The Magic of Love Series Read online

  Eliza choked on a piece of chicken as she gaped at her friend. After she caught her breath, she blurted out, “Really? Hallelujah!”

  “You’re that desperate to get rid of me?”

  “No, no. I’m ecstatic to hear you’re finally considering getting back up on the horse. Now if only that horse were pulling a barouche.”

  “A ba-what? Never mind. I don’t want to ride a horse.”

  A gleam entered Eliza’s eye. “Fine. No horses. But what about a Camaro?”

  Cat chuckled. “That ship has sailed. Or driven off. Or whatever. I still maintain he asked me out because he felt guilty, but regardless, with how rude I was, he won’t return.”

  “You never know, you never know.”

  They continued to eat, each lost in their own thoughts for a bit. The bookstore ought to be her priority, Cat reminded herself. She owed that to Dad. Didn’t she? And to herself. She didn’t have the time or energy to worry about a relationship. Oh well. She’d shut the door that morning on the one option she’d potentially had.

  Her mind drifted back to the man in the coffee shop, the one with the chestnut hair. She could still see him watching her. Before his girlfriend had shown up, at least. No chance there. There was no way she’d ever make a move on a taken man.

  Shake it off, Schreiber. Get back to what’s important. Get back to ...

  Suddenly Cat dropped her fork. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about the box!”

  “What box?”

  “From Mom. It arrived this morning, but I didn’t have time to go through it before you left.” She reached under the desk and pulled out the box, setting it on the desk.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Nope. Not until we’re done eating. No messes on these contents. You’re not going to believe what’s in here.” Cat’s skin tingled with excitement.

  Eliza shoved another bite of egg roll in her mouth, chewing it quickly and swallowing.

  “Ha, ha. You can slow down. We’ve got all night.”

  Eliza glared at her. “I’m done.”

  “Okay,” Cat said. “Me, too. Let me go wash my hands.” When she returned, she quickly wiped off the desk before lifting the lid from the box and pulling out the medieval book. As her fingers clutched its cover, a frisson of electricity raced through her, just as it had that morning. God, she was a geek. Her whole body was reacting to a book. Her heart racing, she held the book up, a wide grin stretching across her face.

  Eliza gave it a cursory glance. “Looks like a regular book. What is it?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know—doesn’t it have a cover page?”

  “Yes, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Look!” Cat opened the book to reveal the elaborate frontispiece.

  Eliza’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s stunning.”

  “I know! And it’s real parchment. Look at the hand lettering. This book is old, Lizzie.”

  “Your mom sent you that?”

  “Dad, actually.” She showed Eliza his note. “Do you know what it feels like, to see his handwriting after so many years? To know he meant this as a gift for me?” Cat’s eyes blurred with tears.

  Eliza stood up and gave her a long hug before sitting back down. “Is it a religious text? Isn’t that what most medieval writings were?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s called On the Art of Love and Letters.”

  Eliza giggled. “Sounds like a book of medieval pornography.”

  “No, Ms. Dirty Mind. Everybody’s clothed. But I am thinking love stories, given the way most of the people are looking at each other.” She pinched her lips in amusement. “Maybe they’re medieval versions of those tawdry romances you like to read.”

  Eliza fixed her with a cool stare, broken only by a slight upturn of her lip. “Be careful what you say. Those allegedly ‘tawdry’ romances sell better than almost anything else in here. Plus, a lot of them are really good.”

  “Sure, if you say so. But can you believe this book? I wonder what we can figure out about it.”

  “You’re not going to sell it, are you?”

  Cat studied the front illumination for a minute. “Lord knows we could use the money. But, no. Not a gift from my dad.” Her finger hovered over the figure of the blonde woman. “I’m going to read it, find out more about it, more about this lady. Maybe she wrote it.”

  “Wouldn’t that be unusual? I thought mostly men wrote in the Dark Ages. If anyone was writing at all, that is.”

