“Only me and Rita,” Destiny whispered, her tears spilling freely over her cheeks. “I was going to tell you, Troy, tonight. I was. That’s what I wanted to talk to you—”
He held up a hand. “You said you came to Claremont to write about small-town living.” His head shook as every horrible piece fell into place and he remembered that very first day that she drove into town...and started her trip at the service station where he worked. “That wasn’t true, was it? You didn’t come here to write about Claremont. You came here to write about me. You came here so you could print my letters. My private letters. All of this time, since that first day, has been a lie.”
“Troy, wait, I need to explain...”
“You think I’d believe anything you say now? Really?” He thought of what he’d planned to talk to her about tonight and how very wrong he’d been. “I don’t want to see you again, Destiny.”
She reached for him, but he shook her arm away.
“Don’t even think of printing those letters, not one word of them. They’re meant for someone.” He inhaled, released it thickly. “Someone special.”
“Troy, I promise you, I wasn’t going to—”
But he didn’t hear the rest of her plea. He turned and stormed away from the bookstore, away from the crowd that stared at him with pity, away from his guilt-ridden grandmother and away from the only woman who’d ever hurt him...and the only one he’d ever truly loved.
Chapter Eleven
“Destiny, you know you can stay here as long as you want. Your daddy and I are really enjoying having you back at home, and I know Bevvie likes it.” Geneva Porter lifted the newspaper classifieds and pointed to the rental properties Destiny had highlighted. “There’s no need for you to move out. Why don’t you stay here until you figure out what you want to do?”
Destiny finished the letter she’d been writing and folded it to keep her mother from seeing the contents. “Mom, I wouldn’t have moved in now, but I couldn’t afford the rent in that fancy Buckhead apartment. I don’t know why I picked something like that fresh out of college anyway.”
“You were counting on your magazine doing well because you believed in it,” her mother said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Destiny liked this new positive side of Geneva Porter, but unfortunately, she couldn’t reciprocate the optimism. “Well, I pegged that wrong, didn’t I?”
Her mother sat on the edge of Destiny’s bed. “You still have subscribers. Rita said you’d lost some, but not all.”
“Subscribers are good, but it’s the advertisers who pay the bills. And they all left when I didn’t deliver an issue last month.” She added the folded letter to the box that held all of the others. “And Rita said she’s sure I’ll get that hostess job at the restaurant where she works. That’ll give me enough to live on until I can find some kind of real writing job.”
“You have a real writing job, honey.” Her mother glanced at the box of letters, but Destiny wasn’t worried. She knew her mother would never read her private letters, unlike Destiny, who’d read Troy’s until she could recite every word.
A whimper escaped, and she attempted to swallow it down before her mother started feeling sorry for her again. Then she caught her mom’s look of pity and knew she’d heard.
“I’ll be okay,” she said, for the thousandth time since she’d moved home a month ago.
Her mother smoothed her hand across the white comforter on Destiny’s bed. “Troy’s grandmother called me today.”
That got Destiny’s attention. “Mrs. Bowers? How’d she get your number?”
“She said Rita gave it to her.”
Destiny made a mental note to alert her sole employee as to what personal information she was allowed to share. “What did she say?” She tried not to sound too eager to hear the answer and failed miserably.
“She said that Troy hasn’t been the same since you left town, that he’s miserable and that she thinks you should come back so y’all can work things out.” Geneva cleared her throat. “I told her you were undoubtedly more miserable, and that I also think you should go back and try to work things out.”
“He hasn’t called, hasn’t emailed, hasn’t texted. He doesn’t want to communicate with me, doesn’t ever want to see me again,” Destiny said. “His words.”
Her mother lifted a shoulder. “He was hurt, honey. People say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt. You should go down there and see if you can fix this.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.” Destiny reached for her notepad and prepared to pen yet another letter. The letters were her only solace now, and she simply couldn’t stop writing them.
Her mother looked at the notepad and then to the box filled with letters. “Rita said that you still have subscribers.”
“I know. She tells me daily. But if we don’t have any material worthy of advertisers, it doesn’t really matter whether people subscribe, does it? And I’m kind of surprised they still subscribe anyway. I haven’t put anything up since I told them I didn’t get permission to run the love letters.”
“Right, I was just thinking...” She touched a finger to the box of letters. “You don’t have Troy’s love letters anymore, but you do still have original letters you could publish.”
“Trust me, Mom. Those aren’t love letters. They’re sad letters, depressed letters, aching-for-love letters.”
Her mother nodded and touched the top of the box of letters again. “Still, I wonder if people—and one person in particular—wouldn’t be interested in reading them.” She rubbed her palm across the top letter. “And you wouldn’t have to worry about getting the author’s permission, now would you?”
Destiny processed what her mother was saying and thought about putting her innermost feelings, her raw pain and heartache, out for the world to see. The thought terrified her, and yet...that was what she’d originally planned to do to Troy, put his innermost secrets out for the world to see. “Mom?”
