by Teri Wilson
“I know.” He nodded, gaze flitting automatically back to the picture of Jamie.
The back of his neck grew warm.
Focus.
Dana took a deep, measured breath. “To be very clear, this?” She pointed at the iPad—more specifically, to the headline that implied readers could find the love of their lives at True Love Books & Cafe. “Is the opposite of that.”
“I understand.” Sawyer handed her back the tablet. He couldn’t concentrate with Jamie smiling up at him as if she were Cupid disguised as a beautiful bookseller. “Which is why I’m working to meet as many of the owners as possible.”
He’d taken advantage of the drive from Portland to formulate a plan of action. Obviously, convincing Jamie to back the Ridley redesign was out of the question. Trying to get her on board would be next to impossible. But that didn’t mean all of the other business owners in Waterford would follow her lead. He already had Rick on his side, and some of the people at the town council meeting had seemed interested, as well. What he needed to do was charm the socks off everyone else in the business district. Strength in numbers and all that.
“Well, perhaps you should concentrate on Ms. Vaughn,” Dana said.
Sawyer stood. He’d had about enough of feeling like a chastened schoolboy. It was time to regain control of the situation. “Look, I know that Jamie can be a little passionate about her causes.”
“Jamie?” Dana’s eyebrows shot up. “How well do you know Ms. Vaughn?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I haven’t seen her since high school.”
“But in high school?”
“We…” Sawyer paused. We were as in love as two high school kids could be. “…dated.”
Dana blinked. “She was your high school sweetheart?”
This conversation was going even worse than Sawyer had imagined. He shook his head. “We never referred to ourselves…”
“Sawyer.” Dana arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
He sighed. “Yes. We were high school sweethearts.”
“And now?”
“We’re nothing.” But that wasn’t the complete truth. Not the way Sawyer saw it, anyway. “A friendly nothing. We did just take a cooking class together last night.”
Dana nodded. “That’s good. Because there can be no lingering animosity between the two of you that could imperil this deal.”
He thought back to last night—to Jamie’s outburst about direct communication…to her salad tongs snapping together dangerously close to his face…
To the arugula.
“I’ve got it,” he lied. “I’ve got it under control.”
Chapter Eight
The afternoon at True Love Books & Cafe proved to be even busier than the morning had been as more and more people had a chance to read the article and come by to support the bookshop. Jamie rang up books while Lucy tried her best to keep up with the coffee demand, which was great. Their espresso machine had never seen so much action.
Neither had True Love, obviously. The Valentine’s display area was packed with well-dressed customers who seemed to be shopping for more than just books and lattes. Now that word had gotten out about the store being a lucky charm for love, Jamie noticed customers sneaking curious glances at one another and using the display of old Valentines as an ice breaker to meet each other. All in all, it was adorable.
And busy! So very busy.
When at last Jamie had a second to breathe, she and Lucy met in the middle of the sales floor, halfway between the book register and the café counter, to do a tiny victory dance and marvel at what was happening around them.
“I just sent out an SOS to Rick,” Lucy said. “We are almost out of sugar cookies!” Her face was flushed, and if Jamie wasn’t mistaken, her black turtleneck smelled faintly of buttercream.
“Isn’t this fantastic?” Jamie grinned, then crossed her arms. “That’ll teach him.”
“Who? Mr. Arugula?”
Of course. Who else? “Mm-hmm.”
Sawyer should have known better than to try and get between her and True Love. She hated to think the article might cause him any real trouble with Ridley, but she hadn’t had a choice. Honestly, he had no one to blame but himself. And why should she be worried about Sawyer’s career when he clearly had no qualms about tearing down her store?
Lucy slid her sideways glance. Jamie got the impression she had some definite thoughts about Sawyer—traitor that he was—but before Lucy could voice them, Jamie’s cell phone started vibrating in her hand.
She frowned down at it. “Oh.”
“What?” Lucy said.
