Page 18 of Heart Strings

She shakes her head, her bottom lip quivering slightly. “But it feels like betraying my mom’s memory. She loved that place, and after she... after the accident, I just can’t bring myself to even think about leaving.”

I notice the tremble in her voice, the way she wraps her arms around herself, as if bracing against a cold only she can feel.

“Tink, your mom would’ve wanted you to follow your dreams. Staying stuck because you feel guilty isn’t what she would’ve wished for you.”

She nods, but her eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “It’s just, I feel responsible for what happened to her, Connor. Leaving feels like… wrong.”

My heart aches for her, carrying the weight of guilt for something beyond her control. “Gracie, that accident wasn’t your fault. And honoring your mom doesn’t mean you have to give up on your own life.”

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer. “Your dreams matter too, Tink. Maybe there’s a way to see the world and still hold on to the bookstore. You’re the most resourceful person I know. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

She finally meets my gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You think so?”

“I know so,” I say firmly, my hand finding hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “And I’ll be here, every step of the way, cheering you on.”

She offers a small smile, a glimmer of hope in her eyes that warms me from the inside out. “Thanks, Connor. That... that means a lot.”

As the conversation flows, I start noticing small things about her I’ve never paid attention to before—the way her fingers trail over her arm, the gentle way she brushes her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous, and the passion in her voice when she describes the places she wants to visit.

“You can’t let guilt hold you back, Tink. The world’s out there, waiting for you to write about it. And the bookstore... it’s a part of you, but it’s not all of you. You’re more than just a bookstore owner.”

I move closer, an instinctive need to comfort her. “You’ll never leave her behind, not even if you had to leave here for a short time. She’ll always be a part of you, no matter where you go or what you do.”

Gracie rests her head on my shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of my words. “I want to believe that, I really do. But it’s too soon.”

We sit in silence for a while, each lost in our thoughts. I have to make her see that she’s important as well; her mom would never have wanted this for her. In all my years of knowing Rose Willow, this is not what she would want her daughter to do.

“Promise me something,” I say, breaking the silence.

She looks up, curiosity in her eyes. “What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll at least think about chasing your dreams. The bookstore will always be a part of you, but it shouldn’t be your anchor.”

She nods, a determined spark lighting her eyes. “I promise, Connor. And... thank you.”

As we pack up to head back, I can’t shake the feeling that tonight was a turning point for both of us. For Gracie, in acknowledging her dreams, and for me, in realizing just how much I want to see her achieve them.

Chapter 13

Gracie

Waking up in Connor’s cabin feels like a luxury I didn’t know I was missing. The spare room I’ve unofficially claimed as mine over the years is cozy, with its log walls and a window that offers a mesmerizing view of the lake outside. The morning light filters through, casting warm patterns across the quilted bed.

My clothes are here too, a small stash in the dresser for impromptu sleepovers like this one. I find comfort in the familiarity, in knowing there’s a space for me in Connor’s world.

I hear music drifting through the cabin, a soft melody that beckons me from the warmth of my bed. Slipping into a pair of jeans I left here last time, I grab one of Connor’s plaid shirts hanging on the chair, throwing it over my tank top. It smells like him—wood and something distinctly Connor.

As I step into the living room, I see him there, lost in his music. He’s sitting on an old, comfortable couch, his guitar cradled in his arms, and his focus entirely on the strings. His blonde hair is loose today, falling over his eyes as he hums along to the tune he’s playing. I lean against the kitchen counter, content just to watch him for a moment.

“Morning, Tink,” he says, not looking up at me, but I can hear the smile in his voice. He knows me so well, always aware of my presence, even when lost in his music.

I chuckle, shaking my head at how well he knows me. “Morning. How’d you know it was me?”

He finally looks up, a grin spreading across his face. “Who else would it be?” He gestures toward the kitchen with his head. “There’s a plate for you in the warmer.”

Grateful for the thought, I head to the kitchen and find the breakfast he mentioned: scrambled eggs, bacon, mushrooms, and tomato—all my favorites. With my plate in hand, I join him in the living room, settling on the couch opposite him.

He’s dressed casually in a white vest and gray joggers, his blonde hair falling just above his shoulders, giving him an effortlessly relaxed look. Watching him play, listening to the soft hum of his voice, I’m reminded of how much I love hearing him sing.

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