Paper Hearts (3 page)

“He sure was handsome,” Mallory said, her sigh reminiscent of a 1940s cartoon character. Abigail resisted the urge to see if she’d popped her foot up too.

But Mallory was right. He
was
handsome, unfairly so. She found herself thinking about the color of his hair. Brownish, like a mocha with extra cream. What would that color be called?

“Abigail?”

She glanced at her manager. “Handsome or not, that man is not our friend. And if he thinks he can just waltz into town and steal this building from me, he’s about to get a shock.”

“So it’s a staged protest, then?”

Abigail pulled her phone out of her pocket, not in the mood for snark. “No. I’m going to start by investigating everything Wyatt Nelson told me. He must be wrong. There has to be a way for me to get that loan.”

When the receptionist at the bank answered, Abigail took a deep breath, almost afraid to find out the truth. But she had to know where she stood if she had any chance of winning this fight. “Hey, Marilyn, it’s Abigail. I need to talk to Harvey.”

“D
ON’T LET
A
BIGAIL
P
RESSMAN SPOOK YOU,”
Wyatt said, making the turn onto Dover Parkway. “She’s a spinster in the making, clinging to the only thing she has.”

A glance at Wyatt’s left hand told Jacob the Realtor was as unattached as Abigail. He supposed being a single man was somehow different from being a single woman.

At least for men like Wyatt Nelson.

Jacob wouldn’t have used the word
spinster
to describe the woman he’d just met. She seemed passionate and maybe a little bit spunky with her wavy, dark hair that was only slightly out of control.

Cute. He’d say she was cute. Guilt nipped at the heels of his mind. It was perfectly fine for him to think of Abigail as cute, but it still felt like a betrayal.

So sorry, Gwen.

“She had this crazy idea that she could expand that place. It’s a bookstore, for pete’s sake. Nobody buys books in a bookstore anymore.” Wyatt’s voice dripped with superiority. He had everything figured out.

Jacob finished off the last of his coffee. “Maybe she’s looking to diversify her business to make up for that.”

Wyatt shrugged. “All I’m saying is, owning that building would be a good move for you. It’d take some renovation, obviously, and if you wanted to grow, you could always choose not to renew Abigail’s lease. Or you could probably just kick her out.”

Jacob would rather drill screws into his fingertips than ride around in a confined space with a sketchy salesman like Wyatt Nelson. But as new in town as Jacob was, he needed the advice of a Realtor.

The new outdoor mall on Dover Parkway was beautiful, and a space here on the outskirts of town might be a better fit for his plans, though Jacob had done his research on this space the same way he had with Wyatt Nelson. Word on the street was, the contractors had changed halfway through the Dover Parkway Mall project, which sat just off the interstate fifteen miles between Loves Park and the next closest town. When the new contractor took over, he didn’t hold to the same high standards as the first one, which meant the back half of the mall was shoddily constructed.

Would Wyatt tell him any of that?

They parked in a space in front of an empty storefront right next to a hair salon
 
—one of those high-end kinds that overcharged and tried to dip your hands in wax while you waited.

Gwen had raved about those wax treatments. Said they relaxed her as soon as she pulled her hands out. For a brief moment he saw her face in his mind’s eye; then he shook the thought
 
—and the pain
 
—away. He couldn’t let himself walk down memory lane. Not here.

Inside, the building was standard. Wyatt brought him to an
open space just like every other one in the mall. Nothing special. Nothing interesting. It smelled of new construction: part sawdust, part fresh paint, part no character.

“Think of it as a blank canvas,” Wyatt said, shoes clicking on the tile. “Great location, really. Your practice might do better out here, if I’m honest. Downtown is all quaint shops and antiques. Old ladies and tourists. Locals might respond better if you set up shop away from Old Town.”

Wyatt’s opinions changed with each location, selling whatever space they were in at the time. Jacob knew he was on his own with this one. He’d never required someone else’s opinion to make up his mind.

He walked the perimeter, checked the bathrooms and the storage space. Music from the salon next door blasted through the paper-thin walls, practically making his decision for him.

