by Teri Wilson
Table Of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Wild Mushroom and Asparagus Risotto
About the Author
Sneak Peek of Country Hearts
The Story of Us
Copyright @ 2019 Crown Media Publishing LLC
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
Looking back, Jamie Vaughn should have realized something was amiss on that cool February morning as she navigated the cobblestone streets of Waterford, Oregon’s charming business district. All the signs were there—another vacant storefront, the cracks in the sidewalk that had lingered for months without being repaired, the suspiciously short line at the corner coffee shop.
But Jamie didn’t notice any of those things.
With her favorite polka dot dress swishing around her legs and her cat carrier slung over her shoulder, she couldn’t help seeing her hometown as she always had. The duck statues she loved so much—a mama trailed by four tiny ducklings—were lined up in a neat row on the wooden footbridge of the walking trail. A puppy romped playfully at the end of its leash in the crosswalk by the pizza parlor. Preschoolers in bright coats and knitted beanies held onto a walking rope as their teachers led them to the nearby park.
It was the same Waterford she’d known and loved her entire life, since she herself had been one of those fresh-faced preschoolers. So maybe, just maybe, she had a tendency to look at the business district through rose-colored glasses. Was that really so bad, though?
In this case, yes. Yes, it was.
If she’d stopped long enough to take a closer look at her surroundings, maybe she wouldn’t have been caught so off-guard by what came later that day. But she didn’t stop. She kept right on following the cobblestone path all the way to her bookshop, hands buried in the pockets of her red swing coat and rose-tinted glasses firmly in place.
A tiny meow came from the cat carrier as Jamie unlocked the frosted-glass door to the shop and stepped inside. Eliot, her orange tabby, never missed a day of work and liked to announce his arrival to the white French country bookshelves and the faux cherry blossom tree that loomed over the best-sellers table. As per usual, neither responded.
Jamie deposited the purple carrier onto the sales counter and gave Eliot’s pink nose a gentle tap through one of its mesh windows. His bright gaze followed her as she made her way beneath one of the store’s big arched walkways—with crown molding as white and frothy as icing on a wedding cake—to the inside of the square checkout area.
She unzipped the top of Eliot’s bag.
Meow.
Eliot popped his furry orange head out of the cat carrier and cast an evaluating glance at his surroundings. He took his job as an official bookshop cat quite seriously.
“Oh, hello.” Jamie smiled at him and was rewarded with a rumbling purr in response.
She scooped him up and lifted him out of the bag. “It’s a beautiful day to sell books. Isn’t it, Eliot?”
He blinked, which Jamie took as a yes. After all, wasn’t every day a good day to sell books? Of course it was, particularly if you were a feline named after T. S. Eliot.
“Yes, I agree.” Jamie nodded and released Eliot to pad along the smooth white countertop, weaving around vases of fragrant pink roses and waterfall orchids.
Many people didn’t know T. S. Eliot’s poems had been the inspiration for the musical Cats, but Jamie did. Just as she knew that Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past was the longest novel ever written and that First Impressions was the original title of Jane Austen’s beloved classic Pride & Prejudice. Someday, she hoped to be a published author herself. Every now and then, she liked to imagine what her name might look like printed on one of the volumes that lined her bookshop’s shelves.
Books were Jamie’s thing; her one true love. Other than Eliot, of course. And her bookshop, which was aptly called True Love Books & Cafe. The name hadn’t actually been Jamie’s creation, but it fit. It always had.
She tossed her keys into the antique china dish where she usually kept them and got to work readying the shop for business. By the time she’d gotten the sales software up and running, watered all the flowers and checked to make sure there were plenty of iced sugar cookies, scones and Valentine cupcakes arranged on the covered crystal cake stands in the café section of the store, her first customer was already browsing the classics section.
Jamie had known Alex Lopez for years, although his tastes usually ran more toward the Stephen King end of the spectrum than any of the books he was currently contemplating. How many times had she had to remind him True Love was a romance bookstore before he’d finally stopped coming by in search of the kind of books that would have given her nightmares for days?
“Hi, Alex, what’s up?” She cast him a curious glance as he picked up a hardcover copy of The House of Mirth—a special commemorative edition with the title spelled out in elegant gold script.
“Oh hey, Jamie. I was trying to figure out a good book to give Taylor for Valentine’s Day.” He studied the book’s cover, brow furrowing. “She likes romantic comedies. I figure mirth is funny, right?”
Jamie paused. Where to start?
“Yes, it is. Um, and Edith Wharton is one of the greatest authors of all time. First woman to win a Pulitzer for literature,” she said.
