Paper Hearts (18 page)

Get ahold of yourself. She didn’t do this to hurt you.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect a reporter in here.” Jacob forced himself to smile.

She shifted. “Oh? Are you hiding from the police or something?”

He looked at her, saw she was smiling, and told himself again to calm down. “Just surprised is all.” He forced a smile.

“Did you come in for coffee?”

He swallowed. He didn’t remember why he’d come in. “Uh . . . yes.”

She motioned for him to follow her. He sat at the corner of the counter, away from everyone else, and watched as the reporter
interviewed a couple of shoppers, all of whom were fascinated with the paper hearts.

The pain prickled inside his chest, stinging like an electrical jolt. He wanted to tear the hearts from the ceiling strand by strand. He wanted to stuff them in a box and bury it where no one would ever be able to parade them in front of him, reminding him of his mistakes, of all he’d lost.

Abigail brought him a hot mug of coffee. “Here you go.”

He hated how much he loved her coffee. Even the mugs were unique, like every detail had been perfectly planned.

She stood for a moment, and he knew he had only seconds left of her attention, but his mind had gone blank. He’d come here to apologize to her. For being a jerk. For allowing Kelly to be a jerk. For infringing on her life in such a public way.

But now, with the hearts dangling only a few feet away, he couldn’t find the words.

“Do you need anything else?” She had a timidity about her that he found refreshing. As if she never wanted to impose on him. As if she could.

He met her eyes, willing away the sadness that lingered at the back of his mind. Seeing the garlands he and Gwen had created brought back too many memories.

He shook his head.

A polite smile in return. She started to walk away but turned back. “Are you sure you’re all right? You have this sort of sad look on your face.”

Jacob inhaled. What was it about this woman that made him want to recount his entire life’s story to her? He never talked to anyone about what he and Junie had been through
 
—he certainly couldn’t start now.

He came to Loves Park so people would stop looking at him like that. And yet her look seemed to have something more than just pity inside it.

“What’s with the paper hearts?” He thumbed the top of his coffee mug.

She turned toward them, seemingly pleased with the attention they drew from him. “Oh, it’s the most incredible thing,” she said. She handed him a sheet of paper.

At the top, a photo of two of the hearts he’d written out himself. Underneath, a brief synopsis titled “The Story of the Paper Hearts.”

He skimmed the first paragraph.

Some traditions are worth carrying on, and the paper hearts is one of them
 
—a special way to profess love. The anonymous couple who began sending their strands of paper hearts to the Loves Park postmaster several years ago were onto something. They kept their love front and center all year long by writing out what they loved about each other, saving their words on paper hearts to be strung up on garlands as Valentine’s Day approached.

He resisted the urge to correct her on her facts. She’d managed to put most of it together, but the truth was, they’d waited until the night before Valentine’s Day to string up the hearts, each putting their hearts together on a string meant to be read the following morning. Gwen had hung her hearts on one side of the house and he hung his on the other. They took Valentine’s Day off no matter what, and they spent the day reading the hearts out loud to each other.

Gwen had been a hopeless romantic. He’d pretended to hate it sometimes, but the truth was, he’d liked watching for things he loved about her to document all year long. He liked it so much, he’d had a hard time breaking the habit.

It’s why he still kept blank hearts in the desk drawer.

He read on.

Here at The Book Nook, we’ve decided to continue this tradition through Valentine’s Day, and we invite you, our loyal friends, to join in the fun. We’ve provided blank paper hearts at the front counter. Write your message and place it in the box. We’ll string up your message in the store, joining your paper hearts with the originals and carrying on a tradition that’s bound to capture your heart.

And who knows? Maybe, in time, we’ll even reveal the identity of the couple who introduced us to the paper hearts in the first place.

Jacob’s mouth went dry. Were they going to launch a manhunt to find out where the hearts came from? The whole thing, including sending them to this town, had been Gwen’s idea.

