Paper Hearts (17 page)

“Here we all thought you hated Valentine’s Day,” another woman said. “You’re a regular cupid, Abigail.”

Yep. That’s me. A regular cupid.

And just like that, the paper hearts took on a life of their own.

F
RIDAY MORNING,
Gigi, Doris, and Ursula made their usual trip to see Lionel Richardson, the postmaster. He gathered all of their mail and held it for them, and if Gigi didn’t know better, she’d think the widower might be a little sweet on her.

At least that’s what Doris said.

Gigi drove the other two downtown to the old post office, pulling her Buick into a spot right in front of the small building. The post office, like so many Old Town buildings, was built in the early days of Loves Park. Thanks to dedicated renovations, it had remained in wonderful condition. Ever since Gigi had joined the Volunteers, visiting the post office always brought such a rush of excitement.

The three ladies plodded inside, smiling at exiting customers whose faces were all familiar, though Gigi couldn’t place every name. Lionel stood behind the counter, and when he saw them enter, he left his spot and rushed to the back room, where he kept their basket of mail.

By the time he returned, the three of them were standing at the counter, Doris and Gigi poised for conversation and Ursula clutching that raggedy purse like she was about to be mugged.

“Morning, ladies. Gigi.” Lionel grinned.

“Lionel, do you have anything new for us today?” Gigi smiled back.

“Just so happens that I do. I imagine it’s going to start picking up the closer we get to Valentine’s Day, as usual.” He handed the basket over the counter.

“I believe you’re right about that,” Gigi said. “Girls, why don’t we just take a quick peek at the letters over here?”

They moved to a long counter against the wall and shuffled the envelopes around, looking for anything that stood out. It was a ritual, really, though they rarely read anything standing here in the post office.

Perhaps it was because Lionel enjoyed feeling like a part of things. Or perhaps because every time Gigi glanced behind the counter, he smiled at her like she was a princess. She returned the smile again, but Doris’s excited gasp pulled her attention back to the basket.

“Doris, we’re in a public place,” Ursula hissed.

Neither Gigi nor Doris commented on the fact that Ursula was the last person in the world who should be reminding anyone of social graces.

“What is it, Doris?” Gigi asked, coming closer.

In her hand, Doris held a now-opened manila envelope. “More hearts.”

Gigi leaned closer to inspect the hearts in the package. “These don’t look like the same ones our couple has been sending.”

“But they are. They just haven’t been put on a string.”

“Maybe they split up,” Ursula said.

“Don’t be so awful,” Gigi said. “We should take these to Abigail. She can piece it all together.”

Gigi stuffed the few hearts she’d pulled out back into the envelope while the others looked on.

“Oh, it’s just like Christmas,” Doris whispered.

“Yeah, on the year you find out there’s no such thing as Santa Claus.” Ursula picked up the basket with the rest of the letters in it, but Gigi’s glare made her stop moving. “What? You can’t tell me this is a good thing. Finding the hearts in this state means something is wrong with this couple, and you know it.”

Gigi sighed. “I don’t know anything yet. Except that we have another piece to the puzzle, and I want to get these over to Abigail right away.” She waved to Lionel and pushed her way out the front door, but she couldn’t ignore the worried fear that rushed through her. She didn’t know what had happened with the paper heart couple, but something told her Ursula was right
 
—whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And Gigi couldn’t ignore the heartbreak that accompanied that realization.

Friday morning, Jacob awoke with a new resolve. Kate took Junie to school, leaving him alone with his guilt. He’d spent the entire week working on the renovations, meeting with the electrician and the drywall guy and the plumber
 
—yet he’d found a way to avoid Abigail every single day.

Still, regardless of his hesitation, he’d instructed Kelly to let him handle things with Abigail from this point on. She hadn’t received the suggestion well.

“Really, Jacob? You’re about the last person who should be handling Abigail Pressman.”

Jacob reminded himself that he was in charge. This project was his. She worked for him. “I think a different approach might work better with her.”

She drew in a deep breath. “A softer approach, you mean.”

“Something like that, yes.”

She’d eventually agreed, and thankfully Jacob didn’t have to explain that their tenant had walked in on his conversation with Gwen’s mother
 
—a conversation that had scratched the surface of every raw nerve he’d tried to bury for the past two years. He’d practically been paralyzed hearing that voice on the line.

The truth was, smoothing things over with Abigail was as much about what she’d overheard as it was about the way Kelly had talked to her.

What if Abigail started digging into his past? She seemed like the curious type. He needed to make sure not to give her any more reasons to hate him
 
—the last thing he needed was for the rumors and whispers to start up again. He’d had enough of that before they moved, and so had Junie.

So he’d do what he knew he should’ve done a long time ago and apologize to Abigail Pressman, but he had to do it today since his sister was requiring his attendance at her little coffee shop concert that night. He couldn’t show his face in The Book Nook if Abigail still hated him.