Jamie turned her iPhone toward Lucy so she could see the name lit up on the screen: Matt.
“Whoa. Matt?” Lucy’s eyes grew wide. “What does your ex want?”
Jamie had no idea, but she suspected it might have something to do with his mom’s recent surprise visit to True Love. Whatever the reason, she didn’t have time to deal with it right now. What exactly was happening, anyway, with the recent parade of ex-boyfriends marching back through her life?
“And speaking of blasts from the past…” Lucy nudged Jamie with her elbow.
She looked up to see Sawyer standing on the opposite side of the room, all warm brown eyes and chiseled, masculine bone structure. He was wearing his Captain Wentworth peacoat again, smiling at her as if they were still on good terms…still a team, like they’d been all those years ago.
Sawyer + Jamie 4 ever. Those words had covered every inch of her favorite spiral notebook back in tenth grade. She hadn’t thought about that notebook in years. Her heart gave a little flutter. Her stupid, stupid heart.
“Hmm.” It was all she could manage to say. Why was he there? What could Sawyer possibly want with her now?
She pressed decline on her phone, silencing Matt’s call.
“Yeah.” Lucy shot her a meaningful glance and then scurried back to the café counter, leaving Jamie all alone, heart pounding as Sawyer strode toward her.
She felt like a deer in headlights all of a sudden, which was patently ridiculous. The tables had turned. True Love had the upper hand now, not Ridley. There was no reason she should feel so…so…breathless in Sawyer’s presence.
It was beyond annoying, so she ignored it, squared her shoulders and marched in Sawyer’s direction until they met one another mere inches from the Valentine display.
“Nice article,” he said without an ounce of sarcasm. She barely took in the words, distracted as she was by the sight of his familiar, handsome face surrounded by the gold ribbons and vintage Valentines hanging overhead.
Somewhere at home, she still had a white bakery bag filled with all the Valentines that Sawyer had given her through the years—every single one. She should have thrown the bag away years ago, but she could never bring herself to get rid of it. Now, she wasn’t quite sure whether that made her sentimental or pathetic.
Both, probably.
“Thanks,” she said.
So this was it? He’d come by just to compliment her on her latest attempt to thwart his evil plan?
He leaned closer—close enough for her to get a whiff of cedar and woodsmoke from his peacoat, as if the lush, woodsy scents of Waterford still clung to him. The prodigal son. “But I have to ask—what did you think of my actual designs?”
She blinked. Surely he didn’t want her actual, honest opinion.
“They’re beautiful,” she said after a beat. “And they will fit right in.”
He grinned.
Not so fast. “In Sweden,” she added.
Sawyer’s brow furrowed as his smile died on his lips. “Sweden?”
“Yeah, like Nordic minimalism, which I’m actually a huge fan of myself.” Who didn’t love IKEA? Jamie was totally a fan of their meatballs. “It’s just…”
“Just?” he prompted.
She shrugged. “Not Waterford.”
Waterford was church bells and walks in the rain. It was flower boxes overflowing with blooms in the spring and piled high with snow in the winter. It was old brick buildings that lived and breathed history, not some impersonal skyscraper without an ounce of meaning to the community.
She shouldn’t have to explain this to Sawyer. He should know. He’d always known.
Then again, maybe he’d simply been away long enough to forget.
She cleared her throat. “Um, I should get back to work.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, clearly as ready as she was to end their conversation.
He’d seriously expected her to compliment his plans to run her out of business and turn their hometown upside down?
She waved a hand at their surroundings. If he’d somehow forgotten where he’d come from, she was more than happy to remind him. “In my bookstore. Because…” She flashed him a self-satisfied smirk. “…it’s busy.”
His response was a frustrated grunt, and Jamie just walked away. Because really, there was nothing left to say. Besides, she had lattes to make, books to sell and a beloved Waterford institution to save.
From him.
If Sawyer had hoped stopping by True Love to talk to Jamie would somehow make him feel better, he’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.