“We should pass them along,” Gwen had said when he’d protested her idea to send the hearts away. Didn’t she want to keep them so they could go back and look over the things they wrote each year? But she’d been adamant. “We should send them out into the world so we can focus on the future, not dwell on the past.”

That had been her way. Always striving to look forward, yet mired in everything behind.

Still, he wanted her to be happy, so he obliged. And he helped her box up the hearts in her typical artistic way and send them off to Loves Park, which had seemed so far away at the time.

He’d never thought about people reading them. Gwen must’ve known they would, but Jacob assumed they’d be tossed aside.

As much as he’d often wished he could go back and read about better times, he’d had to admit the pain of reliving those moments might be enough to pull him under. Yet here they were on the wall
 
—moment after moment.

“Isn’t it a great idea?” Abigail said, her words practically bounc
ing. She met his eyes, then looked away. Probably didn’t like what she found there.

He couldn’t respond. How long would it be before they found out he was one half of the couple they were all so intrigued by?

Walking around town had been bad enough before, but now? If everyone discovered the tragic truth, he’d have to pack up and move all over again.

Jacob cleared his throat, embarrassed by how long it had been since she’d asked her question. He swallowed his hurt and shrugged, still not capable of words.

She narrowed her eyes, an amused look on her face. “You’re such a guy.”

Something about the way she said it, like an accusation, made him smile
 
—a real one
 
—in spite of his pain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s probably too romantic for someone like you.” She took out her rag and wiped the counter. “Most guys won’t get it.”

“That right?”

She raised a brow. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

Funny, he could say the same thing about her, though he suspected there was much more to Abigail Pressman than met the eye.

“Where’d the hearts come from, anyway?” He kept his tone casual, not wanting to let on that he was mortified and desperate to know how on earth she’d gotten ahold of his innermost thoughts.

She tucked the rag in the waistband of her apron. “You know about the Loves Park postmark and the Valentine Volunteers, right?”

He took a sip. “I think I heard something about them.”
Liar.

“We’re famous as a place to send wedding invitations and love letters.” She smiled. “It’s actually kind of annoying living in a town that’s famous for love, but it is what it is.” She ran a hand over her hair. Something about the way she did it kept him from looking
away. She was a walking contradiction. Quiet and shy some of the time, yet independent and direct at other times.

It added up to something strangely captivating.

“You didn’t really answer my question,” he said, allowing his amusement to play through. Maybe the best strategy at this point was to steer the search for the anonymous couple away from him. Be totally nonchalant.

She let out a slight laugh. “I’m one of the Volunteers who sorts through the letters. Well, sort of. I just started.”

“And any of these letters run the risk of being put on display?”

She caught his glance and held it mischievously. “Only the really good ones.”

He forced his eyes away from hers and took another drink. “How does one get to be a Volunteer?”

She shook her head. “Oh, that’s a story for another day.”

“Is it like a secret club?”

She grinned. “Something like that.”

He inhaled a quick breath, reassuring himself that neither she nor anyone else knew anything about his involvement with the paper hearts. He owed her an apology now more than ever.

“Abigail, I
 
—”

Before he could finish, the door opened and a raucous group of three familiar women entered. Their gasps and shrieks could’ve woken the dead.

Abigail turned toward the door with a smile.

“How about that?” Ursula stood in the doorway, clutching a bag that would’ve held the entire contents of his dresser. “You did it.”

“You wanted to know about the other Volunteers?” Abigail said. “There they are.”

She couldn’t be serious. These cackling women were responsible for sorting through the mail that came to the Loves Park postmaster?

Had they read all of the hearts too?

“Abigail, you just won’t believe it,” one of the ladies said, bustling her way over to the counter. Within seconds, the other two older women had joined her.

Each one of them paused at the sight of him sitting next to Abigail. The things they must be saying about him behind closed doors . . . He didn’t even want to know.

That Pembrooke woman scowled at him, then shot Abigail a what’s-he-doing-here? look. He resisted the urge to remind Ursula that he owned the place.

