Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
S everal days later, the last rays of sunlight scattered through the historical society’s windows as Olivia blew dust off a decades-old high school yearbook.
She cracked it open. The musty scent of aged paper and binding glue filled her nostrils.
She and Daniel had been searching the archives for hours in search of clues tying the elusive threads connecting Lillian, Elliot, Victor, and the romantic letter writer.
As she combed through the yearbook, pointing out evidence linking young Theodore and Lillian, Daniel’s phone buzzed. She surreptitiously observed the number, noting it was an overseas call. Earlier, his phone had buzzed twice, though he had ignored it.
Brows stitched together, Daniel excused himself and answered his cellphone in hushed tones, growing increasingly urgent. Despite Olivia’s attempt to give him privacy, his rigid, squared posture alarmed her. She overheard fragmented phrases as he paced.
“Incident … shipment … authorities interrogating …”
Her blood turned to ice at his anguished exclamation, “Stolen?! That ancient limestone tablet was bound for the British Museum exhibit opening.”
Her inquisitive gaze met his shell-shocked expression once he ended the call.
Before she asked any questions, he brushed past her, muttering about phoning a coworker—leaving her reeling with speculation over what globe spanning project had apparently gone awry.
What did it signal about his priorities between adventures abroad and settling in their small hometown?
She stood and pushed aside the yearbook, her appetite for further romantic clues spoiled by fresh doubts.
What exactly was Daniel involved with? Why were authorities grilling him?
Deep furrows creased his forehead at the mention of some precious artifact being stolen. Was he not as far removed from his international work as she had assumed?
When he returned, Olivia fisted her hands on her hips. “Are you in some type of legal trouble abroad?” she asked.
He pressed his palms against the table, his grip so tight that his knuckles whitened. “There are suspicions my team broke laws in obtaining an artifact, but I swear we thoroughly vetted the dealer.”
“Is it serious?”
“It could be, considering that they can’t find the tablet.” He lifted his hands. “However, my time away made me realize none of it matters more than you, Ollie. I previously informed them I’m through and gave my notice. I’ll sort this mess out when I return home for good.”
She thought he had already done that. Returned home for good.
Though he seemed genuinely contrite, unease ensnared her. Could she trust that he had truly left his other world behind? She hadn’t realized anything about his profession was questionable until now. Or might the lure of adventure and acclaim eventually tear him away again, no matter the promises?
She struggled to keep her composure while his explanations flew by. He was withdrawing from global work, he insisted. Nothing mattered except for her.
Since he’d left, she’d become adept at keeping anything she truly liked under wraps. And she really liked him. Loved him, in fact.
Tears blurred her vision. Juggling her bookshop responsibilities and delving into the mystery of Lillian’s letter writer was demanding enough. She didn’t want to deal with Daniel’s catastrophes.
Clearing her tight throat, she flipped to the yearbook page where she had left off and avoided his unspoken attempts to read her shuttered mood.
“Look here,” she finally said, settling on a chair by the bookshelves. “I found this high school yearbook from the 1950s with photos of a young Lillian.” She pointed out the images, paging rapidly to reveal more details.
“She’s so pretty.” Daniel stood behind her and peered over her shoulder at the black-and-white photos captioned in fine cursive. There was Lillian, glowing, curls pinned to the side, and a mischievous smile hinting at adventures yet to come.
Olivia turned the page.
As if scorched, her fingers recoiled from the image of a gangly, earnest-looking teenage boy posing in thick spectacles beneath a tousle of hair.
“Theodore Weatherly, the Third,” Daniel read aloud. “He’s in the yearbook, too. I figured he and Lillian must’ve attended high school together.”
“The dates add up. I neglected to mention that during my visit to the library’s newspaper archives, I stumbled on an article about a Theodore Weatherly. He donated funds for a new library wing and was friends with Lillian’s father, Arthur Beaumont. Judging from the dates, he was Theodore’s grandfather.”
“Interesting connection.” Daniel pointed to the young Theodore’s image. “Any idea why he might be called the third?”
“It could be a family tradition, like passing down names through generations. Or maybe it’s a nickname or a title. What do you think?”
“Hard to say. It’s possible that there is significance behind ‘the third’ we’re not aware of.” Daniel leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Could Theodore be our man?”
“From the students’ comments, he seemed like a shy, quiet guy. He and Lillian were bound like bookends—tutoring each other after school, jitterbugging at the dance hall, and sharing root beer floats at the soda fountain in town.”
Could her old friend harbor this long-held secret of being in love with Lillian? She envisioned a gangly Theodore scribbling poetic lines to his sweetheart on folded paper.
Olivia flagged the entry in the yearbook, her conviction growing.
After additional hours of mining ledgers and microfiche articles well into the evening, Olivia switched off the lights. As they secured the building, Daniel’s gaze found hers. They both recognized it—perhaps the answer was at last within reach.
