The Heart Remembers by Irene Hannon Page B

that was frustrating.
    A firm tap sounded on the door, and Maggie glanced toward it in annoyance. Why were the twins bothering her? They were old enough now to handle most of the so-called crises that occurred at the inn. Unless there truly was an emergency of some kind. A tingle of alarm raced up her spine, and she reached for a rag to wipe her brush, psyching herself up to deal with a crisis. “Come in.”
    The “crisis” that appeared when the door swung open was not one she was prepared for, however. What on earth was Jake doing here, in her private retreat? She stared at him in surprise as her heart kicked into double time. Try as she might, she couldn’t control the faint flush that crept onto her cheeks, or stop the sudden tremble that rippled over her hands.
    Jake smiled. “Abby said I could come back. I hope you don’t mind. But I’m on my way back to Boston, and this was my last chance to see you before I left. We didn’t seem to have much success connecting by phone.”
    â€œY-yes, I know.” Why did her voice sound soshaky? “Sorry about that. I was at a zoning board meeting the first night you called, and running errands the other times.” That was better. Steadier and more in control.
    â€œSo the girls told me.” He propped one shoulder against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. “You continue to amaze me, Maggie. I don’t remember that you ever had any interest in politics or government, local or otherwise, and now you’re on the zoning board?”
    She set the brush down and reached for a different rag to wipe her hands on, using that as an excuse to escape his warm, disquieting gaze. “Well, I’m part of the business community of this town. It’s my home. I feel a certain sense of responsibility to do my part to make sure Blue Hill retains the qualities that attracted me in the first place.”
    â€œOnce again, I’m impressed.”
    â€œDon’t be. A lot of people do a whole lot more than me.”
    He didn’t agree, but rather than debate the point, he strolled into the studio, his gaze assessing. It was a small room, illuminated by the light from a large picture window on one side. Unlike his image of the stereotypical messy artist’s studio, however, this one was neat and orderly. A couple of canvases in various stages of completion stoodon easels, and several other finished works were stacked against one wall.
    But what captured his attention most were the posters. Vienna. Florence. Rome. Paris. London. Athens. As his gaze moved from one to another, he realized that these were the places he and Maggie had planned to visit together. And he realized something else, as well. He’d seen most of them, while Maggie had been confined to rural Maine, coping with responsibilities that, even now, her slender shoulders seemed too fragile to bear. His dream of travel had become reality; hers had remained a dream.
    He looked down at her slim form silhouetted against the window, the sun forming a halo around her hair, and his throat tightened. He wished with all his heart that he could take her to all the exotic places pictured on her walls. She would love them, would be as awed as he had been on his first visit. But maybe she’d managed to see one or two. He hoped.
    He nodded toward the walls. “Nice posters. Are any of them souvenirs?”
    She gave him a wry smile and shook her head, dashing his hopes. “Hardly. B&B owners may cater to travelers, but they do very little traveling themselves. Especially with two girls to raise. I’ve stayed pretty close to home all these years.I expect you’ve made it to some, or all, of these spots, though.”
    He nodded, trying to stem the surge of guilt that swept over him. “Yes.”
    â€œAre they as wonderful as we…as people say?” The slight wistful note in her voice produced an almost physical ache in his