When Kelly, Gwen’s old college roommate, called him with this crazy idea, he’d almost hung up on her. But something inside told him to hear her out. He knew he needed a change, so he figured it’d be stupid not to accept Kelly’s offer to help with the business side of setting up a new medical practice in a new town. Sure, he hadn’t talked to Kelly in years
 
—she’d always been more Gwen’s friend than his
 
—but people came out of the woodwork after the settlement became public.

Everyone wanted something from him. Unfortunately Kelly caught him in a weak moment
 
—one of those that had him wishing for a fresh start, away from everything that reminded him of all he’d lost. Besides, he couldn’t go back to that hospital.

Too many whispers. Too many ghosts.

Before he knew what he’d done, he’d sold his house in Denver, packed a U-Haul, and moved to Loves Park.

He told himself he’d do things differently this time. His practice. His terms. And if he could help it, he’d never step foot in a hospital again.

His thoughts floated back to Abigail Pressman. Abby. No,
Abigail
. He wouldn’t make Wyatt’s mistake.

How would she take the news if he settled on the Old Town location? According to Wyatt, she’d wanted to buy the building for years, but when her landlady was finally ready to retire and sell, she found herself low on funds. Bookstores weren’t viable businesses these days, it seemed, even though her Book Nook seemed to offer more than just a good read. The local gourmet coffee was a nice touch. Still, he could see why she’d want to expand to make the store even more attractive. He wondered what her plans were for the old mercantile.

They probably didn’t include a medical practice or a new landlord, but Jacob had already been looking for weeks, and he didn’t want to waste any more time. The sooner he could get the practice open, the better. His mind played tricks on him when it wasn’t occupied.

If Kelly had her way, the new practice would consume an entire city block. Jacob would make it clear to her that he didn’t want a big business, but that didn’t mean the mercantile space on its own would be large enough. The Book Nook and the old store combined were about the perfect size for what he had in mind. But . . . could he somehow make it work without taking over Abigail’s space?

He’d figure it out later. He’d have to. He reminded himself that he couldn’t make life decisions based on the personal woes of a girl he’d just met anyway.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. A number he didn’t recognize lit the screen.

“This is Jacob.”

“Dr. Willoughby,” a woman’s voice said. “This is Loves Park Elementary. It’s your daughter.”

“Is she okay?”

“Stomach bug. You need to come get her.”

“Can I talk to her quick?”

A rustle, then Junie’s small voice. “Daddy?”

“Hey, sweetie. Your tummy hurts?”

He could tell that she was holding back tears. “Yeah.” A slight pause. “Can you come get me?”

“Don’t like the nurse, huh?”

“She smells like ham,”
Junie whispered. He pictured his little girl glancing around to make sure no one had heard her.

Man, he loved her sense of humor. Like her mom, that one. His daughter hadn’t been sick since Gwen
 
—how would he handle a sick child on his own?

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call, telling himself that he’d be fine. He took care of sick people for a living.

Again, not so persuasive.

As he and Wyatt drove back toward the real estate office, where Jacob had left his truck, Wyatt rambled on about the various properties they’d seen that day and the day before, seeming to recite a mental checklist of pros and cons.

Jacob tuned him out.

On their way through Old Town, Jacob paid more attention to his surroundings than he had on the way out to the new mall. Oversize hearts decorated the old-fashioned streetlamps all along the main road. He’d barely noticed them before. The hearts were all red with messages hand-painted in white.

Love you forever, Beth Ann. Love, Rick

Marry me, Samantha. Love, Scott

Jerry loves Geri. True love always.

Jacob was familiar with the legend of Loves Park
 
—how its founders had an epic love story and the result was a town that
celebrated romance. He knew all about the town’s traditions. Knew that people
 
—people like Gwen
 
—got caught up in the wistfulness of sending envelopes to this town just to have them stamped with a heart and the Loves Park postmark.

He’d even let his wife talk him into a vacation to the little town. Because of her, he had enjoyed it, despite the fact that the whole thing bordered on ridiculous.

Truth was, he’d have done anything for Gwen. Even buy one of those hand-painted lamppost decorations. Even send his own anniversary card through the Loves Park postmaster for that stamp that said he’d gone the extra romantic mile.

