Chapter 33
THIRTY THREE
ANOTHER TORTUROUS LULL, stripping away the noise I need to drown out the silence of my phone.
My gaze lands on Lou, settled comfortably at his table by the window. As usual, his glasses are perched on his nose, but this time he is engrossed in reading a book. Next to his coffee mug sits a cream-colored manila envelope, bulging with sheets.
He glances up, as if sensing my attention. He meets my eyes over the rim of his glasses, offering a warm smile and a gentle nod towards the envelope.
Guilt surges through me.
This loving man spent his weekend gathering those signatures to save me.
And here I am, paralyzed by my drama, obsessively waiting for a text like a lovesick teenager.
But just the thought of plastering on enthusiastic gratitude while my insides are churning with dread about Matthew’s silence feels utterly exhausting and impossible to pull off.
My phone feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
Maybe he replied while I was looking at Lou?
The urge to check again is overpowering.
No.
Enough.
Shaking my head, I force down the anxiety.
Inhaling a deep, steadying breath that only partially works, I muster what I hope passes for a genuine smile and weave through the few occupied tables towards Lou’s corner.
“Hey, Lou,” I say, forcing cheerful warmth into my voice.
He puts his book off to the side, his kind eyes smiling up at me. “Amy, my dear,” he greets, his voice welcoming. “Good to see you smiling.” He places his hand on the thick envelope. “Brought you the first spoils of war, so to speak.”
I pick up the envelope, impressed by its thickness. “Wow, Lou. I can’t believe this! Thank you very much.”
“Believe it my dear. This place means a lot more to this community than you realize. It all started with Mary, and now you’re the reason it continues to be so great.” He gestures to the empty chair beside him.
“Thank you,” I reply wholeheartedly, taking a seat. “I promise not to let your efforts go to waste.” I hold up the envelope for emphasis before laying it flat in front of me.
“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” he says, patting my shoulder. “The most we can ever do is give something our best. The rest is up to the powers that be. Try to take some comfort in that, Amy.”
I exhale a heavy breath. “It’s hard,” I confess, ditching my facade of faked enthusiasm. “I really don’t know how everything came down on me at once. But I can’t lose this place. I won’t.”
“Then you won’t. I believe in you.”
“That much?”
“And even more than I can express,” he replies with conviction. “You have grit and passion, my dear. Two valuable assets that cannot be taught. You either have them, or you don’t. And you, do.”
I tilt my head, studying this old man’s lovable features, sheer awe tugging the corner of my mouth up in a half-smile. “You always know exactly what to say.”
“I always speak the truth.” He shrugs, returning my smile.
My eyes flick from his face to the book resting in front of him. A well-worn paperback.
“Persuasion,” I read the title out loud. “Never heard of it.”
Lou picks up the book, handling it with gentle reverence. A soft, faraway look comes into his eyes.
“Ah, yes,” he murmurs, tracing the author’s name on the cover with his fingertip.
“This was one of my late wife’s absolute favorites.
” He pauses, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips as he looks down at the cover, lost in a memory.
“Lord, that woman loved this book. Read it ragged over the years.” He looks back up at me, his expression clearing slightly, though a gentle nostalgia remains.
“Thought I’d give it another read. It makes me feel close to my Sarah every time I open it. ”
His quiet vulnerability, and the simple way he speaks of his late wife, creates a sudden hush in my own internal chaos. “That’s really beautiful,” I say softly, meaning it. “What is it about?”
“Second chances,” he begins, his voice soft and reflective.
“Holding onto hope, even when things appear complicated.” He looks out through the café window for a moment, then his gaze returns to me, kind and steady.
“There’s a quiet strength in the main character, Anne.
A real endurance. Maybe that’s why Sarah loved this story so much.
” His voice softens at the mention of his wife.
“That belief in patience, in eventually trusting your own heart, and maybe getting that rare second chance at love.”
“Someone once told me love is tragic,” I say after a brief, thoughtful pause.
