Paper Hearts (16 page)

“Don’t be discouraged, dear,” Gigi said. “Just give us some time. We won’t stop until we come up with something brilliant.”

She pushed the box of paper hearts across the table and smiled at Abigail. “Now, you run along and catch yourself up on the paper hearts. Report back next week if you find anything of concern.”

Abigail did as she was told with the appropriate amount of indifference, knowing she should feel more dejected that they hadn’t figured out her business problem and likely never would. She
should
feel that way, but she didn’t because the only thing she could think about was getting home, where she could read the rest of the paper hearts in peace.

S
EVEN YEARS’ WORTH OF PAPER HEARTS
meant that Abigail had a lot of love notes to read. Instead of devouring them in one sitting as she’d originally intended, she decided to bring them to work with her and find pockets of time during the day to hide herself in the office and do her civic duty.

That’s what she was telling herself anyway. The others had given her a job, and what kind of volunteer would she be if she didn’t see it through?

Mostly, though, she was itching with curiosity, dying to know why the first seven strands of paper hearts came all neatly tied to ribbons in beautifully decorated boxes, while the others
 
—the ones she’d read already
 
—were stuffed in a plain manila envelope and tied together with plain white string.

An hour or so into the morning, she stole away to her office,
where she closed the door and took out the first strand of hearts. Gigi had begun numbering them after the second year’s set came. Each strand appeared to be composed of several ribbons tied together, end to end.

The very first one came with a letter. She almost didn’t want to open it. Somehow, this all felt so personal, so private, but if it gave her a clue as to what these people were like
 
—these people who had the kind of love most couples only dreamed of
 
—she’d do it.

Plus, she was far too nosy to ignore it. And she’d already seen the letter from the most recent set of hearts. She hung one of the strands around her neck to get it out of the way and started reading.

Dear Cupid,

Some couples don’t make a big thing of Valentine’s Day, but we always have. Even when we were dating, it was a holiday worth celebrating, so after we got married, it became an even bigger deal.

I’m not sure when it began, but one of us got the idea to spend the whole year, from Valentine’s Day to Valentine’s Day, looking for things we love about each other. Instead of forgetting to say them out loud, we wrote them down on paper hearts. The night before Valentine’s Day, he strung his and I strung mine, and we woke up to a house filled with love. It’s a little bit cheesy, but more than once throughout the year it kept us from fighting. We’d be angry about something and then he’d stop and say, “Wait, I need to go write something down.”

It kept us focused on what matters, I guess. And we’re planning to make a tradition of it.

You’d think we’d want to hold on to our hearts, but the truth is, we’d rather send them out into the world. Maybe someone
 
—maybe you
 
—will be moved to do something like
this for another person. Maybe it’ll make you realize that love does exist, if you’re lucky enough to find it. We were . . . so we wanted to share it.

I hope it inspires you.

A couple in love

Abigail stared at the letter for a few seconds.
“Maybe it’ll make you realize that love does exist.”
Why was she so drawn to the words on these hearts? She carefully returned the letter to the envelope. Though many of these sentiments had shown up in the first letter she’d read, somehow they’d started to penetrate her consciousness.

And she wasn’t sure she liked that.

A crash in the store drew her attention away from the hearts. She really should stop making a habit of hiding out in her office.

Abigail rushed into the store. “What’s going on?” She scanned the room and saw Aaron near the back row of bookshelves, cleaning up what appeared to be a dropped tray of mugs, at least two of which had shattered.

“He’s cute, but he’s clumsy,” Mallory said.

Abigail sighed. “Those are coming out of his paycheck.”

“What are you wearing?” Mallory stared at her.

Abigail followed her eyes downward. She’d completely forgotten the strand of hearts draped around her neck. “Oh, just a project I’m working on.” She took it off and set it on the counter, grabbed a broom and dustpan from the storage closet, then rushed over to help Aaron recover from the crash. She knew a little something about dropping trays and breaking dishes.

“Sorry, boss,” he said.

“It’s fine, Aaron.”

“I can pay for them.”

She held the dustpan as he swept up the shards of ceramic. “Don’t worry. It was an accident.”

Softy.

“I can throw this away,” she said as he completed the sweeping. “You take the unbroken ones to the kitchen and get back to work.”

“You sure?” Aaron stood.

She nodded and watched as he walked away, leaving her with a dustpan full of mug pieces. She loved those mugs
 
—at The Book Nook, no two were the same.

After a quick stop at the storage closet, Abigail returned to the front of the store, where a small group had assembled around the counter.

Oh no. The hearts.
She’d left the hearts on the counter.

Abigail’s heart sank. She should’ve been more careful
 
—those hearts deserved to be protected.

“Mallory?” Abigail pushed through the small crowd, which seemed to keep multiplying. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Abigail, is this your new idea?” Mallory asked. “I love it. It’s just perfect.”

“Here, look at this one.” A middle-aged local named Mary held up one of the hearts. “‘In that red dress, you could stop a man’s heart.’”

One long, drawn-out sigh wound around the edges of the little gaggle at the counter.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Abigail said, trying to figure out how to get the women to release the hearts without using excessive force. “These are
 
—”

“Such a great idea, Abigail. Just what this town needs.” Smith Jenkins would know. She was one of the town’s oldest residents.

