Authentically izzy, p.32
Authentically, Izzy, page 32
She turned toward Josephine and took the empty seat at her side. “How are you doing?”
She rested her head back against the pillow and sighed. “I’m tired but so happy. They’re beautiful.” Josephine looked up at Patrick, her eyes glowing. “And they have a wonderful father.”
Patrick leaned down and kissed Josephine’s head, then groaned and stumbled back, pressing his fingers to his nose. His bruised nose.
Izzy winced, but Patrick only grinned. “Josephine was amazing, Izzy. What she had to do to bring our babies into the world? It’s”—his eyes brightened—“it’s a miracle.”
Izzy looked back at her cousins and their corresponding niece and nephew, and a sweet tenderness swelled through her. Family. Belonging. Love.
All of them took risks. Faith in those people loving you even when you’re not very loveable. Belief that they’ll speak truth into your life when you need to hear it . . . and give you a good nudge too. Yeah, she knew what authenticity looked like because she’d seen it her whole life, even if it came in imperfect ways.
And, her breath wobbled, she’d seen it in Brodie too.
Maybe she was strong enough now to trust her own heart.
“They’re beautiful. Both of them.” Izzy covered Josephine’s hand with her own. “I’m so happy for you and Patrick.”
Patrick chuckled and walked back over to Penelope and Luke, peering down at the newest little members of his family like the happiest man alive.
“I really don’t deserve him, Izzy.” Josephine shook her head and smoothed out the blanket covering her from waist to toes. “He’s the best man in all the world and I don’t know how he can put up with me, but I’m so glad he does.”
Izzy squeezed Josephine’s fingers. “He needed your liveliness, Josephine. Your passionate love for your family. You brought brightness to his quiet life, you know.”
Josephine’s dark gaze shifted from Izzy’s to fasten on Patrick, her smile wobbly. “I’m sure I got the better end of that decision, but thank you for saying so.” Her attention came back to Izzy. “Luke came and talked with me about . . . about what you’d struggled with and how Brodie”—her bottom lip wobbled a little—“about how he heard and saw all of your talents. About how he encouraged you to show them.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I’m not the one who did that for you. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”
The bridge of Izzy’s nose began to tingle with the warning of coming tears. Good grief. How did she have any more left to cry? “I know, Josie.”
Josephine offered a quick chuckle and nodded. “I’m so glad you’ve found that in Brodie. Every email or phone call just confirmed how good he is for you. For you.” She shook her head when Izzy attempted to interrupt. “I’ve thought about seeing you two together and then I reread your emails several times, especially the last few, and I could hear it through your words. You belong with him. I’ve never seen you as animated or excited or . . . you as when you’re with him.”
Izzy cleared her throat and drew in a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to divulge all that had happened over the past two days. Her heart convulsed against the thought. Not even two days. And the pain she’d seen on Brodie’s face when she left?
The man who’d book bantered with her, encouraged her weirdness with his own, gave horrible Appalachian-Yoda impersonations. Her smile spread. Won a book battle over her, believed in her dreams . . . Her throat tightened. He believed in her. No, it couldn't have all been make-believe. And she needed to see him face-to-face to have him prove her fears wrong.
She reached over and pressed a kiss to Josephine’s head. “Thank you, Josephine.”
“For what?”
“For reminding me what is really important.”
Ember had just started fussing and poor Luke had her held away from him as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do next, so Patrick swept the little, wriggling bundle from her uncle’s arms.
“She’s probably hungry.”
To which Luke bolted for the door, but oblivious Penelope just kept cooing over Noah as if they were the only people in the room.
Izzy met Luke at the door and walked out with him. “If I can get a flight for tonight, would you drive me to the airport?”
His sneakers screeched to a halt in the hallway. “What?”
“I’ve been wrong, Luke. I was scared and paranoid and—”
“Stupid?”
She shot him a glare.
“Irrational?” He added.
“Yes, but after all I’d been through, I was just afraid—”
“Pigheaded?”
“Okay, now.” She caught his arm so he turned to face her. “You can stop being so nice about it.”
“Izzy, I consider Brodie my friend, and I’ve never been able to consider any of the men you’ve dated a friend before.” He settled his gaze on hers. “He’s a good guy. He really cares about you in all the right ways. And you’re a whole lot smarter than you used to be.”
“Thanks.” She exaggerated her eye roll and her shoulders slumped. “He may not want to have anything to do with me after the way I left things.”
“True.” Luke nodded and drew in a breath before refocusing on her. “But you get to decide if he’s worth that risk or not.” He cleared his throat and leaned close, looking around as if to check if someone was listening. “You know that quote I sent you before, ‘Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength. Loving someone deeply gives you courage’?”
“Yes, Lao Tzu?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Fortune cookie.”
“I thought you said it was your dog texting.”
“He got it from a fortune cookie.”
Her tears burst free with her laugh and she wrapped her arms around Luke’s neck. “I love you so much, Luke.”
He stepped back, shaking his head, but his smile squeezed out beneath his attempt at a frown. “I really need at least one level-headed relation, Izzy, and I’m holding out hope it’s you.”
