A Chapter on Love Read online

  A Chapter on Love

  Jannika Peterson arrived in Grangeton, New Hampshire, with a broken heart and a new job managing the local bookstore. She has a gift for pairing readers with the perfect books, but her matchmaking skills don’t extend to her love life. Love doesn’t stand a chance against her well-protected heart.

  Eighteen years ago, Lee Thompson was Jannika’s summer camp counselor, and Lee has never forgotten the beautiful girl with the unusual name. Still healing from her wife’s sudden death, Lee hopes her new job in a new town will help her to begin a new chapter.

  When Jannika and Lee reunite, their instant connection feels like a gift, but neither is ready for a second chance at love. Unable to deny their attraction, will they finally get on the same page when it comes to love?

  A Chapter on Love

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

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  A Chapter on Love

  © 2019 By Laney Webber. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13:978-1-63555-365-9

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: February 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design by Melody Pond

  Acknowledgments

  To Radclyffe and the welcoming community at Bold Strokes Books, thank you. I’m so happy my novel found a home with you. I’m not usually a lucky person, but I hit it big with my editor, Ruth Sternglantz. Thank you, Ruth, for the care and feeding of my dream. Thank you to Melody Pond for designing a cover that makes me smile each time I look at it.

  Thanks to Patrick Hummel at New Hampshire State Parks and John at Wolf’s Neck Woods State Park in Maine, for their generosity and patience with all of my questions. My beta readers, Franci McMahon, Elaine Burnes, and Ana B. Good, gave me the good, the bad, and the ugly in wonderfully constructive and instructive ways. You have my deepest gratitude.

  To some very special women in my life. The women of the real-life Purple Tent Book Group, thank you for continuing to meet after all these years and thank you always for your generous support. I carry the laughter and memories with me. The GCLS Writing Academy workshop leaders, writers, and queerleaders—Hey, Ona! Hey, Tammy! Hey, Cindy! Hey, Joy! Hey, Theresa! To Lee Lynch and Ann McMann for not going easy on me. To Heidi and “Hey, it’s Laney Webber!” Kimmie, Cindy, and Trish. Thank you for being my best friends and my biggest fans.

  Thanks to my family, who never stopped waiting for that first book to be published. Here it is, Mom! Thank you, Jillian and Nathan. Whether you know it or not, you have been my guiding lights and the reason I did almost every scary and good thing in my life. Thanks to Kyle for keeping me in the groove, being the best example of persistence, and for our yurt yaks. Treyton, for tech talks, helping my brain switch tracks, and understanding what an anti-ice cream social is. Flynn, for being equally at home in joy and questions.

  A special thank you to the women of the former Artistic Amazon bookstore in Portsmouth, NH, where I discovered the world of lesbian fiction and a community.

  Finally, to the person who changed my life forever, and makes the stars seem possible to reach, the love of my life, my Louie. Thank you for always believing and for being game to do all the wacky things I asked of you during the creation of this book. You are most definitely the whole package.

  Dedication

  To my Wonder Woman.

  Chapter One

  Jannika Peterson had blind date remorse. Last week she’d been in a hopeful mood when she agreed to go out on her fourth blind date in two months. But after four straight days of cold rain, her last drop of hopeful ran down the catch basin.

  She looked out the window of The Pageturner and rubbed the short hairs on the back of her neck. The bookstore closed at one on Sundays, and all she wanted was to go home, have a cup of tea, and read book reviews. She put her laptop and copy of Booklist in her tote bag.

  The bells on the bookstore door jingled. Jannika turned around. A tall young man with blond dreadlocks stood in the doorway.

  His words came out in a rush. “Are you closed yet? I need a book. It’s like…an emergency.”

  Jannika smiled and waved him in. She loved book emergencies.

  “I’m so glad you’re not closed. I need a book that’s, like, different, you know? I looked on the stupid interwebs, but I can’t find anything. I want something that’s going to help, you know? Something that will help me help the planet.” He scrunched up his face.

  “Are you looking for something about the environment?”

  “No, more like about our connection to the environment.” He looked over Jannika’s shoulder toward the bookshelves.

  “Come. Follow me.” Jannika was happiest when she was connecting books and people. She’d learned to read when she was four, and for her the next best thing to reading was sharing her love for a book with another person. She’d always loved recommending books to her friends in school and discovered her talent for matching books and people during her first year of college when she took a part-time job in a tiny bookstore in Portland, Maine.

  She ran one finger across the spines of the books as she walked. She stopped and pulled a book off the shelf.

  “Here you go—Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. It’s older, but I think you’ll like it.” She smoothed her hand over the book’s front cover.

  “Huh, isn’t that, like, from Moby Dick? I didn’t like that book.”

  “It’s not about Moby Dick—it’s a book about questions.” Jannika pointed to the back cover of the book. “The author deconstructs the myth that we are separate from nature and does it in a unique way. I think you’ll like it. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, this looks great. Thanks for staying open for me. How much is it?”