  “It’s not the Dark Ages,” Cat huffed. “Middle Ages. Not Dark. And yes, mostly men wrote, but we do have writings penned by women. Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim, Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich, Christine de Pizan, to name a few.”

  “Wow. You know your female medieval authors.”

  Cat smiled. “Yeah, I guess the brain hasn’t fully rusticated in my years as a shop owner.”

  Eliza elbowed her. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just impressed.”

  “Why, thank you.” She winked at her friend.

  “So what’s it say?”

  “I’ve been working on reading it—slowly since I’m out of practice and all, plus I didn’t have much time today. Here’s the preface:

  “‘In her hands she holds

  The greatest power of them all.

  The ability to create

  That which all want but few attain.

  Helped by God, she writes the letters

  And the Word becomes

  Flesh Bringing Love to all who seek it.’”

  Eliza’s brows puckered. “Who’s ‘she?’ It sounds like she’s writing about Jesus, with the Word becoming Flesh.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but the stories that follow have nothing to do with Christianity, from what I’ve been able to surmise. The first one tells about a woman named Thea. Her family locked her away in a room to keep her from marrying. I haven’t figured out why yet. It doesn’t seem to say. But after a few years, a strange man appeared in town, ‘brought into Flesh,’ the text says, and helped her escape. They ran off to the neighboring land and lived happily ever after.”

  Eliza peered at the illustration on the page Cat held open. “It actually says ‘happily ever after?’ What is this, an early Disney storybook?”

  “Says the romance novel lover? I thought you’d be eating this stuff up.”

  “It is pretty awesome, actually. I’m amazed you can read that.”

  “It’s slow going, that’s for sure. If I come across a recipe for finding the perfect date, I’ll let you know.” Cat snapped the book shut. “I’m going to take it to Jill, see if she can scan it for me. I don’t feel I should be touching it so much.” Their friend Jill worked in the Rare Books department of Alderman Library.

  Eliza nodded. “Sounds smart. What else is in the box?”

  Cat pulled out a pile of papers, setting them on the desk. “Hmm. Mostly looks like school essays from high school and college.”

  “You saved those?”

  “Not me. My dad. He was always proud of anything I wrote.”

  Eliza grabbed the top paper. “The Coolest Guy in School,” she read out loud. “Really? That was your title?”

  “Come on, I was probably in tenth grade.”

  She grabbed for the paper, but Eliza twisted away quickly, chuckling as she read. After a few minutes, she said, “Ha, this guy drives a Camaro, just like Derrick. The names are similar, too. In this story the guy’s name is Ricky.”

  Cat’s eyebrows furrowed. “I vaguely remember naming him after Rick Springfield, because I loved that Jesse’s Girl song.”

  “Me, too.” Eliza strolled back and forth as she read. “Hey, you say he looks like John Cusack.” Her head snapped up. “You know, Derrick looks a little like him, too.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “What’s your point?”

  “I don’t know. It’s ... weird. The similarities.”

  Cat shuffled through t
he papers on the desk. “Um, similarities is too strong a word. And I don’t think Derrick looks anything like John Cusack. Can I see that?”

  Eliza handed over the paper, grabbing a second one off of the desk.

  Cat skimmed the story, which felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. In it, Ricky, a high school senior who worked with his dad on cars, was dating a girl named Abby, who was kind of a misfit, always with her nose in a book, though he was the quarterback and the most popular guy in school. Abby. She’d named her that because Abigail was Cat’s own middle name. “Ha. He ditches her for the cheerleader here at the end. See, even then I had a hard time believing in happily-ever-afters.”

  When Eliza made no response, Cat looked at her. Eliza’s eyes were glued to whatever she was reading. Cat leaned in, trying to catch the title. Carreling. “Oh my God! Give me that!”

  “No way.”

  Cat tugged on the pages, but Eliza refused to let go, her eyes dancing as she looked up at her friend. “‘His lips move down the side of my neck, pressing kisses the whole way. I can smell the books around us, but mostly I can smell the intoxicatingly manly essence of him,’” she read out loud. “Manly essence?”

