Page 70 of Hidden Vows
I hear Willie and Mae talking, but I lose all focus on the conversation. I’m a lucky bastard to have this woman back in my life. How I managed to make up for the biggest mistake of my life, I’ll never know. But I’ll also never take her or this life we’re building for granted.
When I left before, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was making life easier for Abbey by not forcing her tochoose between her family and me, but I never should have done her thinking for her.
From this moment forward, everything I do will be with Abbey at the forefront of my mind, and she’ll be part of every decision I make. I know she’s forgiven me and won’t hold onto this as some tool to use in a future fight, but she deserves to truly understand exactly what I’ve been doing since I left Ashford Falls.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” I ask, interrupting whatever Willie and Mae were talking about. My eyes stay glued to the woman through the bookstore.
The woman I can’t stop thinking about.
The woman I’ve been obsessed with my entire life.
“Of course. When have I ever denied you anything?” Mae’s voice is soft, and I hear the smile as clear as day through the phone. I love her for many reasons, but her ability to jump to a new topic without question is one of them.
“Can you send me that box of journals packed away in the closet in the guest room?” The other end of the call goes completely silent. It’s so quiet, I have to pull the phone away from my ear to make sure the call wasn’t dropped. “Mae? Willie? You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m just a little surprised. I thought they’d live in that closet for the rest of our lives.”
“I know,” I whisper. I let my eyes leave the image before me and turn to walk up to the door, pausing outside to finish this conversation first. “I think Abbey should have the chance to read them. If she wants.”
“That’s a pretty big move.” Willie’s words are hushed, and I don’t blame them. I’ve kept those journals so close to the chest, only ever talking about my story ideas with select people. But opening them up in their entirety to read? It’s big.
“If anyone deserves to read them, it’s Abbey.”
“We’ll get ’em packed up and shipped out today.”
“You don’t need to rush. In the next few days is fine.”
“Oh no,” Mae insists. “I don’t want you to have any time to change your mind. I’m hanging up and getting them now.”
“Wait—”
“Nope. We love you and we’ll talk to you in a few days,” Mae shouts.
“Take care of yourself and your woman, kid,” Willie offers right before the line goes dead.
I shake my head and laugh at their antics before shoving my phone in my pocket and finally walking through the door to the bookstore. Abbey’s smile when she turns to look at me grows even wider, and I’m lost to her all over again.
“Where’d AJ Doherty come from?”Abbey pauses in her movements, her focus on the box of books she’s opened in front of her.
I don’t need to look to see what books she’s staring at. That question wouldn’t have popped into her brain without prompting, not with her attention so focused on getting the bookstore ready.
It’s been ten days since Abbey found out I’m AJ Doherty—one of her all-time favorite authors—but she hasn’t asked as many questions as I assumed she would. I haven’t pushed, wanting her to set the pace on learning everything about our time apart. If I had it my way, I would’ve dumped it all at her feet if that’s what she wanted. But I didn’t want her to become overwhelmed with so much information—we have seventeen years to catch up on and hopefully we have a lifetime to do it.
“I’m sure you could guess the initials A and J,” I tease, movingto stand across from her, three boxes stacked between us.
“Abbey and Jude,” she whispers, her eyes moving up to mine.
“Yeah.” I nod. “And Doherty?—”
“Was your mom’s maiden name,” Abbey interrupts, her gaze falling back to the book in her hand.
“When my agent asked me what name I wanted to publish under, I knew immediately I wanted to use a pen name, but I still wanted the name to represent me in some way.”
“It’s a good pen name.” The words are said so quietly I don’t think she even realizes she said them.
Knowing Abbey, there are more questions forming in her mind, but I can see she’s working through something in the way her fingers smooth over the cover of the book, tracing my name almost tenderly.
“Why’d you pick a pen name? Why not use your real name?” Her focus stays on the book when she asks, but I don’t mind.
