The Magic of Love Series Page 2

  Cat wanted to die of embarrassment, having been caught for a second time staring at the man—by the man. She was grateful for Eliza’s cheery chatter as her friend returned. They headed out, opening their umbrellas against the downpour.

  Across the street sat a large brick Victorian-era home with numerous turrets and a wide, welcoming staircase leading to a wrap-around porch. It was a gorgeous home, a mansion in its day, but it showed its age. Paint peeled off near the upper left window frame, and the steps needed refinishing. The small sign hanging over the staircase read Treasure Trove Booksellers. The name and the grinning pirate next to it were rather corny in her opinion, but Dad had insisted, “There be no greater treasure than a book—unless it be yer imagination, me Catey! Arrr!”

  Oh, how she missed him. It’d been far too long since he’d stood at the top of the steps, inviting all pirates and landlubbers inside to seek their fortune in a book’s pages.

  Her mind on the store, she didn’t notice the Camaro zipping down the road. As she was about to step into the street, the car hit a large puddle, drenching her in water. Cat sputtered as dirty streams dripped from her hair and down her legs.

  Eliza burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t. But oh my God, you should see your face. You look so ... so ...”

  Cat glared down the road at the taillights retreating in the distance. “What a jerk!” She brushed water from her jacket. “Be thankful you were behind me.”

  “Hey, wait, he’s backing up.”

  Cat peered through her dripping bangs as the car made its way in reverse towards them. “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t cause an accident. Come on.” She grabbed Eliza’s arm and tugged her across the street.

  “Excuse me,” a voice called after them.

  Cat turned halfway up the stairs to the bookstore as a man hopped out of the Camaro. He jogged across the street and up the bottom steps.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the puddle before it was too late to avoid it.” He held his hand out to Cat. “I’m Derrick. Derrick Gibson.” When she ignored his hand, he stuck it in the pocket of his leather bomber jacket. “I’ll pay to get your clothes cleaned.”

  His longish dark brown hair fell into earnest hazel eyes. No doubt that charming, apologetic grin on his face allowed him to get away with murder. Tiny lines around his eyes suggested he was somewhere in his thirties. Wasn’t that too old to be driving a Camaro? Who drove Camaros anymore, anyway?

  “That’s not necessary.” Her wet skin left her feeling itchy and wanting nothing more than to get inside and change.

  “Then let me take you to drinks and dinner to make up for it. It’s the least I can do.”

  Cat’s eyes widened. Even when she didn’t resemble a drowned rat, she wasn’t the kind of woman who generally turned men’s heads. Eliza was, for all she complained about that extra twenty pounds. Eliza’s blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and bubbly personality drew men left and right.

  But Cat? She liked her own face with its strong angles and her gray eyes so like her mother’s, and her brown hair, which gained red highlights in the sun. But she was never going to win against Eliza in a beauty competition. Plus, according to her friends, Cat gave off a distinct touch-me-not air.

  “No thanks. I’ll dry out just fine.”

  “Oh, come on, Cat,” Eliza broke in. “You can at least accept dinner off the man. What could it hurt?”

  Derrick flashed a grateful grin toward Eliza. “Wonderful.” He looked back at Cat. “How about Friday at 7:00, Miss...?”

  “Catherine Schreiber. And no. No, thank you, I don’t care to go out with you, Mr. Gibson.” She grabbed a clump of hair and squeezed the excess water out of it. “Maybe you should ask Eliza here.”

  Eliza’s cheeks turned pink even as she frowned.

  “What?” Cat said. “You’re looking. I’m not. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With that, she raced up the remaining steps, unlocked the front door, and sailed through it into her escape.

  Chapter 2

  Cat pushed the door closed behind her, desperate to shut out all that had happened in the last few minutes. What was up with Eliza, pimping her out like that? Her friend had made her sound desperate for a date. Which she most decidedly wasn’t. She didn’t want to date anyone, much less a man who’d nearly drowned her.

