Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
T he following morning, a rich sunrise highlighted the storefront windows. The sky, a canvas of muted grays and occasional hints of serene blue, set the stage for another day of ever-changing weather—a tango between brief sunlight and passing showers.
Olivia hurried her steps, intent on confirming suspicions regarding Theodore’s love for Lillian. When her name was mentioned, the smile that creased his lips and his tender tone when he spoke about her, hinted at a deeper connection.
Butterflies swirled in Olivia’s stomach as she pushed the wooden door of Blissful Bites open, and the bell above her head chimed. Inside, Emma’s bakery unfolded like a confectionery wonderland. Stacked on rolling racks, flaky croissants shared space with dainty éclairs that glistened with glaze.
Emma, behind the counter, greeted Olivia.
Olivia stepped forward, noting the empty tables. “It’s quiet today.”
“I guarantee things will be crazy in a couple of hours.” Emma tucked her blond hair more securely under a white hair net. “My chocolate donuts aren’t ready yet. Sorry.”
“No worries.” Olivia struggled to keep her tone casual. “By the way, have you noticed anything … between Theodore and Lillian?”
Emma, her expression serene, continued arranging a tray of delicate fruit tarts topped with vibrant berries. “Like what?”
“I can’t help but believe that there’s something more to their relationship.”
“They’re both regular customers who enjoy their pastries, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Do they ever actually see each other?” Olivia asked.
“Not that I’m aware. They’re on different schedules,” Emma replied. “Besides, Lillian only moved back here recently.”
“The way Theodore mentions her name, the look in his eyes, it’s almost as if …”
“As if he’s in love with her,” Emma finished softly.
“Exactly. And I think he might be the unidentified sender of Lillian’s letter.”
When Emma didn’t respond, Olivia continued. “Theodore is like a father figure to you, correct?”
“He is extremely kind.”
“You would know if anyone would. Did he ever have a … a thing for Lillian?”
“Every guy had a thing for Lillian back in the day.”
“Theodore in particular?”
“Take a number. Like I said, everyone.” Emma finished arranging the tarts, then traced the edge of her flour-dusted apron. “Have you ever heard of a certain man named Clement Aubergine?”
Olivia squinted. Could he have been the man who had penned the unidentified letter? She didn’t recall any students by that name in the yearbook. Perhaps he was an upperclassman.
“Lillian and I have never discussed her past,” Olivia replied. “Did Clement live in Sweetwater Springs?”
“Indeed.” Emma’s hands stilled. “He dated Lillian on and off. I heard tales of when they first met. She was the talk of the town, and I remember my mother saying that Clement was smitten from the moment he laid eyes on Lillian.”
“What happened between them?”
“Life, I suppose.” Emma offered a ghost of a smile. “Lillian had dreams of traveling the world, and Clement wanted to settle down. In the end, they went their separate ways, but some wonder if either ever truly moved on.”
“Does Clement still live in Sweetwater Springs?”
“Last I heard, he lives at the senior facility. But then he may have moved away years ago. I’m not entirely sure.”
“He lives at the facility in town,” Olivia clarified.
“Supposedly, that’s one possibility.”
“Has Lillian gone to see him?”
“No idea.” As Emma elaborated on the man’s romantic entanglements with Lillian, Olivia’s imagination spun loose. Perhaps an exciting new contender who had written the letter waited in the wings. She’d need to modify her suspicions.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing she had lost track of time. The morning rush would soon begin, and she didn’t want to keep Emma from her work.
“Thank you for your help,” she said. “I appreciate you taking a few minutes to chat with me.”
Emma’s smile was gentle, causing her eyes to crease at the edges in a heartwarming expression. “Anytime. You can always find me here.”
With a grateful nod, Olivia exited the bakery and stepped onto the sidewalk. As she inhaled, the morning air filled her lungs with freshness. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting a bright light on the quaint facades of the storefronts and houses that lined the street.
She glided back to her shop, her mind swirling with considerations of Theodore, Lillian, Clement, and the mysterious letter. As she stepped inside, the familiar scent of old books and the faint trace of vanilla from the scented candle on a bookshelf greeted her. The floorboards groaned as she walked to the front counter, each step a comforting reminder of the shop’s history.
In a burst of contemplation, she watched the recognizable town unfold before her—passersby with scampering strides, the occasional clatter of a bicycle wheel on cobblestone streets, and picturesque scenes she knew by heart.
The following day, Olivia could hardly focus on cataloguing a stack of books. Between this latest person, Clement Aubergine, and all the others who might’ve written the letter to Lillian, her mind reran the puzzling conversation she’d overheard between Victor and Elliot.