Several days later, on a Sunday afternoon, Olivia and Daniel strolled on the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs. A belated gust of wind carried the crisp, earthy scent of April.
Though her quest to unearth Lillian’s romantic history continued to occupy Olivia’s mind, she stole more frequent moments with Daniel.
Moments to wander sleepy neighborhoods thick with evergreens, conversing about everything and nothing the way they did as childhood friends. The chaos of life slowed whenever they were together, as if the universe sighed, “There you are … isn’t this better?”
She leaned into his sturdy frame and tucked a strand of her wildly fluttering hair behind her ear. Despite her efforts, she could never quite wrangle those unruly curls into submission.
“You should wear green more often.” Daniel eyed the silk blouse she wore under her cropped cotton cardigan, the floral pattern reminiscent of a garden in full bloom. “The color brings out the warmth in your eyes.”
Olivia grinned, a spark of exhilaration igniting at his closeness. His compliments and unfaltering presence through the trials of this quest made her feel like she could conquer the entire world if he stood nearby.
“Should I now?” Amusement laced her words.
“Purely an impartial observation. Emerald green suits you.”
“Mmhmm … emerald green.” Olivia bit back a smile, enjoying this flustered side of him. “Are you admitting that you don’t like my usual choices and colors?”
“What? No, I didn’t …” He faltered as she laughed.
“I’m only teasing.” She bumped his shoulder good-humoredly. “Thank you for the compliment. I may start taking your fashion advice more often.”
His expression relaxed into an easy grin. “In that case, I stand by my words. You look beautiful in green, Ollie.”
She expressed her gratitude by grasping his hand, drawing out the touch as she traced her fingertips over his palm.
He flushed.
“Distracted again?” Her fingers wandered to the inside of his wrist.
His breath hitched. “You have that effect on me.”
Chuckling, she curled against him, snuggling into the warmth of his shoulder as he pressed a kiss into her hair. He wrapped an arm securely around her waist, grazing the sliver of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up slightly.
Her mind wandered to their latest intriguing discoveries, and their intriguing past, their hearts connected like the fine strands of a spider web, fragile yet resilient in the face of adversity.
“Theodore and Lillian were an item several decades ago,” she said. “What do you make of those odds?”
“Lillian had her fair share of beaus, and Theodore was obviously one of them, so the odds are excellent. Have you confronted him yet?”
“I honestly don’t know how to bring up the subject.”
“Have you noticed the way Theodore’s face lights up whenever someone mentions Lillian’s name?”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, I have. It seems more than friendly fondness for an old girlfriend.”
“Nora, Victor, and Elliot are still in the mix, and I’ve gone round and round about it.” Olivia plucked a trailing vine spilling with vibrant wildflowers, twirling the blooms in her hand. “My instinct says our next move should be discovering why those men look so strikingly alike. It feels like the key to explaining Nora’s secrecy, too.”
Daniel paused and rested his hands on her shoulders. The low sunset cast his rugged features in a burnished glow, and her breath murmured in admiration.
“How about this? I’ll fold up a picnic dinner for us and meet you at the archives room at the historical society building tomorrow night,” he said. “We’ll continue to research.”
She grinned. “Is it okay to use the facilities after hours?”
“I’m the new president of the society, and I say it’s fine. These days, I’m there most of the time.”
“Sure, then.” Her grin broke into a laugh. “I’ll bring deviled eggs. I found my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Deal, and I can’t wait to try them. Tomorrow night, after you close the bookshop, meet me there. However long it takes, we’ll try to piece together the truth.”
A deep affection fluttered—an enduring gratitude for the genuine connection she had discovered with this handsome and extraordinary man.
Her fluttering spirits sank as she spotted his pretty ex, Vanessa, from high school. She exited a boutique and crossed the street.
Vanessa’s adventurous spirit had always shared Daniel’s wanderlust more than Olivia’s self-contained life. Would the reminder spark old feelings for him? Were these brief reunited days a closure before he resumed the path meant for him beyond sleepy Sweetwater Springs?
Sometimes past dreams whispered loudest when one’s future hung balanced between faith and fear, and the sudden threat of old flames rekindled.
When her knees forgot to bend and she feared she couldn’t walk another step, Daniel’s strong hand tipped her face upward.
“You own my heart, Ollie. No fancy promises that fade away like dust in some distant place.”
He realized what she was thinking. His earnest words resonated through her tangled fears.
His hazel eyes blazed with conviction. “I’m referring to roots. Deep roots. Your voice, from when we were kids, guided me back. Will you trust me, no matter what happens?”
“I trust you. Only don’t make me chase you halfway across the world before you realize you belong here with me.”
“You’ll chase me? You, the homebody?”
Under the onset of shimmering stars, Olivia replied with boldness. She drew him into a fierce kiss, intent on her answer.
Yes.