Page 79 of Shades of You

Mr. Jacobs’s gaze softened, a shadow flickering across his eyes. “She passed away threeyears back.”

My shoulders slumped. “Really sorry to hear that. She was a wonderful lady.”

“Thank you. She sure was. But life has its seasons, and we learn to cherish the memories.” Mr. Jacobs’s voice was gruff with emotion, then he cleared his throat busily. He gestured around the shop. “Every piece here holds a story, much like life. I opened the shop shortly after she passed, and it keeps me company, you could say.”

I smiled. “Guess that makes you the keeper of stories, then.”

“Something like that,” he agreed, his smile returning. “Now what can I help you find tonight? Or are you just browsing?”

“Maybe just looking.”

“Take your time. There’s lots to explore.” The shopkeeper returned to his workbench.

I meandered aimlessly through the aisles, hands clasped behind my back. I wandered past the large picture window display that Brenna and I had admired before dancing under the stars. Instead of classic books, now it held a selection of handcrafted furniture. Continuing, my eyes roved over brass compasses and vintage cameras, each with their silent tales, but nothing snagged my attention.

Until I reached the glass case at the counter.

The book shined like a beacon, lying innocently between a pocket watch and an ornate cigar box—a first edition ofThe Sun Also Risesby Ernest Hemingway.

And the memory sprang up. Brenna’s nose almost pressed against the window, eyes wide with yearning as she recalled the book and her longing for it. And the owner’s refusal to sell. But he wasn’t a faceless mirage anymore. Mr. Jacobs and I shared history.

And what better way to bridge the chasm between ourfamilies than for a Markham to give a Coleridge a piece of Hemingway?

“Mr. Jacobs,” I called, nodding toward the case. “How much for the Hemingway?”

He looked up, following my gaze to the book. A pained expression briefly crossed his face. “Oh, that one? It’s not for sale, Hunter. That book belonged to my late wife. She loved Hemingway, and I keep it here for sentimental reasons.”

My fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the glass, the cool surface sending a shiver up my arm. “Mr. Jacobs.” My voice was reassuringly steady despite the storm of emotions brewing within me. “I understand the value this book holds for you and why it’s precious. But it’s more than just a rare find to me. It represents… hope.”

“Hope?” Mr. Jacobs echoed. His eyebrows knitted together as he approached me at the case, the tools from his clock repair forgotten.

“Well, there’s a woman I’m seeing,” I confessed. A small, knowing smile hinted at the corners of his mouth, as if he’d already pieced part of the story together. “We had a fight, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. She’s everything to me, and she’s longed for this book for years. So this book is a symbol—of new beginnings, of bridging divides. Giving it to her would be my way of showing her that she’s my future.”

Mr. Jacobs studied me for a moment before one gray brow lifted. “That woman wouldn’t happen to be Brenna Coleridge, would it?”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped me at his astuteness, and I met his gaze with a shy smile playing on my lips. “Yes.”

“Now I understand. She’s wanted that book for years.”

“It’s symbolic. We Markhams are the ones with the Hemingway link. So it would only be fitting for me to give her the copy ofThe Sun Also Risesthat she’s always coveted.”

The shop owner’s gaze flickered to the book, then back to me, and I could see the wheels turning behind those aged eyes. “Symbolic gestures are powerful things, Hunter. But so is the memory of a loved one.” His voice was thick with emotion, an echo of loss resonating in the quiet of the shop.

“Mr. Jacobs, if there were any other way…” My words trailed off. How could I explain that this wasn’t just about me winning Brenna back? This was about healing wounds that went deeper. “I need it. Please.”

“I can’t sell you this book, Hunter.” Mr. Jacobs’s voice was firm, and my stomach twisted before crashing to the floor. Which was why his next words caught me so off guard. “But I’ll give it to you.”

“Give it to me?” My heart slammed against my ribcage.

He nodded slowly as a bittersweet smile graced his lips. “Maybe it’s time for that book to be part of a new story. One of hope, forgiveness, and a different future.”

“Thank you.” The two words sounded paltry compared to the gratitude swelling inside me. “I can’t tell you what this means.”

“Take care of her, Hunter. The book and the girl.” Mr. Jacobs unlocked the case and handed me the Hemingway. As we shook hands on the exchange, the transfer was one of trust as much as it was a book.

I tucked the Hemingway against my chest, and it felt like a talisman as I stepped out into the night air. Knowing exactly what I had to do, I took off at a trot. It wasn’t far to go.

I reached Brenna’s apartment, and my palm wassweaty as I stared at the alarm pad. The one I’d installed what seemed like a lifetime ago. After a brief hesitation, I entered my code and opened the exterior door instead of ringing the bell. I didn’t want to give her the chance to say no without seeing me face to face. I padded softly up the stairs and held the book behind my back. I knocked on her apartment door before I could second-guess myself.

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