After further discussion with Daniel, they concluded the two men were seeking a large sum of cash tied to an inheritance somewhere in Sweetwater Springs’ history.
As Daniel quietly noted, many paths in life led back to only one thing. Money.
As she tidied the shop, movement flickered at the edge of her vision, and she tamped down her startled reaction. Fear was a destination she had grown reluctant to revisit.
Fortunately, it was merely a stray newspaper tumbling down the street.
She resumed re-shelving novels at double speed and checked her watch. Time to close.
She found herself drawn to the bookshelves, her fingers itching to uncover any hidden clues. She ran her hand along the spines of the old books, the rough texture of the worn paper and the faint musty smell filling her senses. Each book held a story, a piece of history, or the imaginings of the future.
The shop bell jangled violently. She whirled around as the door flung wide, a strong wind gusting across the threshold. Curious. She could’ve sworn the door was secure.
She crossed the shop to seal the door, double checking the lock. As the deadbolt clicked, the lamps flickered.
Were those footsteps creaking upstairs where she kept the extra inventory?
Surely not.
“Hello …?” She rubbed her arms brusquely, willing away imaginary stares, peering down aisles for anything amiss. She stepped to the front window and looked out when tires crunched outside.
There stood Victor, or Elliot, emerging sleek as a panther from a black luxury car. His charcoal-gray suit, expertly tailored, accentuated his lean frame. Their eyes locked through the glass as he limped toward the door.
Victor.
She unlocked the door, vowing not to let her guard down for a minute. “Hello … Victor, right?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help find you something? I’m closing shop for the day.”
Why had he sought her out? And with such an entrance, he was clearly a man accustomed to showy theatrics and keeping folks off balance.
“I’m not here for any books, and I won’t keep you long.”
He wasn’t wearing a fedora. He hadn’t worn a fedora the other night, either. In fact, neither had Elliot.
“May I ask you something?” She returned to stand behind the counter.
He limped to the counter and leaned against it. “By all means.”
“What is it with this fedora? First, you wore it everywhere. And now neither you nor Elliot wear one. What gives?”
“Elliot wore a fedora ever since he was a boy, when he found his late father’s hat in the attic. He adopted it as a lucky charm.”
She monitored him, cloaking her wariness with a fa?ade of casual interest. “His Aunt Delilah elaborated on those details when Daniel and I visited her.”
“So, you know I’m not lying.” Victor’s eyes locked onto hers. “When I first arrived, I took a style cue from him and picked up my fedora to match his signature look.”
“If surreptitious was the goal, consider it achieved.”
“We looked like twins from an old detective movie, though we attracted more puzzled gapes than I expected. For me, blending into the community is more prudent.”
“You are making such a charming attempt to prove you are related,” Olivia said, inclining her head.
He smirked. “Just long-lost relatives, reunited by chance.”
She fought back a smile at his audaciousness. “What brings you here, Victor Steele?”
He paused, a man with piercing dark eyes, and she realized those eyes only revealed a fraction of his thoughts. His gaze swept over the bookshop, as if absorbing every detail.
“I wanted to speak to you about the other night in the park.” His voice carried a measured cadence, like that of a man accustomed to choosing his words carefully.
How had he guessed what she’d overheard?
Daniel had conversed with Delilah Fitzwater. Perhaps she had relayed the information to Elliot.
Olivia led Victor to a seating area near a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. His cologne—cedar and spice—filled her nostrils.
She perched on a cushioned chair across from him, rearranging the billowy sleeves of her blouse, then tucking her skirt around her knees.
“I imagine you’re curious about what Elliot and I are truly after,” Victor continued.
“Enlighten me.”
“Elliot and I came to Sweetwater Springs to secure family assets left behind generations ago, legally.”
“Ah.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Okay.”
“I said legally.”
“I heard you.” She studied him, but his well-practiced charisma exposed nothing. “You mean the power of money brought you here?”
“A sizable trust fund. Also, we’re aiming to claim forgotten family bank accounts by proving our relationship.”
A contemplative pause hung midair.
“It’s not only about finding each other, then,” she finally said. “You both have a hidden agenda.”
His gaze flitted to the bookshelves. “You make us sound like gold diggers.”
“Are you?” As soon as she blurted out the question, she wished she could retrieve the words and return them to the confines of her mouth. She was out of line.
“I prefer to think not. I have a lot of experience in finance.” He leaned back. “We’re investigating historical bank and property records to find out if a substantial Fitzwater, or Steele family inheritance exists.”
