Corbin nods to the back of the shop. “There’s a garden out back. Want to see it?”
“How can you even ask?”
He sets a hand on my back and guides me along a skinny hallway, past boxes of plant food. “I also took the liberty to bring a little something along.”
My brow knits. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe we don’t want to wait for opening day to read another letter. I hope you don’t mind. But I think you popping into other businesses and saying hello is a milestone and deserves?—”
“A cookie?” I ask, anticipation bouncing inside of me.
He pats his back pocket as we reach the door and stop. “I took one.”
“Did you read it already?” I’m only a little worried. It doesn’t seem like his style, but I need to ask.
“What do you take me for? A guy who has no patience?”
Considering I’m ahead in theOdepartment, he clearly has plenty of self-control. “Nope.”
He opens the door into a tiny garden, teeming with winter jasmine and white lilies stretching toward the sun. A small Japanese maple stands proudly in a corner, and a green slatted bench commands the center of this emerald enclave.
“This is incredible,” I say, soaking in this refuge in the middle of this small town.
“Glad you like it,” he says, pride and something else in his voice.
Something that makes me feel warm and shimmery. It’s a feeling I could get lost in though. A feeling that could distract me from my business, my plans, my dreams.
“All right. What have you got?” I ask, heading to the bench and patting the seat next to me.
He joins me, takes the letter from his back pocket, and carefully unfolds it. My fingers are tingling to touch it, this lovely artifact from a romance decades ago. “It was already folded,” he explains. “Don’t want you to think I put a crease in it.”
“I would never think such a thing,” I say, eager to learn what happened next for the young lovers.
Corbin hands it to me. “It’s yours.”
But it feels like ours, especially when I read the first two words.
Dear Harriet.
“It’s to her,” I say breathlessly. “He wrote it to her.” I feel like I’m holding a piece of history—someone’s personal history. It’s a privilege, this sneak peek into another century, another love affair.
I offer it to Corbin. “You read it out loud.”
He takes the paper, clears his throat, and reads.
Dear Harriet,
Today was a tough day. Calls like that are always hard. The things we have to do in our line of work are never easy. But you’re brave, and you made a difference in our community.
I sensed it was hard for you, though, the way the other guys didn’t seem to want to let you do things—even things rookie firefighters do, like pulling hose lines.
But you trained for this. You can do it. And I just want to say—don’t let them get you down.
They’ll come around.
They’ll see who you are. Gutsy, determined, focused.
And, you’re funny.