  He followed her to the front of the store and paid for the book. She locked the door behind him and turned over the Closed sign. It looked like the rain had finally stopped. She still had enough time to go home and get ready for her date with Brenda. She hoped it wouldn’t last long and paused at that thought. That wasn’t a good sign. Her string of bad blind dates had become a running joke between her and her best friend, Marcy. The humor covered up her fear that maybe there was no love of her life out there.

  A montage of date bombs played in her head. The woman who thought she was from another planet and they were destined to be together; the movie date who held on to Jannika’s coat for the duration of the movie because she wanted to feel close to her; and the frightening blind date that extended into four days when the woman locked herself in a local motel room and serial called and texted Jannika.

  She grabbed her bag from behind the desk and her leather jacket from the coat rack and headed out the door and downtown.

  ***

  Lee drove her forest green Toyota truck down Avery Lane, the shortcut road that ran from Grangeton to Route 101. Her fingers tapped the top of the pizza box in time to WOKQ’s best country hits of the seventies. She sang along, making up words
when she didn’t know the lyrics. Her friends took good-natured jabs at her for her taste in music, but she loved the she-done-him-wrong songs and would sometimes make up her own in the shower and while driving. It wasn’t les-correct, but she didn’t give a damn.

  Lee stepped on the brake. Avery Lane was a great shortcut, unless you hit the red light. She turned down the radio and saw two women on the corner outside a coffee shop. They were either having a lovers’ quarrel or were on a really bad date. Whatever the opposite of sexual tension, that’s what was rippling through the air from the couple—they were obviously together but just as obviously apart. The light turned green and Lee turned the music up again and hit the gas.

  She’d moved to Fairfield, New Hampshire, a couple of months ago from Maine. The only people she knew were her friend from college, Hannah, and her old work buddy Steve, a retired park ranger. Hannah was coming over tonight. Lee was in charge of pizza, and Hannah the movie. Fairfield’s town center provided just the basics—a post office, the large white clapboard town hall that housed both the library and the police station, the Fairfield Congregational church, and DJ’s Store. The nearest pizza place was in Grangeton.

  Lee drove down the maple lined driveway to the little farmhouse she rented. Hannah’s headlights flickered in her rearview mirror. She parked, grabbed the pizza box, and waited for Hannah, who parked behind her truck.

  “Hannah girl!” Lee reached one arm out to embrace her friend.

  “I can’t even tell you how good it is to see you.” Hannah hugged Lee, then stepped back. “Look at this place. I always wondered what was down this long driveway. This is sweet. I bet I know what’s in there.” She pointed to the red and white barn to the right of the small white farmhouse.

  “You bet. It’s one of the reasons I took this place, so I could have room for all of my woodworking stuff. Let’s eat, then I’ll show you everything.”

  ***

  Jannika drove through Grangeton and into Fairfield, turning right onto Myrtle Street. The beams of her headlights bounced off the sliding glass doors of her cottage. She rested her head on the steering wheel.

  Dating was exhausting. Each time she went out with a woman, she hoped for a good match, and each time she was disappointed. She was tired of downloading her life résumé across a table from someone she knew wasn’t a good match—just like she knew when a book wasn’t a good match because she felt it in her gut. She didn’t think she was too picky. She was just being careful since her breakup with Joanne. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

  All she wanted was to be in her house surrounded by her things. The driveway gravel crunched under her boots. She went inside and sent a text to her best friend Marcy.

  Another date—another disaster.

  A few minutes later her phone chimed with a text from Marcy.

  OO.

  That was their code for otherwise occupied. She knew OO meant Marcy was with one woman or another and not in town. Marcy didn’t go out around town for fear her parents or their friends might find out she wasn’t dating men since her divorce from Greg.

  Jannika put her kettle on for tea, then changed into some yoga pants, a T-shirt, and a big old blue and red flannel shirt she’d found at the Methodist Church thrift store. She rolled the sleeves of the flannel shirt halfway up her forearms. She liked to pretend it was her father’s shirt. The image she had of her father was a cross between Harrison Ford and Steve Martin. Jannika didn’t know what her father looked like. She didn’t know his name. The subject was and had always been off limits in her family.

  She pulled the flannel shirt tight around herself like a hug and let the heaviness of the fabric comfort her.

  The red kettle whistled. She poured her tea and stuck a frozen vegetable lasagna into the microwave. She ate her dinner at her grandmother’s plain birch kitchen table. Her grandmother refused to be called Nana or Grandma but insisted everyone use the Swedish, Mormor. Jannika loved to cup her hand around a rounded corner of the table and imagine Mormor setting places for her mother and Aunt Gunnie when they were little girls on the farm in New Sweden, Maine.

