Page 56 of The Candlemaker

I didn’t particularly like keeping things from my older brother, but he had this habit of still looking at me and Lou like we were seven instead of twenty-seven. A time when it was easy to convince us that boys had cooties.

Of course, there wasn’t anything he could do about my decision…except blow up at Chandler and completely destroy any chance I had at salvaging Lou’s offer.

“Here,” I said, a little flushed and breathless when I returned to the front.

I caught Chandler’s stare narrow curiously before his head dropped, distracted by the vibration of his phone.

His brow creased. “Excuse me.” He spoke but didn’t look up before stalking to the front of the store, his phone pressed to his ear.

My chest tightened. The call was important. Very important. For being who he was, I hadn’t seen him take a single call in the last two days. It had to be Mr. Fairfax. What could be more important…and what other reason would he not want me to hear?

“So, we’ll see you for dinner then, Francesca?” Gigi asked, the expression on her face indicating that my attention had been stuck on Chandler’s retreat for a meaningful amount of time.

I exhaled. “I don’t know. I have work?—”

“Work isn’t more important than family,” she chided.

“I know?—”

“Do you?” Her cloud of orange hair tipped to one side. “I don’t think you’ve learned this lesson quite yet.”

There was no point in arguing with her.

“I’ll see?—”

“Chandler is coming.”

I choked on air. On nothing but the invisible boulder of fear that slammed into the front of my chest.

“You invited…”

“Well, of course, I did.”

I groaned and covered my face. “No, Gigi. He’s not coming to dinner. You don’t know who he is?—”

“He’s Chandler.”

My groan multiplied. “No, Gigi, you don’t understand. He’s?—”

“The man who owns the inn.”

My eyes bulged. “How…”

She cackled. “Who do you think I am, dear? Who do you think your mother gets her detective skills from?”

The color drained from my face. “Does Mom?—”

“No, your mother doesn’t know.” She patted my arm again like that was supposed to comfort me. “Your sister told me.”

My nostrils flared. “Lou?—”

“Thought she was helping you by explaining why he couldn’t bethatChandler.”

Of course, she did.

“So then why are you inviting him to dinner?” I asked, my voice coming out in a hiss.

Her wide grin somehow spread wider. “Because this is exactly whothatChandler would be.”

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