The Story Of Us - Teri Wilson Page 0,11

sales register.

As Jamie headed to the back of the store for her third armload of hardbacks, Lucy was gift wrapping a journal for a customer doing some Valentine’s Day shopping. But when Jamie rounded the corner, books in hand, she stopped short at the sight of a familiar, well-coiffed woman flipping through the pages of a Brontë novel near the paper flowers display.

Oh, no. She darted behind a corner and hid. What was Karen Van Horn doing at True Love Books?

Not her. Not now.

“Hi. Can I help you find something?” Lucy’s voice rang like a bell from behind the sales counter.

Please say no. Please just go away. Jamie squeezed her eyes shut tight in a pathetic attempt to make herself invisible.

“You know, actually, I was hoping to catch Jamie,” the woman said. “Is she here?”

Ugh.

She couldn’t do this, not today, of all days. The pending town council meeting was a big enough thorn in her side. She couldn’t handle dealing with her ex-boyfriend’s mother. Jamie had broken up with Matt months ago. What could she and Mrs. Van Horn possibly have left to say to one another?

Maybe her romantic hiatus needed to broaden in scope to include not just prospective dating partners, but their family members as well.

Or maybe she was just a chicken. Possibly—probably—both.

“Um.” Lucy’s gaze flitted in Jamie’s direction, and Jamie fled back to the storeroom like the chicken that she was.

Eliot batted a paw at her as she zipped past him. The tattletale.

“She is not,” Lucy said awkwardly.

“Oh.” Mrs. Van Horn sounded surprised. Obviously, she remembered that Jamie practically lived at True Love. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t.”

Thank goodness for Lucy.

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