Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On Wednesday, just like clockwork, Peter strolled into the coffee shop, alone.
The café was packed, buzzing with the voices of women who had stopped by for coffee and pastries before heading to Professor Joe Wexman’s talk at the college later that morning.
The line stretched nearly to the door, and Landry barely had time to register Peter’s arrival before she was handing him his usual—black coffee—offering him only a quick smile before moving on to the next order.
For the next half hour, she barely looked up, caught in the steady rhythm of pouring drinks, calling names, wiping down counters. It wasn’t until the shop finally thinned out—just as suddenly as it had filled—that she had a moment to breathe.
“Take your break now,” Mila said under her breath, casting a pointed glance toward the corner where Peter sat, a book open in front of him.
“He’s reading,” Landry countered, though she could already feel the pull, an invisible thread tugging her toward him.
“He’s alone.” Mila’s dark eyes locked on to hers, unwavering. “You’re never going to figure out if he’s KS if you two don’t talk.”
Landry hesitated, glancing around the café. Vern was nowhere in sight, likely off running an errand. Diane was chatting at the register with an old friend. There was no reason to say no. No excuse to keep avoiding him.
Besides, she wanted to talk to Peter.
Mila gave her a little nudge. “Go. Now.”
Landry let out a breath, smoothing a hand down the front of her apron.
“Wait a second.” Mila quickly made her an Italian soda. “Enjoy this and your conversation.”
As soon as Landry stepped out from behind the counter, her pulse picked up.
Mila was right—this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
If she was ever going to figure out whether Peter was Kindred Spirit, she needed to spend more time with him.
Study his expressions. Listen to his words.
See if anything slipped out that lined up with what she already knew.
And yet, this wasn’t just a mission. She liked talking to Peter. She liked the way his mind worked, the way he saw the world. The thought sent a little thrill through her chest, one she quickly shoved aside.
After taking a deep, steadying breath, she strolled toward his table, trying to will her heartbeat to slow.
Peter looked up the moment she neared, his golden-brown eyes warming.
“Sorry I couldn’t greet you when you walked in,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair. “May I sit?”
“Greet me?” His lips quirked, amusement dancing in his gaze.
“You are a valued customer, after all.”
He chuckled, setting his book aside. “By all means, please sit.” His gaze swept over the now-empty shop. “You were swamped when I got here. Now this place is like a ghost town.”
“Your friend, Dr. Wexman, is speaking this morning.” Pulling out the chair, Landry sat.
“That’s right.” Peter nodded, thoughtful. “I’m not sure what topic he decided to go with. There were three or four good ones he was considering.”
“Someone said something about Grandmother Stories?”
Peter smiled. “Ah, that should be popular with this crowd.”
“Uh, you mean because the women attending are…mature?”
Peter smiled and quickly shook his head.
“No, no. I’m sure Joe has fans of all ages.
He uses the term ‘grandmother stories’ to refer to the power of oral traditions within a community.
I’ve heard a version of this lecture before.
He explores the role of women as keepers of folklore and family history. ”
“You’re right, that does sound fascinating. I hope the college records it and makes it available online. I’d love to hear it.”
Peter leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. “Are you close to your grandparents?”
The sudden shift in conversation caught her off guard.
“Pardon?”
“Your grandmother,” he clarified. “Are you close?”
Landry stirred her drink with her straw, debating how much to say. “Both of my grandmothers live far away.” She exhaled, giving him a small smile. “I like them okay, but I’m sort of glad they don’t live in town.”
His brows lifted. “Why is that?”
She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “I already get enough pressure from my parents about how I should live my life. I don’t need my grandmothers piling on.”
Peter nodded, something flickering across his face—understanding, maybe?
“Do they—”
“Are yours supportive of your career?” she cut in, steering the conversation back to him.
Peter leaned back slightly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “My parents and grandmother had very definite ideas about how my future should look. My grandfather made it clear he believed in a person following their passion.”
“So…they supported your choice of careers?”
“Only Pops was supportive. The others, not so much,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “It wasn’t easy going against what they wanted, but they eventually accepted that I made the best choice for me.”
Landry’s pulse jumped.
The words. The sentiment. They were nearly identical to something Kindred Spirit had written.
Coincidence?
Her heart stuttered as she tried to keep her expression neutral, even as excitement surged in her chest.
Peter picked up the book he’d been holding—Daniel Grace’s latest novel—and held it up. “Have you read this?”
“I’m reading it now.” Landry supposed she could attempt to steer the conversation back to his family but sensed the moment had passed. Besides, she loved talking about books. “I’m at the part where Sebastian is in Murphy’s house, searching his computer files and—”
“Murphy comes home early.”
“Yes.” Landry pressed a hand to her chest. “I was literally yelling at the book, ‘Get out, get out!’ But Sebastian was determined to get those files. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
Peter grinned. “When he—”
“Don’t tell me.” She lifted a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want to know what happens.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m like that, too. Not everyone feels that way. I have a friend in London who always reads the end first.”
Landry gasped in mock horror. “No. Just no.”
“Appears we’re kindred spirits,” he said lightly.
The air between them shifted.
Landry’s breath caught, her fingers tightening slightly on her drink.
It was just an expression. A common one. It didn’t mean anything.
