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Authors: Courtney Walsh
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her arms over her ample bosom. “No, but ruining someone’s wedding invitations might be. She’s obviously not cut out for this.” Doris harrumphed, sitting back in her seat.
“Doris!” Ursula barked.
“No, she’s right.” Abigail dropped in a heap onto the sofa, the heaviness of the day settling squarely onto her shoulders. “I’m not cut out for this any more than I’m cut out for running a business.”
“Tell us what’s wrong, dear,” Gigi said, crossing the room and creating space for herself on the sofa where there was none. “Maybe we can help.”
Abigail was horrified when her attempt to swallow the lump in her throat failed. Tears sprang to her eyes as Gigi patted her knee with her fragile hand. On her other side, Tess sat up and, like the others, focused all of her attention on Abigail.
The outcast. The one who didn’t belong. That feeling was too familiar, and she’d worked hard to get rid of it. How did it keep returning, uninvited?
She’d created a place where she fit perfectly. Without The Book Nook, who was Abigail Pressman?
“Why don’t you tell us your troubles, dear?” Gigi said in a gentle, motherly voice.
“We’d like to help you if we can,” Evelyn added.
Despite every effort to withhold her feelings, Abigail listened to her own voice as it betrayed her, pouring out the events of the day: from the spilled coffee fiasco to finding Dr. Jacob Willoughby pounding holes in the wall next door to that horrible Kelly woman dropping the bomb that Abigail had only another year or two with her store.
Somehow she felt like the mourning process had already begun.
“I’ve been trying to scrounge together the money to buy the place for years, just waiting for the right moment,” Abigail said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And every time I made a little bit of progress, my car would break down or the price of coffee would go up.” She covered her face with her hands. “He waltzes in there with his businesswoman girlfriend and pays cash for the place. I really thought this was going to be the year everything changed.”
She felt a kind hand on her back but imagined confused glances being exchanged over her head.
“This may still be the year everything changes,” Tess said, too much optimism in her voice. “Just not the way you expected.”
Somehow Abigail didn’t find that very comforting.
“Tess is right, dear,” Gigi said. “You just have to readjust your sails.”
“I don’t see another course,” she said. “Expanding was going to save my business. That was me readjusting my sails.”
Across the room, Ursula scoffed.
Abigail looked at the woman through her tears. She didn’t know Ursula Pembrooke very well. Of the five Valentine Volunteers, Ursula was the most eclectic. The one who didn’t seem to mind being the talk of the town. Flamboyant and bold, Frank Pembrooke’s widow knew how to keep Loves Park on its toes.
“Businesswomen don’t cry like little girls.” Ursula popped a cookie in her mouth. “Is the doctor’s girlfriend crying like a little girl?”
“Ursula!” Evelyn’s voice warned, but Ursula clearly wasn’t used to taking orders.
“You’re not cut out for business if you’re going to give up the second it gets hard.”
Abigail sniffed. “All due respect, Mrs. Pembrooke, but it’s been hard for quite a while.”
“Hogwash.” Ursula downed her cocoa. “Why are you all staring at me?”
“Ignore her, Abigail,” Gigi said, resuming her motherly back rub.
“Don’t ignore me. I am the only one here who knows anything about business.”
It was hard to believe with her eccentric manners, but Abigail knew that Ursula Pembrooke had learned all there was to know about business from her husband. In his day, Frank had made a fortune restoring Old Town Loves Park. He’d been shrewd and callous, but brilliant —and he’d withheld his knowledge from everyone but Ursula.
“Frankie always said when it comes to business,
“Doris!” Ursula barked.
“No, she’s right.” Abigail dropped in a heap onto the sofa, the heaviness of the day settling squarely onto her shoulders. “I’m not cut out for this any more than I’m cut out for running a business.”
“Tell us what’s wrong, dear,” Gigi said, crossing the room and creating space for herself on the sofa where there was none. “Maybe we can help.”
Abigail was horrified when her attempt to swallow the lump in her throat failed. Tears sprang to her eyes as Gigi patted her knee with her fragile hand. On her other side, Tess sat up and, like the others, focused all of her attention on Abigail.
The outcast. The one who didn’t belong. That feeling was too familiar, and she’d worked hard to get rid of it. How did it keep returning, uninvited?
She’d created a place where she fit perfectly. Without The Book Nook, who was Abigail Pressman?
“Why don’t you tell us your troubles, dear?” Gigi said in a gentle, motherly voice.
“We’d like to help you if we can,” Evelyn added.
Despite every effort to withhold her feelings, Abigail listened to her own voice as it betrayed her, pouring out the events of the day: from the spilled coffee fiasco to finding Dr. Jacob Willoughby pounding holes in the wall next door to that horrible Kelly woman dropping the bomb that Abigail had only another year or two with her store.
Somehow she felt like the mourning process had already begun.
“I’ve been trying to scrounge together the money to buy the place for years, just waiting for the right moment,” Abigail said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And every time I made a little bit of progress, my car would break down or the price of coffee would go up.” She covered her face with her hands. “He waltzes in there with his businesswoman girlfriend and pays cash for the place. I really thought this was going to be the year everything changed.”
She felt a kind hand on her back but imagined confused glances being exchanged over her head.
“This may still be the year everything changes,” Tess said, too much optimism in her voice. “Just not the way you expected.”
Somehow Abigail didn’t find that very comforting.
“Tess is right, dear,” Gigi said. “You just have to readjust your sails.”
“I don’t see another course,” she said. “Expanding was going to save my business. That was me readjusting my sails.”
Across the room, Ursula scoffed.
Abigail looked at the woman through her tears. She didn’t know Ursula Pembrooke very well. Of the five Valentine Volunteers, Ursula was the most eclectic. The one who didn’t seem to mind being the talk of the town. Flamboyant and bold, Frank Pembrooke’s widow knew how to keep Loves Park on its toes.
“Businesswomen don’t cry like little girls.” Ursula popped a cookie in her mouth. “Is the doctor’s girlfriend crying like a little girl?”
“Ursula!” Evelyn’s voice warned, but Ursula clearly wasn’t used to taking orders.
“You’re not cut out for business if you’re going to give up the second it gets hard.”
Abigail sniffed. “All due respect, Mrs. Pembrooke, but it’s been hard for quite a while.”
“Hogwash.” Ursula downed her cocoa. “Why are you all staring at me?”
“Ignore her, Abigail,” Gigi said, resuming her motherly back rub.
“Don’t ignore me. I am the only one here who knows anything about business.”
It was hard to believe with her eccentric manners, but Abigail knew that Ursula Pembrooke had learned all there was to know about business from her husband. In his day, Frank had made a fortune restoring Old Town Loves Park. He’d been shrewd and callous, but brilliant —and he’d withheld his knowledge from everyone but Ursula.
“Frankie always said when it comes to business,
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