Paper Hearts (28 page)

Abigail tried not to let the nearness of him affect her, but she wasn’t having much success. She took a step back. “Nothing. It’s just . . .”

He said nothing, but he smiled gently as if to encourage her to continue.

“The handwriting. It’s really similar to the original hearts.”

Jacob leaned on the counter again, giving her the space she needed to see straight again. “And that’s bad?”

“Not bad, but if it’s the same handwriting, then the couple must live here. They could even be locals. I could’ve seen them every day for the last ten years and not even known it.”

“I suppose it would make sense for someone local to start a tradition like this, right? I mean, the town was founded because of some great love story.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, smiling. “You’re part of the Loves Park royal family.”

She stuffed the heart back in her pocket. “Forget I said anything.”

“Why do you want to know who it is?” he asked. “Wouldn’t that ruin it for you? You know this couple won’t live up to your expectations.”

She didn’t respond. Instead she wrestled with that idea for a long moment because she knew he was right. And when she was faced with reality, any shred of hope that had been restored would be dashed all over again.

Especially if it did turn out to be Rob and Dana. What a disappointment.

But what did she think would happen? Disappointment was inevitable.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he said.

“No, you’re right. Finding out the truth probably would be a letdown.” She forced a smile, thankful he’d brought her back to reality. She was not the head-in-the-clouds type, especially when it came to love and romance. Why start now?

“Hungry?” He pulled the foil-covered containers from the bag and smiled.

“I’m starving.”

“Good. Let’s eat.”

J
ACOB HAD NEARLY STOPPED
breathing when he saw the paper heart he’d written on Abigail’s counter, but he forced himself to play it cool. He couldn’t let on that the handwriting in question was his. The last thing he needed was for Abigail to find out he was one half of the unfortunate couple she’d taken such an interest in. Like she said, finding out the truth would be a huge disappointment. No one knew that better than he.

He’d tell her, but not yet. And not like that.

And he certainly couldn’t let on that he’d written this new heart . . . because he’d written it for her.

Why, he still didn’t know. What a careless thing to do. He was just grateful she hadn’t put all the clues together. Now he needed to find a way to direct her attention away from the paper hearts and onto something else.

Abigail gathered plates and silverware, and Jacob cracked open
the containers of pasta, meatballs, and French bread he’d picked up at one of the little hole-in-the-wall restaurants he’d been meaning to try. They filled their plates and he followed Abigail to the dining room.

Abigail bowed her head for a brief moment as if to offer silent thanks, then put a napkin in her lap. When she looked up, he realized he’d been staring at her, so he quickly looked away, searching his mind for something to talk about.

He came up empty.

“This is a great choice. How’d you know Joe’s is the best Italian in town?” she asked.

He shrugged. “The small, local places are always the best.”

She stopped midbite, and he realized his remark conjured thoughts of The Book Nook.

“I agree,” she said. “You should try to capture that in your clinic.”

“Good idea.” He took a bite. Wow. It was good.

“You’ve been working awfully hard to get this thing open as fast as you can.” She sipped her water.

He swallowed. “It’ll be good to return to work.”

“It seems like more than that.”

“How?”

“You’re very focused, I guess. It’s good you have Kelly. She can clear away all the distractions for you.”

He looked away. “I’m doing this for my daughter. It’s our best option.”

And that’s all he’d tell her. Nothing more. But when he looked up, he saw a question behind her eyes.

“So it’s your dream?”

He set his fork down. “I guess so, yeah. My dream is to take care of Junie. To give her a quiet, normal life.”

“She didn’t have that before?”

His throat felt dry and his face flushed.

“I guess that would explain a few things,” she went on. “Why it’s so important. Why you can’t seem to entertain any idea other than getting the practice open as quickly as possible.”

He silently completed the sentence for her.
No matter who you hurt in the process.

“Didn’t we have a truce?” he asked.

She held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not picking a fight, just making sense of it all.”

Seconds ticked by.

He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. “Out of curiosity, what would you have done if you were me?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure.”

He leaned back. “I have this kid. This awesome, funny, silly kid, and my choices have impacted her in ways I will always regret.”

Abigail stilled.

“Kelly convinced me to move here. To start over and make a new life for us. Me and Junie. That’s why I’m so focused.”

“I’m sorry for whatever you’ve been through,” Abigail said, her voice quiet.

He shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize. We’re fine. It’s just
 
—I never meant for anyone
 
—” he looked at her
 
—“to get caught in the cross fire.”

She folded her hands and put them in her lap, studying them as if she’d never seen them before. “It is too bad, isn’t it?”

When their eyes met, he nodded, watching her chew on the inside of her lip and fidget with her napkin. Each of her habits made him smile inwardly.

He could love this girl.

Oh.
The realization left him stunned.
I could love this girl.

“Maybe I’m just meant to do something new,” she said. “Even though that scares me to death.” She let out a nervous laugh.

He wouldn’t tell her so, but he could understand that fear.

An excitement washed over her face. “I can hardly sit still when
I think about expanding my store. It was going to be a place where everything I love would come together under one roof.”

“And that’s different from what you have now.”

She nodded. “Now I have coffee and books.”

“Both good things.”

“Right, and I love them. But what I’m really excited about is what I create with my own two hands. I’ve just never had the guts to do anything with it before.”

Jacob watched her for several seconds until finally she stood.

“I’ll show you. Follow me.”

He did as he was told, abandoning his meal and following her through the side door and into her garage. She flipped on the lights to reveal a space that looked more like a workshop than a garage. No way she could pull a car in here.

