Page 91 of The Library of Borrowed Hearts

“Chloe, listen to me. Your mom will make your life easier, but you don’t need her, okay? Not if you don’t want her.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” He put his hands on her shoulders and held them there until she looked up into his face. He didn’t know how he’d ever thought she was identical to her mother. Their features were similar, and he was sure Chloe would age just as gracefully, but there was so much uncertainty and determination in those clear green eyes. So muchgood.

“All those things I just listed? The money and the childcare, the soft place to land?” His fingers clenched tightly against her shoulders. “You already have them. I’ve spent a long time sitting alone in that empty house of mine, watching your family grow. I know I haven’t been the easiest neighbor in the world—”

At this, she snorted. He answered her with a chuckle.

“Fine, I’ve been a royal pain in the ass, but you know what I mean. I’d like to help you—you and Noodle and Theo and Trixie and even that blasted useless dog of yours. You don’t have to accept anything you don’t want to, and I’d never push myself into your home or life withoutasking, but I want you to know that I’m an option. If you accept that woman back in your life, do it knowing that you owe her nothing—and that youneedher even less. Not while you have me.”

Instead of addressing the offer, she took her lower lip between her teeth and glanced down at the books. “You really don’t want them back? The books? Your love story?”

“I don’t need the love story,” he said with a lightness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever Chloe decided, he felt good knowing that she had options—and for once in her life, they weregoodones. “Not when I have so many other stories left to read.”

34

CATHERINE

I could tell the exact moment when Jasper slid into the movie theater seat a few rows behind me.

It would be too much to say that I felt him or smelled him or that the air shifted in a way that only a lover could sense. For one thing, the theater was so dark that I could barely make out the tub of popcorn in front of me. For another, the movie’s sound was turned up high enough to send the whole delicate art deco building shattering to the ground.

No, I knew because the old fool was about as subtle as a battering ram.

“You might as well climb up here,” I said without turning back to look at him. Just in case he couldn’t hear me over the sound of the movie explosions, I raised my voice and added, “We’re the only two people at this movie, so you might as well get it over with. This place hasn’t changed much in six decades, has it?”

I could tell the exact moment he gave in and joined me, too. His steps were as slow and purposeful as they’d always been, the march of a man who’d never known any beat but his own, but he grumbled the whole way up.

“The security lady is the villain,” he said as he fell to the seat next to me with a thump. Kernels of popcorn flew out of the tub and scattered across my lap. “I’ve seen this one already.”

“Of course you have,” I said in the voice of a woman who refused to be goaded either by his ruining the movie or the fact that getting butter grease out of my chiffon skirt was likely to prove all but impossible. Trust a man—and this man in particular—to understand nothing about the care and keeping of delicate fabrics. “This town has exactly one theater screen. They show the same movie for two months. You’ve probably seen it eight times.”

To my surprise, the seat shook with a low, friendly chuckle. “You turned into a snob, Catherine. I should have seen that coming.”

I turned to him, even more surprised to find that his chuckle was matched by an equally friendly smile. “I beg your pardon?”

“The girl I used to know didn’t give two figs about her clothes. In fact, she was happiest when she wasn’t wearing any at all.” He paused before adding, “Come to think of it, that’s when I was happiest, too.”

I sat upright in my seat. This time, when the popcorn flew all over, I had no one to blame for it but myself. “Jasper Holmes, you dirty old crow! You can’t say things like that to me. I’m agrandmother.”

“And I, apparently, am a grandfather. It’s been a strange few days.”

That remark gave me pause—and, if I was being honest, a sharp pang in the region of my heart. It could have been a gastronomic reaction to the unhealthy amount of butter I’d eaten, but it was more reasonable to assume the sensation was one of guilt.

“Jasper, I—”

His hands stole over mine, silencing me before I even knew what I want to say. That I was sorry, obviously, but also that I wasn’t. I was sorry for bursting in on him and assuming I’d be welcomed with open arms. I was sorry for letting him believe I’d been dead for all these years, and that our child had died with me.

But that was where the buck stopped. I couldn’t regret my son or my grandson. I couldn’t regret the places I’d seen or the things I’d done. I couldn’t even regret the loss of a love like ours. We hadn’t realized it at the time, but it would have consumed us. In many ways, itdidconsume us—only instead of sticking around to watch as we each blew up our lives in a spectacular Brontë-worthy fashion, I left before it had the chance to ruin us both.

“You aren’t staying in Colville, are you?” he asked as if reading my every thought.

“No,” I said. I squeezed his hand, hoping he’d understand. I knew how much he loved this place. Zach loved it, too, but to me, it would never feel like anything but a small, narrow slice of the world. It was abeautifulslice, obviously, and one I enjoyed while I was in it, but not enough to remain forever. “And you aren’t going to move to New York, are you?”

That made him chuckle again. “I’ve always wanted to visit, but no. What would I do there? Offer to take strangers on horse-cart rides through the park? Find a potted plant and hide myself in it?”

“Well, no,” I admitted. “But you could always come and stay with me. I have plenty of space these days.”