Olivia detected a French accent, that was lilting his words, as he elaborated on his intentions.
Her instincts perked. “Forgive my curiosity, but where did you live before coming here?”
“My family moved often when I was young, never settling down for too long.” He turned to the window. “I spent a fair amount of time crisscrossing Europe and the Adriatic coast. Now that I’m here, I rented an apartment near the fountain.”
His cultured yet rootless upbringing hinted at a more complex past than merely chasing family fortune. Had boyish dreams once shone in those eyes, clouded by years of roving borders? What youthful ideals or na?ve missteps first set him on such a course?
“I couldn’t help but notice your limp,” she said.
He shrugged. “I had a sports injury when I was young. Soccer. I hoped to have a promising career, but an awkward landing on the field tore a ligament, and my calling ended before it began.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. In case you’re wondering, I can prove my relation to the Fitzwater lineage.” Victor nodded, as if he agreed completely with his own story. “I want my legacy to be officially recognized after being disconnected from relatives for so long.”
She smoothed the non-existent wrinkles in her skirt. “How?”
“I have copies of family records—old pedigree charts, faded photographs, generations of Fitzwater heirs.” He withdrew a journal from his suit jacket. “My great-grandfather, Algernon Fitzwater, compiled this in the 1920s.”
He opened to a page detailing an extensive multi-branching lineage tree in faded sepia ink.
“One encircled name near the bottom, Elliot Fitzwater, is connected to a ‘Delilah.’”
In his tone, Olivia glimpsed deeper currents than merely claiming an old inheritance. Victor had been an outsider, existing on the fraying edges of obscure blood ties. Perhaps he yearned to truly belong somewhere at last and saw taking the Fitzwater name as his path back to roots and legitimacy.
Soon after he left, trailing cigarette smoke behind him, a movement outside caused her to pause.
She exhaled slowly, shaken at the notion of Victor appearing again. This inheritance business unsettled her, but perhaps Daniel could help make sense of it.
She walked to the window, her fingers sliding along the spines of the books lining the shelves. She peered out, anticipation quickening her heartbeat.
A man’s silhouette passed by, and her pulse kicked.
Daniel?
No such luck. Besides, he wasn’t out of work until six.
It was James McAllister, her former beau.
He extended a friendly wave. “Are you open?” he mouthed.
She sighed and stepped to the counter to stack a last armful of books. “Sure. Why not?”
He greeted her with an overpowering smile as she unlocked the door, and he stepped inside. “Got time to stop by my reopened business? I’d appreciate your magician’s eye. Tonight is my unofficial grand opening.”
“Tonight?”
“Well, right about now, actually.”
His persistent ogling gaze sparked an instinctive response. Go away, James.
No doubt Daniel would bristle hearing James sought her company so soon after their meeting by the fountain.
“Ah, goodness, my schedule is completely slammed tonight.” She fumbled for a more gracious refusal but couldn’t come up with anything.
The shop door opened, and the bell tinkled cheerfully.
Olivia raised her eyes, relieved to see Daniel stride in.
“Afternoon, you two,” he greeted easily, though his hard gaze registered James, who was now leaning on the counter. “Or should I say good evening?”
“Daniel, I’m thrilled to see you, as always.” Olivia grinned broadly. “James was in the middle of inviting me to check out his latest establishment.”
Daniel lifted an eyebrow. “How nice.”
“Why don’t both of you come and get an exclusive sneak peek?” James straightened. “I’m offering a preview for friends and family before I officially announce my reopening.”
With a heavy sigh, Daniel glanced at Olivia. She gave a refined nod. Perhaps this was an ideal opportunity to probe James’ impressions of Victor Steele’s activities. She assumed their paths might’ve crossed because Victor’s apartment was close to his business.
“We’d love to, James.” Olivia twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. “We were hoping to get out and about tonight, weren’t we, Daniel?”
“You said you were slammed.” James smirked.
“No, no. I got my dates mixed up.” Olivia grabbed her cardigan sweater, then locked her bookshop for what she hoped was the last time for the evening. “Lead the way, James!”
As they crossed the street, James detailed his vision for attracting more youthful nightlife crowds. “I wanted to create a space where people can come together, forget their troubles, and have fun.” His eyes shimmered with an unmistakable fervor. “Growing up, I found solace in board games. They were my escape from the constant pressure to succeed, to be the perfect son.”