But she couldn’t let the poor guy walk out of the shop thinking he’d just bought his girlfriend the literary equivalent of When Harry Met Sally. She held up a finger. “But in this case, ‘mirth’ is ironic.”
Alex’s face fell. “Oh.”
Jamie picked up a copy of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing from the same display table—also hardcover, embellished with hearts and cupids below the title. She held it up as if it were a sparkly new toy. “Also romantic, but much funnier and, spoiler alert, a happy ending.”
Relief washed over Alex’s face.
Until Jamie continued, because she just couldn’t seem to stop herself when it came to books. “Although, if you want her crying on your shoulder about the importance of following your heart when it comes to true love, then House of Mirth it is.”
Alex held one book in each hand, his attention flitting back and forth between them, weighing the benefits of a Valentine gi
ft that served up laugher versus feels.
Better him than me.
“Happy deciding!” Jamie grinned.
Being single had its benefits, even during this month of hearts and flowers. The last thing Jamie needed was a Valentine. What she needed was a cure for her recent bout of writer’s block. And maybe a chocolate raspberry mocha…with whip.
But a significant other? Nope. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Never again.
Alex, however, proved himself completely devoted, because mere seconds after their exchange, he turned up at the register with both books. Maybe he was simply hedging his bets. Either way, Jamie thought it was sweet—doubly so.
He set the books on the counter and slid them toward her. “You are a lifesaver.”
“Well, I hope she likes them.” She placed his purchase in a crisp white bag decorated with the True Love logo and smiled.
“Thank you, Jamie.” Alex heaved a sigh of relief.
Definitely hedging his bets.
“Of course,” she said. “Bye.”
“Bye.” He gave her a wave as he headed toward the shop’s door, passing Lucy Baxter, Jamie’s sole employee, on his way out.
“Hey, Luce.” Jamie felt her smile widen.
Lucy managed True Love’s small café and helped out with other odds and ends as needed, but she was more than just an employee. In the three years they’d been working together, she’d become Jamie’s closest friend and confidante—aside from Jamie’s aunt, Anita Vaughn, who owned the business district’s only flower shop.
Lucy tossed a stack of mail onto the sales counter and jammed a hand on her slender hip. “Did you know Lennox Music closed?”
“What?” Jamie blinked. “When?”
“I don’t know. I just saw the place is empty, and there’s a ‘closed for business’ sign on the front door.” Lucy shook her head, sending her loose cinnamon brown curls swinging.
“That is the third business on this block since the beginning of the year.” Jamie bit her lip and tried her best to ignore the fact that there wasn’t a single customer in the store at the moment. Her charming little bookshop suddenly seemed cavernous.
And excruciatingly empty.
Lucy arched a brow. “Four, if you count Cassidy’s Candles in December.”
“What is going on?” Business had been a little slow lately, but Jamie had managed to convince herself there was nothing to worry about. Because there wasn’t. People loved books, and True Love was practically a Waterford institution.
But four businesses closing up shop in less than three months’ time wasn’t a good sign. Not at all.
Jamie felt sick all of a sudden. Even the raspberry mocha she’d been dreaming about held little appeal.
She took a deep breath as she sifted through the mail Lucy had brought in. Everything would be fine. Of course it would. Since True Love was a romance-focused bookstore, February was always their busiest month. Any day now, business would start booming.
And surely other shops would move in to fill the empty storefronts. The business district was Waterford’s crown jewel—a little slice of cobblestone heaven. Who would rather shop someplace slick and impersonal like Portland when they could soak up the rich history of a place that had remained virtually unchanged since 1902?
No one with any sense, that’s who.
But when Jamie unfolded the light blue flier nestled among her bills and junk mail, she had a horrible feeling that things were about to get worse instead of better.
“What?” she muttered, heart pounding as the innocent-looking slip of baby blue shook in her hands.
The flier was from the City of Waterford, notifying shop owners of a special town council meeting.
To discuss business district project by Ridley Property Development.
She read the words once…twice…three times, until the initial shock wore off. Then her heart seemed to sink straight to the soles of her red patent-leather kitten heels. Property development companies didn’t move into historical districts to help preserve the past. They moved in to tear things down and build something else.
Something bigger and supposedly better; something shiny and new.
But where would that leave True Love Books?
A lump formed in Jamie’s throat as she looked around her very lovely, very empty store and realized the truth. This shop she’d adored for as long as she could remember might be in trouble. Real trouble.
Rose-colored glasses could only do so much.
Fortunately, Jamie had never been one to wallow.
