Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The soiree celebrating the culmination of the week-long women’s event was held on Friday night, a glittering affair filled with laughter, clinking glasses and an air of lingering possibility.
The wine-and-cheese reception was one of the most anticipated parts of the event, and tonight, the Sayler Hotel was alive with elegant guests, warm candlelight and the hum of dozens of conversations swirling in the air.
Peter hadn’t expected an invitation, but giving a lecture had apparently earned him a spot on the guest list. Hope, as one of the sponsoring merchants, had also secured an invite, and when she’d suggested they attend together, he hadn’t been able to come up with a reason to refuse—other than the fact that his thoughts were a tangled mess.
Since receiving the letter yesterday, he’d written at least a dozen responses—some accepting the invitation to meet, others turning it down. None of them felt right. Each time he tried to finalize his decision, something held him back.
“I’m glad we could come together,” Hope said, tightening her grip around his arm as she carefully navigated the front steps of the historic hotel in impossibly high heels. “It’ll make the evening a lot more fun.”
Fun. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of fun tonight. His thoughts kept circling back to the letter, to the possibility that meeting could change everything—for better or worse.
Peter managed a smile. He knew this event was more than just socializing for Hope—it was an opportunity to connect with potential clients.
Hope also appeared distracted, her attention drawn to the scene unfolding as they stepped inside the beautifully restored hotel lobby. “Look how gorgeous everyone looks tonight.”
Peter took in the sights. The women wore elegant cocktail dresses, sequined tops and delicate jewelry.
The men, though fewer in number, were dressed sharply in suits and ties.
He was glad Hope had advised him to wear a dark suit—it fit in perfectly with the polished yet relaxed atmosphere of the evening.
The charm of the Sayler Hotel was undeniable.
Even with the modern updates, the rich woodwork, gleaming chandeliers and classic architectural details whispered of a bygone era.
Something about it felt timeless. Grounded.
The kind of place where stories lingered long after their original storytellers had faded away.
“I’ll understand if you need to network,” Peter said, glancing at her. He knew how much this event meant for her business, and most of the women attending tonight fit her target clientele.
“I’ve been networking all week.” Hope let out a happy sigh, clearly pleased with how things had gone. “Actually, even before, since so many of the brides wanted to come in before the events officially started. If every week were like this one, I’d be thrilled but exhausted.”
“Sales were good?” Peter asked, forcing himself to focus on her words instead of the ache in his chest that had been gnawing at him since he’d first read the latest letter.
“Sales were a-mazing.” Instead of following the flow of guests heading toward the ballroom, Hope gently tugged him to the side, out of the foot traffic.
Peter raised a brow. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head and tipped her head back, a dreamy look on her face.
“I need a moment to gawk.” Her voice held genuine admiration as her eyes swept over the grand staircase. “I don’t care how often I’m in here, the beauty of the woodwork in this hotel never fails to take my breath away.”
Peter glanced up at the carved balustrades, the rich mahogany gleaming under the soft golden lighting. The craftsmanship truly was something to admire. He nodded absently, but his thoughts were still locked on the letter tucked away in his messenger bag. “It’s a gorgeous hotel.”
“It’s also reportedly haunted,” a man said behind them.
Peter turned sharply, surprised by the familiar voice. Standing there, grinning, was Joe Wexman. Beside him, his wife, Sophie, fought to keep from smiling.
“Haunted?” Peter chuckled. “Says who?”
“Too many people to count,” Joe said, miraculously keeping a straight face.
Peter arched a brow. He had known Joe long enough to know that the man loved a good story, but folklore professors had a particular way of delivering information—half truth, half legend.
“Not just spirits either,” Hope added, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“That’s right,” Sophie chimed in. “There’s talk of a portal.”
Peter scoffed. “A portal? Really?”
“You know, gateways that connect two separate locations or dimensions,” Joe explained as if addressing one of his students. “There’s a long history of folklore surrounding them.”
“I know what a portal is,” Peter said dryly. “I just have a hard time believing they actually exist.”
“I get that,” Joe admitted. “Portals sound farfetched, sure. But did you know that in physics, the concept of wormholes mirrors the idea? Science fiction has its roots in real science.”
