Where the Heart Lies
When the bell on the door jangled, Jordan glanced up. A man had just entered the store and was striding toward the cash. The first customer they’d seen in an hour. Jordan quickly pushed the stack of books she’d been sorting to the side and greeted him with a genial smile.
“Hi there, can I help—”
Her voice caught in her throat, as she stared at the man in stunned disbelief. For a moment, she thought the bright sunlight slanting through the window was playing tricks on her eyes, bringing to her mind a face that she had filed away in the recesses of her memory years ago. But after she blinked several times, he was still there, his steel gray eyes observing her with familiar unwavering intensity.
“Clay?” she said, her voice a hoarse croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Clay McAdam?”
“Hello, Jordan.” He smiled placidly. Quite the opposite of her reaction, it was clear he wasn’t surprised to see her. “How have you been?”
“Fine,” was the only response that came to mind, as she fought to quell a sudden, paralyzing rush of emotions that she couldn’t begin to sort out. All at once her heart was throbbing fiercely, her limbs as limp as rubber bands. “I don’t know quite what to say, it’s been so long,” she managed to add. “Are you in Victoria visiting family?”
He nodded. “My sister told me you were running your Uncle Randall’s bookstore. I was sorry to hear he passed away.”
Having never met Sheryl, Jordan wondered briefly how she had known about the bookstore. She paused to study Clay’s face for a moment, hoping it might offer a clue to what he was doing there. In his mid-thirties, he looked older but just as attractive as she remembered—perhaps even more so. The gray eyes were deeper, the chiseled features more rugged. His thick, wavy brown hair had darkened a shade and been cut shorter. His lean frame looked as solid as ever.
He observed her coolly with an expression that was uncharacteristically cautious, appraising her as though trying to read her thoughts in her face. Was it possible he was still bitter about their breakup over ten years ago? Surely no one would hold a grudge that long.
“Hi there, can I help—”
Her voice caught in her throat, as she stared at the man in stunned disbelief. For a moment, she thought the bright sunlight slanting through the window was playing tricks on her eyes, bringing to her mind a face that she had filed away in the recesses of her memory years ago. But after she blinked several times, he was still there, his steel gray eyes observing her with familiar unwavering intensity.
“Clay?” she said, her voice a hoarse croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Clay McAdam?”
“Hello, Jordan.” He smiled placidly. Quite the opposite of her reaction, it was clear he wasn’t surprised to see her. “How have you been?”
“Fine,” was the only response that came to mind, as she fought to quell a sudden, paralyzing rush of emotions that she couldn’t begin to sort out. All at once her heart was throbbing fiercely, her limbs as limp as rubber bands. “I don’t know quite what to say, it’s been so long,” she managed to add. “Are you in Victoria visiting family?”
He nodded. “My sister told me you were running your Uncle Randall’s bookstore. I was sorry to hear he passed away.”
Having never met Sheryl, Jordan wondered briefly how she had known about the bookstore. She paused to study Clay’s face for a moment, hoping it might offer a clue to what he was doing there. In his mid-thirties, he looked older but just as attractive as she remembered—perhaps even more so. The gray eyes were deeper, the chiseled features more rugged. His thick, wavy brown hair had darkened a shade and been cut shorter. His lean frame looked as solid as ever.
He observed her coolly with an expression that was uncharacteristically cautious, appraising her as though trying to read her thoughts in her face. Was it possible he was still bitter about their breakup over ten years ago? Surely no one would hold a grudge that long.