Chapter Twenty-Three
I set a lidded container of muffins inside the manor’s official work zone the next morning, before starting my day. Davis had removed a portion of the wall separating the previously locked section of the home and the larger downstairs, where I rattled around. He’d built new frames with two-by-fours, the drywall only beginning to go up. He’d hung heavy plastic sheeting for the meanwhile, meant to prevent dust and debris from slipping into the main areas. The sheeting made it easy to stretch an arm inside and leave the treats. I’d found recipes for pet-friendly baked goods online while looking for ideas I could implement at a pet-friendly bookstore, and I knew just the doggo to taste test them. I left a letter on top explaining as much. I also thanked Davis for a fun night, hoping to defuse any awkwardness he felt following his father’s roadside ambush.
After his father drove away, Davis had dutifully walked me to my door, but we’d barely spoken all the way home. I’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, certain he needed it, and he’d nodded thoughtfully in return, saying goodbye only with his eyes.
Hopefully the letter and muffins would remind him nothing had changed between us. If he needed a friend, I was available, even if that meant more time spent in companionable silence.
I paired a fuzzy peach-colored sweater and socks with jeans and sneakers for the gorgeous autumn day, then opted for glasses over contacts and used a headband to keep my hair away from my face. I stepped into the sun and spotted Davis, still in his truck, halfway up the lane.
He slowed and lowered his window.
I smiled and waved.
“Sorry about last night,” he began, looking ashamed for nothing that was his fault.
“What do you mean?” I asked pleasantly. “I had a great time.” I had, but I’d never look at his father the same again.
I recalled the strange familiarity I’d felt the day I’d met Carter at Village Books. I didn’t understand it then, but I could see the similarities in his eyes and Davis’s now. Not in the color but the shape. The set of their jaws. The broad build of their shoulders. But Carter was a wolf in sheep’s clothing—or in his case, designer clothing and a Mercedes. I wondered how many people in this town had seen him smile while he took advantage of them. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel if one of my parents tore me down for my passion or sold my childhood home for money no one needed. The idea of this town without Hearthstone Manor and Village Books hurt me deeply.
Now that I’d seen behind the Carter Sommers veil, I wouldn’t be fooled again.
Davis scraped a hand through his hair, then nodded, presumably understanding what I was doing. We didn’t have to talk about his dad’s poor behavior, or his own response, unless he truly wanted to. If he did, this wasn’t the best time. I had letters to write, and he had work to do.
“I should’ve stuck around a little when I brought you home,” he said.
I tipped a hand to my forehead, shielding my eyes from the sun. “Rain check,” I said. “You name the day. Right now I’m off to letter-writing class.”
“All right. Still interested in seeing the progress I’ve made?”
“Of course!”
“I can stop back with Violet this afternoon,” he said. “I’m cleaning up today in preparation for the photographer. I’ll bring Violet over. I know she’d love to see you.”
My heart lightened at the mention of that fluffy girl. “When?”
“Four?”
I raised a hand in goodbye. “See you then.”
When I hit the sidewalk outside Village Books, Daisy called out. “Hey, Emma!” She wore jeans and a white peacoat, unbuttoned to reveal an emerald-green blouse with miniature white polka dots. Her blond hair lifted on the breeze. “How’s the transition to eighteen-fifties spinster coming along?”
I held the door for her to pass, and we made our way through the shop to the class area in back. “Not great.”
She laughed. “How’s everything else?”
My thoughts drifted to the conversation between Davis and Carter, then to my letter from Forever Yours and the small gift I’d left for Davis and Violet. “Complicated.”
Was Forever Yours in this class? Would Davis think my little surprise was too much? Was I trying too hard? Could he save the manor and bookstore?
Daisy nudged me with her elbow a few moments later. “Emma?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked who your letters were for,” she said, casting a look at the envelopes in my hand. “But I can see you’re not quite awake. Relatable.”
I smiled, as if she’d guessed my problem correctly, then motioned to the refreshments table. “Can I get you a coffee?”