But until he actually moved here, Jacob hadn’t understood the magnitude of the town’s romantic obsession. He never realized it was a yearlong affair.

Perhaps he should’ve done a bit more research on his new hometown.

He’d already had three older women ask if he was open to dating their daughter/niece/granddaughter
 
—and that was just this past weekend.

He started to ask but then thought better of getting Wyatt’s take. Even though Jacob hadn’t been in this town for long, he knew he didn’t want its seemingly quaint traditions to become another slick sales gimmick.

He also didn’t want to give Wyatt any more reasons to speak. Not that the man was asking permission.

Once they reached his parked truck, Jacob said a quick good-bye and drove toward the grade school. Junie had been anxious on the phone, hadn’t she? Too anxious. It made him nervous and, honestly, a bit angry. He hated how helpless he felt. Dads should be fixers, Dr. Dads doubly so, but so far, nothing about Junie’s life had gone the way it was supposed to, and he couldn’t do a thing to change it.

The receptionist buzzed him in and led him back to the nurse’s
office, more a closet than a room. Inside, Junie lay in a fetal position on a makeshift cot with a small pillow under her head. Sweat glistened on her forehead and cheeks.

“She’s got a fever and she’s thrown up twice,” said the nurse, whose name Jacob realized he didn’t know. “I’m sorry to call you down here.”

Jacob shook his head. “Don’t be. I’ll take her home now.”

“I’m glad she’s in such capable hands,” the woman said with a smile. “You get better now, Junie. We want to see you back here as soon as possible.”

Jacob leaned down, right in Junie’s face, and whispered,
“Ham,”
with a wink. Junie stifled a sickly laugh as he scooped her up into his so-called capable hands and left the office, wondering why caring for his own child suddenly felt so foreign to him.

“I want Mommy,” Junie whispered as he tucked her into the backseat of the truck.

Me too, baby girl,
Jacob thought.
Me too.

T
HE
V
ALENTINE
V
OLUNTEERS
 
—
or the Loves Park Meat Market Matchmaking Guild, as Abigail called them
 
—arrived at their usual time and took up the entire back corner of The Book Nook. Normally, Abigail would be thrilled to see them come in with their stacks of envelopes to stamp with the Loves Park seal because they always ordered drinks and sandwiches and ran up quite a bill, but today the whole thing overwhelmed her. After spending the entire day haggling with Harvey, Abigail didn’t think she could stomach it.

Especially since nothing about her meeting with the banker had gone in her favor. “The business plan isn’t quite there yet, Abigail,” Harvey had told her. “The numbers are too risky for us at this time. Let’s see what Wyatt can do to find you a new landlord and hope for the best.”

Abigail’s face heated at the memory of the conversation.

Gigi Monroe approached the counter and spotted Abigail before she could take cover.

“Abigail!” Gigi exclaimed at top volume. All the better to embarrass Abigail. The woman banged her hand on the counter. “Well, it’s decided!”

Abigail didn’t even want to know, and yet she heard the words “What’s decided?” come out of her own mouth.

Gigi’s eyes narrowed underneath penciled-on brows, her lips drawn into a tight, knowing smile
 
—a smile that seemed to accuse Abigail of knowing what the woman was talking about.

After a long pause, Abigail realized Gigi had no intention of answering her question.

“Do you want your usual?”

“Don’t change the subject, missy,” Gigi said, pointing a perfectly manicured nail.

“There’s a subject?”

“There’s a subject, all right. A
good
one. You must’ve been waiting for the results.”

Abigail’s heart dropped, her mind spinning back to the farmers’ dating website. “What are you talking about?”

“The Valentine Volunteers.”

Abigail tossed a glance in the direction of the other women in the corner
 
—five total, including Gigi, ranging in age from twenty-seven to eighty-one. These women sorted through the 160,000-plus pieces of mail that came through Loves Park every year, stamping them with the seal of the Sweetheart City.

Everyone in town knew, however, that their real mission involved targeting the single (read: lonely) members of the community and finding them suitable companions. Surely they hadn’t set their sights on Abigail. Surely she was far too busy for their wacky antics. Surely not today.

