“It’s not just about Ray,” she said quietly.
But it was, at least partly. The memory of his betrayal made her stomach knot. She’d walked into her home office to grab a file, and Ray’s phone had flashed with a text someone had sent. Usually, she wouldn’t have looked at it, but the preview wasn’t something she could ignore.Miss you already. Last night was amazing.
When she’d unlocked Ray’s phone with his password, she found hundreds of texts between him and Melissa, his twenty-nine-year-old receptionist. When he arrived home, the confrontation that followed had upset Lynda more than seeing the evidence of his affair. His half-hearted denials had quickly crumbled, followed by the worst admission of all—he wasn’t sorry. He’d fallen in love with Melissa. He wanted to start a new life with her. Maybe even have children together.
Thirty years of marriage had ended in a single afternoon.
“Lynda?” Isabel’s voice pulled her back to the present. “What are you thinking about?”
Lynda shook her head. “Just remembering the day it all fell apart.”
Isabel squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s okay.” Lynda managed a small smile. “It was ten years ago. Ancient history.”
“But it still hurts.”
“Sometimes,” Lynda admitted. “Not because I miss Ray. I haven’t missed him since Amy had her first baby. But because of what it did to how I interact with people.” She placed her hands on the book she’d been unwrapping. “I didn’t see it coming, Isabel. Not a clue. We had dinner together every night. We went on vacations and had the occasional dinner with our friends. I thought we were happy.” She shook her head. “How do you trust your own judgment after something like that?”
Isabel was quiet for a moment. “James and I had our rough patches,” she said finally. “No marriage is perfect. But there was always honesty between us, even when it hurt.” She met Lynda’s eyes. “Just keep reminding yourself that not all men are like Ray,” she repeated softly.
“I know that,” Lynda said. “Logically, I know that. But logic has nothing to do with it.”
“So, tell me about Matt Reynolds. Is he just a colleague?” Isabel asked.
Lynda hesitated. “He’s... I don’t know. He’s kind. Good with animals. Funny in that quiet way that sneaks up on you.” She looked out the window, watching Main Street come to life as more shops opened. “But he’s also still in love with his late wife.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He doesn’t have to. You can see it in the way he talks about her. She’s been gone fifteen years, and he still wears his wedding ring.”
Isabel nodded thoughtfully. “Grief is complicated. But it doesn’t mean that there isn’t room in his heart for someone new.”
The bell above the door chimed as another customer entered the bookstore. Lynda was grateful for the interruption. She likedMatt. More than she wanted to admit. This morning, when they’d been sitting on the floor with the border collie, she’d felt something she hadn’t experienced in years—a connection that went beyond professional respect.
And it terrified her.
“All I’m saying,” Isabel continued when the customer was browsing out of earshot, “is that maybe it’s time to unpack some of your baggage. See what’s still worth carrying and what you can leave behind.”
“I’ll think about it,” Lynda promised, more to end the conversation than anything else.
But as they went about their morning tasks—shelving new arrivals, helping customers find the perfect book, preparing for the afternoon book club meeting—Lynda found herself turning Isabel’s words over in her mind.
Had she been using Ray’s betrayal as an excuse to keep people at a distance? Was she truly protecting herself, or was she just hiding? And even if she was ready to open her heart again—a big if—was Matt Reynolds the right person to take a chance on?
She didn’t have answers to any of these questions. But for the first time in years, she was at least willing to ask them.
That, she supposed, was some kind of progress.
CHAPTER 4
Matt cradled Mrs. Pemberton’s ancient orange tabby, keeping his movements slow and gentle. Rusty was at least sixteen years old, and his kidneys were starting to fail. He’d stopped eating two days ago, which had sent his eighty-year-old owner into a panic.
“Will he be okay, Dr. Reynolds?” Mrs. Pemberton asked, her veined hands twisting the strap of her purse. She’d been coming to Matt’s clinic since he’d first opened, bringing her cats with her.
“Let’s get him on some fluids first,” Matt said, carefully placing Rusty on the examination table. “He’s pretty dehydrated, which is making him feel worse than he needs to.”
The cat gave a weak meow of protest as Matt checked his gums and felt his abdomen. There was some tenderness around the kidneys, but not a hard mass that could mean a tumor.
