Page 27 of Book and Ladder
“Okay. Enough reading romance novels for the two of you. Time to read … Greek tragedies.”
I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this conversation. It feels like a session of preschool outbursts during storytime.I have a toad in my yard. Why don’t you marry it? Only princesses marry toads. Do not! Do so!
“I appreciate the sentiment,” I say. “I don’t foresee any of the eligible men of Waterford grabbing a random romance novel from the free library up front … and going on a mission to find me … and then actually being the man of my fantasies. If I meet a man, I want to meet him in the usual way—face to face. And then we’ll find we have something in common. He’ll ask me to coffee or maybe he’ll say, ‘let’s go to an event at the library.’ We’ll be friends for a while …”
I stop myself. I’ve given this way too much thought, and now I’ve said too much.
My two employees exchange a look that should make me nervous.
We’ve got some prep to do for this weekend’s book event, so I shift the topic from my pathetic and non-existent love life to our upcoming event.
“Okay. Back to business. As you know, it’s firefighter appreciation month. David said he’ll recruit a few of the guys to come in turnout gear. We’ll need a display, and I’m pulling a few books for our read-aloud.”
“Oh!” Waylon says. “I forgot. David called and said Patrick will come.”
“We’ll see if he shows,” I mutter before my mouth consults my brain.
“What’s up with you two anyway?” Waylon asks.
Even after all these years, my chest tightens and I have to steady my breathing. I hate that just hearing Patrick’s name can still undo me. I don’t want him to matter, but he does.
“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, I’d be living a totally different life if Patrick hadn’t let me down. I don’t dislike my life, but I lost a dream because of him.”
“I always thought you were living your dream,” Waylon says. “Owning a bookshop—one you inherited from a person you loved with your whole heart. Serving your community. Being loved by all.”
I pause in my tracks. “You’re right, Waylon.”
I glance around the interior of Moss and Maple. “Years ago, I had a different dream for my future.”
My mind drifts to the myriad of manuscripts in a box in my parents’ attic, the rejection letter from Vanderbilt, the faces of the judges who held the key to my future.
I close my eyes, taking a slow, steadying breath, and refocusing on Waylon.
“What took the place of my original plan is beyond what I could ask for. I’m not begrudging the life I have. My problem with Patrick isn’t about what I ended up with. It’s how he handles situations that matter to anyone besides him and his family. He’s not the man he pretends to be. He can’t be counted on. Not when it matters most.” I sigh. “But enough about him.”
“Right!” Winona says. “We’ve got a letter to write!”
I think she’s joking until about thirty minutes later. I’m busy setting up the firefighter display table with props, books and decor when Winona and Waylon approach me.
“Here it is,” Winona says.
She holds out a piece of paper.
I take it from her and read the first line.
Dear Future Husband,
“You guys!” I laugh, crumpling the paper into a ball and strolling over to the trash can.
“Hey!” Winona says. “We worked hard on that.”
“Future husband?” I shake my head in amusement. “No.”
I tell Winona, “If you really want to help me, you can call Liam and ask what day he plans to come out to patch the hole where the squirrels were entering the attic.”
“Okay.” Winona sounds dejected.
Waylon eyes the trash can.