“Yes?”
Destiny grabbed her laptop from the nightstand and then lifted the box of letters and placed them beside her on the bed. “Thanks.” She had some typing to do.
* * *
Troy cranked the engine on Chad Martin’s car and was almost disappointed it sounded so good. The old BMW was the last vehicle in for repair, and Troy didn’t want any idle time on his hands. Ever since Destiny left, he’d worked from sunup until sundown at the station during the week, then at the fishing hole on the weekends, to keep himself as busy as possible and to keep his mind off the stunning brunette who’d broken his heart.
Probably because he’d been working so much, he’d finished every single job. Frowning, he turned the key and realized that, like it or not, he had the car running again. He ran a hand over the dash of the older-model car and instantly remembered the newer model, shiny and red, pulling into the station that first time with Destiny sitting behind the wheel. What a whirlwind his life had been since that day. And how much it had changed. Before, nearly every day he at least thought about writing a letter to his future bride. Now the thought of writing one, the thought of even having a future bride, was as foreign as this car.
“Troy, you in there?” Bo Taylor’s voice called into the shop.
Troy swallowed past the realization that he might want to stay single for life, climbed out of the car and slammed the door with enough force to make the windows rattle. “Aw, man, I didn’t mean to do that. Had my mind on something else.”
Bo nodded as though he knew exactly where Troy’s mind had been. “That car has enough miles on it that I’m sure it’s been through harder blows than that, and it doesn’t seem any worse for the wear.”
“Still.” Troy sighed and didn’t add anything else. What could he say? His heart was hurt
ing, and because of it, he wanted to hurt something. Even so, he should hurt something he owned instead of something that belonged to a customer.
“Well, um, the reason I came out here is because you’ve got someone here to see you.”
Troy had been secretly waiting for this for weeks. His grandmother had hinted that she’d asked Destiny to come back and work things out, and he’d wondered what he’d say when she showed up. He still didn’t know. He’d been hurt terribly, but he still loved her terribly.
“Who’s here?” he asked, then held his breath and waited to finally see her again, walking into his shop and telling him she wanted to work things out.
“David, you can come on in,” Bo said, then he left the garage as David Presley stepped around the corner.
All of Troy’s anticipation faded in one fell swoop. It wasn’t Destiny at all, and the disappointment that washed over him made him feel even worse. He’d blown up at her, told her never to come back and that he didn’t want to see her again, and she was giving him what he wanted. He should be happy. And he shouldn’t take this disappointment out on David the way he’d taken his anger out on Chad’s car. He inhaled, let it out and welcomed the guy.
“Hey, David. Got troubles with your vehicle?” Maybe he’d be able to stay busy a few more hours today, after all.
The bookstore owner shook his head. “No, the old Mustang is running fine, even if it should be on its last leg,” David said. “But I came because I wanted to give you something.”
Troy hadn’t noticed the box tucked under David’s right arm. “Give me something?”
“Listen, I’ve felt horrible since that night when I told you about Destiny’s contest. Seeing her get so upset and seeing you get so angry, all because of something I said, well, that’s kind of tough to stomach, you know?”
“It wasn’t your fault, David. She should’ve told me about the love-letter contest.” He grabbed a shop rag out of his back pocket and wiped his hands. “Nothing you should feel bad about, and you sure don’t need to give me any kind of a gift.”
“You know, she said she was going to tell you about the contest that night, and she also said she’d decided not to print the letters,” David reminded him.
Troy nodded. He remembered her words clearly. “Yeah, but she also told me she was a writer from Atlanta, yet never once mentioned that she came here to write about me.”
David held out the box. “I don’t suppose you’ve been following her blog, or looked at the new issue of her magazine she put out this week?”
Troy had fought the urge to look at her site, and thankfully, because he’d been so busy working, he’d succeeded in resisting the temptation. “No, I haven’t.”
David nodded. “I figured as much, so I printed these out for you. She’s been posting the love letters for the past week, and I thought you’d want to see them.”
Troy couldn’t believe it. Destiny had said she’d mailed the letters back, and his grandmother had promised she received them and put them back in their corresponding boxes in his garage. And there were no new letters because Troy hadn’t been able to write another one to his future bride since the bride he thought he wanted left town.
“She made copies?” Anger ripped through him at a feverish pace. He reached in his pocket, pulled out his phone and prepared to dial the woman he hadn’t spoken to in over a month...and give her a piece of his mind. “She had no right to publish my letters.”
“They aren’t your letters.” David extended the box.
Confused, Troy reminded the guy, “I wrote them.”
“No, you didn’t.” He lifted the top of the box so Troy could see the stack of typed letters, and he easily spotted the salutation that began the first page.
My dearest Troy.
“She published her love letters,” David said, “the ones she wrote to you. And she’s put them out for the whole world to see.”
