Paper Hearts (2 page)

Her heart raced as she stared at Wyatt and the stranger from the safety of her front window. While she couldn’t hear what the slimeballs were saying, she had the distinct impression from their pointing that they were now discussing
her
half of the building.

No way was she going to let this . . . this . . .
man
move into her building, steal her dreams, and force her out.

She drew in a deep breath. She didn’t even know North Face, and already she considered him a horrible person.

“What are you going to do?” Mallory asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to let them get away with this.”

She didn’t believe those words. Not yet. With a little bit of courage, perhaps she could find a way.

Sadly, last time she checked, courage wasn’t something she could find on the Internet, which meant somehow Abigail Pressman had to come by it naturally.

But some things just didn’t come naturally to her.

S
TANDING THERE,
watching the two men pointing and talking, Abigail realized she had a choice. She could remain inside and watch someone else buy her dream right out from under her, or she could do something about it. Fight for it. Maybe casually strike up a conversation and let North Face know about how the basement flooded in the spring. Or . . .
I know you’re interested, sir, but have you seen the lack of parking? The bad wiring and the old furnace?
Could she? Could she scare him away from her building, her dream? Her imagination, as it often did, betrayed her with an onslaught of what-ifs.

What if he had a plan for his own retail store? What if he was a vintage treasure hunter? What if he bought the whole building and forced her out? Her stomach turned at the thought.

No. Stop being ridiculous,
she told herself. The town would revolt. The Book Nook was the heart of Old Town Loves Park.

People told her so all the time.

After ten minutes of peering, pretend cleaning, lurking, sulking, and wondering what these two men could possibly have to discuss for so long, Abigail had nearly worked up the courage to head outside. She could feel Mallory and Aaron watching her as they took orders, made lattes, and answered questions in hushed tones about “why Abigail is still cleaning the same spot in the front of the store.”

So I’m close enough to keep an eye on Wyatt and the new guy, but far enough away that they can’t see me. That’s why. Duh.

Before she talked herself out of it, Abigail pushed herself toward the front door, nearly barreling into a customer as she did.

“Heavens, child, slow down,” Sharon Harmon said, catching her breath.

“So sorry. I just need to get outside.” And apparently knock down a few regular patrons along the way.

Sharon peered at her over the top of her glasses. “He’s awfully handsome. Like one of those television actors. Better claim him before someone else does.”

Abigail frowned. “Who?”

“The man buying your building.” She patted Abigail’s shoulder. “Girls your age can’t be too choosy, you know.”

Abigail let out a groan as she pushed the door open and found herself face-to-face with both Wyatt and the other man, who was, unfortunately, “awfully handsome.” For once couldn’t she get a break?

Abigail reminded herself that she was an adult, and while she’d always had a hard time talking to members of the opposite sex, she’d gotten increasingly better with age.

At least she hoped she had.

She certainly hadn’t gotten less nervous.

Especially around handsome men. Like him.

I’ll bet
he’s
not on a dating site for farmers.

This whole fifteen-second conversation with herself happened
in her mind
 
—but in reality she was just standing there, staring, without saying anything.

Wyatt and the other man awkwardly glanced at each other. “Ah . . . ahem. Abigail! We were just talking about you,” Wyatt said, towering over her. Where’d he find clothes big enough, anyway? Legs that long surely needed to be special ordered.

She bet the tag read,
Smarmy. Wash in cold with like personalities.

“Is that right? I thought you’d be talking
to
me, considering our deal.”

The man standing beside Wyatt shifted and stared at something across the street.
Nice profile. Good cheekbones.
Abigail chided herself for letting her thoughts get away from her.
He’s the enemy.

It was so hard having handsome enemies.

“We’re just talking here, Abs,” Wyatt said, all slickness.

“Been talking for an awfully long time.” She wished he were shorter. Eye contact would go a long way right about now. “And my name is Abigail.”

How many times had she corrected him? Did he shorten her name just to annoy her?

Wyatt chuckled. A legitimate chuckle encased in condescension. “Maybe we could talk later,
Abigail
.” Extra emphasis. Very effective.

“Now’s as good a time as any.” She looked at the handsome stranger, shorter than Wyatt but still taller than her. Probably some natural grocer or something equally as granola. Probably planning to open a hemp store or sell essential oils.

Abigail shook the meanness away. It wasn’t the stranger’s fault Wyatt Nelson was still a jerk. Besides, she liked essential oils.

In a flash, Abigail was sixteen again, standing on the front porch with a gawky, clumsy Wyatt Nelson. His clammy hands holding hers, the tension of his wanting to kiss her good night thick between them. That she’d ever allowed herself to date him
 
—for four full months, even!
 
—still embarrassed her.

Did he remember those moments with as much discomfort as she did? He’d known her in her most awkward phase, and it still humiliated her. Sometimes she still felt like that nerdy sixteen-year-old girl, consumed with all the things she wasn’t
 
—outgoing, pretty, popular.

Abigail forced the mocking thoughts aside. She’d grown into her looks. She had plenty of friends. She wasn’t a kid anymore.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should wait inside,” the man said.

Polite too. Great.

“Tell ya what, Jake,” Wyatt said. “Head on in to Abby’s store and take a look around for yourself. We’ll be there in just a minute.”

Abigail’s jaw tensed at Wyatt’s suggestion. Who did he think he was, sending the enemy in to scope out her base camp?

The man
 
—Jake
 
—started toward The Book Nook, then stopped. “It’s actually Jacob,” he said, a polite smile warming his face. He glanced at Abigail, and for a split second she thought she saw a twinkle in his hazel eyes. Before Wyatt could respond, the man
 
—Jacob
 
—vanished inside.