  She giggled as Cat pulled at the paper again. “No way. Imagine my delight to discover that my best friend, the one who’s teased me for years about reading romance novels, not only wrote smut but was also pretty good at it. Except maybe that manly essence part.”

  Cat groaned, embarrassment careening through her. She prayed her dad had never read that particular story.

  “And, my goodness,” Eliza continued. “I know I, uh, read this kind of stuff all the time, but this is quite the vivid visual image. In the stacks at Alderman? I will never think of that library the same again!”

  Cat’s face burned. She wouldn’t be surprised if it burst into flame. “That was supposed to be private.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. I don’t suppose it’s a true story? You did spend an awful lot of time in that library, after all.”

  “Yeah. Studying.”

  “A girl can dream. The guys from these two stories both sound great. Well, except for that ditching you for a cheerleader part.”

  “Not ditching me,” Cat huffed. “Ditching the character. And that’s exactly what those stupid stories are—dreams. Fantasies of people who aren’t real.”

  Eliza waved the Carreling story in the air. “You don’t think you can find a guy like this?”

  “Haven’t yet, obviously. Such men don’t exist.”

  “They do in my novels.”

  “Exactly. Novels. Made-up stories. I’ve never understood why you read romances, actually. You know from page one the hero and heroine will end up together. What’s the point?”

  Eliza paused for a minute, her face taking on a serious expression. “I know it makes no sense to you, but that’s precisely why I love these novels. No matter what happens—and believe me, some crazy things happen—they will end up together. And it’s not about mere sex, though of course there’s some pretty hot sex. It’s about love. Real, undying, forever love. With some fun between the sheets for good measure.” She sighed. “That’s what I want, Cat—someone so devoted to me that there will never be another. Isn’t that what you want, too?”

  “I thought I had that once, remember? I was wrong.” Cat ran her fingers over the cover of the medieval manuscript. “I’m not sure it exists outside of your novels, anyway. Sorry to burst your bubble, but look at the divorce rate. And I read somewhere that eighty percent of married men cheat. Guess it was fortunate Ryan cheated before we got married, huh?”

  Eliza frowned, closing her eyes. “He was an ass. But not all men are like that. Greg wasn’t.”

  Greg. Eliza’s high school sweetheart—and husband.

  Cat wished she could take away the pain that snaked across her friend’s face. It was strange to think of her friend having been married. Eliza rarely talked about him and had shared only a few photos. They’d eloped in 2001, Eliza had told her, right after high school graduation. Eliza hadn’t wanted to marry so young, but Greg had enlisted in the army and they hadn’t wanted to take chances—who knew how long they’d be apart or what could happen if he got sent overseas? Eliza never thought she’d lose him. Certainly not after only a few months, not stateside.

  He’d gone to visit his brother in New York before shipping out to Germany. On the morning of September 11th, he’d called to tell her his brother was showing him his office in the World Trade Center before he caught his flight. It was the last she ever heard from him.

  Cat reached over and grabbed her friend’s hand. “Oh, Lizzie,” was all she could think to say.

  “I’m fine. I’m good.” A small smile edged across Eliza’s face as she reached for a fortune cookie. “Everything happens for a reason. And I still believe God has someone else in mind for me.”

  Cat envied her eternal optimism. Eliza had lost her husband and then her parents within the space of five years, and yet still believed in the goodness of the world, still thought that life was wonderful and full of possibilities.

  Was it hard-wired, that rosy view of things?

  Cat liked to call herself a realist, but she tended toward a more Eeyorish attitude. Heck, most days she wanted to hide. She’d joked to Eliza on more than one occasion during their Harry Potter-obsessed phase that her patronus—her protector—was an ostrich. Instead of defending her against the Death Eaters, it’d stick its head in the sand.

  Eliza always laughed, pointing out that ostriches didn’t actually do that. “A book,” she’d said once. “Your patronus has to be a book. And mine’s a ... a ...”

  “Jane Austen?” Cat had quipped.