Olivia nodded, sensing a deeper story behind his words. She remembered the long hours James spent at his family’s stall at the farmer’s market, always striving to meet his parents’ high expectations.
She offered him a genuine smile. “You’re an excellent entrepreneur.”
James returned her smile, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Thanks, Olivia. That means a lot coming from you.”
“This guy never gives up,” Daniel whispered to her. “Should I be concerned?”
“You and I are finally together again. Nothing will change that.”
His hand slid to the small of her back, his lips grazing her hair. “Right you are, Ollie. I’m here for good.”
Seeing him like this, relaxed and smiling, she could hardly believe that this brilliant, sophisticated man who had traveled the world and whom she’d watched on countless television interviews, was the same man who had dreamed with her under a starlit sky.
A few minutes later, the door of McAllister’s Game Haven swung open.
Mingling scents of piping hot coffee and popcorn hovered in the air, creating an expectant atmosphere.
A vibrant neon sign above the entrance flickered to life, casting an orange glow on the diverse assortment of board games showcased alphabetically by title. Each game, meticulously arranged, waited to be unraveled, offering a realm of strategy and fun. The colorful cardboard boxes promised hours of collaborative quests and laughter-filled nights.
Eager discussions resonated off the exposed brick walls, along with dice rolling and cards shuffling. Background music played too loudly, instrumental video-game soundtracks. An enormous communal table indicated players could gather and try out the games.
At the counter, a knowledgeable and enthusiastic staff member stood ready to shepherd patrons through the extensive selection. He nodded along with the music, as if he totally agreed with every pulsation.
“Best wishes, James.” Olivia boosted her voice so it could be heard. “I’m certain this will all be a grand success.”
“Thank you.” His hand grazed her shoulder, and the contact brought an instinctive clutch to her chest. He lingered too long for friendly comfort as he described the vintage artwork lining the walls.
She slid away to admire the gallery quality Gone Board Game Girl lithograph, and James shadowed, gesturing at the brushed steel accents and bold, espresso-colored leather couches by the fireplace.
“With all these nooks for couples, I’m certain business will thrive for sophisticated dates.” He gave her a meaningful look, which she avoided by averting her eyes. “Perhaps you’d enjoy trivia night?”
Olivia found Daniel watching this exchange from the bar area with undisguised scrutiny. Their eyes met and his eyebrows pinched together, a silent question as he crossed the room to rejoin her.
Sensing a territorial shift, James pivoted to his grand plans for a gaming tournament. The edge of forced camaraderie lurked beneath their smiles.
“I would be delighted if you shared your ideas for creating a signature cocktail for the lounge,” he told Olivia. “I could use a consult on the menu and decor as well.”
“And how long might that take?” Daniel interjected, his tone desert dry.
“However long the lady desires.” James displayed a roguish grin that Daniel looked ready to peel off with his fists.
She gave Daniel’s waist a quick, conciliatory squeeze, and redirected the conversation before flaring tempers ruined their information gathering goals.
“While I’m thinking of it, James, have you seen the guy we were discussing the other day—Victor Steele—lurking around anywhere?” she asked.
“Nope. I can’t say I have.”
“How about a certain older resident who might come to your shop to while away an afternoon playing board games?”
James arranged a chessboard on a square table and inquired, “What’s his name?”
“Clement Aubergine.”
“Never heard of the guy,” James mumbled, his attention clearly divided between the chess pieces and the conversation.
“Another dead end,” Daniel whispered. He exhaled and slid an arm around Olivia’s shoulders.
The fringed door curtains parted as laughter mushroomed ahead of an older couple. James’ parents, Walter and Harriet McAllister, grinned their greeting as they approached.
“Look who I happened to run into.” James gestured to Olivia and Daniel.
Umm, no. James hadn’t run into them. He had practically barged into Olivia’s bookshop and fairly demanded she attend his “unofficial” opening.
“We wouldn’t miss the launch of our son’s latest shop for anything!” Harriet reached up to ruffle her son’s hair, while Walter grinned behind his thick glasses and clapped James on the back.
As Harriet went on praising her son’s clever vision, Olivia found her opportunity when Harriet took a breath.
“James clearly inherited the family’s passion for spreading community joy,” Olivia said. “Speaking of traditions, did you ever meet a man named Clement Aubergine? He might’ve lived at the senior facility, but I phoned there, and they’ve never heard of him. I assume he’s in his 70s.”
Olivia’s search had also extended to archives, employment registries, and real estate—any breadcrumb hinting if Clement resided nearby.
Harriet tapped her lip.
Olivia held her breath.