“No, these aren’t an idea. They’re
 
—”

“Genius,” Blythe Roberts cut in. “Do you need some help putting them up? I can’t wait to add my own. I’ll send Michael down here on a little scavenger hunt.” She moved her eyebrows up and down. “Do you have any blank hearts? I’ll try to keep it G-rated.”

Abigail stuttered as she searched for a reply.

“I think we left them in the back,” Mallory said. “We’ll go get them.”

As Mallory pulled Abigail away from the squealing horde, she heard one of the ladies read another heart. “‘Never thought anyone could love me so well. Thank you for being my rock.’”

That would’ve been from the wife. She said things like that. He said things about the way she looked or the way she laughed. Sometimes he wrote about the way he felt, but not as often as she did. Abigail liked them already. He adored his wife, and she let him love her.

She imagined that would be difficult, to let someone really love you. To admit you needed to be loved. Especially after you’d already been hurt. The idea caught in her throat and stayed there, heavy and unmoving.

God, I don’t want to think about that. I’m fine being alone. Please help me stop these ridiculous thoughts.

She glanced back at the group of ladies. Watching them pore over the hearts set something loose in Abigail’s belly. Those hearts were private. They weren’t meant to be shared with the town.

Or maybe she just didn’t want them shared. Maybe a part of her wanted to keep them all to herself.

“This is perfect.” Mallory shut the door and scrounged through the copy paper in the office, finding some that had a distinct pink tint to it. “This will do for now, and at lunch I’ll run and get more.”

“Why?” Abigail shook her head. “Those weren’t supposed to be out there
 
—I told you, they’re a project I’m working on.”

“Did you write them?”

She scoffed. “Are you kidding? I hate that stuff.”

“Then what difference does it make? Those ladies love that stuff. It’s just what you need. You said you wanted to put The Book Nook on the map, didn’t you?”

Abigail frowned. “I guess.”

Mallory pushed open the door just enough so Abigail could see the now-large crowd gathered around the paper hearts. It was like they’d formed an assembly line around the counter as they moved around it, reading the hearts as they went.

“They’re eating this up,” Mallory said, closing the door. “They want in on it, Abigail. It’s like all your prayers have been answered.”

Abigail paced, rubbing her hand over her forehead in a way that was meant to make her think. It wasn’t working.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mallory folded the papers and started cutting.

“Those hearts are private. They’re someone’s private thoughts.”

Mallory stared at Abigail, accusation on her face. “Then how’d you get them?”

Abigail sighed. “That doesn’t matter. I’ve been authorized to see them.”

“You’ve been authorized?” Mallory shook her head. “Do you want to save your store or not?” She held up the blank hearts she’d cut.

Abigail pushed through the door with every intention of taking the strand of hearts from the others, breaking up the crowd, and telling them this had all been a big misunderstanding.

But when she emerged from the office, the chatter was infectious, the energy unlike anything she’d ever seen in The Book Nook before.

“What a darling idea.” One of the old ladies held up the end of the strand so the woman next to her could read it. The other woman nodded and made that aw-how-sweet face, then showed the first woman another heart.

Abigail wondered which secrets were being shared. All those precious moments between two people in love
 
—out on public display.

“Can I have two blank hearts to hang up here?” A younger woman stood in front of her with a hopeful expression. “I’m
thinking of leaving a message as a secret admirer. Do you think that’s a dumb idea?”

The woman was mousy and a bit on the heavy side. Plain face, but kind eyes. Kind eyes full of hope.

Abigail shook her head. “Not dumb at all.” But she couldn’t imagine how an anonymous message hung in a bookstore could be the way to win a man’s affections.

The woman smiled, hugging herself inside her winter parka. “There’s someone at work. Maybe he’ll see it, and he’ll
 
—” she met Abigail’s eyes
 
—“he’ll think of me?” There was a question in her voice, the kind that searched for approval. Abigail smiled, reaching toward Mallory for a couple of blank hearts.

“Here,” she said, handing the hearts to the woman. “It’s worth a shot.”

The woman smiled as if she’d just decided for the first time in her life to take a risk.

Abigail turned, amazed at the scene playing out in front of her. The women were oohing and aahing over the hearts. The story had pulled them in the same way it had her, and while she still had misgivings, it was too late now. They were texting and calling friends to come down to the store and write their own hearts. Everyone who entered the store gravitated toward the crowd, all wanting to know what the fuss was about.

And Abigail was helpless to stop it.

And why should she? Keeping the hearts to herself was no longer an option, so she might as well hang them up. She couldn’t deny they brought joy to everyone who read them. Besides, hadn’t the letter said this couple wanted their love to be shared? Maybe in a way this was honoring their relationship, not exploiting it.

“Oh, Abigail, all this time everyone thought your heart was cold, like a big block of ice,” Smith said, a new affection on her face. “It’s so good to know your family’s legacy isn’t completely lost on you.”

Abigail begged her eyes not to roll.

“We’d just about given up on you, dear,” Blythe said. “There’s been talk that you’re going the way of old Matthias Linden.”

Abigail frowned. Matthias Linden was the crabbiest, meanest man in Loves Park
 
—maybe even in all of Colorado. Why on earth would anyone compare her to him?

Blythe’s eyes sparkled. “But maybe there’s hope for you after all!”

She left before Abigail could ask about the Matthias Linden reference, one that she forced out of her mind for fear of dwelling on it and becoming legitimately upset. Her thoughts turned to the other strands of hearts
 
—the many, many hearts she hadn’t even read yet. She’d keep those to herself. At least until after she’d had a chance to look them over first.