  “Yes! My patronus is Jane Austen.”

  “Ha, check this out.” Eliza’s comment broke into Cat’s reverie, and Cat looked to see her holding out the fortune from her cookie. Powerful changes are coming, it read.

  “That’s exactly what that fortune teller we saw over the summer said, remember? She said powerful changes were coming in your life and she could see a great romance in your future.”

  “Eliza, she said the same thing to you, and to Jill. I’m pretty sure she says the same thing to everybody.” Cat waved her hand. “I don’t believe in that stuff anyway. I only went to humor Shannon. Who was disappointed the fortune teller told her all was going to stay as it was if you remember.”

  “See? She told Shannon something different.” Eliza shrugged. “I’m choosing to believe it’s true.”

  “And that’s one of the many things I love about you, dear friend—your undying optimism.”

  “Try it sometime. You might like it.” Eliza hopped up from her seat. “Hey, how about we go see the latest Hugh Jackman movie? I can call Jill and Shannon and see if they want to come.”

  “Are you kidding me? Isn’t that one all testosterone-fueled?”

  “Ever since Kate and Leopold, I’ll take any movie with Hugh Jackman in it. He’d make one fine Regency duke,” Eliza said, a dreamy expression in her eyes.

  Cat gathered up the take-out boxes and threw them in the trash. “Fine. It’d be good for me to get my mind off of everything, even if it is to watch a flick intended for teenage boys.”

  “I’ll buy the popcorn!”

  “My, you really do feel guilty about this morning, don’t you?” Cat teased.

  Eliza smirked. “No. I just like popcorn.”

  Cat laughed as she collected the papers together, tucking them back into the box.

  The doorbell chimed. Cat and Eliza both looked at each other. Who’d be ringing at this time? The sign clearly said Closed, as they’d been for more than an hour.

  “I’ll get it,” Eliza called. She crossed the store and opened the door.

  Derrick Gibson stood on the porch.

  Chapter 4

  Flustered, Cat smoothed her hair out of her eyes.

  “Hi.” His voice was uncertain.

  “Come in,” Eliza said.

  Derrick gave E
liza a nod and then crossed the room to where Cat stood. After closing the door again, Eliza followed behind him.

  “Hello,” Cat said. Derrick stood in front of her, shifting his weight onto one leg as if he were nervous.

  With a wink, Eliza dashed toward the back room, calling out, “I need to go get something. I’ll be back in a ... while.”

  Cat watched her friend go then turned to face Derrick again. “Listen, I’m sorry—”

  “I’m not trying to stalk you—” he began at the same time.

  They both chuckled, the tension broken.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  Cat tucked her hair back behind her ears. “I’m sorry I was rude to you this morning.”

  “You had every reason to be. I drenched you in filthy water, then asked you out, then tried to accept your friend’s answer for yours. I’m the one who needs to apologize.” He shuffled his feet, hesitating. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I felt like I had to try again. Will you reconsider? Since I haven’t dumped anything on you yet?” He hooked his fingers through his belt loops.

  This guy came all the way back here to apologize again, in spite of how you treated him. Take a chance, Schreiber. Her second chance had just walked through the door. How often did that happen?

  She set her hand on the desk, and her fingers grazed the edge of the medieval book. With one look at Derrick’s hopeful hazel eyes, tendrils of electricity snaked through her fingers. Surprised, she glanced down at the book. What was up with that? The book had zapped her when she’d first taken it out of the box, and again when she’d showed it to Eliza. She’d figured the combination of fall air and her dragging feet had produced an ungodly amount of static electricity, resulting in one powerful shock. But zinging her again now, when she’d just been handling it? Goosebumps scampered up her arms and the back of her neck. Maybe the book was communicating with her, encouraging her to take a chance.

  She shook her head. Books don’t talk, idiot. Or try to electrocute people.

  Derrick’s face fell. “Oh. Um. Sorry to—”

  “No, no, that wasn’t about you. Sorry—it was a crazy thought in my head.”