Daisy lifted the giant hot-pink travel cup in her hand and wiggled it gently. “You’d better pour yourself two.”
I set my things on the table, then went to grab a drink.
“Hey, Emma,” Michael said, refilling the water pitcher. “Good game the other night.”
“It was,” I said. “Do you happen to have season passes?”
He stilled, brows uncharacteristically furrowed. “I do. Why?”
I bit my lip, unsure how to ask if he was my online friend, Historically_Bookish, without sounding ridiculous if I was wrong. “Do you like wings?”
Michael made a goofy face. “Of course.” He set a hand on one hip and cocked his head like a cop in a crime show, homing in on evidence. “Are you trying to ask me out? Because I’d love to, but only if my girlfriend can come along. She hates to be left out.” He cracked up and relaxed his stance. “I’m kidding. What’s up? Really? Need a recipe? I hear you’re delivering baked goods all over town. I’m actually a little jealous about that.”
I had no idea how to respond. Was he only joking about the date, or was he also joking about having a girlfriend? “Do you ever post on IBOOM?” I blurted, throwing the question into the air. There were too many mysteries in my life at the moment, including who wrote the letter signed as Forever Yours. At least I could get an answer on the person behind Historically_Bookish, even if I sounded a little silly asking.
Michael stilled. “Sometimes. Why?”
A customer set a pile of books on the counter beside his register, and he turned in her direction.
I marched dutifully to class. What was I supposed to do with his answer? The handle was available to all employees, but who used it most?
Paul’s cheerful voice turned my head. He shook hands and exchanged waves with a number of classmates, then greeted Grace with a kiss on her cheek.
“Good morning,” Paul said brightly. “Hi, Emma. How’s Cecily doing? She made it home safely?”
“She did,” I said. “She had a really nice visit. I think she’ll come again as soon as she can.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said. I smiled. Paul was kind and easy to be around. His letters brightened my days.
My cheeks heated as he watched me, and I wondered if I had a little crush on him.
I spent so much time thinking about Emily and Davis, my family and the bookstore, plus a myriad of other things. Did I somehow overlook the guy standing in front of me?
“Careful, Rini,” he said. “You appear to be blushing.”
Daisy’s face jerked in my direction, lips parted with interest.
I bit my lip as the anonymous letter came to mind. Was Paul Forever Yours?
Did I want Paul to be my secret admirer?
“I’m going to get settled,” I said, leaving him with a small shake of my head.
Daisy leaned her shoulder against mine and grinned the moment I took the seat beside hers. “What was that about?”
I shook my head, baffled at the direction my thoughts had taken, and a little embarrassed she’d caught me. “Nothing.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why are you blushing?”
I bit my lip and laughed. “You caught me lost in thought, that’s all. Hey, do you know if Michael has a girlfriend?”
She looked over her shoulder, then back to me. “How many men do you need?” she teased. “There must be something in the water at Hearthstone. How soon can I visit?”
Grace took her place at the head of the table, a warm expression on her pretty face.
I wondered if she knew what her brother-in-law was up to, and that she might lose the store. I also wondered, hopelessly, if I could do anything to help Davis make sure that didn’t happen.
“Hey,” Daisy whispered. “I don’t know about the girlfriend, but I can find out if you want. I was only teasing earlier.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“Welcome, class,” Grace began. “Today’s letter for inspiration was written by a local favorite, Emily Dickinson. Our classmate, Daisy Macnamara, kindly suggested it. She’s become quite an expert on Ms. Dickinson’s life and is finishing her MFA at UMass this semester. She’ll defend her dissertation next month at the Emily Dickinson Museum, and I’d love to see many of you there. Thank you, Daisy.”
Beside me, Daisy beamed.
She turned her cheery expression on me. “I thought you’d like hearing something from her vast collection. Maybe it will even inspire you in your quest here.”
