some for everyone. I will next time.”

She had no doubt he would. Wes was making an effort, and as much as she was leery of trusting him, a part of her realized it was down to her. It wasn’t all on his end. Trust always started with herself and she’d never really been good at it. Her therapist put it down to being abandoned as a child.

But Sera suspected it was more than that. She hated to get her hopes up about a person and be disappointed. It was easier to treat everyone as a stranger until they barreled their way into her life the way Liberty and Poppy had.

And in a quieter way, Ford had.

It was really only his death that made her realize how much she cared for him. Cared about him.

“Morning,” Wes called as he took off his coat and put it on the peg near the door.

“Morning,” Poppy said. “I like scones, for future reference, and Liberty likes anything supersweet with a sugary glaze on it.”

“Noted,” Wes said.

Wes went to the electric kettle she kept on the counter and turned it on. Poppy just smiled as she got up and waved goodbye. Liberty gave Sera a look and shook her head, mouthing the wordsbe carefulbefore she left.

Be careful.

Her entire life had been careful. She hadn’t really taken the time to acknowledge that before, but standing in her back room, she knew it was true. She’d been careful and it had paid off, but she hadn’t been careful with Wes.

She wasn’t entirely sure if that was a mistake or not. A part of her liked the butterflies in her stomach, that feeling of not knowing what was coming next. Maybe she couldn’t be impulsive with anything or anyone else. But with Wes it felt like the only way for her to be.

She ate her croissant with him and he mentioned a book of poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay. She told him she’d always wanted to read them but hadn’t found a hard copy that spoke to her. Ford had declared it shouldn’t be read on her e-reader. If she wasn’t going to use the e-reader, then she wanted to feel the weight of the book.

Talking to him felt natural and easy, like neither of them was trying. She did her best to ignore that he remembered little details about her. Things that few people had ever remembered about her.

Then she went out to start her day. She told herself she was happy because she had someone to replenish her stock of journals, but another secret part of her knew she was happy because Wes was in her shop with her. Working and smiling at her. She tried not to read into how much she was looking forward to seeing him. She knew they had six weeks together. So she wanted to be present for every one of the days and make the most of them.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she felt for him and didn’t really want to linger on defining it, if it was just a transfer of affection she’d held for Ford or something new and different.

But the butterflies in her stomach and the excitement in her step as she headed into work were telling her it was the latter.

Oz showed up at lunchtime as Sera was telling a group of customers she’d reached her allotment of journals for the day. She smiled at his brother and then looked over at Wes, seeming to realize they were related. He and his twin weren’t identical but they looked like brothers.

“Oscar?” she asked.

“Serafina?” he countered.

Wes rushed to her side, not sure why his brother had come to the store. Also not really sure what Sera would say since Wes had sent that nasty letter to her on letterhead from his dad and Oz’s firm. She might be out for blood.

“What’s up?” he asked his brother.

“Just wanted to see the famous Serafina Conte.”

“Oz...”

---