The way this day had gone so far, though?

Thankfully, only the truly desperate received the attention of
the Valentine Volunteers. And Abigail was hardly desperate. She was an independent woman. She’d grown quite accustomed to the single life. On the outside, in fact, one might think she preferred it that way.

Right?

Gigi seemed to mistake Abigail’s horrified silence for anticipation, and a grin crept across the old woman’s face. “We voted just yesterday.”

“On what?”

By now the others had perked up, unsuccessfully pretending not to be listening.

“Our newest addition, of course.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize it was like a club.” She of all people should’ve known how they worked. After all, with the exception of Abigail’s own mother, the Pressman women had a long history of being a part of the Volunteers. Teensy herself would probably be running the group by now if her pride hadn’t gotten in the way.

Gigi chuckled. “Not a club, Abigail, an honor. And we want you.”

“Me?” It was worse than she thought. They weren’t just targeting her
 
—they were bringing her into the fold. That must mean they saw her case as being especially difficult.

Newlywed Tess Jenkins rushed over. “You’re a well-connected, well-liked local business owner.” Tess, a good three years younger than Abigail, had been the Volunteers’ target two years prior and had joined the group only weeks after her engagement. Because she was indebted to these women for her happiness. Or something.

Abigail couldn’t help but notice the diamond sparkling on Tess’s left hand. Her whirlwind wedding had been the talk of the town. To celebrate, Abigail stayed home watching YouTube videos on how to knit a scarf.

She dubbed it her “Ben & Jerry’s day.” And she never did finish the scarf.

A girl was allowed a moment of weakness now and then, right? And there was no way the Valentine Volunteers
 
—or anyone else
 
—could have found out about that lapse.

Abigail shook off the memories and focused on filling a carafe of coffee. “Right, I’m a business owner, which is why I don’t have time to volunteer for stamping envelopes.”

Gigi scoffed. “Is that all you think we do?”

Abigail frowned. “Isn’t it?”

“You should know better, Miss Pressman. All that time you spent underneath my dining room table when your grandmother was one of us. Didn’t she teach you anything?” The old woman scrunched her forehead in a disapproving scowl, wagged her finger, and took a few steps to inspect the pastry display, leaving Abigail face-to-face with the newly minted Mrs. Jenkins.

Abigail hadn’t forgotten those hours underneath Gigi’s table, listening to the women conspire about one person or another. Her grandmother had promised it wasn’t meddling, that they simply had a knack for mending broken hearts.

That’s what she’d said, anyway.

From Abigail’s perspective, those women worked hard to pump everyone in town
 
—herself included
 
—full of unrealistic ideas about love and romance, starting with retelling her great-great-grandparents’ love story at every Sweetheart Festival.

John and Elsie Pressman, the founders of Loves Park, adventurers who defied all the odds to leave their homes and colonize a town in the middle of nowhere. No friends. No family. Only their love to see them through. A love so deep and so meaningful they’d devoted themselves to it wholly
 
—so much so that they named the town in its honor.

Abigail had believed the stories too but quickly learned the hard way that what those women were peddling wasn’t real.

Love
 
—the kind she read about in books
 
—didn’t seem to exist. She’d lived long enough and had her heart broken enough times
to doubt, and now Abigail wondered if there was any sense in hoping for it anymore.

She glanced up and found Gigi in front of her again, staring at her, and she dug down deep to locate her focus and resolve once more.

No thank you, Gigi Monroe. You can peddle that sack of love-filled lies somewhere else.

“This is quite an honor, Abigail. These women haven’t added a member for two years. I was the last addition.” Tess’s eyes were wide like a child’s.

“I do appreciate the offer, Tess, but I have a lot going on right now.” Abigail’s thoughts spun back to her conversation with Harvey. No loan. Not enough equity. No collateral. No chance of expanding. Sadness lingered at her edges.

Gigi huffed and walked back to her table.

“I think you’ve offended her.” Tess wore a shame-on-you expression, and it occurred to Abigail that she couldn’t afford to offend Gigi or anyone else for that matter. She needed all the business she could get.