“Tragic?” he repeats quietly. “There’s a whole lot of fear and pain there.”
“Pain?”
“Absolutely,” he confirms. “Love is a double-edged sword. Just like it has the power to make us, it has the power to break us.” He pauses, his gaze knowing. “And should it be the kind that breaks us… well… that kind of pain…” He shakes his head slowly. “That takes a lot of courage to overcome.”
I nod slowly, thinking of Matthew’s cold eyes and the wall he threw up between us. “So you just… avoid it?” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Lou seems to hear the real question underneath. “It would be safer, wouldn’t it? To shut out the good with the bad, just to avoid the risk. The way I see it, labelling love as tragic is a very effective survival mechanism.”
“Pretty scary,” I whisper, my words barely audible.
“Naturally.” Lou nods, lost in thought. “You see, love,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “those four little letters can’t possibly contain the magnitude of its power.
To truly appreciate the greatness of it, you have to have experienced the darkness of it.
” He looks at me, his gaze full of compassion. “You just can’t let the darkness win.”
The directness of his advice makes tears pool in my eyes. “The darkness of love? Yes, I can relate to that. Love is manipulations and lies. Love is a liar. Love lies,” I conclude, bitterness lacing every word.
Lou shakes his head slowly. “My dear,” he says, giving my hand a comforting pat.
“Don’t mix up the weapon with the person who wields it.
People will make you feel that love lies, but it is in fact those very people who lie in the name of love.
Don’t let the actions of someone dishonest sour you on the whole idea. ”
A sniffle accidentally escapes me. I quickly try to cover it up, clearing my throat and discreetly wiping away a stray tear.
Lou notices and immediately lays a comforting hand on my arm. “So sorry, my dear, listen to me inconsiderately rambling on. Is this about your fiancé? I’ve noticed you no longer wear your engagement ring.”
I shake my head. “It’s over between us.” I opt for the simplest explanation, attempting to gather myself.
“Goodness, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He shifts in his seat, sliding his chair back slightly. “You look like you could use a hug.”
Just when I thought I had it under control, his words break me. I can do nothing but nod as tears escape down my cheeks.
Lou pulls me close, his steady hand patting my back rhythmically. His tweed jacket feels rough against my cheek, smelling faintly of old paper, a hint of pipe tobacco, and the reassuring scent of time itself. It feels like being held against something solid that has weathered many seasons.
When he pulls back, he slides the paper napkin out from under his mug and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I sniffle, taking it. “Sorry about this.”
“Oh, no need to apologize for having a heart,” he assures me kindly. “Especially when it’s clearly been broken.”
I nod slowly, dabbing the napkin under my eyes to stem the flow of tears. “Pretty sure I’m done with love,” I mumble.
“That’s like telling the tide not to come in,” Lou replies, a sad, knowing smile on his lips. “Love isn’t something we choose, my dear. It chooses us. And we have very little say in the matter.”
“Great,” I blurt out, the word dripping with bitterness.
“Life’s greatest purpose is to find your heart’s equal in another,” he explains reverently, his voice regaining its gentle conviction. “To find with whom your own true love lies. Don’t rob yourself of that journey because you’re scared of getting hurt again.”
“A little break would be nice,” I confess, attempting a giggle that comes out quivery.
Lou chuckles, patting my shoulder. “The good news is, it won’t kill you.” His shoulders shake with light laughter that rubs off on me, making me giggle genuinely this time.
“Thank you, really,” I tell him with a timid grin. “And for this.” I pick up the stuffed envelope.
“No need to thank me, my dear.” He returns my smile, reaching for his book. “It is absolutely my pleasure.”
“Coffee?” I offer as I stand up.
“Oh, no more, thank you. I should be on my way.”
“Well, have a great evening, Lou.”
“You as well, my dearest Amy.”
I watch Lou head toward the front door and give him a small wave.
The fragile warmth of our conversation lingers around my weary heart.