  Thinking about Mormor and the potato farm helped fill the hollowed-out place inside of her. Her grandparents and the rest of her family weren’t big talkers. Their economy of living was matched by their economy of words. Her family didn’t talk about feelings. The way they showed love was to do things. Aunts and grandmothers baked and made casseroles. Uncles and cousins and grandfathers fixed things, or helped you load hay, or cut wood.

  She gave the table a pat and flipped open her notebook. October was a busy month at the bookstore. Several book groups were meeting, the Simon’s Warehouse sale was next weekend, and the window displays still needed to be changed out for fall. The action of making lists calmed Jannika better than any pill.

  She added Call back Darlene to her list and waggled her pen back and forth in her hand. Darlene was a customer who

  had come into the store about a year ago and left a voicemail message late yesterday afternoon when Jannika was busy with customers.

  When she’d first seen Darlene, a succession of book images shuffled through Jannika’s mind like a deck of cards. Darlene talked a lot and fast. Her hands hung still at her sides. Everything about her was still except her voice. At first, Jannika couldn’t pin down any book titles that would fit what Darlene thought she was looking for. It took Jannika a few questions and a few minutes of chatting about other things to recommend Paul Coelho’s book, The Alchemist.

  Jannika loved reading reviews, sorting through used books for treasures she knew her customers would love, and buying books, but her favorite part of her job was reader’s advisory. It was an intimate few minutes between strangers. People came in the store when they were looking for comfort or trying to figure out a problem or learn something about themselves. Many people came in to try to find copies of books they had read when they were younger, and some wanted a great mystery or suspense story. As they described their quests and Jannika asked questions, bits of information came together in her mind like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. As soon as she could see enough of the picture, she knew which book to recommend.

  She smiled and took a sip of tea. Her dating life might be dismal, but she was happy every hour she spent at The Pageturner.

  She underlined Call back Darlene twice and closed her notebook. She had an early morning meeting tomorrow at the bookstore with Betty Busby, the leader of one of the monthly book groups. Betty Busby was the last person she wanted to see tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  Jannika ruffled her hair, then grabbed her travel mug, a tote bag full of book reviews, and her laptop. She juggled her things from one hand to the other and unlocked the side door to the old brick building.

  She whispered Thank you each morning when she opened and Good night, little bookstore each night. This secret daily ritual began after her Aunt Gunnie told her the owner of The Pageturner was looking for a new manager, and Joe Bosworth hired her a year and a half ago.

  Joe had greeted her on the day of her interview with a clipboard in one hand and a timer in the other. He asked her to sit at the big desk at the front of the store and fill out a run-of-the-mill employment application. He took it when she was finished, passed her the clipboard and a pen, and said, “There’s a list of titles of books on one side and authors of books on the other. You have to fill in the blanks. Give me the authors to the books, then flip it over and see how many titles you can come up with next to each author’s name. I’m timing you. Go.”

  It was one of the strangest interviews she ever had. Her boss was a big man. Not fat, but tall and large-boned. He had started the bookstore for his daughter, but she’d moved to Portland, Oregon, after two years of the book business. Joe ran the business for about a year but felt trapped in the store. One of his buddies told him he should hire a manager, and there Jannika was, wildly writing down the names of authors and book titles, so she could get her dream job. And it was. The
minute she walked into The Pageturner she felt like a long-lost key and the bookstore was the lock. She fit.

  Jannika set her bag and tea on the big oak desk at the front of the store. She turned on lights, adjusted a display, and tapped wayward books back onto their shelves. A flash of purple caught her eye. She turned to see Betty Busby, dressed in a lilac polyester pantsuit with matching lilac socks in white vinyl sandals. A purple and green flowered scarf was tied around her neck in a neat knot. Betty’s silver hair was a teased and lacquered helmet. Clip-on pansy earrings completed her ensemble. She tapped at the door with what looked to be the arched back of a cartoon black cat on a stick.

  “Just a sec. Good morning, Betty, how are you?” Jannika opened the door and took one of the three bags Betty carried.

  “I’ve talked with the girls and we’ve got a great plan for this year. We’ve decided on a Halloween theme. We’ll dress up the corner of the store with these decorations, and we want to read something spooky, but not violent. You know we don’t like violence, Jannika, or cursing or”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“anything sexual.”

  Betty pulled orange and black cardboard decorations, plastic ghosts, and a jack-o’-lantern with battery operated candles out of a large bag.

  Jannika eyed the props and inwardly sighed. “It looks like you had a great time at Michael’s. Since we only have a couple of weeks until Halloween, I thought a short story might work for everyone. How about ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’?”

  She chose her words carefully. Betty Busby was a townie. She’d grown up in Grangeton and the farthest she had traveled was the hour trip to Concord, New Hampshire. She helped organize fundraisers, sat on the select board at one time, and now wrote a column for the local weekly paper, The Bugler. Jannika liked Betty but learned she needed to set some limits and set them with care. She didn’t want to end up the subject of this week’s newspaper column. She’d witnessed that with Trisha Pusie from the flower shop down the street.