  The image of the laptop guy darted through her mind. Ugh. What was wrong with her today?

  The door opened and slammed closed.

  “What was that?” demanded an angry voice from behind her.

  Eliza stood in the doorway, glaring at her. Cat’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But you shouldn’t have tried to force the issue, either.”

  Eliza grimaced. She hung her umbrella on a hook behind the door before walking over to Cat. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. But I was excited for you. I mean, really, he was good-looking. And interested.”

  Cat sighed. “He felt guilty. Not interested.”

  “Oh, no. He was definitely interested. Once you fled, he asked me what he could do to get you to agree to a date, that he felt like he had to get to know you.”

  “He did?” A small part of her wanted to preen from the unexpected attention. Where had that come from? “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want a date.” She shrugged off her coat and hung it with the umbrella next to Eliza’s.

  “Why don’t you grab a quick shower?” Eliza said. “I’ll hold down the fort for a bit before I have to go to class.”

  With a grateful nod, Cat trudged to the back of the store and up to the second floor. She paused at the top of the stairs for a minute to glance back at the gleaming wooden bookcases and gorgeous oak floors, before opening the door to the upstairs apartment.

  Dad had bought this grand old house on a thirty-year mortgage, knocking down the inner walls to create wide-open spaces. He’d built and finished the cherry bookcases himself. Being so close to the university, the Treasure Trove had been a college hangout in the ’80s and ’90s before the coffee shops popping up all over pulled most students away. He’d worked hard to draw in families and kids with his pirate motif, often greeting them personally in a salty pirate brogue.

  And then he was gone.

  Cat still couldn’t believe it at times. She’d thought he’d always be here. He’d been her rock, her dad. The store should still be his.

  She walked back to the bathroom and stripped off her soaked clothes. Hopping into the shower, she turned the water up as hot as she could stand it. Maybe she could scald away all thoughts of men.

  She washed her hair. How much longer would she be able to hold on to the store? Losing her father had been awful enough; she didn’t want to see the Treasure Trove die, too. But sales were down. It’d been hard enough once people had started ordering books online—now more and more people had Kindles and Nooks. Everyone wanted e-books these days, it seemed, not print volumes.

  Turning the shower off, she stepped out onto the rug and rubbed herself dry with a towel. She paused, examining herself in the mirror.

  When had those lines across her forehead appeared? She ran her fingers over her belly. When had it lost the tautness she’d once so admired? When had she stopped caring what she looked like?

  Since I gave up and walled myself off.

  Her eyes flew back up to meet those of her reflection. When did I lose myself? And how do I get me back—whoever ‘me’ is?

  Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, Cat blew her hair dry as quickly as she could, then ran to her room and threw on a clean pair of jeans and a green blouse. Eliza had to get to class, so she headed down the stairs without bothering to put on any make-up. Not that she wore it regularly, anyway. Maybe tomorrow. She reentered the main area to find a family playing with the plush puppets in the kids’ section. After checking on them, she waved as Eliza waltzed out the front door.

  Standing behind the register, which sat on a large, old oak desk at the back of the room, she surveyed her booksto
re. She’d loved it as a child, and still loved it today. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the open room, most pushed up against the paneled walls, with a few shorter ones sectioning off various areas. Well-padded, strategically placed chairs invited readers to relax for a while, and a small table on the right provided a spot for working or studying, although few customers used it. A faded but comfortable pale green couch rested in front of the fireplace on one side of the room.

  It wasn’t a huge bookstore, but Dad had put his soul into making it a homey place to visit. After he passed away, she’d moved back into the upstairs apartment. The bookstore truly was her home in every way.

  Reaching for the book she’d unearthed from the box that had arrived early that morning, she muttered, “Pull yourself together, Schreiber, and get back to work.”

