AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She set the water dish back on the porch and took a flyer off the bulletin board. “I put these up around town and have taken out some advertisements. So far, no one’s seen her, but I keep hoping.”
“How long have you had her?” He studied the flyer.
“Since last summer.” Grace experienced a pang of longing for her pet. “It’s funny because we had so many cats at Berry Farms that when I moved to Bliss Cove, I’d never considered getting one for myself. Then one day I found Viola over at the Meow and Then Café. Aria always has at least a dozen cats, so you’d think Viola wouldn’t have stood out, but to me, she did.”
She gestured for him to follow her into the living room. “She was sweet, but not clingy or skittish. She was just kind of mellow and content. For over a week, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and when I went back to the café, I found out no one had spoken for her yet. I figured that was a sign she was meant to be mine. I had no idea how attached I’d get to her in such a short time.”
She closed her mouth. With Lincoln, she either couldn’t figure out what to say or she went on and on like a wind-up chatty doll.
He was watching her with a strangely inscrutable expression. He cleared his throat. “So, the curriculum?”
“Oh, yes.” She shook her head and refocused. She’d planned this little speech. “Actually, I decided you should have input about what we’re going to teach, so it wouldn’t be fair to use a curriculum that I devised. I might be an expert on Shakespeare, but I’m not an expert on Lincoln Atwood. So maybe we can sit down and come up with something together.”
“I don’t know anything about lesson plans, but I’ll give it a shot.”
Grace retrieved her planner and turned on the computer at the corner desk. They sat on the sofa, and she spread all the paperwork out on the coffee table.
Trying not to be distracted by his presence, or the fact that his sleeves were still rolled up and his forearms were now within touching distance, Grace gave him a quick overview of her current curriculum.
“I’m sorry to admit that I’ve only read one of your books,” she said.
“No need to be sorry.” He shrugged. “Lots of people haven’t read any of my books. I don’t hold it against them.”
“I heard Jake Ryan bought the movie rights to your first book.Truth, right?”
He nodded. “I haven’t met him yet. Supposed to have dinner with him and Sam tomorrow night.”
“I don’t know him personally, but everyone says he’s great. He’s done a lot for Bliss Cove since he moved back here.” Grace turned her attention to the curriculum. “So I was hoping you could talk to the kids about publishing and your work, and also that we could have some class discussions about common themes between your books and Shakespeare, even if you haven’t been directly influenced by him.”
She glanced at him. “Also, given thatTruthis going to be a movie, what do you think of discussing how literature is translated into contemporary culture? We could talk about your ideas forTruth, and the differences in written and visual storytelling. We could even watch some Shakespeare adaptations. Oh, and you could talk about your writing process, like if you envision a movie in your head or if you use visual plotting techniques like storyboards.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and just looked at her.
Grace blinked. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re amazing. If you want my input, that all sounds great.”
A buzz of pleasure went through her. “Okay. You can start on Monday. The kids would love hearing about all your research. I read you spent a year learning how to race sled dogs and that you worked on an Alaskan fishing boat. Not to mention the Amazonian tribe you stayed with in Brazil.”
He glanced down at his hands, which were loosely linked between his knees. “Yeah, I can talk about some of that.”
“When did you start going to such extremes for your books?” She turned toward him, leaning one shoulder against the sofa cushions. “You wroteTruthwhen you were just out of college, right? What kind of research did you do?”
“ForTruth, none, really.” He sat back, letting out his breath. “The character of Tom Dillon just walked into my head, and I wrote the story. I knew I wanted my second book to be about non-military war heroes, but I didn’t feel like I could do it without talking to people. So I volunteered with the Red Cross and worked in a few refugee camps to find out what it was really like. As much as I could, anyway. I walked away after a few months, but they all stayed. So my research is just that—research. Not an actual experience.”
Grace regarded his profile. A pensive cloud darkened his eyes, as if he still weren’t sure if he’d done the right thing.
“But you kept doing it,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw. “I guess it was all I had. I mean, I couldn’t leave society and live a totally different life like Sam did. I could write and tell good stories, but I had to do it with as much authenticity as possible. If that’s even the right word.”
“It is.” She’d never imagined he’d be conflicted about his writing process. Though she didn’t understand the virile maleness of his characters, and she preferred a far more descriptive, poetic prose, he wrote with such confidence and facility, as if he didn’t need to think before putting the words on the page. “Shakespeare is one of the most authentic writers in history, and he didn’t live all the situations and relationships in his plays. But I’d venture to say he’s become quite influential.”
He smiled faintly and skimmed his golden eyes over her face. “How did you go from the dairy farm to Shakespeare?”
“Oh, I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm, as you can imagine.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “My father once considered being a teacher, so our house was always filled with books. I spent a lot of time reading when I should have been doing chores. When I went to college, I had an incredible literature teacher whose courses fired me up about Renaissance and Elizabethan literature. I stayed at Skyline for my master’s degree and wrote my thesis on folklore and mythical beliefs in 17thcentury plays and poetry.”
“Did you ever want to go somewhere else?”