He should have known better. Jamie had made her position crystal clear, which he’d tried to explain to Dana. But her comment about any “lingering animosity” he might have with Jamie had gotten under his skin. He didn’t like to think there might be actual hard feelings between them. They were both simply doing their jobs, weren’t they?
It’s not personal. It’s business.
He repeated these words to himself over and over again as he walked through the historic business district, back toward Rick’s modern home. But no matter how many times he spun them around in his head, he still had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Probably because he knew there was no dividing line between personal and business matters where Jamie Vaughn was concerned. Jamie was hands-down, one hundred percent authentic and passionate about everything she did.
Sawyer had always loved her earnestness. It had been one of his favorite things about Jamie back in the day. But now…
Well, now it was driving him bonkers. And to make matters worse, it might just cost him his chance at a permanent place at Ridley.
“I have to do something to counter Jamie’s article,” he said, dropping onto one of the bar stools at the counter of Rick’s sleek kitchen.
Rick glanced up from the pile of cremini mushrooms he was busy slicing into paper thin layers for salad. Sawyer hadn’t anticipated being fed so many gourmet meals while in Waterford, but apparently that was a side benefit of staying with a chef. Definitely not terrible. “Good luck fighting against True Love.”
“Have you been by there today? It’s like a mosh pit.”
“It’s like every unattached person in town suddenly has an interest in the written word.” Rick’s chopping grew noticeably more aggressive. “Including Quentin.”
Sawyer narrowed his gaze at his friend, who was now reaching for something in the huge subzero refrigerator built into his light oak kitchen cabinets. “Who’s Quentin?”
“Sweater Guy from my cooking class.” Hence the aggressive chopping. “Lucy and him exchanged phone numbers and now, according to Lucy—who likes to tell me these sorts of things—they’re making plans for dinner.”
He plopped a bowl of shiny red peppers onto the counter. “Which was not the outcome that I was going for.”
“You know, Jamie had a point,” Sawyer said, although he wasn’t sure he should be pointing this out while Rick had a butcher knife in his hand. “You should tell Lucy how you feel.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should’ve told her when she was a hundred percent single. But now she’s not.” Rick severed a pepper neatly in half with a single, purposeful slice.
“Whoa. They’ve only just talked.” A conversation didn’t mean anything. He would be willing to bet that he and Jamie had exchanged more words lately than Lucy and Sweater Guy. “She’s still ninety-eight percent single.”
Worst case scenario, ninety-five percent.
“Whatever. What about you and Jamie?” Rick said, as if he could see straight inside Sawyer’s head.
Was he that obvious? “Wow, there was no effort at subtlety in that conversation pivot.”
“Nope.” Rick made quick work of chopping the peppers and added them to the bowl of sliced mushrooms and greens. “So? Have you talked to her since your cooking class disaster?”
Sawyer stood and paced a few feet, noticing for the first time that Rick’s kitchen sort of looked like an IKEA showroom, which of course reminded him of Jamie’s comment about his designs for Ridley. What were her exact words, again?
Nordic minimalism.
Somehow, he didn’t sense she’d meant them as a compliment.
“Briefly.” He took a seat at the kitchen table and cast a forlorn look at his messenger bag, containing the plans he’d worked so hard on. “Meanwhile, only one store in the business district is willing to sit down with me. Olga’s Dance Studio.” Even the people who’d shown initial interest at the meeting were now making excuses about being too busy to talk.
Rick shrugged one shoulder. “That’s the benefit of her having lived here longer than you. Jamie’s in mostly everybody’s ear.”
“Yeah, but my sort-of being from Waterford is one of the reasons why Ridley gave me this shot. If they hire me, I won’t have to travel so far for each project. And I might maybe eventually even be able to buy a house.” An actual home, where he could chop his own vegetables and make his own fancy salad.