“In 1862,” Grace began, “Emily responded to an article in The Atlantic , written by Thomas Wentworth Higginson. He was calling for young writers to submit work for publication in the paper. Emily responded to that call. She was eager to know if her verse was alive. An interesting and powerful choice of words, I think. Also quite right. Any fan of her work would say her words were very much alive.
“Emily sent several poems for his review, and he responded with his advice. Together, they shared correspondence over many years and became rather good friends. Many historians and Emily enthusiasts believe this particular letter changed her life. She was brave, and she put herself out there by sending this query and her work. She gained the advice she sought and a longtime friend for her efforts. As you think about who to write today and what to say, consider writing to someone who might not expect it, and see if this is the letter that changes your life.”
I put my pen to paper before Grace finished her commentary.
I had a new friend to write as well.
Forever Yours,
I’ve read your lovely letter at least a dozen times. Your words touched my heart, and I want to thank you for them, but I don’t know who you are. Am I meant to refer to you as Forever Yours? Please allow me to return your kindness. Tell me something about yourself. Maybe your name?
Emma
When class ended, I carried my letters to the cubbies for distribution. I paused at the spot with my name, the letter for Forever Yours in one hand. I planned to leave it there, hoping he’d find it if he tried to leave another message for me. But he’d already been there. A single envelope with my name in perfect calligraphy waited inside.
I exchanged my letter to him with the new letter for me, then turned to find Grace and Daisy waiting.
“Emma,” Grace said sweetly. “I wanted to thank you for having lunch with Davis when I had to bow out. I hear the two of you had a lovely time, as always. And a few friends noticed you out dancing last night as well.” She hung her folded hands before her. “I guess things just work out sometimes.”
Daisy’s jaw nearly unhinged.
“We were celebrating Davis’s win with the historic properties you told me about,” I said, directing my words to Daisy.
She closed her mouth and pumped a silent fist.
“And,” I added, moving my eyes back to Grace, “ Architectural Digest is sending a photographer to Hearthstone for an upcoming article about the restoration process.”
Grace slid a knowing look to Daisy, and the younger woman’s mouth fell open again. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said, having planted all her seeds.
Paul strode in our direction before Daisy could hit me with her questions. “Cool calligraphy.” He pointed at the envelope in my hand, then passed a letter to Daisy and then me. He held onto her envelope an extra moment when she tried to take it. “I know you’re about to get your MFA, but it wouldn’t hurt you to work on your handwriting. I practically need a decoder to read these.”
She pretended to kick him. “I’m working on it. Those fountain pens are the worst, and I don’t have the necessary time or patience. I’m doing my best. Emma doesn’t even use the pen Grace gave us.”
They turned momentarily accusing looks at me, then laughed.
“Stop,” I said. “My pen’s clearly broken.”
The familiarity between them was endearing and something I hadn’t noticed before. “Do you two know one another?” I asked. “Outside class, I mean?”
Paul shot her a mischievous grin. “I had Daisy’s older sister in my first English Lit class as a professor. I was a train wreck. I’m only slightly better now, but I keep trying,” he joked.
“He’s still her favorite teacher,” Daisy said.
“Speaking of class,” Paul peeked at his watch. “I’m teaching in an hour, so I’d better get going.”
We said our goodbyes; then Daisy hooked her arm with mine. “I hope you have time for coffee, because you have so much to tell me,” she said. “Starting with who wrote that letter. I saw your expression the moment you picked it up. It’s the reason I ran over to your cubby.”
I tried to fight my smile but failed.
Back at Hearthstone, I spent two more hours reviewing and improving my plans for a Rini Reads remodel; then I switched gears to give my brain a break. Caffeine coursed through my body. Coffee with Daisy followed by a pot of tea had helped me do a weekend’s worth of work in a few hours. The crash coming later would be totally worth it.
I curled onto the window seat in the study, pushing aside some of the craft supplies I’d used to make my extensive bookstore plans. I’d done my work, and now it was time to embrace my inner nineteenth-century socialite and swoon for the fun of swooning.