“The name pings a distant bell.” Harriet’s eyes briefly glazed over. “What a whirlwind summer back then when he was here. Oh …” Her voice lowered to a murmur.
“Oh?” Olivia tensed—had they crashed into another dead end?
“I’m afraid Clement had a bit of a murky scandal that forced him to leave.” Harriet imparted her wisdom uneasily. “Terrible rumors soared about the misfortune—something that happened to his fiancée. Some whispered that he was involved. Nasty business in every direction.”
Walter’s grin fell away. “Many people turned against Clement after the rumor mill started, and he left and never returned. Can’t say I blame him; the whole affair ruined his prospects here.”
“Ruined his prospects, how?” Olivia asked.
“A future. A wife.”
Olivia mulled over this revelation. Perhaps Clement dated Lillian.
Then again, perhaps she was trying too hard to pin the letter on him. Her mind wandered back to the mystery of the writer, and her growing hunch that Theodore was the key to unlocking the truth.
She dislodged her suspicion and focused on the McAllister couple. “Anything else you might remember?” she asked.
“Clement was a dazzling, nimble-minded fellow.” Walter spread his hands wide, adding a touch of theatrics to his description. “He had all the local ladies swooning, with his fancy suits and smooth dance moves.”
“And he was chivalrous,” Harriet said. “He was constantly opening doors and pulling out chairs for every woman he met.”
The man was real, although he’d been gone for decades. The dazzling Clement didn’t live at the senior facility in town. In fact, he’d never lived there. Emma had been wrong, though she’d been speculating, basing her knowledge on hearsay.
Nodding encouragingly, Olivia pressed for more information. “Did anyone stay in contact or have an inkling where Clement might’ve gone after he left?”
Walter tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Lillian Beaumont sent letters to him for a time. Many folks assumed she got swept up in his orbit along with most of the other ladies.”
“Not me,” Harriet said.
He smiled. “Not you, my snuggle muffin.”
At the stroke of seven, the resonant chime of the clock tower penetrated the walls of the game shop.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in gravy! Walter, we forgot to set the DVR for our show.” Harriet twisted to Olivia and Daniel. “You two are coming to the potluck, right? It’s a cherished tradition, and the sweetheart tree planting is always enchanting. We love to see who is the next to get married. ”
Olivia shared a meaningful look at Daniel, remembering Lillian’s diary.
“We wouldn’t miss either occasion,” she said.
As they left James’ business, the last traces of daylight had faded, giving way to the glow of the moon. The streetlamps, bright with light, illuminated the sidewalks and storefronts with a dreamlike ambiance, as if Sweetwater Springs had been plucked straight from the pages of a fairytale.
Olivia looped her arm through Daniel’s, drawing close to him. He gazed down at her, expressing a depth of longing so intense that she almost forgot to breathe.
She searched his features, his firm lips, and the gravity in those gorgeous eyes, trying to unravel his emotions.
“I’m grateful fate led us back together,” she said.
“No one but you could fill the empty space in my life, Ollie. I traveled for years and still felt hollow.” He brought his palm to her cheek. “Not anymore.”
She burrowed into his shoulder. His hand stroked her hair.
There was no need for words now. All was right in her world.
They passed an antique shop on the corner of main and a side street, and Olivia glimpsed a fancy fountain pen in the window display.
“Theodore uses a monogrammed pen like that for his poems,” she said. “Often he comes into my bookshop and sits by the corner window and writes and writes.” She considered the elaborate cursive script on Lillian’s unsigned envelope, visualizing the sweeping artistic embellishments.
“Daniel, wait!” Her voice trembled with excitement. Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
She gulped as memories surged and tapped on the shop’s window. “The handwriting on Lillian’s letter distinctly matches Theodore’s style!”
A thought had always niggled, an insistent tugging. The unique script, with its elongated curves and artistic loops. Where had she seen it before? The answer had hovered and teased, scarcely out of reach.
Until now.
Daniel pressed his face to the window to inspect the pen more closely. “You’re thinking our unassuming friend is Lillian’s secret admirer?”
“Don’t you see? It all adds up. It must be him. Even the nickname Lillian had for him—StormyCuddle.”
“I’m not following.”
“Newsflash. Theodore’s last name is Weatherly. Stormy weather, get it? And cuddle is a cute nickname.”
Daniel grinned, a small, satisfied grin.
The truth crystallized like dawn’s first light. The quiet poet had been patiently waiting and yearning across the years for this magical ending.
Theodore Weatherly, the Third.
But why had he delayed his reunion with Lillian for so long?