Outside, there was a chill in the air. He trudged through the snow, thankful that in spite of the winter weather, the sun was shining. It’s one of the reasons he’d stayed in Colorado instead of moving somewhere that was always warm. He wanted Junie to still be able to build snowmen and go sledding. Of course, he’d yet to do either of those things with her this year.

Some days it felt like a chore just to get dressed.

But he did. And he kept his head down and threw himself into his work. He didn’t know what else to do.

On his way out to the truck, he spotted something in the distance. An animal up the hill out back, hovering around his shed. They stared at each other for a few long seconds. It looked like some sort of retriever
 
—golden fur and those sad, hopeful eyes. The dog turned in a circle and whimpered, limping on its hind
leg. Jacob squinted, trying to see any visible wounds, and while it was hard to tell from this distance, he did get a glimpse of what appeared to be dried blood on the dog’s back leg.

Jacob took a few cautious steps toward the animal, careful not to startle the poor thing. The dog squared off with him as if ready to pounce.

“It’s okay,” Jacob coaxed. “I just want to see if you’re hurt.”

He moved closer, still speaking in low, gentle tones, hand stretched out, but downward because someone once told him that was how to approach unfamiliar dogs.

“Can I take a look at that leg? Looks like it hurts.”

The dog bobbed its head side to side, letting out a mix between a growl and a bark.

Jacob took another step and the dog barked, turned, and hobbled off into the woods. Watching until it disappeared behind the trees, Jacob walked over to where it had been lingering near his shed. A small space had been cleared of snow next to the outbuilding
 
—possibly a makeshift bed. The animal must have been staying there, trying to get out of the cold.

The poor dog was probably terrified. Terrified, wounded, freezing, and hungry. Not a great combination. He’d warn Junie not to go near if she saw it, but something inside him shifted
 
—something he hadn’t felt in months. The need to heal.

He’d forgotten that feeling.

In spite of the busyness of opening a new practice, he was just going through the motions. He hadn’t had the desire to do what he was trained to do in a long time
 
—not since Gwen.

He waited at the back of the shed for a few minutes in case the dog returned, but there was no sign of him.

Jacob knew he’d have to earn the animal’s trust if he had any hope of fixing whatever was wrong with its leg. He made a mental note to pick up some provisions and find out if Loves Park had a vet, and he headed into town.

The Book Nook was bustling with activity, as it always seemed to be lately. He parked in the back but entered in the front to buy a quick cup of coffee before heading to the grocery store. He didn’t want to abuse his position, and while he owned the building, he really had no right to come in through the bookshop’s back door. Besides, he didn’t want to risk upsetting Abigail any more than he already had.

It was only January, but the store seemed to be filled with Valentine’s Day decorations. Or maybe there was another Sweetheart Festival Jacob didn’t know about. He didn’t exactly put those things on his mental calendar.

The crowd buzzed, and he scanned the store for Abigail. He found himself anxious to spot her as if seeing her face would somehow set him on the path to having a good day. He obviously had issues if seeing a woman who despised him was supposed to brighten his day. Especially after he’d been staying away from her all week.

At the counter, over to the right and as far away from the crowd as possible, he spotted her, sitting on a stool and talking to a woman with a notepad. At her side, a man with a camera. A reporter?

Uh-oh.

He inched toward the right and stood in line for coffee, but he still couldn’t hear what they were saying. Abigail flashed a smile for the camera, and the photographer clicked several shots. She ran a hand through her long hair, shaking it out as if somehow she wanted to shake off discomfort.

Jacob’s mind spun back to the interviews he’d been forced to undergo after Gwen’s death. Rumors of foul play had followed him around for weeks. He knew a little something about uncomfortable conversations.

Abigail hardly seemed like the type to seek out the press. The reporter stood, shook Abigail’s hand, and motioned for the photographer to follow her.

“Let’s just get some shots of the store and the paper hearts,” she said as she passed by Jacob.

He turned, and there, dangling above the rows of bookshelves, were strands of hearts. Hearts that looked very familiar. The reporter instructed her photographer to get close-ups of at least a few different hearts. “I want people to be able to read them.”

His mouth went dry. How had he not noticed them as soon as he walked in the door?

“Hi.”

Abigail’s voice startled him, and it only kicked his pulse up a notch. His mind spun, trying to understand how his hearts
 
—Gwen’s hearts
 
—had ended up as decor for her store. Did Abigail know he’d written them? Sent them in every year after Valentine’s Day?

Was she mocking him?

She couldn’t possibly know
 
—and yet, if she was trying to torment him, she’d found the perfect way. Now he had a new reason to shut the place down.

“Are you okay?” She stood a head shorter than he, her eyes brighter than the last time he’d been in. She looked . . . hopeful. He wrestled with his conflicting emotions for too many seconds, making her visibly uncomfortable.