Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cora quickly discovered that spending time with Evan yesterday had only made it harder to be without him today—especially with no work from Adelaide, or at Cuppa Joe, to keep her occupied.
She spent the morning researching, starting with Vivian Ramsey and moving on to Larry Soukup. Becoming more familiar with the landscape—and the players—felt like a prudent move. And, for now, she had the time.
Vivian, she discovered, had been director of the GraceTown City Libraries for the past six years. She’d been selected from a short list of candidates submitted to the mayor, and one article Cora read noted she’d received overwhelming city council approval after the mayor’s appointment.
Vivian struck her as competent, polished and articulate, someone who understood both the challenges and the potential of modern libraries—digital integration, inclusive programming, community partnerships… Cora found herself nodding along.
But when she had been asked by a reporter about the land on Willow specifically—and her husband’s support of the Soukup development—Vivian’s response had been notably careful.
“GraceTown is blessed with an abundance of city libraries. More than enough to meet the needs of our citizens.”
The phrasing bothered Cora like a stone in her shoe.
Maybe that area didn’t need another library. But did it need a strip mall disguised as progress? A development that would swallow history whole?
Under different circumstances, Cora might have considered Vivian a kindred spirit, a fellow believer in access to knowledge and community connection. Now…she wasn’t sure.
As for Larry Soukup, he came across as smooth. Polished. A man with charm to spare and the ability to reach anyone he wanted to reach. After an hour of reading community profiles and interviews, she had no doubt: If not for Lenora’s deed, he would have already written his name across that land.
She thought of Brooke’s warning that if she disrupted Soukup’s plans, there might not be a position for her at a GraceTown library.
Could she live with that?
Could she live with herself if she didn’t try?
No. She could not.
If thwarting Larry’s plans was even a possibility, she would press forward—full speed ahead.
By early afternoon, Cora shut her laptop and went for a long walk. The crisp air steadied her, and the movement helped her shake off the heaviness of so many articles.
When she circled back toward home, a message pinged on her phone. Evan wanted to meet tomorrow at four to discuss the deed.
Her breath hitched. She typed back, That works. See you then.
Tomorrow could change everything.
And strangely, she wasn’t afraid.
The next morning, with too much time and too many nerves, Cora dove into research about community centers that promoted literacy. One article stopped her cold.
Matilda “Til” Beemis, someone she remembered from a life one of the volumes at the Carnegie had shown her, was being honored posthumously for championing literacy in underserved communities.
As Cora read more about Matilda, she couldn’t help but notice how similar Til and Lenora had been—their values, their drive, their quiet belief in the transformative power of books.
Had they known each other? Had they been friends?
She started to make a note to ask Brooke about Til, but her thoughts drifted before she could finish the sentence.
Her mind felt restless. Unsettled. She needed to do something, and the kitchen felt like a safe place to start.
She began assembling a charcuterie board.
Her hands moved instinctively. She didn’t think, just sliced, arranged and layered color and texture with a rhythm that felt…practiced. Familiar.
It wasn’t until she stepped back that she realized what she’d made.
Not a charcuterie board.
The board.
The family board.
She didn’t know how she knew it—only that she did.
Mild cheddar was arranged in the simple brick shape that always disappeared first. Soft Brie sat beside a tiny dish of fig jam.
Mozzarella pearls were scattered near the apples, little bites that were perfect for small fingers.
Crackers were lined up with the same casual neatness she had no conscious memory of learning.
Honey filled a tiny dish with a ceramic-handled spoon.
Cora stared.
Her breath tightened.
This wasn’t a board she’d put together before.
Her hands had moved with the ease of someone who’d laid it out exactly like this a hundred times—just not in this life.
Tears blurred the edges of the wooden board.
For a moment, she pressed her palm to her chest, steadying herself as the rush of emotion hit.
Those memories weren’t accessible, not in any linear way, but the feeling of them was.
The board belonged to the family she had once known.
The rhythm of creating it lived in her hands.
And yet, she could no longer reach them.
“Forget about the board,” she whispered. “Focus on what matters.”
Aaron, the children, her work as a paralegal—each of these belonged to another world. A parallel life she could no longer touch.
She drew in a long breath, centering herself in this world. This life.
