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Chapter 23
“You need to go back, Lincoln,” Olga said over the phone. “Have you had any ideas about the book?”
“No.” He stared at the bland painting of a landscape on the motel room wall. He couldn’t even think about the book until he returned to Kandahar. And even then, he didn’t know if he’d be able to.
“What about an outline?” his agent persisted.
“No.”
“My, you’re talkative today. How’s theTruthmovie coming along?”
“Jake is scouting locations and planning the screenplay.” He glanced at the clock. “I gotta go, Olga. I’ll see you soon.”
He ended the call and finished getting ready for work. He leafed throughShakespeare’s Sonnets and Quotations, which he’d borrowed from Grace. The Bard’s opinions on love and relationships ran the spectrum from true romance to outright doubt.
I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs.
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Romantic love wasn’t a topic Lincoln had ever covered in any great depth.
He put the book in his briefcase and headed out to his car. He hadn’t thought about writing in weeks, much less the details of his next book. The vast world of politics and international conflicts felt distant and cold.
He knew the value of finding personal stories in massive, complicated situations. All of his books centered on men who went into battle—against each other, themselves, their pasts, the elements, the unknown. They came out the other side changed forever, sometimes for the better, sometimes worse.
But not sinceTruthhad Lincoln written about a man who fell in love. Even then, he’d just implied that Tom Dillon actually feltlovefor the waitress Lottie.
At twenty-four, he’d subconsciously relegated love stories and romance to genre fiction—not “real” literary novels that won awards and Pulitzer prizes. Over ten years later, he hadn’t deviated from that idea—a fact that he was only just beginning to realize.
It wasn’t a surprise, though. He crafted his stories around his immersive experiences, which he actively sought and organized. He made arrangements, obtained permits, and applied for clearance. He did research, learned everything he could before departing, had all his paperwork and medical information in order. He scheduled flights and bought train tickets and rented cars. Heplanned.
It wasn’t as if he could do any of that before falling in love.
Not that his tangled, intense feelings about Grace could be distilled into the wordlove. He didn’t know what the hell they were about, except that it was the first time in his life everything felt right.
He couldn’t think about the dark fact that it wouldn’t last. Maybe he could convince her to keep it going a while longer, but what happened when he returned to Afghanistan?
Could he ask her to wait for him to come back, when she hadn’t seemed to want him to go in the first place? Would she want to wait for him? And then what? Could they have a long-distance relationship? Was it fair of him to expect neither of them to change their lives?
Christ. All the questions made his head hurt.
No wonder Shakespeare was all over the place about romance. It wasn’t easy.
This was confirmed when he walked into Grace’s classroom. His heart gave its usual jump at the sight of her, then dropped just as fast at the guarded expression on her face.
“Hey.” He set his briefcase down and rounded the desk to her. “I emailed Spruce about the drama club donation and asked him what I needed to do to make it official. That should take care of any issues.”
“Thank you.”
“So can you get rid of this?” He rubbed the frown line between her eyebrows. He didn’t like her sudden distance from him, but he didn’t want to bring up their deadline by reminding her they only had two weeks left together.
Instead he lowered his head to kiss her. After a brief hesitation, she murmured his name and pressed her lips against his. Her body softened. He breathed her in. Vanilla and pure warmth.
The loud chatter of voices broke into his pleasure. He stepped away from her. Students streamed past the open door on the way to their lockers and classrooms.
