Slamming on the brakes, he looked around until he spotted a parking place up the street. He swung into it, then tried to still the sudden racing of his heart. He knew that quilt because Heather had made it. He’d watched her in the evenings as she’d stitched every seam, quilted every square, while he’d been studying for his law school classes. He’d been captivated by the contentment on her face as she’d worked quietly, happy just to be in a room with him.
Spotting that quilt in a store window shouldn’t throw him like this, he thought as he strode across the street. It shouldn’t matter to him that she’d apparently put it up for sale. But it did.
It offended him to think that maybe she was giving it up because she needed cash. How much could a quilt bring in, anyway? He thought he’d been giving her generous support money for their son, enough for both of them really, but maybe it wasn’t covering expenses, after all. He knew, though, from their heated exchanges, that she was too proud to take more.
Worse, of course, was the idea that she was selling the quilt because she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore, because it reminded her of him. Had she grown to hate him so much? It was true that most of their conversations recently had been brief and edgy, but he’d convinced himself they’d eventually move past the cool civility of late. Maybe that was just another of his many delusions where Heather was concerned, right up there beside the idea that she would change her mind and move back home with him.
He glanced at the sign on the window, which he hadn’t noticed earlier: COTTAGE QUILTS. For some reason that struck a distant chord as well. Had Heather ever mentioned opening a shop like this one? Was it one of the dreams she’d had before setting them aside to be with him? He’d known how much she’d hated teaching, but he couldn’t recall what she’d hoped to do instead once the baby was a bit older. That just reminded him of how many conversations they’d avoided over their years together. Anything involving the future had presented a minefield.
Just then he saw and heard her, Heather, standing amid a sea of fabric with a customer, talking animatedly about which colors worked well together and which ones clashed. With a sense of shock, he realized that not only was her quilt for sale, but that she was working here. How had that happened? Filled with questions, he stood where he was, just outside the open door, and waited.
When the customer left with a heavy bag filled with fabric, Connor stepped inside. Heather looked up, a smile on her face that faltered at the sight of him.
“Connor,” she said, a catch in her voice. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Chesapeake Shores is my home,” he reminded her, his own tone testy. “What the devil are you doing here?”
She gestured around her. “What does it look like? I’ve opened a business.”
A thousand questions came to mind, but he blurted only one. “This is yours?”
She nodded, her expression defensive.
“You opened a business here? In my town?” he said incredulously.
She smiled at his reaction. “Actually if the town belongs to any one person, it would be your father, but I’m pretty sure it’s open to new residents.”
“You didn’t think you needed to tell me you’d moved here?”
“I would have as soon as we got settled. Getting this place open has taken a lot of my time.”
“Don’t tell me you’re living with my folks,” he said, regarding her with suspicion, already sensing a plot afoot to throw them together. After all, wasn’t that exactly what his mother had hinted at her wedding, that she intended to see that he was next to walk down the aisle? And it would definitely explain the unexpected visit by all the men in the family the previous weekend and their push to drag him down here.
“No. Believe me, I know that would have been a bad idea. I have my own apartment upstairs. Your mother and I…”
He frowned at the mention of his mother. “What does my mother have to do with this? Was it her idea?”
“In a way, yes,” Heather admitted at once.
“And you went along with it,” he said with a dismayed shake of his head. “Haven’t I told you she can’t be trusted?”
Heather visibly stiffened. “You told me a lot of things, Connor, all probably valid from your perspective, but I prefer to form my own opinions of people. I happen to like your mother, and even you have to admit she’s been a godsend in recent months, looking after little Mick.”
Connor bristled. “That still doesn’t mean you should take her advice. Did she tell you if you settled here, eventually I’d cave in and marry you?”
Heather frowned at him. “Trust me, I know your position on marriage, Connor. You’ve stated it often enough and in no uncertain terms. It’s ingrained in my head.”
“Then what are you doing here?” he asked again, genuinely bewildered about why she’d pick this town if not because it was his hometown.
“This decision was all about me and what I want for my future. Your mother saw my quilts and thought I had talent. When I was here for the wedding, she mentioned this space and the apartment upstairs. It seemed ideal for me, especially since it meant our son would get to be around his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. It was a far better option than going back to Ohio to be around my family, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
As rational as all that sounded, Connor couldn’t get over the fact that she’d kept this from him. “We’ve seen each other at least a half-dozen times since the wedding when you brought little Mick to spend the day with me, yet you never said a word about