Evan.
Lenora.
The land.
Her purpose was here now.
She was ready for her four o’clock meeting with Evan by three, though it was only a fifteen-minute drive. The minutes dragged by, slow and heavy.
At 3:14, her phone buzzed with a text from Evan.
Got held up in Baltimore. Won’t be back in town until five. Shall we reschedule?
The disappointment hit harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him until the possibility slipped.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Then she typed, Why don’t you stop by the house? Here’s the address.
Even though he likely had it from her paperwork, she entered it anyway. A small, intentional invitation.
Seconds passed.
Then…
See you then.
Cora exhaled, her palm warm against the back of the phone.
He was coming.
Coming here.
To her.
The flutter beneath her ribs felt both delicate and unshakably certain.
She might have to wait a little longer.
But he was coming.
At 4:55, Cora forced herself to stay seated when the knock came. She’d already resisted the urge to peek through the window when she’d heard a car in the drive. Now, she made herself breathe—slow, steady—pretending calm she didn’t feel.
After two deep breaths, she called, “Be right there,” and walked in measured steps to the door.
She pulled it open.
“I hope this isn’t an intrusion.”
Evan looked tired. Lines edged the corners of his eyes, the kind carved by long days and longer thoughts.
“You’re not intruding at all.” She stepped aside, motioning him in. “I invited you, remember?”
Her light teasing coaxed a faint smile. “Only after I canceled our meeting at the last minute.”
“Tried to cancel,” she corrected, closing the door gently behind him. “The nice thing about meeting here is we can both be a little more relaxed.” She gestured at herself. “Hence the leggings and tee.”
She’d considered wearing a dress—maybe even heels—when the plan was to meet at his office. But dressing up for a casual conversation at home would have felt forced. Still, she’d chosen one of her favorite tees, soft and slate blue.
“If you can’t be comfortable at home, where can you be?” Something flickered in his eyes—uncertain, but familiar. He glanced around the great room. “Where would you like—?”
“To sit?” she finished for him. “The table.”
When he set his briefcase on the glossy wood, she crossed her fingers.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Her tone stayed casual. “I also made up a charcuterie board today. It’s way too much for one person. I thought we could munch and sip while we talk.”
The fact that he didn’t immediately decline felt like a yes.
“Wonderful,” she said, already heading for the kitchen. “Just a second.”
A moment later, the board was on the table, along with two glasses of Pinot Noir.
“There,” she said, taking her seat. “Something to tide us over.”
“That’s a lot of food.” His gaze passed over the board, pausing on the Brie. “You’ve got Brie and multigrain crackers. And prosciutto.”
“I’m partial to the fig jam,” she said lightly, “and the grapes.”
He didn’t move at first, just studied the spread.
She popped a grape into her mouth. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Yes.”
She began loading one of the small plates, resisting a smile when he did the same—Brie and prosciutto, red grapes and dried apricots, seeded crackers and a generous scoop of fig jam.
He reached for the honey dish, lifting the spoon. “I don’t know why, but I have this overwhelming urge to drizzle this on everything.”
“I dated someone once,” she said, keeping her tone light, “who said a charcuterie board is like pairing wine with a Lunchable.”
Evan chuckled.
“The woman I saw you at the reunion with—are you dating?” she asked, taking a sip of wine.
When he hesitated, her heart stuttered, and she realized she’d gone too far.
“I’m sorry.” He sat back slightly. “This is a business meeting. The personal has no place here.”
There it was—Evan’s instinct to draw a line between personal and professional. The trouble was, this didn’t feel like business. At least not to her. And maybe, judging by the flicker of regret in his eyes, not entirely to him either.
Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of his hand—meant as reassurance. The jolt that followed was sharp and real. She drew in a quick breath and pulled back.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “Time to get down to business.”
She thought of how, in those other lives, they’d simply fit from the first moment they’d laid eyes on each other. That wasn’t the case now. They were adults, shaped by years and choices, no longer the wide-eyed couple who’d fallen into love without effort.
His gaze flicked toward the briefcase.
“I just have one quick question before we start.”
He inclined his head, wary.
“What does the A stand for?” She smiled. “A. Evan Graham. Just curious.”