“Maybe you should extend your stay,” he suggested. “Give yourself more time to do the things you want to do. Or, since you’ve already made a nice little niche for yourself”—he stood with another full dustpan—“why leave at all?”
My gaze snapped to his, and the world stilled. I’d considered staying in Amherst not long ago. I could be happy here, could easily build a life. For Davis to suggest the same was almost too much to bear. Why would he say it? Did he want me to stay? For him?
Again I wondered if Davis was my secret admirer, the anonymous letter writer slowly stealing my heart. Why couldn’t he be?
Then I remembered my track record for love and the fact Davis had his hands full. He was at odds with his father, concentrating on his career, trying to protect Hearthstone and Village Books. How could he possibly have time to think of anything else? Never mind enough time to write love letters?
I quickly returned to reality.
Davis was simply being kind and reminding me I had friends here.
“I’ve given that more thought than you know,” I admitted.
Emily’s perfect attitude on the matter came to mind. Wherever we are, that is home. Here in Amherst, the sentiment seemed exactly true. But once I was back in Willow Bend again, I’d be home there too. My trajectory had changed these last few days. My path of perceived obstacles had cleared. “I have a store to run back home. I have to go.” I set the rags on the table and crossed my legs.
He dumped the pan with a dip of his chin.
Something about the small movement made me hollow with regret. Why couldn’t things be different?
“Are you still working on ideas for the revised bookstore?” he asked, kindly breaking the tension.
“I finished the business plan last night, and it looks good.” Inspiration had hit before bed, and I’d wrapped most of the details with a bow. “It’s going to be hard to say goodbye to Amherst, but I’m looking forward to getting a start on revamping the store. Maybe if I’m wildly successful, I can open a satellite shop here one day. At a good distance from Grace’s shop, of course. I wouldn’t step on any toes.”
“Paws,” he corrected, and I grinned.
I’d miss my new friends, but we had the internet to connect us. And I hoped to continue with the letter-writing classes, at least a couple of times a month.
“The changes at Rini Reads are going to be great,” he said. “I’ll try to come up and see them when you finish.”
I blinked, completely thrown by his offer. “Really?”
“Sure,” he said. “And you should come back to check out the renovations here when they’re complete.”
I nodded, and Davis checked the now cleaned space around him. “If you’re okay, I’d better give the renovation space another look.”
“I’m good.” I rose and forced a smile, frustrated by the pickles, but heart-warmed by his offer. “Break a leg,” I said. “I’ll bet the camera loves you.”
A few hours later, I dialed Davis on a whim and burst of excitement. Seated in the bookstore after letter-writing class, I clutched a gently crumpled page in my sweaty grip.
“Emma,” he said. “I was going to stop by the manor tonight after work. I wanted to tell you first. They interviewed me today! A reporter freed up in time to ride with the photographer, and we did the whole piece this afternoon. It was amazing. And no one fell on their head.” He laughed, and the sound reached my heart through the line.
“Really? That’s amazing!” And he’d wanted to tell me first? Not Grace or Clayton? Or anyone else? I’d surely lose sleep over this, which was fine, because I’d already be up thinking about his suggestion I stay in Amherst.
All these small things meant something, right?
“I know!” Davis exclaimed. “Thank you so much for encouraging me and for putting up with me the last few weeks. I really do appreciate you.”
“I feel the same,” I said.
There was a beat of silence. “What made you call?” he asked. “You never call. Not even when you’re freezing to death, or the house is on fire.”
“Stop.” I laughed. “It’s about my secret letter writer, Forever Yours.”
“Yeah,” he said cautiously.
“I wrote him and asked for his name. He wrote me back, and he wants to meet. Maybe you’re the wrong person to call, but ...” I’d wanted to tell him first. Wanted to know what he would say. Should I go? Was it weird? Was it safe?
Did he already know about the letter because he wrote it? I shook away the thought and silently chastised myself for projecting my desires onto him.
