Paper Hearts (4 page)

She had to believe she had something else to contribute. Something wholly her own.

Abigail pulled herself back to the present. How could the rumors already have started around town? Who thought it was appropriate to discuss her private business matters anyway?

“Miss Pressman, did you know that in addition to stamping all of those envelopes, last month we also organized a meal train for Joyce Richmond?” Gigi’s high-and-mighty tone told Abigail not to respond.

“We also arrange for housekeeping for new mothers and the elderly,” Doris added.

“And we found volunteers to paint the nursery at Loves Park Community Church,” Tess said.

Ursula dabbed at the corners of her thin lips with a napkin. “We’re about more than postmarks, young lady.”

Abigail knew where this was headed.

Before these women were through with her, they’d have her not only volunteering but leading the charge, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

The group existed because of this town’s infatuation with the very thing that most often annoyed her. Did they really think she would ever agree to be a part of their crazy schemes?

They must know how she felt about their mission.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the fact that despite her hesitation, these women offered her something she needed right now. Allies. The kind with community influence.

As one of the Valentine Volunteers, she at least had a fighting
chance when it came to saving her shop. Without them . . . Well, could she risk finding out what business would look like without them?

Besides, no matter how nosy they could be, these women were doing good work for their little town. And serving other people might do Abigail some good in taking her mind off her own worries.

Abigail tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and held up her hands in surrender. “Fine. Fine. What do you want me to do?”

Gigi clapped her hands together, salmon-colored fingertips tapping as she did. “Well, darling,” she said, “you can start with these.” She reached into her roomy tote bag and pulled out a tall stack of envelopes, along with a stamp and an ink pad, and set them on the table. “Welcome to the club.”

“T
HAT WAS EASIER
than I thought it would be,” Gigi said. “Teensy made her daughter sound a lot more difficult than she seems.”

Ursula set her mug down on the table. “Teensy Pressman? Exaggerating? What else is new?”

True. Gigi hadn’t considered that their old friend might’ve painted her daughter in a more desperate light than necessary.

“It’s shameful, Gigi,” Teensy had said after barging in on last week’s meeting at Gigi’s home. “She’s halfway to life as an old maid.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Teensy,” Gigi replied, setting a saucer of cookies in front of Abigail’s mother. “What do you expect us to do about your daughter? She seems perfectly happy staying single.”

Teensy nearly spit her tea across the table. “She most certainly is not happy, Gigi Monroe. She has convinced herself that she doesn’t need a man, but you and I both know better.”

“Do I?” Gigi had been quite happy with her Al for many years, but since he’d passed away, she’d figured out how to find happiness
in the days she had left. Perhaps young Miss Pressman had learned this lesson early.

“I know none of you are satisfied unless you’re meddling in someone’s love life,” Teensy said. “And I’m begging you to meddle in my daughter’s.”

Teensy, the one Pressman who’d opted out of the Valentine Volunteers, unable to put aside her shame after her own marriage failed, seemed intent on doing her own share of meddling. The woman might have walked away from their group when her husband left her, but she certainly hadn’t stopped giving her opinions.

Now it seemed her obsession had settled on her daughter’s love life.

Poor Abigail.

After Teensy had left, Gigi and the other girls discussed her request. Despite the fact that the Volunteers often met at The Book Nook, when they thought about it, they realized they didn’t really know the store’s owner very well. She kept to herself, which didn’t give them much to go on. How could they appropriately match her without all the facts?

It was Doris who had the idea to invite her to join the Volunteers
 
—an idea that was as brilliant as it was ludicrous. The one thing they did know was that Abigail seemed not to share this town’s obsession with anything related to love and marriage.

Who could blame her, really? It couldn’t have been easy growing up under the shadow of “the most inspiring love story this side of the Rockies,” as the Loves Park website boasted
 
—and that didn’t even take into account the girl’s plight of having Teensy for a mother.

In the end, asking Abigail to join them was the best way to get close to her. How else could they chip away at the wall the girl had built around herself? According to her mother, she had hardly any friends, let alone prospects for romance.