“Then you’d better help me get to the airport.” She slipped her arm through his and pulled him toward the elevator. “And I wouldn’t mind a few prayers that Brodie Sutherland has as forgiving a nature as I hope he does.”
Chapter 25
Sutherland’s Books brimmed with people. Izzy barely made it through the front door after bumping into several small groups either entering or exiting, arms filled with shopping bags complete with the old Sutherland’s logo, but by next week they should have a few with the new logo in place.
She paused to peer at the window display, a wonderful mixture of modern and classic, heart and head. A piece of her had already become a part of this place—not just her heart, but her creativity and this internal epiphany of who she was and what she wanted. For her life and her heart.
Inside, happy shoppers scurried in all directions, and Izzy followed the tide, staying among the crowd so that as she crossed the threshold into the shop, Lylla or Alice wouldn’t immediately notice her entrance. Izzy wanted to get her bearings before she met whatever fate Brodie doled out. She deserved his ire, maybe even his rejection. But she hoped, oh how she hoped, he recognized a soul who loved him and was willing to hang on tight, now that she’d gotten brave and smart enough to know what “real” looked like.
She slipped down aisles and around corners of the magical place of which she’d become particularly fond. Enchantment and anticipation swirled among the bindings and the decorations and the general love of all things story. She couldn’t help but smile at the bustling areas of laughing children and excited conversations. Home? Her pulse settled into the thought. Yes, she wanted to be here . . . in the middle of this bookishly wonderful family with an extra-wonderful bookish islander.
If he’d still have her. Her throat constricted. A careful shuffle placed her safely behind a solid row of classic fiction and she rested her head against the shelf of Dickens, slowing her breathing so her pulse dimmed in her ears.
Would Brodie hear her? Would he give her a second chance? She doubted a dramatic Anne of Green Gables apology would work in her favor. No, he’d always been direct with her, and she’d return in kind, even if it ended with a deeper heartache than she’d imagined only days earlier. If she didn’t try, she’d never know, and Brodie was worth the risk.
She shook her head to clear it of all the horrible scenarios of his rejection floating through her mind and caught sight of two little girls occupying one of the window seats, their heads almost touching as they looked at a book together. Another smile waited on her lips. Stories inspired hope. Dreams. Romance.
And courage.
She’d learned more about those things while knowing Brodie and visiting Skymar than in the five years leading up to this day. Her heart settled into the welcome sensation of belonging to this magical place, in the joy of discovery and imagination. In the adventure of new journeys and pleasant warmth—of comfortable familiarity. If given one more chance, she’d hold to it all and never let go. Her gaze shot heavenward. Just one more chance. Please?
For better or worse she’d spent the majority of her flight rereading all the correspondence between her and Brodie. Unfortunately she cried about as much on the flight back to Skymar as she had leaving it. How could she have been so blind? Allowed her insecurities such a hold on her heart? She loved him. Something had come to life inside of her when he’d started their correspondence. She wouldn’t lose a future with Brodie without a fight—even if that meant she had to fight him to do it.
She slipped through the rows and people, sliding her hands over a few familiar book bindings to help garner her strength. It was Monday morning. He worked on Monday mornings, didn’t he? Would he be here?
Then she stopped. Above the sound of two women debating over which Debbie Macomber book to purchase, a familiar voice brewed in deep baritone. Brodie! She straightened, trying to locate the direction.
“I’ve heard of epistolary novels before, but not that particular one.” His answer came from the other side of a bookshelf in the Historical Romance section. “Could you tell me more about it?”
Izzy drew in a breath and peered around the side of the shelf. Brodie’s back was to her as he bent near to an older woman who leaned close in intense discussion.
“Have you never heard of it? I read it years ago. It’s all written through letters around the World War II era, I believe. You should know it. Especially you.” She shook her head of blonde color that looked a little too blonde to be natural. “It takes place on an island and it’s a story where two people fall in love through letters before they even meet in person. Well, the blooms of love start then, but the actual love comes when they meet in person, of course.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “It does sound like a rather fascinating work of fiction.”
Her heart squeezed. Sadness curbed his tone with a little hint of bitterness thrown in on that last word. She pressed her fist to her chest. She’d caused that. Oh, Brodie, please forgive me.
“Fiction starts from somewhere,” came her quick retort. “But there was some tragedy that happened during the war, and it’s about the folks on this island who start a book club, and the main lady in the story is an author, I think.”
Izzy nodded as she recognized the description of the book, and the woman must have caught sight of her movements, because her gaze caught in Izzy’s. Izzy attempted a weak smile and a strange glimmer twinkled in the woman’s pale eyes.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever read that one,” Brodie answered. “If we had our new database working, I could—”
“Perhaps we should ask one of the other workers about it.” The woman motioned toward me. “Young lady, could you give us a bit of help here? We seem to be at a loss and you appear to understand.”
Izzy’s chest seized. No use hiding now. She drew in a deep breath and forced a smile as she stepped forward.
“I think the book you’re after is The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.” She flashed a glance at Brodie as she neared.
