Paper Hearts (27 page)

But she knew better. She didn’t have a leg to stand on and she was well aware of it.

He extended a hand in her direction. “Truce?”

And even though it made no logical sense, she reached out, shook his hand, and hoped for the best, telling herself if he really wanted to get on her good side, there was only one way she’d let him do it
 
—if he promised not to close down her store.

“Y
OU’VE GOT A LOT OF NERVE
showing your face here.”

Jacob could’ve met Abigail out back in the parking lot, but in a rare moment of insanity, he decided to come in through the front door five minutes before she closed.

Now, standing face-to-face with the three older ladies, he regretted it. The picketers had left just after lunchtime, but he’d gotten more than his fair share of dirty looks since he’d walked in the door.

On the other hand, some locals had come over to shake his hand and thank him for saving the young girl on Friday night. The town, it seemed, was torn, and he imagined that didn’t sit well with anyone in Abigail’s camp.

What was he thinking? They’d called a truce. No more camps. She seemed to have finally accepted the fate of her store, and it shouldn’t take much longer for the rest of the town to follow suit.

“Ladies.” He moved past them to a seat at the counter but
quickly realized he’d given them the perfect opportunity to back him into a corner.

The paper hearts seemed to have multiplied. Abigail had certainly turned a simple tradition into something of an epidemic. If he hadn’t been the original author of the hearts, he might’ve actually found it charming.

He opened his newspaper and spotted Abigail over on the other side of the store, talking with a customer. She hadn’t seen him come in, and he would have enjoyed watching her for a minute if these three women weren’t glaring at him.

One of them walked to his other side while the remaining two parked themselves in chairs beside him. Ursula, unfortunately, was one of these two.

Not a single one of them said a word. Just stared at him.

“Can I help you ladies?” He closed his newspaper
 
—not that he was reading it anyway
 
—and returned their stares.

“This is all your fault. Kicking our girl out onto the street. She’s practically given up over there.” Doris wore a pout.

Jacob’s thoughts turned to the loud chants of the picketers he’d endured for the entire morning. They’d forgotten none of this was comfortable for him either.

“Doris, stop.” Sensible-looking Gigi put a hand on her friend’s arm. “The man has a right to renovate the space however he sees fit.” She huffed, then narrowed her eyes at Jacob. “But you know she won’t find anyplace that captures the spirit of The Book Nook in three months.”

“And she’ll never forgive you,” Doris said. “Especially not now, what with all the kissing and everything.”

Jacob started to respond but thought better of it. He clearly had no secrets in this town.

Doris and Gigi walked away, leaving Ursula sitting next to him, staring. “You’ve really gone and messed this one up, haven’t you?” she accused.

“Mrs. Pembrooke, please. I’m just trying to earn a living.”

She sucked in air. “Seems to me you’ve got plenty to live on, Doc.” She gave him a deadly stare, then got up and left.

What was she implying? Did she know about the lawsuit? About his past?

Jacob opened the newspaper again, trying to shove aside the unwanted worry that conversation had produced. Those women had spoken aloud the fears he’d been mulling over for days. Weeks, even. Ever since the day he bought the building. He knew he’d stomped on Abigail’s dreams like a child running through a pristine garden, trampling perfectly healthy flowers underfoot.

But they’d called a truce, and even if she’d done so out of some ulterior motive, it gave him a chance to at least try to make amends.

On the counter beside him, he spotted a stack of blank paper hearts and a jar of pens. He looked around to make sure the older women weren’t watching him. When he was sure he was in the clear, he slipped a couple of hearts off the stack and quickly scribbled on them, then stuffed them in the box. Someone would find them, read them, and hang them up later.

And as much as it terrified him, he hoped that someone was Abigail.

He caught her glance from across the room. She shifted and quickly averted her eyes, but he swore he saw a smile on her face before she did.

Doris was wrong. Abigail might be angry and she might blame him for crushing her business, but he had to believe she might actually forgive him. Someday.

If he played his cards right.

A few seconds and several dirty looks from the older women later, Abigail tucked her bar rag into her apron and made her way over to the counter where he sat. As she did, people around the bookstore took notice, making him feel like he was onstage. Were his hands shaking? And if they were
 
—and he wasn’t saying
they were
 
—was it because all eyes were on him or because of the woman walking toward him?

“I have to give you credit for coming in here,” she said when she reached the counter. “After the picketers and the chanting and the public outrage, I thought you’d meet me in the parking lot out back.”

A quick glance around the store told him she was correct. The ones who supported his heroism were nowhere to be found.