  Her mom had sent the box along with a note:

  Found this while I was working on cleaning out the upstairs room. I guess it got put in with my things during the move, but it’s obviously full of stuff that’s yours. Sorry it took me so long to get it to you, sweetie! Love, Mom.

  Cat hadn’t explored the box fully yet. She’d found a bunch of her old college papers, and a few of her favorite childhood books: Weeny Witch, Charlotte’s Web, The Secret Garden. Of course, her parents had saved those; as if Dad could ever give up a beloved book.

  The brown paper package had caught her attention immediately, especially since it had her name written on it in Dad’s handwriting. She’d run her fingers over each letter, longing once again for his presence. Undoing the wrapping, she’d been surprised by its contents: a simple black book. Touching it sent goose bumps racing up her arms, almost as if she’d been shocked. Probably a reaction to knowing it was from Dad. One last gift from a man ten years dead. She hadn’t had time to examine it further, since Eliza had come down, ready for coffee.

  Happy to get back to it now, she traced her fingers over the letters on the book’s cover, which read De Arte Amoris et Litterarum. On the Art of Love and Letters. She’d translated it easily that morning with her rusty Latin skills. Her Classics major wasn’t completely useless after all.

  “Excuse me, ma’am? We’re ready to buy this mouse puppet and this book,” broke in a voice.

  Cat set the book down to ring up the purchase and then handed the bag with the puppet to the woman’s excited young daughter. “Thank you so much. Please come back soon.”

  The mom smiled and waved as she ushered her kids out into the rain. Silence flooded the now-empty store. Unless the rain let up, it might be some time before anyone else ventured into the Trove. Great, just what business needed. Well, more time to explore the box.

  She picked the book back up. The cover itself was nondescript: a simple black binding with the title rendered in small, silver-embossed lettering. Why had Dad wrapped it? What was it?

  As she lifted up the front cover, a folded piece of paper fell out. Cat opened it with shaking fingers. Inside she read,

  Happy Birthday, Catey! Your great-grandmother considered this her greatest treasure and asked me to bestow it upon you on your 25th birthday. I rebound it for you. I can’t wait for you to tell me what it actually says. And then I’ll tell you what Grannie told me about it. You’ll get a kick out of that. With love, Dad.

  Tears filled her eyes. She sniffed but fought them back. Oh, Dad. She forced her feelings aside as she opened the cover fully.

  She gasped at the sumptuous illustration on the cover page. Sizzles of excitement flooded through her. A woman sat at a small writing desk, holding a quill. She was garbed in a floor-length dress of bright blue with a red belt encircling her waist, and a green cap nestled atop her long blonde hair. Around her, in smaller enclosed circles, were pictures of various couples acting out what appeared to be courtship scenes. All were dressed in what Cat surmised to be a late medieval or early Renaissance style.

  The detail of the pictures was most extraordinary. She could read the expressions of every man and woman on the page. Some were happy, some adoring, others wore expressions of lust. That particular expression wasn’t reserved for the men, thank goodness. Not everyone’s affections appeared to be requited, though. One man’s face bespoke a great sadness, while a woman from another frame anxiously observed the male figure standing next to her, who was watching a woman from a different frame.

  Ha. I know how that feels. Cheaters apparently weren’t reserved for the modern era.

  It looked like an authentic medieval illumination. She longed to touch the shiny gold frames around each picture. Her fingers hovered above, refraining in case it truly was original since oil from her hands could damage the page. Carefully, she turned to the next page. Latin text had been handwritten on real parchment in a script that resembled the Uncial font she sometimes used on her computer to create signs for the store.

  It can’t be. Surely it can’t be.

  She closed the cover, breathing deeply, unnerved by the conviction that she held in her hands a genuine medieval manuscript. “Oh my God, Dad,” she whispered as if speaking louder would wake her from a dream. Who had created the book? For whom had it been made? And how much might it be worth?

  Cat stared at the volume. Dad had gifted it to her as a family heirloom. No way she’d part with it, no matter how much she needed the money.