He stared, his lips parting in surprise. She pushed an apology into her expression as much as she could, hoping her eyes spoke for her in the interval. His lips pinched into a frown. Oh no, old Blighty showed up instead of Prince Charming. Her palm pressed into her stomach. She deserved it, though. She’d thrown his trustworthiness back in his face.
“Yes, that sounds familiar,” the woman responded, drawing Izzy’s gaze back to her.
“Um . . . it should be here.” Her words quivered out on a breath as she passed between the two with her head down and her focus on the nearby bookshelf. The Romance section. Ironic.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat, every ounce of self-control attempting to keep the tears at bay. He’d offered her so much: her dreams, his heart, a place to . . . fly, and she’d run away from it all.
With careful fingers, she drew the book from its place and then trained her attention on the woman. “It’s a sweet story with a tender romance that started as an unlikely friendship over books.” Izzy’s voice caught on the admission. Like her and Brodie.
“What a marvelous beginning for a romance, don’t you think?”
Could this woman unintentionally make things any more awkward? “Um . . . it does sound rather fairy-tale–like. Though of course there’s a part where the heroine gets a little messed up with knowing what she wants, but”—Izzy swallowed through her dry throat—“but . . . but don’t worry. She figures it out in time for a happily ever after.”
“I read for the happily ever afters.” The woman searched Izzy’s face in some strange way.
“I’m fond of those too. My favorites, in fact.” Izzy handed the book to the woman and blinked back the tears while stepping past her back to the bookshelf. “And if you’re interested in another of the same style, you might enjoy Daddy-Long-Legs. Earlier time period but still epistolary. And such a light-hearted read. Good for cheering the heart.”
“‘Cheering the heart’?” She held Izzy’s gaze, her smile growing, and then she took the proffered book. “Well thank you, dear. I’ve always had a soft spot for these types of stories. You see, I fell in love with my husband through letters before we ever met in person. People don’t seem to do much of that nowadays.”
“I think that’s what makes it so special.” Her throat squeezed as she felt Brodie step closer behind her. “You have these wonderful conversations, opportunities to be intimate with someone in such a unique way, so when you finally meet him for the first time, it’s like you’re looking into the eyes of someone who knows you already, maybe even better than you know yourself.”
“Aye.” Her expression softened and she studied Izzy with a knowing look. “It sounds as though you’ve experienced corresponding with a sweetheart of your own?”
“Yes, I have . . . um . . . I did.” A sigh pressed her shoulders downward and she refused to look in Brodie’s direction. Her eyes began to sting. “But much like Juliet in this story”—she tapped the book in the woman’s hand—“I’m afraid I . . . I lost my way and may be too late to make things right.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes,” the word burst out like something between a sob and a laugh. “I do love him. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”
One of her pale brows took an upswing. “And does he love you?”
Clearly this woman was placed in this moment to incur complete agony upon Izzy’s already throbbing heart. “I think he did before . . . before I hurt him.”
“I suppose the only way to know for certain is to travel to wherever he lives and find out, isn’t it? A very brave thing to do, if you ask me.” The sparkle in the woman’s eyes flared and she raised a brow to a point just over Isabelle’s shoulder. “Well, Brodie my boy, it seems the next move is up to you.”
What? Izzy blinked and looked from the woman to Brodie, who stood much closer to her than he’d been a few minutes ago, his mastiff brow still intact.
He studied her with those brilliant-blue eyes of his as if weighing every intention running through her brain, before he turned his attention back to the woman. “Thank you, Aunt Karina. You’ve made a sufficient scene to share later with all of your lady friends down at the tea room.”
Every ounce of heat left Izzy’s face. Her voice refused to work. Aunt Karina?
“Isabelle, this is my aunt Karina.” Brodie gestured toward the woman, his eyes searching Isabelle’s as he continued, a forced smile on his lips. “Aunt Karina, this is Isabelle Edgewood.”
“You look exactly like your photos, my dear. All that glorious hair.” She raised the book in her hand. “And thank you for this as well as the other suggestion. As I said, I have a certain fondness for stories that turn out well.”
With another pixie grin and a pat to Brodie’s cheek, the fair-haired woman walked away, leaving a series of chuckles in her wake.
Izzy’s brain began to piece the little scenario together. She lowered her gaze to the floor, shaking her head. “Your aunt.”
“Brynna’s mum.” Brodie’s response held no emotion, his voice so near and yet . . . far. “But everyone in my entire family—in fact, the entire town—knows who you are, Isabelle, the Book Matchmaker from America.”
“Oh.” And the woman who broke their boy’s heart. She kept her gaze fastened on the Austen shelf nearby, a taunting punishment of happily ever afters that nearly ushered up a groan and then a retreat toward the door. “Loving someone deeply gives you courage.” She raised her eyes to his. She loved him. So much. And she belonged wherever he was.
He continued to study her, arms folded across his chest. “You flew all the way back to Skern?”
“I hurt you face-to-face, so I . . . I wanted to make amends face-to-face.” She released a slow breath to keep her tears in check. “If I can.”
His jaw twitched and his gaze roamed over her, taking in her hair, her eyes, his expression unreadable. “Fiona went to bed in tears and Brynna hasn’t slept well since you left because she’s blamed herself for the whole fiasco.”