“It wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

A soft smile found its way to her lips. Today her hair was loose and wavy around her face. He wanted to run his hands through it. She always downplayed her looks, but right now something about her ivory skin seemed to glow. She was beautiful.

“I had some ideas to show you.” She pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her apron pocket and unfolded it. She set it on the counter and slid it toward him, keeping her hand on top of it, then looked in the direction of the table of older ladies, who were all staring at them.

She leaned in closer to him.

“Now who’s the brave one?” He watched her tuck her hair behind her ears, drawn in by the familiar gesture.

“Despite what you might think, I actually don’t like conflict,” she said. “Besides, what good is a truce if it doesn’t change anything?”

He regarded her for a few long seconds, surprised by her words, then turned his attention to the sketch underneath her fingers. “Are you going to let me see it?”

Shyness took over and she suddenly felt unable to show him what was on the page. “It’s a very rough sketch.”

He smiled. “I can’t wait.”

Slowly she removed her hands
 
—long, elegant fingers that he noticed were stained a bit with charcoal from the sketch. She wore a simple silver band on her right hand. Nothing on her left. He knew she wasn’t taken, yet the reminder still made him smile.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” She’d covered the sketch back up before he’d even had a chance to see it. Somehow her insecurity made her even more . . . adorable. It was the word Kate had used to describe her, and he was beginning to see why. It seemed to suit her perfectly. He quickly grabbed the paper and pulled it from under her grasp.

Before she could steal it back, he held it up so he had the best view possible.

“You drew this?” He couldn’t believe the image she’d sketched. His clinic, complete with the open wall that led to the space they currently sat in
 
—her space
 
—all outlined on the paper. The look she’d captured, full of thoughtful touches and vintage furniture, even made him want to pull up a chair and stay awhile.

She picked at the edges of her fingernails.

“You’re an artist.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s nothing.”

Jacob looked back at the sketch. He decided any more attention to her talent would make her uncomfortable. The more he got to know her, the more she seemed unlike anyone else he’d ever met, and something about that made her very appealing.

But regardless of what she said, the sketch he held in his hand was a work of art, especially considering that the subject matter was the place she’d once dreamed of owning herself. You’d never know it, looking at the precision of her drawing. She’d captured the light and the shadows of what had to be that perfect afternoon sun. Had it been difficult for her to set aside her own dreams to focus for a moment on his?

Her kindness shamed him. He certainly didn’t deserve it.

“Is this a logo?” He looked at the page more closely, squinting to see faint marks that read
Willoughby Medical
.

“Oh yeah. It was just an idea. I have an old sign we could repaint. It would be kind of cool.”

Her excitement buzzed in his direction, but he must’ve had a
concerned look on his face because her expression went blank and she said, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head as if that would bring him out of his daydream. “You said ‘we.’”

Color raced to her cheeks. “Sorry. I meant ‘you.’ Of course.”

“No, I like it.” He glanced back at the sketch. “With Kelly it’s always ‘I.’”

She stilled. Why did he bring up Kelly’s name?
Idiot!

“Well, you guys can do whatever you want with that. We should probably get going.” She scribbled something on a little notepad she pulled from her apron. “My address. Just in case I drive too fast for you.” She smiled, but something had changed as soon as he mentioned Kelly. What he wouldn’t give for a rewind button.

He folded the sketch and handed it back to her. “Have you eaten?”

She laughed. “Soup and toast on the couch when I get home, remember?”

“I’ll stop and pick up dinner. It’s the least I can do.”
Plus it’ll give me more time to convince you I’m not the villain you think I am. And more time to push the image of Kelly kissing me out of your mind.

She swallowed, her once-red cheeks now as white as Casper’s. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, standing before she had a chance to change her mind. “But I want to.”

As he walked away, he was well aware of the stares that followed him all the way to the door. But instead of being angry, he found himself wondering if Abigail was staring too.

“W
HAT WAS THAT?”
Ursula practically accosted Abigail the second the door closed behind Jacob.

“Oh, relax,” Abigail said. “I’m tired of hating him.”

The hearts must’ve made her soft. She hadn’t figured out exactly what had happened between her couple, but she was more certain than ever that it wasn’t good. The most recent hearts still sat in an envelope in her desk drawer. She couldn’t bear to put them up
 
—not when they were full of one-sided sadness and sorrow. How had such a beautiful love story ended so badly?

If she was smart, she would learn from the couple. Because if their seemingly ideal love story had ended in tragedy, what hope did the rest of them have? Still, something she’d read on one of these hearts gave her pause, made her think twice about hating anybody.