Her usual sense of optimism might have taken a hit with the surprise appearance of the horrid blue flier, but she had no intention of hiding among her books and waiting for the situation to go from bad to worse. In this one instance, her lack of customers was a good thing, as it gave her a chance to get out of the shop and do a little investigating while Lucy kept an eye on True Love Books.
She went door to door, up and down the sun-dappled sidewalks of the business district in a furious whirl of polka dots and clicking heels. For a moment, she’d been tempted to head straight to her aunt’s flower shop, but then she’d thought better of it. Her aunt was almost like a second mother, especially since Jamie’s parents had packed up and moved away from Waterford in their new RV. But there was no reason to alarm Aunt Anita until she had a better idea of what they might be up against.
Which turned out to be a lot. Or at least, it certainly seemed that way.
By the time Jamie finally stepped up to the door of Anita’s Flowers, she had a sneaking suspicion the entire business district was in serious danger. Even the heady scent of pink parfait roses and blush-hued peonies failed to cheer her up. She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale, lingering outside her aunt’s shop for a moment. Row upon row of cut flowers arranged into bouquets in buckets of water flanked the entrance, and hanging baskets of lush ferns and ivy swayed overhead. The names and prices of the blooms were all written by hand in tiny chalkboard print. Ever since Jamie had studied French back in high school, the corner boutique had reminded her of one of the charming flower stands that dotted the streets of Paris in her textbooks. The business district’s cobblestone streets added to the old-world flair, but who knew how much longer those would last?
Jamie tightened her grip on the offensive flier as she pulled open the shop’s glass door and the tinkling of delicate bells announced her arrival.
Her aunt looked up from a potted violet plant and smiled. “There’s my favorite niece.”
Not for long. Ugh, Jamie hated being the bearer of bad news. But the fact that she was Aunt Anita’s only niece probably cemented her status as favorite.
“Your parents Skyped me last night. From Winnipeg!” Anita chattered away as she wiped her hands on her ivory linen apron and strode behind the counter. Her hair was in its standard loosely curled bob, and she wore a crisp pink button-down shirt with dark jeans. Aunt Anita had the same kind eyes as her sister, Jamie’s mom, which always made Jamie feel a little bit less lonely—especially since her mom and dad had embarked on their big cross-country retirement trip six months ago.
Anita shook her head and let out a soft laugh. “I swear, they’re going to put a hundred thousand miles on that RV by the end of the year if they…”
Her voice drifted off once she met Jamie’s gaze. Anita stared at her for a beat, smile fading.
Note to self: work on my poker face.
“What is it?” her aunt said.
A huge cluster of red heart-shaped balloons bobbed behind Anita’s head, making her sudden frown seem even more at odds with the cheery surroundings. February was also the busiest month of the year for Anita’s Flowers. Jamie’s aunt had spent weeks already preparing for Valentine’s Day. Pink and red decorations covered just about every surface, from romantic Hallmark Valentine cards to glittery gift bags and pink carna
tions.
So. Many. Carnations.
It was lovely, really—if you were into the whole romantic hearts and flowers thing, which Jamie definitely was. Just not the actual romance part of the equation. Or at least, not for her. But why was she thinking about her love life, or lack thereof, at a time like this?
She slapped the flier onto the counter for her aunt to see.
Anita’s eyes grew wide. “When did you get this?”
“This morning. And I checked—every shop in the business district got one too.” Every single store. What were they planning on doing? Mowing down the entire neighborhood? “I’ll bet if you check your mail, you have one.”
Anita gathered her stack of mail from the end of the counter and flipped through its contents. Sure enough, a blue flier identical to the one Jamie had received was tucked among her other, less-intimidating mail.
It trembled in Aunt Anita’s hand as she unfolded it. “What do you think this means?”
Jamie took a deep breath. “I guess we’ll find out at the meeting.”
She read the bold print on the page one more time, just in case the letters had magically rearranged themselves into a more pleasant message.
Nope, no such luck. “But if this Ridley is a property development company…”
Anita sighed. “No, that can’t be good news for any of us.”
Chapter Two
Sawyer O’Dell stood at the head of the conference room in Ridley Property Development’s modern downtown high-rise in Portland, Oregon, and advanced his PowerPoint presentation to the final slide. An animated rendering of his design spun across twin flat-screen televisions, showing every detail of his plans for the Waterford business district.
Correction—his current plans. This elaborate architectural plan was technically a re-design, his second attempt to please the higher-ups at Ridley. Which was probably why he was sweating beneath his pressed button-down shirt and tailored dress slacks, although from the pleased expression of the woman sitting at the head of the table, he didn’t have much to worry about. All the late nights bent over his graphics tablet, sketching until his hand ached, had been worth it.
