Page 7 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

“Sure.”

No, she thought, but she still had customers in the shop, so she wasn’t going to kick him out. But she wanted to. She glanced toward the tea shop, but Poppy was out of town and Liberty was on her dais reading cards, so Sera had to handle Toady Sitwell on her own.

“I’msure that’s not exactly a yes,” he said dryly.

“Then you’re smarter than you seemed earlier,” she said. Then, not liking how snarky she was being, she took a deep breath. But that was how she felt right now. She didn’t want to make nice with this man. How could he be related to Ford?

“I guess I deserve that.”

“You do,” she said.

“I just want to ask some questions,” he said.

She raised both eyebrows at him. “Yeah, right. I received your letter, so I’m not falling for that.”

“Yeah, about that... I should have waited until I met you before firing off that letter,” he said. “I was pissed, so I know it wasn’t very...”

“Nice?”

He just shrugged. It was apparent he wasn’t backing down from his position, so why the half-assed apology?

“Sorry, Conte, I don’t know you. Grandpa was ninety. The first time he mentioned you was about two weeks ago.”

Though a part of her knew that Ford and his son and grandsons weren’t particularly close and that it shouldn’t bother her, it still did. She remembered Ford’s face last week when they’d been talking, the way his blue eyes had crinkled when he’d laughed at her reaction to reading a Victorian Sampler she’d found on his bookshelf. The old, printed selection of erotic short stories had been bound and printed in 1885. She’d pointed out that it had been a little shocking to realize the people in the old-timey photos had been horny, which had amused him.

And making Ford laugh had made her smile. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. Until she’d received the letter, she hadn’t known. “How did he die?”

“Hamish, his—”

“I know who Hamish is. I guess Ford didn’t show up for the daily chess game. What was the cause of death?” Sera had learned early on to stand up for herself. She might be the best friend in the story of her life, but she wasn’t a friend who people walked over.

Wesley leaned against the counter and sighed, and for the first time, she saw some genuine emotion on the man’s face. He seemed sad that his grandfather was gone, which didn’t fit with what Ford had told her. Maybe this grandson at least had some regret for the long years of estrangement.

“Grandpa had a stroke while he was sleeping. Hamish went to check on him and found him in his bed.”

He’d probably died in his sleep; that was how he’d wanted to go. He’d told her more than once that he knew he was on borrowed time and that he’d done everything he had wanted to. Sera had felt that perhaps Ford was still hanging on so she could meet him but hadn’t felt brave enough to tell him. Now she wished she had.

“I’m glad it happened that way,” Sera said.

“Me too,” Wesley said.

“He spoke of you,” Sera said, offering an olive branch. Ford had a lot of regret for the way he’d treated his son and grandsons after they’d been returned to the family. It had been an eye-opener for her on the dynamics of family relationships that she’d never experienced.

“Did he?”

She simply nodded.

“I mean, I think you’re Wesley, right?”

“Everyone calls me Wes,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Serafina Conte,” she said.

She took his hand and goose bumps spread up her arm and warmth spread down her body. His mouth curved into a welcoming smile, and for a minute she was captured by his blue gaze and couldn’t think. Then she pulled her hand back as she heard the two teenagers giggle.

She wiped her hand on the side of her jeans, but she could still feel his palm against hers.

“You seem almost normal now,” she said, not at all like the dude who’d asked her if she had been hooking up with his grandfather or who’d sent the very cold letter from Sitwell & Associates.

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