I opened the letter from Forever Yours, giddy and eager to lose myself in the words.
Emma,
Did you know the love between poets Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning began with an extended exchange of letters? According to their heir, those letters were the only ones they ever exchanged, because once they married, they were never apart again. Can you imagine that kind of love?
I can.
Forever Yours
I pressed the page to my chest and suppressed a squeal as I scanned the additional page included with his letter. A copy of one of the Brownings’ correspondences, and the transcript.
I had no idea who Forever Yours truly was, but somehow he knew me well.
How could I give up on love when there was at least one man in the world who wrote things like that? A man who saw straight to my heart.
I let my head fall back and my arms go limp on a bone-deep sigh. If I could fall in love via letters, then spend the rest of my days exploring the life with that man, I’d die happy. There wasn’t any point in denial. The possibility was too romantic to resist.
The distant crunch of gravel drew my eyes to the study window, and I straightened to get a better look. A familiar pickup truck rolled to a stop, and panic shrieked through my bones. Davis and I had afternoon plans, and I’d lost track of time again.
I nearly hit the ceiling when my doorbell rang. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I raced through the manor on fuzzy-socked feet and slid to a stop in the foyer. Then I opened the front door with an apologetic frown.
Davis and Violet waited outside.
“I’m so incredibly sorry, but I’m not ready. I got busy and didn’t realize so much time had passed.”
Davis wrinkled his nose and forehead as he scanned me. “What are you wearing?”
I dropped into a squat before my fluffiest friend and covered Violet with kisses and hugs. Then I rose to face her human. “This is my brainstorming outfit. Come in and close the door.”
“Wow. You’re all jazzed up,” he said, stepping into the foyer.
“It’s called happiness,” I corrected. “I’m excited. I’ve made a ton of progress on my bookstore plans, and I’ve also consumed a lot of caffeine.”
“Ah.”
“Come with me.” I beckoned him with one hand as I crossed the foyer.
“You have a sticky note on your bum,” he said.
My hands flew behind me on instinct, searching for the little runaway. “What does it say?” I pulled the note free before he could answer. “Sweet treats,” I read. “I wondered where that went.”
Violet trotted into the study at my side.
I’d leaned a giant whiteboard against the bookshelves and covered it in brightly colored notes, pictures, and text. “Ta-da!”
Davis rubbed his chin with one hand and crossed the opposite arm over his chest. “You made a murder board. Nice.”
“It’s not a murder board.” I guffawed. “This is a miraculous thing of beauty.”
He approached slowly. “All you’re missing is the red yarn that ties it all together.”
The board clearly outlined my vision for big change at Rini Reads. Potential names for the revised shop. To-do lists. Fun images of pets reading books. Shelters, rescues, and other related businesses in Willow Bend, as well as a carefully detailed timeline for all the steps necessary. “I stopped at the craft store after coffee with Daisy. I couldn’t wait to get started. I guess I should’ve set an alarm.”
“There’s a marker in your hair.”
I pulled the hot-pink highlighter from my messy bun and tossed it onto the desk with the two dozen other writing utensils, sticky notes, and construction paper remnants. “Give me five minutes to change.”
“You sure you don’t want to go in those big-ass boxer shorts and your ‘Get Lit’ shirt?”
I hustled up the steps to my room. “Brainstorming outfit,” I called as I ran.
“Do you care if we take Violet on her walk first?” he asked, projecting his deep tenor through the ancient home.
“Nope!” Honestly, I probably needed to burn off some of the excess energy.
Did Emily Dickinson enjoy caffeine?
What would she think of me soaring around the manor in men’s underwear?
I probably didn’t want that answer.
Several minutes later, I returned to Davis in yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I pulled the tie from my hair and gave my curls a quick finger comb. “Ready!”
He dragged his gaze over me and sighed. “Shoes.”
I grabbed a stack of letters from the table and stuffed my feet into my sneakers. A moment later, we were out the door.