I pick up the form from the counter. The locals in Maple Fallsstillwant to use old-fashioned paper forms, despite trying to encourage them to use an app. Two dozen cupcakes from someone who forgot to put their name on the form. “Who orders cupcakes at dawn?”
“Again, I don’t question when things go right,” Emmy says from the storage room before coming out with a box of books. “I just say thank you to whoever made your day even better.”
“Well, I wish that door would get magically fixed too.” I nod toward the storage room door. On at least one occasion, the lock stuck after I went into the room and Emmy had to stop by on her day off to save me.
“Just consider it the charm of an old building, Neesha,” she says, walking to the front of the store. “Wonky locks. Doors that stick. It’s all part of the appeal. By the way, I’m heading to a wedding dress fitting in a few minutes. Will you be okay holding down the bookstore for an hour?”
“As long as the town doesn’t all show up at once.”
The bell on the door chimes, and in walks Clara Johnson for her morning coffee before she heads to her job doing social media for the Ice Breakers.
“Good morning, Clara, how are you?” I turn to the regularcoffee maker and prepare her order, since I already know what she likes.
“Feeling a little tired today,” she says, her face slightly paler than normal. She’s got that exhausted look that comes from managing a chronic illness while single-parenting two kids and working full-time. I wish I could help her more, but I’m barely surviving as it is.
“I hear the team is looking good in practices,” Emmy says, lining up the new-release books on the table near the door.
“They’re playing so well together,” Clara says before turning to me. “Have you met any of the new guys yet?”
I shake my head. “You know how I feel about hockey players, after everything that went down with Nate.”
Clara winces. “Right, the Nate Incident. But these guys seem different. Plus, they photograph well in suits, which makes my job infinitely easier.”
“I didn’t attend the bash,” I say. “I was working on a cupcake order for a birthday party that night.”
“Maybe you should stop by the rink, I’d be happy to introduce you and your cupcakes. A few of them have a wicked sweet tooth and would probably be regulars around here,” she offers.
“Thank you for the offer, but I try to avoid my ex whenever possible.”
Clara’s smile is sympathetic. “I get it. Some people are toxic to your health in ways that have nothing to do with actual illness.” She shifts her coffee to her other hand. “But if you ever change your mind, let me know. Some of these guys might actually restore your faith in the male species.”
She heads out the door as Emmy sneaks a side glance at me. “You know, at some point you need to take her up on her invitation and get a life.”
“I have a life,” I say. “With Henry.”
“Henry’s a dog,” Emmy scolds. “He doesn’t count as a social circle.”
“Well, he’s extremely loyal,” I say, heading to the back storage room to get more napkins for the cafe. “Except when bribed with beef jerky.”
After I find the napkins on a shelf, I nearly trip over a small box on the floor filled with old books. I pick one up and notice the cover looks ancient. Tucked inside the cover is a yellowed envelope with a letter inside.
“What’s this?” I take the envelope out. “Did someone leave this in the donation box?”
Emmy comes over to examine it. “I’ve never seen it before. That looks really old though—look at that handwriting.”
I turn the envelope over in my hands. The front is addressed to “My Dearest Catherine” in flowing script, and when I open the flap, I find a letter dated 1849. My eyes scan the first few lines:
My Dearest Catherine,
Though you continue to insist we are not suited for one another, I cannot abandon hope that your heart might yet change. Each day I watch you pick flowers by the maple grove, and I am more certain than ever that you are the woman I am meant to love for all my days…
“This is like finding a piece of history.” I look up at her. “It’s a love letter from 1849. Someone named V writing to Catherine.”
“That’s incredible, but who are V and Catherine? And how did this end up in our donation books?”
“I have no idea, but Mrs. Nelson might know,” I say. “She’s familiar with some of the old family histories.” I fold the letter back into its envelope. “This feels too important to just leave sitting around. What if it’s the only piece of their story that survived?”
“You should pass it along to her,” Emmy says. “The book club ladies are going to lose their minds over this—it’s like their romance novels came to life.”