Okay, probably not. Between the two of them, Rick was the only gourmet chef. Realistically, Sawyer would probably still get take-out most nights, but it was a nice thought. Still, if he had his own house, he might at least invest in some decent cookware.
“You need to reintroduce yourself to folks, and in a friendlier way,” Rick said, abandoning the meal to join Sawyer at the table.
Thank goodness. He needed all the help he could get at the moment. He could eat once he had an inkling as to how he was going to save his career.
Maybe Rick was right, though. Perhaps all he needed to do was remind the good people of Waterford that he wasn’t just some nameless, faceless stranger who worked for a development company intent on tearing everything down and rebuilding from scratch. He cared about Waterford. He was the same Sawyer O’Dell they’d once known and loved.
How could he show them that, though?
He bit the corner of his bottom lip and stared blankly at the spread of food on the bar—the crisp green salad, bowls of bright, colorful veggies and a fragrant, crusty loaf of homemade bread. His stomach growled, and his spirits lifted ever so slightly at the thought of a home cooked meal. Thank goodness Rick’s restaurant was closed tonight.
Wait a minute. Wasn’t there an old saying about the way to someone’s heart being through their stomach?
“Embrace the community,” he said, as inspiration struck.
Rick nodded slowly. “Embrace the community.”
Jamie wasn’t the only one who could charm socks off her neighbors. With a little luck—and a little help from the best chef in town—he could fight fire with fire.
Jamie burrowed into the cushions of her sofa and took a warm sip of strawberry rose herbal tea, exhausted from the busiest single sales day in True Love’s long history. Gosh, if every day could be like this one, she wouldn’t have to worry at all about going out of business. Nor would Aunt Anita or any of the other business owners, since more foot traffic in the district was good for everyone.
But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. Right now, she simply needed take one day at a time while she battled Ridley. And S
awyer. Once the threat of a new development was no longer looming over her head, she could think about other ways to increase her bottom line. Today had been a raging success, by any standard. She deserved a few minutes of rest and relaxation with her favorite companion and the pitiful opening of her manuscript.
Eliot sat at her feet, meticulously licking his paw and rubbing it against his whiskers while a fire blazed in the hearth. Her laptop was right there, opened and waiting, but Jamie looked past it, toward The Story of Us box sitting on the coffee table.
She and Lucy had only managed to string up about half of the Valentines in the box so far. There were so many—it would take hours to read them all.
Meow. Eliot switched paws and went to work grooming his other whisker. Completely ignoring the blinking cursor on her computer screen, Jamie ran her hand over his soft ginger fur and then set her tea down on the coffee table. She dragged The Story of Us box into her lap and opened it.
She still couldn’t believe it had been hidden in the store, right behind the pink piano, all this time. She wondered if Mr. Ogilvy had known about it, or if the Valentines had either fallen behind the piano or been deliberately placed there by the store’s previous owners, a married couple who’d opened True Love Books back in 1945. She didn’t know much about Harrison and Mary—just that Harrison sometimes went by Harris, and they’d built the bookshop from scratch and run it for decades until eventually retiring and leaving it to Mr. Ogilvy, a distant relative.
The whole thing was kind of mysterious. Mr. Ogilvy had always been something of a strong, silent type, parsing out bits and pieces of True Love’s history to her little by little, over the many years she’d known him. The secrecy surrounding the bookstore only added to the appeal for Jamie, and made it more romantic, somehow.
She gathered a stack of Valentines from the box, wondering if one of them might help unravel the secrets of True Love’s past. Then her gaze landed on a bundle of envelopes at the bottom of the box, tied together with a faded blue ribbon.
Even at first glance, she could see there was something different about these envelopes. They were thicker than the ones containing the Valentines, more discolored by age. Each one bore the same Waterford address, either in the upper left-hand corner or written larger in the space for the addressee. Jamie recognized all the other addresses as locations in Europe. The dates of the postmarks spanned three years, from 1941 to 1944.