One of the other women stepped forward and smiled at him. She stuck her hand toward him. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Gigi Monroe, and these are my friends
 
—”

The short, plump woman shouldered her way in front of Gigi and grasped Jacob’s other hand with both of hers. “I’m Doris. You’re very handsome.” Doris looked at Abigail, whose cheeks turned three different shades of red. “
Very
handsome.”

He changed his mind. Maybe he
did
want to know what they’d been saying about him behind closed doors.

Jacob gazed into Abigail’s eyes until she looked away. He hated to admit it, but embarrassment looked cute on her.

“And I believe you’ve already met Ursula.” Gigi’s expression changed.

“Mrs. Pembrooke,” Jacob said. “Good to see you again.”

Ursula scowled. “Get on with this, Gigi.”

Gigi turned her attention back to Abigail. “We’ve just been to the post office, and guess what was waiting for us?”

She shrugged. “Chocolate?”

“This is serious, Abigail,” Doris said.

“We got a new package of paper hearts.” Gigi pulled out a manila envelope addressed to the postmaster. The thing had been torn open, and the ladies were clamoring to pull the hearts out, spreading them over the countertop. “You won’t believe what they say.”

“You read them without me?” Abigail picked one up. “‘Stared at Longs Peak for a while this morning, thought about that embarrassingly loud laugh of yours. I always loved that laugh.’”

Jacob’s fingers tightened around the mug. How did the women ever get their hands on these? He’d written that a couple weeks ago.

“Longs Peak?” Abigail looked at the other women. “So they are local.”

“I don’t know anyone this romantic, not even in Loves Park,” Doris said. “Must’ve visited recently. There are so many cabins for rent up in the mountains.”

He caught a glimpse of another one on the counter near his mug.
Thought I saw you at the grocery store today. Made me miss you.

His mind spun back to that day, one of his first in Loves Park. He and Junie were getting used to the new grocery store, picking up the makings of their first real dinner in their new home. He rounded the cereal aisle and nearly lost his breath. In front of him stood a woman who, from the back, looked just like Gwen. Same auburn hair. Same slight build. His heart sped up and Junie must’ve noticed because she asked if he was okay.

He’d ignored her, moving instead toward the woman at the end of the aisle. When he reached her, of course disappointment washed over him. It wasn’t Gwen. How could it be? She hadn’t simply walked out of their lives. He’d put her in the ground.

His head spun. These hearts
 
—they were the ones Kate promised to get rid of. The ones he never should’ve written. The ones that revealed that the great romance captivating this group of women had ended in tragedy.

What if they pointed to him somehow?

Anger bubbled at the back of his throat. How could Kate have been so careless? Now that he lived here, he couldn’t have all these people in his business. He still remembered when Junie came home from her first day back at school after Gwen’s death, before they’d moved here. Her head was suddenly full of confusion
about what had really happened to Mommy. She’d overheard the teachers talking, and she wanted answers to questions she was too young to ask. He wanted to protect her from all of that. He wanted her to believe the best about him
 
—about Gwen. But if she found out the truth before she was ready, how could she?

He had to protect their identity for Junie’s sake. His mind spun, trying to pinpoint anything that could tag him as the author of these hearts.

“Can I keep these?” Abigail said, gathering up the hearts with more care than he’d expected. It was as if the words on the hearts meant something to her. She studied a few as she stacked them. “This set doesn’t even have string.” She glanced at one of the ladies, a worried look on her face.

Jacob turned away. He’d never had a reason to put them up.

“And from what I can tell, these are all written by the same person.” Abigail flipped through a stack as she put them back in the envelope. “I hope nothing bad happened.”

“Oh, you worry too much, dear,” Gigi said. “I’m sure they’re living cute and cozy. Everyone has their rough patches. But after you read through the rest, report back if there’s anything we should know.” She and Doris walked away, leaving only Ursula, who had turned her attention to Jacob.