So many years I spent taking you for granted. Taking us for granted. Now that you’re gone, I realize I had my
priorities out of order. I should’ve put us first. I’m so sorry.

She’d read the words on the anonymous couple’s hearts every day since the last envelope had come to her. They’d convicted her. She’d spent so many years consumed with this store, with making something of herself in spite of her persistent singleness, that she’d been guilty of pushing people away.

Not that she needed to put a ton of effort into her relationship with her landlord, but she wanted to treat people differently. Worry less about her own difficulties and focus on what she could do to love others. She hated to admit it, but she needed to start with her own family. Sure, Teensy and Betsy both presented unique challenges, but they were family.

That had to mean something. Especially now. She’d done what she could to save the store
 
—more programs, more interest, the paper hearts. But the fact was, she didn’t own the building. And while the prospect of losing everything still made her heart hurt, it had turned her attention back to what was really important.

Maybe she’d had it all wrong. Maybe it really was time to stop trying to control everything and finally trust God with her future.

“That’s good, Abigail,” Gigi said, joining them at the counter. “Hate is never the answer.”

“No, but neither is rolling over. What happened to fight or die, Miss Pressman?” Ursula looked like she might swallow Abigail whole if she answered wrong.

Abigail began pulling today’s collection of hearts from the box on the counter, laying them out next to a long strand of ribbon. She’d get these hung and then go home.

Where Dr. Jacob Willoughby would meet her. With dinner.

“I’m not like you, Ursula. Maybe you were right. Maybe I’m not cut out for business.” Abigail smoothed the hearts. Just twenty or so.

Gigi and Doris gasped. “You told her that?”

“I never said that.” Ursula’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what I said.”

“Well, he called a truce. And I agreed. No more picketing or name-calling.”

Ursula slapped her hand down on the counter. “Are you really this hopeless? Of course he called a truce. Like I always said, how’s he going to open a business in a town that hates him? He gets you on his side and he’s golden.”

Gigi slowly shook her head. “I don’t know about this, Abigail.”

“It’s fine,” Abigail said. “If God wants me to keep The Book Nook, then he’ll make a way. Right?” As she said the words, she said a silent prayer, begging God to make a way.

Their collective jaws snapped shut and they all nodded in unison.

After all, who could argue with that?

Abigail quickly attached the hearts to the ribbon.

“All right, but this isn’t how I’d do it,” Ursula said, yanking her purse off the counter and stomping toward the door.

“It’s just fine, Abigail,” Gigi said. “You do what you need to do.”

Once they’d gone, Abigail glanced at the strand of ribbon she’d been working with when she realized one of the hearts was facedown. As she pulled it off and began to reattach it, she read the words:
You make me want to live again.

She did a double take and read the words again. The handwriting
 
—was that . . . ?

She hurried back to the office and tugged the envelope of hearts from her desk. She pulled out one of the hearts and set it next to the one in her hand.

Abigail compared the handwriting letter by letter. Some similarities. Some differences. Not a perfect match
 
—but was it possible?

What if the person who’d written the hearts in the first place had been in the store? She ran through a mental Rolodex of people who’d taken a particular interest in the hearts
 
—people she saw often but might’ve overlooked.

So many people were enamored with the paper hearts. It could be anybody. Her mind spun. This appeared to be the man’s handwriting, and if her couple had split, it would be someone recently divorced. She closed her eyes and remembered one lonely Loves Park native who’d been in the store nearly every single day since she’d first hung the hearts. Rob Dubois had even been quoted by the newspaper and had come out as one of her biggest supporters. In fact, it turned out he’d been the one to organize the picketers in the first place.

Rob’s wife, Dana, had left him just a few months ago, so it was certainly plausible. Were they the type of couple to carry on this kind of tradition? Did he hope that Dana would find out about this citywide obsession and come running back to him?

And if not, who had he written this heart for?
You make me want to live again.

Had Rob met someone else? Abigail’s mind spun back to the last conversation she’d had with him. He’d gone out of his way to find her after the picketers were set up.

“Thought we’d get down here and show you our support, Abigail,” he’d said. “We’re all pulling for you. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come down here and get my coffee from you every day.”

“Thanks, Rob,” she’d said. “I appreciate that. You really don’t need to organize picketers, though. I doubt it’ll change my landlord’s mind.”

Rob scoffed. “That guy doesn’t have a clue. We’ll make sure he knows how valuable you are to Loves Park.”

Abigail gasped, closing her fist around the heart.
Did Rob write this to me?

She shoved the heart in her pocket and shook the silly idea away. She was looking for connections where there weren’t any. Rob wasn’t the one who wrote the hearts, and he certainly hadn’t written a love note for
her
. How ludicrous.