But now she was one of them.

“We’re going to have trouble with this one, Gigi,” Doris said in that high-pitched voice of hers. “Even you have to admit that.”

Gigi spotted Abigail across the bookstore in what appeared to be an in-depth conversation with one of her employees. “Yes,” Gigi said. “We are.”

What happened to you, Abigail Pressman? Once upon a time, you were so full of hope, so enthralled with love . . . and now the sparkle that used to fill your eyes is gone.

The image of Abigail as a very young girl flashed through her mind. Her grandmother had made a point of bringing Abigail to their meetings
 
—to spend time with her, sure, but Gigi always suspected it was more than that. Abigail’s parents hadn’t exactly had a good marriage, though Teensy was intent on keeping up appearances even after her husband walked out. Abigail was smart, though, and she’d seen too much. Her grandmother must’ve been trying to protect her from the jaded sadness that, in the end, was exactly what seemed to have happened to her.

With her tie to the town’s founders, Abigail should be the first one to celebrate the Loves Park festivals, and yet even on Valentine’s Day, The Book Nook had not a single heart in the windows.

Gigi had to wonder if all those conversations Abigail had overheard as a child had contributed to the sadness that seemed to hover around the girl now. Was it their fault she seemed so desperate to fill her life with anything and everything that wasn’t a romantic relationship?

Yes, Abigail Pressman might prove to be their most difficult case yet. Hard to match
 
—and more stubborn than most
 
—because Gigi suspected that their new target had no idea she even wanted to fall in love at all.

And in her experience, those were the ones who needed the Volunteers the most.

T
WO DAYS AFTER
she was press-ganged into the ranks of the Valentine Volunteers, Abigail sat in her office looking over the figures in her ledger. Dismal.
Those numbers should really be a different color,
she thought absently. On paper, she shouldn’t have a single cent to her name. Thankfully she had some reserves, but if she didn’t turn things around soon, it might not matter. Of course, if her new landlord evicted her, red numbers would be the least of her worries.

Sure, expanding would’ve meant more overhead, but she could have broadened her appeal, maintained the local bookstore business while reaching out to the healthy tourist contingent Loves Park brought in each year. One-of-a-kind artwork, distressed furniture, handmade jewelry
 
—tourists would eat that up. Not to mention the fact that selling higher-priced items like these would automatically help her bottom line. She’d already estimated that
she could triple her business in the first year. Why didn’t Harvey see that? Why didn’t anyone else believe in her ideas?

Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. It’s not like she’d broadcast these ambitions. She’d always been more of an I-can-do-it-myself kind of girl.

She rubbed her temples, unsuccessfully willing the dull ache away.

The stack of envelopes stared back at her. A pile of wedding invitations perfectly addressed in what they now referred to as “modern calligraphy” awaited the precious Loves Park stamp, and after Christmas, everything would ramp up for Valentine’s Day.

“Things are always busiest come January,” Doris had told her after the group had dispersed. “Gigi has big plans for your artistic eye.”

Abigail hadn’t asked the older woman to explain, though now she wondered if that was a mistake.

She pulled the stack of envelopes toward her, but before she could stamp the first one, she was startled by a loud banging
 
—so startled, in fact, that she knocked over her coffee and spilled it across the desk, drenching the envelopes entrusted to her care.

“No!” Abigail grabbed the envelopes, coffee dripping down her wrist and into her sleeve as the banging continued. “No! No! No!”

Mallory rushed through Abigail’s office door. “What happened?” One look at the dripping envelopes and her eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

“What is that banging?”

“It’s next door.” Mallory wiped up the spilled coffee, then handed Abigail a dry towel for the envelopes.

The mercantile. There was no way that Jake-Jacob person could’ve already bought the building. However, she wouldn’t put it past Wyatt to begin construction before the final paperwork was finished.

Abigail did her best to dry the dripping invitations and steady her pulse at the same time. The crisp white envelopes were now stained brown and she couldn’t do a thing about it. The pounding seemed to be getting louder and more frequent, annihilating her already-shot nerves.