  She scanned through its pages briefly. It wasn’t a long book, but she could see a number of additional illuminations interspersed with the text. They almost always featured a woman writing—although at times it was a different woman—and couples embracing.

  She’d never been so happy she’d learned all that blasted Latin. She turned back to the opening page of text. And to have taken that paleography class. She actually had a shot at deciphering the handwriting.

  Hearing the door chime, Cat looked up as a middle-aged woman entered the store and walked over to the Mystery section. With a sigh, she set her dad’s gift back in the box and followed her customer.

  The book would have to wait.

  Chapter 3

  Eliza walked through the door that evening as Cat was tallying the day’s receipts.

  “Ooh, could you lock that behind you?” Cat called. It had been surprisingly busy that afternoon, given the rain. Then again, gloomy days were excellent for reading. She couldn’t wait to finish the daily accounting so she could get back to examining the manuscript.

  After securing the door and flipping the sign to Closed, Eliza approached her friend. Once at the desk, she handed over a brown paper bag from which the delicious odor of beef with broccoli wafted.

  “What’s this for?” Cat’s eyebrows knitted together. “Not that I’ll ever turn down Chinese.”

  “It’s my way of saying I’m sorry for this morning. I should have been more sensitive, especially today.”

  Cat offered her friend a smile, touched by the gesture. “I overreacted, too. I wasn’t expecting it. No one has asked me out in ages. Much less someone who’s drenched me from head to foot.”

  Eliza chuckled, popping a bite of egg roll into her mouth.

  “And, to be honest, I was feeling defensive, not only because I was irked at the guy, but because I feel as if I should be ready.”

  Eliza stopped chewing the egg roll and looked at her.

  “I mean, you’re right,” Cat continued. “It’s been six years. Six years is a long time. Don’t they say it’s supposed to take you half the time a relationship lasted to get over it? Not three times as long.” Cat frowned as she speared a piece of broccoli. “What’s wrong with me, Lizzie?”

  “Nothing is wrong with you. You’re awesome. And I don’t know which ‘they’ you are talking about, but I’m guessing this ‘they’ wasn’t abandoned at the altar after receiving a note saying ‘their’ fiancé had run off with another woman.”

  Cat gave a painful snort.

  “Besides, no one says you need a guy to be happy, right?” Eliza continued.

  At that, Cat burst out laughing. “Except you! You’re even parlaying your o
bsession with finding your Darcy into your career.”

  Eliza was in the midst of writing her doctoral dissertation on Jane Austen. She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not the only reason. I happen to love the Regency time period. The glamour, the titles, the balls...”

  “The diseases, the lack of Internet, the likelihood you would have been a servant, not a duchess or princess or whatever you fantasize you’d be.”

  Eliza ignored those observations. “Jane Austen is an amazing author, as you well know. Most of us could look around today and pick out people who’d match the crazy characters she dreamt up two hundred years ago.”

  “Yes, who could forget your own Mr. Collins? I couldn’t believe his last name really was Collins. I thought that guy would never leave you alone.”

  “He was rather obsessed, wasn’t he?” Eliza said. “Until he decided his other instructor might be more beneficial to his aspirations of graduating. Which was unlikely, considering the guy couldn’t write a decent paper if he tried.” She reached for the chicken with cashew nuts Cat had pulled out of the bag.

  A frown settled on Cat’s face. “But don’t you think I should be ready, Eliza? I mean, part of me thinks I’d be fine growing old with you and running this store until the end of my days.”

  “Um, as fun as that sounds, and as much as I love you, dear friend, I’m hoping for a different happily-ever-after.”

  Taking a sip of her hot tea, Cat mulled that over. She didn’t want to think about Eliza moving on, but it was likely someday, especially since Eliza was more than halfway through writing her dissertation. She couldn’t expect her to stagnate with her forever, just because Cat wasn’t able to move forward. She sighed.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’m wondering if I should have said yes this morning.”