Yet, as she drove home, her mind still reeled at the notion that she might’ve discovered the original author of the hearts.

Somehow, having a face to go with all the words would be disappointing. Rob and Dana weren’t the couple she’d imagined in her mind.

They had never been the picture of romance.

But then, that was the point, wasn’t it? Why look for something that doesn’t exist?

It wasn’t until she rounded the corner of her neighborhood and saw Jacob’s truck in her driveway that panic set in. She’d been so consumed with the hearts she’d failed to properly fret over the evening in front of her.

She parked alongside his truck, realizing she was twenty minutes late. Had he been waiting that whole time? From inside her car, she could see him on the porch swing at the front of her little bungalow, the house she wouldn’t be able to afford if she didn’t find another way to make money once he put her out on the street.

Stop thinking like that. He called a truce.

Ursula’s words rushed back at her as she turned off the engine and glanced at her house, where Jacob now stood at the top of the stairs, a bag of takeout in one hand.

What was she thinking, having dinner with this man?

He lifted his free hand and waved, kindness in his smile.

“Here goes nothing,” Abigail said, her mind spinning. She got out of the car and walked toward the house. “Sorry I’m late. I got sidetracked.”

He waved her off. “No problem. I hope you like Italian.”

“It sure beats soup.” Abigail unlocked her front door and walked inside, throwing her keys onto the front table in the entryway.

“You’ve got a really nice house,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“Thanks. I like it.” She loved the wide-planked wood floors and the thick crown molding
 
—it reminded her a lot of her store, in fact. She loved the charm, the character, the built-in shelves in the living room and the stone fireplace. She loved the painted-white cabinets in the kitchen and the screened-in porch off the back of the house.

They walked into the kitchen, and as she set her purse down, she turned to find Jacob admiring the built-in bench in the breakfast nook. “It’s really beautiful.”

“I’ve done a lot of work in the house over the years. When I moved in, it was pretty rough.”

He met her eyes. “You really do like this sort of work.”

She shrugged. “I love it, actually.” Thoughts turned to the displays she’d already assembled in her mind for what was now Jacob’s half of the building
 
—displays that would’ve been a perfect complement to The Book Nook half but still completely unique. People would drive for hours to pick through her store. Part of her was more excited about that idea than about anything in The Book Nook.

But she’d never admit that. Not out loud. And especially not to Jacob.

“Do you want something to drink?” She opened the refrigerator.

“Water’s fine,” he said, leaning against the counter on the other side of the freestanding island in the kitchen. She handed him a bottle and grabbed one for herself.

“Should we eat first, or would you rather look at the furniture?”

Jacob took a long drink. “Are we in a hurry?”

She must’ve given him a puzzled look. After all, his question puzzled her.

“You seem like you might need a minute to decompress.”

Did she? She drew in a deep breath. Maybe she did.

“Kate’s with Junie, so I’m not in a hurry. I mean, I won’t overstay my welcome, but don’t rush around on my account. You just walked in the door.”

What would it be like to always have someone here to remind her to go easy on herself? Something about the idea nicked a hidden wound she’d buried a long time ago, and an inexplicable lump formed in her throat.

She turned aside and began digging in her purse. For what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew she didn’t want Jacob to be able to read anything in her expression at that moment.

Abigail took the opportunity to remind herself of a few facts. She didn’t need anyone else to watch out for her. She would take care of herself. She knew how relationships ended
 
—there was no point pining away for a man.

“I’m fine,” she said before she faced him. “I’ve got that sketch here somewhere.” She fumbled with her purse again before remembering she’d stuffed it in her pocket. When she pulled it out, the heart with the suspicious handwriting came out too. Both landed on the island in front of her, in plain sight.

Jacob’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” she said, covering the heart with her hand.

“Bringing your work home with you?” He smiled, his tone light.

The whole town was obsessed with these hearts, but no one as much as her. She knew how ridiculous that made her seem, especially since she’d sworn off love a long time ago. “It’s stupid.”

He took another drink. “Why? I thought you loved the way the hearts brought people together.”

She looked at him. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not. I promise. Just trying to get to know you better.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, and after several seconds, she set the heart back on the island. “I found this in the box today.”

Jacob picked it up and read it out loud. “‘You make me want
to live again.’” He looked up, a question on his face. “Sounds kind of desperate.”

She snatched the heart back. “Never mind. Let’s go look at the furniture.” Abigail started for the door, but he moved in front of it, blocking her way.

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less of a guy about this. What’s so special about this heart?”