Abigail stood dumbfounded for too many long seconds before finally reaching the conclusion that she had the right to say something. She was running a business and leasing the space, after all. Did they think the banging wouldn’t disturb her customers? Did they consider her at all? She was here first!

“That’s it. I’m going over there.”

Mallory took a step back and Abigail thrust the envelopes into her hands. She stormed through the front of her shop and out onto the sidewalk, marching next door only to find the front entrance locked. She peered into the dark building but saw no one, so she trudged around the building and into the alley behind The Book Nook. A beat-up truck sat in Harriet’s old parking place. Next to it, Wyatt’s slick Mercedes.

The back door was locked too, but Abigail knew where the spare key was
 
—in a slim plastic box wedged between two loose bricks. She opened the door, stuck the key in her pocket, and followed the banging.

The mercantile had been a community staple for years. As she took in the thick moldings and original wood floors, sadness pinged her heart all over again. Maybe she could call up the historical registry and see if the building fit the criteria. Could she cash in a favor and have remodeling requests denied? Did she know anyone who owed her a favor?

Her mind stayed blank.

Light filtered in through the windows all along the sidewall. The mercantile always did have the perfect morning sun.

Marring the tranquil scene was a man in plastic goggles, back turned to Abigail, hammering a hole in the wall that separated
their two spaces. To add insult to injury, Wyatt was standing next to him, looking on.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Abigail’s tone came off firm and forceful, not at all like she felt.

The man in the goggles
 
—Jacob, of course
 
—stopped his hammer midswing, but it was Wyatt who spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his face drawn tight like a new pair of shoelaces.

Hey?
They were pounding a hole through the wall and all he could say was hey?

“You have a new landlord.” Wyatt’s smile dripped with superiority. He’d won. She’d lost. A tired tale.

Abigail felt the horror spread across her face. How was it that she’d been planning for years to buy this building and a perfect stranger swooped in and stole it from under her nose in less than a day? She thought of her notebooks full of sketches of the new space. She’d added to them every time she visited Harriet.

“Just like that?” She begged herself not to cry. Sometimes her anger wore tears.

Wyatt shrugged. “Play nice, Abs.”

Jacob pushed the goggles to the top of his head and looked away. “I thought you said she was okay with this.”

Wyatt’s arrogant expression pulled at her as if to expose the nerves of a fresh wound. “I said she
would be
okay with this.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes, not sure which one of them made her angrier.

“We got a tip on some leaky pipes,” Jacob said, tossing a glance her way.

Was he trying to be funny?

“So you’re just going to tear out the wall?” Abigail crossed her arms over her chest as if that could protect her from this deluge of horrible news.

“The inspector said it would be fine.” Jacob seemed unwilling to make eye contact with her. Was it possible that, unlike Wyatt,
this man took no pleasure in throwing her dreams out the window like a child chucking a bottle out of a moving vehicle?

“Harriet must’ve forgotten there’s a business next door,” Abigail muttered under her breath.

“I think Harriet is looking out for Harriet, Abby,” Wyatt said. “You could learn a thing or two from her. She’s a shrewd businesswoman. Got this guy to agree to paying cash. Sealed the deal with her son this morning.” He jabbed Jacob in the shoulder while Abigail tried to pick her jaw up off the ground.

He paid cash?

Why hadn’t she thought about contacting Harriet’s son? She’d mistakenly assumed he was off on one of his business trips, but with Harriet out of the country, apparently he was in charge.

And now he’d sold the building right out from under her. For cash.

“This time next week, you two will officially be in a relationship.” Wyatt grinned. Jacob’s eyes found Abigail’s for the briefest moment, but he quickly averted them. She hated herself for glancing at his left hand. Sure enough, no ring, just as Anita had said.

That realization brought an onslaught of questions
 
—ones she wouldn’t let herself entertain for one more minute.

Wyatt laughed. “The landlord-tenant relationship can be a trying one. You two should get to know each other, come to some sort of mutual understanding.” He turned to Jacob. “Or you could always kick her out.” He cackled, doing that thing Wyatt always did: laughing at his own jokes no matter how unfunny they were.

