Dhalia’s POV
My eyes are glued to the door. In front of me are three small boxes, one for each of them. They are late, though. They promised to be back by four, and now it’s a quarter past. I’m trying to be patient, but it’s harder than I’d like to admit.
Two months ago, I opened my bookstore, and it’s been incredible. Twice a week, we host book clubs, and I’ve made it a point to bring one of the guys with me to each session. It’s hilarious watching their faces as we dive into the discussions. The women seem to enjoy it too—something about discussing steamy romance scenes with a bit of eye candy in the room.
The door finally creaks open, and I sit up straighter as they walk in.
“You’re late,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.
“By fifteen minutes, Angel. Cut us some slack.” Blake