And yet, she couldn’t stop the flutter in her chest, the way her mind immediately filed it away alongside the pink envelope and Kindred Spirit’s words in the letter about family expectations.
She forced a smile, tucking away her reaction for later analysis.
Later, she would hash this all out with Mila.
For now? She would sit back and enjoy this conversation with Peter.
She took a sip of her drink, meeting his gaze. “What other books of Daniel Grace’s have you read?”
Mila’s lips curled in satisfaction as Landry approached the counter. “Are you glad now that I made you take a break?”
Landry let out a breath, the lingering traces of Peter’s laughter still echoing in her mind. “I am.”
She could have sat there forever. If he hadn’t had to head back to the college, she probably would have. “We both love books, and there was so much to talk about. It felt…easy.”
Mila leaned in, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to matchmaking enthusiasm. “He’s the kind of guy you should have been with all along. Not someone like Chad, who doesn’t read anything but automotive manuals.”
Landry’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t that she disagreed—Peter was fascinating in a way Chad wasn’t—but it didn’t feel right to let Mila dismiss Chad entirely.
“There are a lot of people who don’t like reading,” Landry countered, lifting a hand in defense. “Chad has a lot going on at work. Being a mechanic is more complicated than you give him credit for.”
Mila arched a brow, tilting her head in speculation. “Second thoughts?”
“Not at all.” Landry shook her head firmly, the weight of her decision settling deep in her chest. “I just think it’s important to be fair. Chad is a good guy, regardless of what’s happened between us.”
“Okay, I hear you. That’s fair. Now,” Mila bumped her hip against Landry, “what did you find out?”
Landry blinked, momentarily thrown. She’d been so caught up in the conversation, the rhythm of their back-and-forth, that she’d almost forgotten her original mission.
“His family wanted him to follow a different career path,” she said finally.
Mila frowned, momentarily thrown off. “Okay… And?”
“Kindred Spirit wrote the same thing,” Landry clarified, feeling a slight thrill of connection.
Mila’s whole face lit up. “This is good. Great. Now you’re getting somewhere.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “What else?”
Landry hesitated. “He said something about us being kindred spirits.”
Mila’s brow shot up. “That is interesting.”
“I thought so, but I guess it is kind of a common phrase.”
“Not that common. I mean, before his letters, when was the last time you heard it? What else?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it? You talked to him for almost an hour.”
Landry grimaced, realizing just how much time had passed. “He shifted the conversation to books, and I… Well, I got caught up in that.”
For a moment, Mila looked disappointed, but then her expression softened into a knowing smile. She patted Landry’s shoulder. “There will be other times. We’ll make sure of that.”
Landry wasn’t sure whether the flutter in her chest was from anticipation or nerves. Maybe both. But she knew one thing—her search for answers wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Peter found the letter in his inbox Thursday morning. He didn’t wait to go to his office but sat in one of the leather chairs at the far end of the room, pulled out the sheet of pink paper and began to read.
Dear Kindred Spirit,
I can’t thank you enough for your support and for encouraging me to look within, to be brave enough to make the choice that was right for me, no matter how hard it was.
You were right, of course—those moments of doubt did come.
The familiar called to me again, the voices telling me I was making a mistake, that I was foolish to walk away from something I once thought was so important.
But having your words in my heart, reminding me of the strength it took to choose what was best for me, helped me stay strong.
I don’t know if I could have done it without that quiet strength you gave me. The relationship is over now, and I feel a deep, unshakable peace about it. I know in my heart that it’s what’s best—for him and for me.
The road ahead feels uncertain, yes, but it’s not because I regret my decision.
It’s because stepping into the unknown is always a little scary, no matter how sure we are of our path.
I’m taking it one step at a time, with the hope that what lies ahead will be even more beautiful and fulfilling than what I’ve left behind.
This is difficult for me to ask, but after all we’ve shared, I wonder if we could take this connection one step further. Since we both agreed that we’ve felt something real between us, would you be open to meeting in person?
I live in GraceTown, and I can’t help but hope—maybe even feel—that you do, too.
If you do, I would love to find a time and a place where we could meet.
I want to thank you in person for all the encouragement and clarity you’ve given me, and perhaps we could continue to build this friendship face-to-face.
Whatever you decide, I’ll always be grateful for the way you’ve touched my life.
With hope and gratitude,
A Heart Finally Heard
Peter exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the edges of the letter as he reread the words that had thrown his world off-balance.
She wanted to meet.
A pulse of something sharp and electric shot through him—excitement, apprehension, maybe even fear. He’d known this moment would come, had felt it pressing at the edges of his mind with every letter exchanged, but now that it was here, an ache settled deep in his chest.
He thought about all the reasons he shouldn’t meet her. They’d built a careful anonymity. Their letters had become their own kind of sanctuary, untouched by the complications of real life. Meeting would change everything. It could break the magic of what they had. It could be a mistake.
And yet, the thought of saying no, of continuing to write to her while knowing she was just a heartbeat away, felt just as unbearable.
Peter let out a breath and shoved the paper back into the envelope, his fingers lingering over the edge as if holding on to it might somehow bring him clarity. He carefully placed the letter into his messenger bag, sealing it away for now.
He needed time. Time to think. Time to decide if he was brave enough to step beyond the safety of ink and paper.