Page 12 of Book of Love


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Chapter 4

Whatever had possessed Lincoln to order a gooey piece of pie that looked as if it were made of slimy, pink celery, he had no idea. But recalling the redhead’s rapturous expression as she swallowed a bite, he was glad he’d given in to the unexplained urge. If he hadn’t, she’d have gotten that last piece, and he never would have spoken to her.

After leaving the diner, he returned to the motel where he’d booked a room for the next couple of days. He couldn’t get the young woman out of his mind. Not because he was looking for a hookup—that wasn’t on his current agenda—but because he was intrigued by both her and her story.

Rhubarb pie, a glass of milk—he didn’t know any other grown woman who drank milk—Shakespeare’s Sonnets and Quotations; an old, frayed book bag with torn straps; a floral embroidered sweater with the buttons done up wrong…

A picture of her appeared—red hair the color of a sunset and pale skin dusted with freckles. Tendrils of flyaway hair had been escaping a bun at the back of her neck, and her face had been devoid of makeup or lipstick. She was pretty in a wholesome, fresh-faced way that made him even more curious about how and why she’d ended up crying in a roadside diner.

He’d struggled not to press her for more details. It had been even tougher to force himself away from the booth to pay the bill. He’d wanted to ask her a thousand questions—about the house where her grandmother had baked the pies, if the pasture meant she’d grown up on a farm, about the chores her father did, why he was always working, the color of the plaid tablecloth, the sound of the dinner bell.

And he’d wanted to ask abouther—the significance of the pendant she wore around her slender neck, what had happened to cause the abrasion on her knuckles, how she’d chipped her front left tooth. He wanted to know about the pins decorating her book bag and about the contents of the cardboard file box in the backseat of her ancient Dodge.

Did she know her smile shone first in her hazel eyes right before it reached her mouth? As if she were keeping it to herself for an instant before deciding whether or not to share it.

Speculation rolled through his mind, taking different shapes and forms. If he’d gotten the answers to all his questions from her, he’d never have the pleasure of coming up with them himself. Of thinking about her, imagining, and wondering. Of giving her strengths and flaws. What if her vaguely careless appearance concealed a reckless streak—as if she tried hard to appear orderly and proper, but couldn’t quite manage it?

He allowed himself to think about her until he went to sleep. But the next morning, he smothered his musings as he drove to downtown Bliss Cove.

It was hardly the first time he’d been preoccupied with a stranger. He’d once spent a month thinking about an old man he’d seen on the subway, until he’d reshaped him into the character of Benny in his fourth book,Courage Lost.

But Lincoln had also met countless people who’d never made their way into his books in any iteration. Even after years of writing, he had no idea why one person would stick in his mind and refuse to leave while another person would barely register.

Right now, however, he couldn’t think about the redhead or writing. She’d been an interesting but distracting encounter. He needed to focus on the reason he’d come to Bliss Cove in the first place.

After parking off Starfish Avenue, he walked to the bookstore. From what he’d been able to find out, Sam didn’t keep Title Wave Books open during regular hours. Instead, he opened and closed the store whenever he wanted, which apparently rankled the town council.

Lincoln wasn’t surprised by his brother’s lack of routine. Even as a kid, Sam had been a troublemaker who’d battled all rules and regulations. He’d dropped out of high school and gone off to wander through Europe and South America for years before landing in Bliss Cove.

Lincoln, on the other hand, had followed the path of the successful, favored eldest son. Only when he’d started seeking out research experiences had he discovered a detour.

Though it was past nine on Saturday morning, aClosedsign was displayed in the bookstore window.

With a sigh of impatience, he crossed the street to Java Works. After getting a coffee, he spent the morning looking around.

As he’d gathered before leaving New York, Bliss Cove was a quaint California seaside town just far enough off the beaten track to have avoided a takeover from corporations and big-box stores.

A harbor lined with fishing boats stretched into the bay, and a historic boardwalk hosted a carnival complete with game booths and a Ferris wheel. There was a local college, a library, an aquarium, and hiking trails in the surrounding forest.

Nice enough, but Lincoln had seen a hundred towns like it in the world. It was the kind of place most people—in his experience, at least—wanted to escape.

Close to noon, he returned to Title Wave. This time, the store was open, and a little bell rang as he entered. The place was clean and well-lit, with dozens of shelves and tables stocked with books.

Sam looked up from the computer at the front counter. “Hey, can I…”

His voice trailed off.

Smothering a sudden tension, Lincoln approached. “I figured you wouldn’t want to see me if I called first.”

“You figured right.” Sam turned his attention back to the computer. “What’re you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you about something.” Lincoln set a leather portfolio on the counter. “And I thought I could meet Jake Ryan. He said you’d given him my contact info.”

Sam shrugged. “Least I could do for him. He’s a good guy. I’ll tell him you’re in town.”

“I’d like to talk to you first.” Lincoln made an effort to keep his voice even.

When they’d been kids, he’d hated Sam’s quick temper, his constant backtalk, his outright disregard of rules. It had all seemed like such a fucking waste of time.

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