Page 15 of The Candlemaker

“Of course.” I jerked my chin in a nod and beelined for my desk, tapping furiously on the iPad stationed there to ring him up. “Anything else I can get you?”

I did not get embarrassed,I had to remind myself as I replayed the question I’d just asked over again in my mind, confirming with perfect clarity the huskiness in my voice.

“That’s it.” His tone was hard.

“Great.” I tapped on the screen, hoping I selected the right option before I flipped it toward him to pay. “Well, I hope you enjoy your date—dinnerwith Lou tonight.”

“Thank you.” He tapped his card to pay and then shoved it back into his pocket.

“Do you want me to wrap?—”

“No. It’s fine.” He tucked it under his arm and stepped back.

“Okay, well, thank you.” I clung to my smile like it was a life raft in the middle of a sea of awkwardness. “Enjoy dinner with my sister.”

While I spend the rest of the night fantasizing about how you smelled my wrist.

“I will,” he said, and his tight smile didn’t reach his eyes.

I shouldn’t have watched his ass as he left, but at this point, what the hell? No surprise that it looked just as good as the rest of him.

“Dammit, Gigi,” I muttered, cursing my grandmother and her stupid premonitions.

Chandler.She’d written that name—word—on a label five years ago, and I’d proudly shown it off as proof that my new business was meant to be.

A chandler was a candlemaker, after all.

By chance, I caught sight of the receipt still hanging out of the machine.Crap.I ripped it off and rushed toward the door.

I could give it to him another time—or give it to Lou. But I didn’t want either of those things. I just wanted to see him again for another minute—wanted to feel that heat again for just a few more seconds.

But he was gone. My shoulders slumped as I scanned up and down the street, no sign of Chandler in either direction.

I couldn’t say what drove me—couldn’t pinpoint what invisible force it was that brought my gaze down to the paper in my hand. Maybe it was fate. She certainly seemed to be enjoying the tangled trap she’d set for me.

But tangled wasn’t enough.Apparently, she wanted that trap to be torturous.

My heartbeat slowed—slogged against my chest like it pumped through quicksand as my focus narrowed to the bottom of the receipt. To the bold, sharp strokes of his signature along the dotted line.

And then lower.

To the printed name of the card owner below that line.

Chandler Collins.

Jamie’s voice echoed distantly in my mind. “He’s in town, Frankie.”

Mr. Collins.

My inhale felt like a hot blade burying itself in the center of my chest.

Chandler was the owner of the inn. He was the man who was trying to sell it to people who didn’t care about its history and didn’t want anything to do with my sister’s offer.

He was the cold-hearted capitalist trying to destroy Lou’s dream.

And I was the one who’d blindly pushed her into the lion’s den.

I had to fix this.

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