“I’ll talk to Gigi, but I don’t think I have time to volunteer right now.”

“We’ll start you off with something easy. Stamping the letters. You don’t even have to come to our meetings. At least not all of them.” Tess clearly had her mind made up. “You’ll be great at it, and in a pinch, you can take them home and do them there.”

Abigail pushed the carafe of freshly brewed Loves Park blend across the counter and arranged four ceramic Book Nook mugs on a tray with cream and sugar. “I really am so honored, Tess, but I wasn’t making it up when I said I probably wouldn’t have time.”

“You care about your community, don’t you, Abigail?” Tess said, picking up the carafe.

“Of course I do.” Abigail followed her to the table with the mugs.

“Your community needs you.” Tess filled the mugs one by one, passing them around the table to the other women.

Ursula Pembrooke, who looked every second of her seventy-five years, liked hers prepared half and half
 
—half coffee and half cream with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

Doris Taylor, the group’s oldest
 
—and flightiest
 
—member, took hers black.

Evelyn Brandt, only a few years older than Abigail, brought her own coconut-milk creamer from home.

Gigi, the most maternal of the ladies, added a dab of cream, half a sugar.

And Tess drank a chai tea latte instead, which Abigail would prepare for her as soon as she returned to the counter.

Abigail knew plenty about these women. She knew their game, their drinks. She knew they loved to meddle and they wouldn’t stay out of her business. Why, then, was she still standing here with them as if their conversation wasn’t over?

Doris took the first sip of coffee, leaving a bright-pink lipstick ring on the mug. Abigail would have to scrub to get that off. “Gigi’s right, Abigail. We do much more than just stamp the letters.” She must have better hearing than Abigail gave her credit for.

“Though that’s important,” Evelyn said. “People from all over send their wedding invitations and Valentine’s Day cards here for the Loves Park seal.”

As if Abigail didn’t know all about this. And the limited-edition Valentine’s Day Card, specially designed each year by a local artist. And the Miss Sweetheart Valentine. And the Valentine’s Day Festival and the Sweetheart Festival. And the love letters sent straight to the postmaster, not unlike the notes a child might send to Santa Claus. The list went on and on.

“You’d think you, a first daughter of Loves Park, would want to give back to your community.” Gigi had affected an innocent tone, but her barbs weren’t covered in sugar.

“That’s right,” Tess said as if she’d just remembered. “Surely your great-great-grandparents’ traditions must mean something to you.”

Abigail recognized the wistful expression that swept across her face.

“I love the part where Sir John Pressman rode his horse for days to find his beloved bride, captured by warriors.”

“Tess, he wasn’t a knight.”

“He should’ve been. How dreamy.”

Abigail stifled a groan. Before anyone could retell her great-great-grandparents’ love story
again
, Abigail adjusted her apron and took a step away. “I’ll think about it, ladies, okay?”

Gigi harrumphed.

Abigail sighed. “I will. Honest. I’m very honored you’ve thought of me. I . . . just have a lot going on with my business.”

“We know,” Ursula said. “We heard.”

Abigail stopped fussing with her apron and glanced up. “You heard what?”

“About you not getting the loan to buy the building.” Ursula shrugged as if she’d just made the most obvious statement ever.

“Who told you that?” Her heart raced.

“Oh, it’s all over town,” Doris said, waving her off. “I don’t know why you’d want to expand anyway. This is the perfect size for a bookstore. It’s so cozy in here.”

Abigail looked away, her vintage dreams flittering through her mind. Why did she think a little boutique was a good idea anyway? It was silly and frivolous. Doris was right. She had the perfect-size shop right now.

Except she’d somehow gotten it in her head that The Book Nook wasn’t enough. How could it be when the thought of selling refinished furniture and other treasures interested her so much more? And she couldn’t deny the fact that many people had started buying books online. Sure, she did okay, but if she wanted to hold
on to this dream, she needed to grow her business
 
—offer something for both the tourists
and
the locals.

She’d been in business for seven years, and she was practically a baby when she started. It was time to prove she wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a savvy businesswoman with a valuable idea and something to offer this town.