“And GraceTown is known for the unexplainable,” Sophie reminded him, her expression knowing.
Peter opened his mouth to argue but shut it again.
The letters he’d sent and received—how they had found their way to him in such a strange way—fell precisely into that category.
He had brushed off the mystery, choosing instead to focus on the connection he had formed with the writer. But now… What if?
Joe and Sophie drifted off to greet a group of acquaintances, leaving Peter standing there, his thoughts churning.
“What do you think of portals?” Peter asked Hope, his voice measured.
She considered for a moment. “I like to imagine where they would take me if they did exist,” she said with a small smile. “Sometimes, it’s fun to entertain the what-ifs, even if they seem improbable.”
For the next hour, they mingled, nibbled on appetizers and sipped wine.
Peter found himself constantly pulled into conversations—guests who had attended his lecture wanted to talk more about Caroline Charles, while others simply wanted to introduce themselves.
There was no chance for his mind to wander, no moment to slip away and lose himself in his own questions.
It wasn’t until they finally found themselves alone again that Hope turned to him with curiosity. “How was your week?”
Peter hesitated for a moment before answering. “It went well.” He sipped his drink before adding, “I contacted a university about a temporary teaching position. Once the war ended, Caroline traveled there. It’s close to where George’s plane went down in France.”
Hope raised a brow. “Ooh la la. So once your six months here are up, you’ll be moving on?”
He nodded. “The civic building she designed there is her final known project. If I want to complete the full picture of Caroline Charles, I have to go there.”
Hope studied him carefully. “I can see why it’s important.”
“In my mind, it’s essential.”
A brief pause stretched between them before Hope spoke again. “Mind if I ask you a personal question? As a friend.”
Peter tensed slightly. “Go ahead.”
She hesitated, then met his gaze. “You’ve moved around a lot over the years. Do you think you’ll ever settle down somewhere?”
His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. If he admitted that GraceTown had felt more like home than any other place he’d lived, would she take it the wrong way? Would he?
“Hard to say,” he answered finally.
Hope nodded as if she had expected that response.
Peter took a slow breath, then decided to offer a confession. “I’ve been writing letters to someone. We haven’t met yet, but there’s a connection there that I’ve never expected.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s…exciting.” She studied his face, her voice tinged with curiosity. “When will you meet her?” A pause. “I assume you do plan to meet.”
“In her last letter, she asked if I’d be willing.”
“And you said?”
“Nothing, yet.”
Hope hesitated, then bit her lip. “You’re a smart guy, so…”
“Go ahead,” he encouraged, sensing her reluctance.
She sighed. “You hear so much about people becoming, well, enamored with someone they’re corresponding with only to find out they’re being catfished.”
Peter exhaled slowly. He knew that catfished meant a person had been duped, often romantically and usually online, by someone pretending to be someone they weren’t.
“She hasn’t asked for money or gifts.”
“No, but she could be someone entirely different from what she’s presented.” Hope’s voice turned gentle. “What if she’s a student? That would put you in a tricky position, wouldn’t it?”
Peter resisted the instinct to immediately dismiss the idea. The truth was, he didn’t know. She could be a student. Her writing—the way she spoke of her family’s disapproval, the crossroads she was standing at—did seem to indicate she was younger.
He had been so focused on their connection, on how much he related to her struggles, that he hadn’t considered the possibility that meeting her could risk his career.
“I want to meet her,” he admitted, his voice rougher than intended. “But I also need a good review from my department chair and the dean to secure my position in France.”
Hope’s lips curved slightly. “Ooh la la,” she teased again, though her eyes held genuine warmth.
Peter chuckled despite himself. “You’re a gem, Hope. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“I know it.” She smiled but then sobered. “Seriously. Take it slow. If this connection is real, if it’s meant to be, then it will still be there, regardless of when you decide to meet.”
Peter nodded, though the uncertainty still gnawed at him.
“I hope she ends up being everything you’re looking for.”
“I hope so, too,” Peter murmured.
Because deep down, he knew that once he made his decision, there would be no turning back.
“This was a fabulous idea,” Mila said to Landry. From the high-top table they’d managed to score, Mila glanced around as if seeing if she could spot anyone she knew.