Would he ever grow up?

Abigail shifted. “I’ve never heard of a building being sold this fast. Isn’t there red tape?”
Her
business seemed to be wrapped in red tape.

“I’m handling it.” Wyatt checked his phone. “Speaking of
which, I gotta run. You okay here for an hour or two?” He glanced at Jacob, then at Abigail, then back to Jacob.

“I’ll be fine.” Jacob shook Wyatt’s hand just as the Realtor’s phone chirped.

“Wyatt Nelson.” He exited out the back, leaving Abigail face-to-face with her new landlord.

She took a few steps away from him. He didn’t look particularly comfortable being alone in the room with her either.

He watched her, unsure. It seemed she’d put him on the defensive. Well, good. He should be defensive. Who was he to come to town, buy up her building, and knock down her dreams brick by brick?

“So.” She searched for a starting point, found nothing.

“So.”

She grasped. “What are your plans for the place?” Abigail thought her question almost sounded cordial. She felt anything but. Angry and bitter about summed it up.

“I’m starting a new practice.”

“Lawyer?”

“Doctor.”

Figures.
Abigail caught herself. No sense being angry with the man for his career choice. Being a doctor was a perfectly noble profession
 
—and one that afforded you a bank account with enough cash to buy entire buildings.

She swallowed her jealousy. Why couldn’t she have been good at math and science instead of art and literature?

“So you’re going to turn the mercantile into a sterile, boring clinic? Seems like such a waste.” As she often did, Abigail admired the wide-planked floors under her feet. They could stand to be refinished, but she decided their condition was part of their charm. She couldn’t imagine some flecked tile floor in this space. Especially not next door to her little shop.

“Actually, I’m going to keep as much of the original interior as
I can. Part of the reason I like this building is because it doesn’t look like a hospital.” Jacob ran a hand over a thick wooden post at the center of the space.

“That’s an odd thing for a doctor to say,” Abigail replied. “Shouldn’t you love hospitals?”

He regarded her for a long moment. “I don’t know anyone who loves hospitals.”

Something in the way he said it gave her pause.

The back door opened before she could say anything else, and in walked a stunning blonde woman dressed in a black power suit, wearing heels that
click-click-click
ed on the beautiful wooden floors.

“Is it a done deal?” She grinned at Jacob, her hair bouncing as she clicked.

He tossed a sideways glance at Abigail, who suddenly felt out of place in her tunic top and leggings. Was there a rock she could hide under?

“Almost,” he said.

“What did I tell you about this place?” the woman said, looking around. “It’s great. The location is the perfect spot for our practice.”

Our
practice?

She turned then and, moving like a bulldozer toward Jacob, pulled him into a hug. “It’s been too long, Doc.”

Doc?

He patted her back twice, the way men do when they hug each other, and then pulled out of her grip. The woman reminded Abigail of a predatory animal. Like a lioness or a cheetah.

“Kelly, this is Abigail. She runs the bookstore next door.” Jacob motioned toward Abigail, who suddenly felt very self-conscious, like a high school freshman wanting to hang out with the popular girls.

“Kelly is my business manager,” Jacob said.

The woman let out a laugh. “That’s funny. You make it sound so formal.” She let her hand rest on his shoulder for a long moment before she turned to Abigail and gave her a once-over. “Good to meet you.” Back to Jacob. “Have you looked at the plans?”

“Let’s discuss it later.”

Now Abigail felt like the third wheel at the prom. Her stomach dropped, her hands tingled, and her breath caught in her throat. What plans? What were their plans for the building?

“She’s going to find out sooner or later,” Kelly said.

Jacob remained silent.

Kelly shifted. “We’re sorry about your shop.”

“What about my shop?” Abigail’s pulse started racing.

“Once those papers are signed and this is all a done deal, we’re going to be working fast and furious to get the practice open.” She glanced at Jacob. “This doctor’s healing hands have been dormant too long. They really are magical, aren’t they?”