Page 11 of The Story of Us
Jamie sagged against the wall in relief. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could hide from Matt’s mother forever, but at least she could pull it off a little while longer. Today was going to be difficult enough without the added stress of a surprise visitor from her past.
Intellectually, Sawyer knew that not much had changed in Waterford since he’d left for college. He had, after all, been poring over current blueprints of the layout of the business district for weeks while working on the plans for Ridley’s redesign. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say he knew the neighborhood like the back of his hand. He was well aware that the dance school, the pizza parlor, the bike shop and numerous other old haunts of his were still right where he’d left them.
He also knew that more than a few businesses had either closed or were struggling, which was precisely why the town council wanted to overhaul the area. So when he took off from Rick’s house Tuesday morning to explore the area on foot before the meeting, he knew exactly what to expect.
Still, seeing the old stomping grounds in person was a far different experience than reading about them on paper. He’d forgotten about the hanging flower baskets that dotted the streets with splashes of color every few feet. He’d also forgotten that the corner telephone poles had all been painted with bold abstract designs by the middle school art club. Little details, like the feeling of cobblestones beneath his feet and the sight of the line of brightly colored cruiser bikes in the bicycle stand on the corner of Main and 3rd Street—things that were impossible to see on a map or a grid—made him feel as if he’d stepped back in time to a season in his life when things were simpler. Slower. Maybe even happier.
In Waterford, strangers made eye contact and said hello. They smiled and made room for him on the sidewalk instead of staring down at their phones while they brushed past him. It had been a long while since he’d experienced that kind of small-town charm.
He passed a few vacant storefronts, and his throat grew thick. As much as he loved the nostalgia of Waterford, the business district was clearly past its prime. He knew this. It was the very reason he was there. But at the same time, it felt like an arrow to his heart.
Buck up. This is a business trip, not a stroll down memory lane.
He took a deep breath, refocused, and reminded himself what was at stake. His entire future depended on what happened over the course of the next few days, starting with the town council meeting this afternoon. He had to keep his head in the game.
A couple dressed in hiking boots and matching raincoats strolled past him, then paused to staple a poster to the telephone pole. It looked like a few of the other posters he’d seen around town already—advertisements for an upcoming Valentine-themed event called the Fire and Ice Festival. Sawyer had never heard of it before, so it must’ve been something new.
He shrugged one shoulder and moved on, reminding himself to regard the quaint community through a more neutral architect’s eye. There was much room for improvement. As charming as it was, the area just wasn’t self-sustaining anymore. Adding a mixed-use development could blend residential, commercial and cultural spaces into one area and create a pedestrian-friendly environment that would thrive. Waterford might lose some of its old-world charm in the process, but in the end, change would save the district.
But as he kept walking, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, Sawyer’s gaze landed on the shop at the street corner and he slowed to a halt. Three small café tables that looked like something straight out of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor sat on the sidewalk outside the store. Planter boxes overflowing with red and pink geraniums were perched on the windows. But thepièce de résistancewas the faux cherry blossom tree sitting in a red pot beside the shop’s door with delicate pink flowers climbing up the building’s brick exterior and surrounding the entrance with artfully arranged cascading blooms.
The overall effect was breathtaking. Unapologetically romantic—and even prettier than it had looked in the photographs he’d studied for his designs. Sawyer had never seen anything quite like it, even though the shop itself was a place he’d visited many, many times.
True Love Books & Cafe. The swinging sign that spelled out the shop’s name in swirling cursive letters was the same one that had hung beside the door back when Sawyer used to walk Jamie Vaughn to work after school. Seeing it again after all this time made him smile.
He lingered on the threshold, tempted to take a look inside. A few minutes couldn’t hurt. For old times’ sake.
A bell tinkled overhead as he pushed the door open, announcing his arrival. But the sound might as well have indicated he was stepping back in time, because even though the bookshop had clearly been updated in the years he’d been away, simply breathing the air in the old building made him feel steeped in memory. He took a deep inhale, savoring the comforting scent of ink on paper with a touch of something else—warm vanilla, maybe—a unique fragrance he’d forever associate with young love.
With Jamie.
Even now, all these years later, he couldn’t walk into a library or a used bookstore without thinking about the feeling of her hand in his or the graceful tilt of her head when she bent over a book, her blond hair falling over her shoulder in a smooth, glossy curtain.
He blinked. Hard. It was strange the way memory worked, wasn’t it? It could catch you off guard at the oddest moments. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was an orange tabby cat lying on the sales counter, flicking its tail and gazing impassively at Sawyer.
A bookshop cat? Cute.
He took a tentative step toward the animal. It blinked lazily at him, so he offered his hand and was rewarded with a loud purr as the kitty rubbed its cheek against his knuckles.
The cat was definitely new, as were the whitewashed furnishings and bouquets of flowers that decorated nearly every surface. Painted mason jars filled with peonies and hollyhocks were tucked among the shelved books, and the old pink piano stood in the corner, piled high with hardbacks and a vase of white roses.True Lovehad always been a sort of monument to romance, hence its name. But since the last time Sawyer had spent any time there, someone had lovingly transformed the shop from its charming beginnings to a breathtaking ode to love and literature. The architect in him was nearly as impressed as his inner hidden romantic.
He was ambling deeper into the shop, running his fingertips over a row of books down a narrow aisle, when a voice suddenly pulled him out of his memories and back to the present.
“Look out!”
Out of pure instinct, he reached up and caught a falling book before it hit him in the head. But it must have still knocked something loose inside him because when he glanced up, he was transfixed by the sight of a woman perched atop a rolling ladder staring down at him, wide-eyed.
Not just any woman, buther—Jamie Vaughn, his high school sweetheart.
“Good catch,” she said with an unmistakable hint of wonder in her tone.
Sawyer would know that voice anywhere. He wasn’t dreaming, was he? It was really Jamie.
Kerpow.
A wistful smile tipped her lips. “Sawyer.”
He’d never experienced such a loss for words before, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. And since he’d unexpectedly found himself staring into the eyes of the girl who loved books more than anyone else he’d ever met, those words happened to be borrowed from William Shakespeare.