“She put up love letters...addressed to me?” Troy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How many love letters?
“So far a hundred and two. I’ve printed them all out for you.” He handed Troy the box.
Troy lifted the pages, flipped through them to see each covered with text, love letters addressed to him. A hundred and two letters? On Destiny’s website? He swallowed past the thickness in his throat and looked up at David. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And just so you know, I think she means every word.”
“We do, too,” Maura said, as she and Bo stepped around the corner. They’d obviously been eavesdropping, but Troy didn’t care. He only wanted to read the letters.
Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he started toward his truck with the box of letters. “Bo, will you call Chad and tell him his car is ready? I’m going home.” Then he looked again to David. “And thank you for this.” He held up the box.
David nodded. “Let me know what happens. I’ll be praying for you, for both of you.”
“We will, too,” Maura promised.
Troy left and immediately felt the power of knowing people were indeed praying for him and for Destiny. And he wondered what she’d said in those letters...and what he’d do when he finished reading them.
Chapter Twelve
“I can’t believe how fast everything has turned around, can you? I mean, our subscribers have quadrupled in the past week, and they’re climbing by the minute!” Rita practically cheered the news through the line. “And Lamont Sharp wanting to publish your book? Isn’t this incredible? You’re going to have a successful online magazine and a book published in print, too! Isn’t that great?”
“Yes, it is.” Destiny couldn’t muster the excitement her friend had about the response from her love letters. Yes, their magazine was thriving, but that didn’t help Destiny’s heart or the sadness when she thought about what she’d lost. She sat on her parents’ back porch, stared out at the pool and the manicured gardens, and wished she was back on the front porch of the Claremont Bed and Breakfast. She was glad she’d mended fences with her mom, but she missed visiting with the Tingles and the Tollesons. She missed helping Mitch Gillespie with his little girls. She missed Claremont, period. And more than that, she missed Troy.
But he hadn’t called, hadn’t even responded to all of the letters she’d posted begging his forgiveness and proclaiming her love...and the fact that she was certain she’d never love anyone else that way again.
“Destiny? Are you even listening to me? I asked what city you plan to visit first for your love stories.”
She blinked back tears. How was she going to write about love stories when she’d ruined the only love story that mattered...her own? “I can’t talk right now, Rita. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, but are you going to post another letter today? The subscribers are loving them, you know. Our numbers go up every time you put one out.”
Destiny already had her computer on her lap. “Yes, I’m about to write one now.”
“Awesome. Okay, call me back later.”
“I will,” she promised, then disconnected and logged on to her site. The love letters had become almost as therapeutic as her new prayer life, giving her a means to share her feelings with the world and helping her magazine in the process. In her dreams, Troy read each letter she posted; in reality, she suspected he didn’t even know her site address and hadn’t bothered trying to find it.
But that didn’t matter. He’d written his love letters for years without even knowing the recipient. She’d write hers, too, but each of hers weren’t addressed to her future husband. Instead, they were addressed to the one she’d never have because of her lies.
Sniffing, she put her fingers to the keys and began yet another letter to the man she loved.
Dear Troy,
Today is Sunday, and I went to church this morning. B
efore I met you, I went occasionally, but I didn’t feel that compulsion to go, to worship God and talk to Him and grow closer to Him, the way you are close to Him. I honestly don’t know what I’d do now if I didn’t have my faith. It gets me through the sad days, the days I find myself in tears over what might have been. I hope that one day you can forgive me for deceiving you. I hope that one day I can forgive myself. Because by lying to you, I deprived myself of the thing I want more than anything...true love. And I know our love would have been even stronger because we’d have had God in the center, the way you described when you first showed me that verse in Ecclesiastes 4:12, the one that explained how a cord of three strands isn’t easily broken.
The thing is, I’ve found the love of God that you wanted in your future bride. I love Him so much, and I love Him even more, I think, because you brought me to Him. I wish I could tell you all of this in person because it means so much to me now. But I suspect you don’t read my blog, and you probably haven’t read any of these letters. Even so, I will write to you and pray that you will find the woman you deserve, find the one who you’ve written to for a decade and a half. Any woman would be blessed to be on the receiving end of your love. I felt it for the briefest of times and yet I’ll hold on to that memory, the memory of being loved by you, for the rest of my life.
I love you, Troy Lee. Forever and always,
Destiny
She posted the letter, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the rocker. So many letters and none of them reaching the recipient, oddly familiar to Troy’s letters intended for his bride. “Oh, Troy,” she whispered, “I love you so.”
Her phone rang again, and she glanced at the display then answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, honey. You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Destiny’s dad had been off this morning and the entire family went to church together. It’d been nice sitting on the pew with her parents, Bevvie and Jared at their large church in Atlanta, but it had only reminded her of how much she’d enjoyed the small community church in Claremont and the way each member knew everyone else. The people in Atlanta were friendly, but she only knew the families who sat in front of and behind them.
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