“These are the pieces I wanted to show you.” She walked over to an armoire. “I stripped and sanded it and then repainted it. I think it could look really nice here.” She pulled the sketch from her pocket and pointed to a spot against the wall in his hand-drawn office. “And that buffet from the flea market
 
—” she pointed to another part of the drawing
 
—“just needs some love. It really could be great for holding all that boring literature you always find in the doctor’s office.”

He laughed. “Dress up the boring stuff; is that what you’re saying?”

“If it helps.” She smiled.

He walked past the piece she’d just shown him and found a row of other projects in various stages of progress. “When do you have time to do this?”

“I’ve always done it. It helps me relax. I used to go to flea markets with my dad, when he ran the bookstore. He called it treasure hunting. He taught me to never take anything at face value
 
—sometimes things that look unappealing at first are really buried treasures. So now whenever I’m at a flea market, I feel like
somehow I’m finding the treasures everyone else has forgotten or thrown away. I’m giving these things another opportunity to be beautiful.”

“Buried treasures, huh?”

She shifted as though suddenly aware of his gaze. “Silly, right?”

“Not at all. I think you should do this. You’ve obviously got a lot of passion for it.”

She ran a hand over the armoire. “I do. I mean, you probably feel the same way about medicine.”

“I did once.” Not anymore. Not since the day Gwen died. Now throwing himself into work had less to do with passion and more to do with the need to forget.

He was stealing Abigail’s dream in an effort to cling to the only thing that might help him feel normal again. But all the searching in the world wouldn’t take away his guilt.

Abigail stood just out of his reach. She was beautiful. And broken, thanks to him. Or maybe she’d been broken for a while and he was only making it worse. She seemed resigned to the fact that her dreams wouldn’t come true, and yet he sensed she was developing this inexplicable peace about it.

The silence turned awkward, and she shifted. “I’ve sold quite a few pieces just from word of mouth. I guess that’s where I got the idea to expand the store in the first place. Obviously I didn’t think it all through. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s God’s way of saving me from my own mistakes.”

Her excitement seemed to dissipate like air from a tiny hole in a balloon.

Jacob looked away. “I am sorry, Abigail. Some days I wish I’d never bought the building in the first place.” Guilt, that familiar demon, wound its way further into his soul and squeezed.

“Doesn’t make any sense to dwell on it,” she said. “It’s done. Maybe something good can still come of it.”

“How do you do that?”

She looked caught. “Do what?”

“See the good in the worst possible situations?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I force myself to sound like that. It’s not really the way I feel.”

He let his eyes travel to her lips. They were full and soft. He wanted to kiss her. “How do you really feel?”

“Embarrassed. Like a failure.” She closed her eyes. “That store defines me. Who is Abigail Pressman without The Book Nook?” She opened her eyes again. Her question hung between them, begging to be answered, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know who she was without the store
 
—but he knew he wanted to find out.

“You’re not a failure,” he said. “Trust me. If I hadn’t come along, you’d still be living your life exactly the way you always were.”

She looked at him and gave a slight shrug. “Maybe that’s not such a good thing either.”

He searched her face, trying to remind himself of what he knew to be true: Abigail Pressman saw him as an obstacle to reaching her goals. Kelly’s warnings sounded in his head, but he took a step toward Abigail anyway. “Maybe not.”

She stood so close to him now. He inhaled the scent of her
 
—vanilla. He inched closer and slowly reached over to touch her face. As he did, his thumb just barely grazed her lips. He took her face in his hands and held it until finally she met his eyes, fully aware that she could smack him and order him to leave. He had no business touching her, but he couldn’t help himself.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be my enemy.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Abigail.”

She looked away. He didn’t want to have to convince her. He wanted her to respond without any coaxing, so he stayed silent
while the seconds ticked by. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she glanced at him,
that
look in her eyes at last.

He brushed her hair back and leaned toward her, first kissing one cheek, then the other cheek and her forehead, waiting for the moment when she finally turned her face up toward his and he drew her even closer and truly kissed her. He reminded himself to go slow, to be tender, when what he really wanted to do was lose himself and kiss her through all the pain and the fear and the doubt and the guilt that always, always got in the way.

He wanted to silence all the voices that told him what a mistake it was, so he pushed them aside and moved her toward the old counter at the back of the garage. She wrapped her hands around his neck as he lifted her up onto the counter, leveling their eyes.

She stared at him and her words rushed back. She was sorry for what he’d been through, but she really had no idea. He hadn’t allowed her to know, and for the first time in years, he wanted to share the pain of it with someone else.

As if she could make it all go away.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, cupping a hand behind her head, giving himself a second to catch his breath.

“That this is all wrong,” she said, eyes still intent on his.

His heart sank. It was, wasn’t it? Wrong to give in to his selfish desires when she had every right to hate him. Was he manipulating her? Did he have ulterior motives without even realizing it? Or did he simply love the way she smelled? Love the way her hair fell out of her loose ponytail? Love the way her lips tasted?

Couldn’t that be enough? Why did they have to make sense of it?

“I’m sorry, Abigail. I didn’t mean
 
—” He started to move away from her, to give her space and hold on to whatever ounce of dignity he might have left.

But she didn’t loosen her grip around his neck. Instead she
moved her hands down to his shoulders and brought him closer. “I don’t want to care about any of that right now.”

He looked at her. “Are you sure?”

As soon as she nodded, he kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her
 
—without inhibitions or reservations. And she kissed him back, clinging to him as if she’d just had the same revelation he had.

It didn’t matter if it made any sense. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was the two of them. He drew her in closer and deepened his kiss, inhaling every bit of her. The way she smelled, the way she moved, the way she tasted. He marked each detail in his mind, all the while hoping this wouldn’t be the last time he got to kiss her.