She supposed he thought they were buddies now since they’d both corrected Wyatt on his inability to call anyone by their proper names. Ha. He had another think coming if that’s what he believed. He’d have to do a lot more than flash those warm eyes her way to win her over.

Pretty good start, though.

“Why’d you have to do that, Abby?” Wyatt practically whined now, reminding her of the boy she’d grown up with, the teenager she’d dated, and the man she avoided in the supermarket.

She attempted to level her gaze, but glaring into Wyatt’s chest certainly didn’t have the effect she was going for.

“You promised me ten more days.”

“Then I talked to Harvey.”

Abigail frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“He’s your banker. I’m the Realtor. We talk.”

In place of an answer, she folded her arms over her chest. She couldn’t form a coherent thought for the panic that had just set in, and crossing her arms just might stop her heart from leaping through her rib cage.

Wyatt ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “They’re not giving you the loan. You can’t expand
 
—at least not right now.”

Abigail lost her breath and had to physically force her legs to stay underneath her to keep herself from falling. “Why would he tell you and not me?”

Wyatt shrugged.

“So, what? I’m getting a new landlord?” She attempted to swallow around the dryness in her throat.

Another shrug. “Sounds like this guy might need the entire space.” He reached out and put a clammy hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, Abs. I know it’s a blow to your ego, but could you please not ruin this for me? I need the sale.”

Her jaw went slack as she dipped out of his grasp.

Before she could respond, Wyatt’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. “Excuse me, Abs. I’ve got to take this.”

Tears burned her eyes.
My name is Abigail.

Oh, why bother? Wyatt had never been good at listening to anyone but himself. He answered the phone and stepped away from her, their conversation apparently over. She could fill in the blanks on the rest. He’d found out from Harvey
 
—probably during their weekly poker game
 
—that the bank wasn’t lending her the money, and then this Jacob person showed up, interested in the whole property.

Jacob must have the money.

There must be money in hemp.

Abigail sighed and pushed through the door of The Book Nook. Mallory stood behind the counter, taking Jacob’s order, that look of dread on her face.

How did Abigail tell her employees that instead of expanding,
they might be closing up shop? And if she lost The Book Nook, what on earth would she do with herself?

Sure, life as a single business owner might not have been her original plan, but she’d adjusted. She couldn’t imagine losing this place now. If she lost the store, everyone would know she’d failed. Not only failed at finding a husband and settling down, but at the one thing that had been going seemingly well for her.

The memory of her father’s quiet gaze entered her mind. All the hours they’d sat in that store talking about books. The one thing they had in common. Some days they’d sit and read together, neither one saying a word.

Funny how silence healed old wounds.

Abigail’s gaze narrowed as she watched Jacob move toward the other end of the counter. What had the rich intruder ordered? Whatever it was, she’d give it to him free if he’d just go away and leave her building alone.

Behind the counter again, Abigail avoided the man’s eyes, though she was hopelessly aware he was not avoiding hers. When Mallory capped the lid on his drink, Abigail swiped it from her and walked it to the end of the counter, intent on making her position known.

If only she could figure out what that position was before reaching him.

He watched her approach, stealing the few precious seconds she had to try to construct a good argument. When she set the drink down in front of him, he smiled. Not a toothy smile, just friendly upturned lips. Still, it was nice, and it crinkled his eyes at the corners. And it made her more nervous than she wanted to be.

“Thanks.”

She gave one stern nod, which made her feel like a librarian or her mother when she was trying to make a point.

“You’re Abigail?”

Another nod.

“I’m Jacob Willoughby.”

Willoughby. How appropriate. The backstabber of
Sense and Sensibility
.

“I heard.” She told herself not to be nice to the enemy, no matter how good his manners were, but it wasn’t in her nature to be mean. Still, her shop was at stake. Her livelihood. Her dreams.

“This is a nice place you’ve got here.” He took a drink. “And the coffee’s good.”

Abigail glanced at the side of the cup where Mallory had written
BC
 
—black coffee. “I think so.”

“Guess we might be neighbors.”

Her mouth went dry. What he meant was
Guess I might be your new landlord. I might kick you out and rob you of your life’s work. I might take your dreams, ball them up, and stomp all over them like a playground bully staking his claim.

Here’s some hemp to tie up your moving boxes.

She told herself to behave. “How well have you inspected the old mercantile?”

He met her gaze. “Well enough, I think.”

Abigail looked away. “Harriet used to complain about the old pipes all the time.”

“Is that right?” Another drink underneath raised eyebrows.

“And the toilets overflow almost weekly.”

“I’m pretty handy. I think I can take care of that.” Amusement skittered across his face. The man wasn’t buying any of it. How much had Wyatt told him about her?

“I don’t think you’d be a good fit here.”

Jacob’s eyes widened. “You just met me.”

“I can tell. I have a sixth sense about these things.” Abigail had no idea what she was talking about. She had no sense at all when it came to men, thus the wretched dating history. “Your store might do better out by the new mall on the other side of town.”

“Well, I do have another space to look at this morning, so we’ll
see.” He regarded her for a long moment. “At any rate, thanks for the hospitality.” He held his cup up as if to toast her. “And the coffee.”

“Of course.” Abigail watched as Jacob turned, surveyed the space with a bit too much interest, and walked out the front door to where Wyatt stood, still on the phone. Moments later the two men got into Wyatt’s Mercedes and drove away
 
—hopefully to find another space, far, far away from The Book Nook.