She clung to him, holding him tightly with every part of her body. Every nerve ending felt as if it were on fire, her brain overflowing with emotion and need.
“Ben,” she breathed into his ear as he began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster. “Yes. Yes. Ben.”
His hands moved up to cup her face. “Cat.” His eyes bore into her, and when she wanted to close hers, when it all felt too intense, he said, “No. Please. Stay with me.”
And she did, gray eyes locked on brown, as they fell into shattering communion, together.
They’d lain snuggled into each other, chest to chest, legs entwined, for hours. Talking.
Cat had marveled that she could feel so comfortable naked in bed with a man, chatting about everything from Monty Python (turned out Ben loved The Holy Grail as much as she did) to Elvis Presley, painful middle school experiences, to long-term dreams. And yet she did.
After another session of passionate lovemaking—for that is what it felt like, lovemaking, not merely lust sating—they fell asleep, not rising until Elvis’s shrill meow from beyond the bedroom door had informed them they’d overslept his feeding time.
Hearing the cat’s meow as he wound himself around her feet brought Cat back to the present. Ben was tinkering with the machine. She openly ogled his jeans-clad derriere, knowing what was hiding inside now.
Trying to tame her errant—and dirty—thoughts, she turned to survey the store, worry creasing her face. “Do you really think it’s wise, selling coffee in here? We can’t compete with the shop across the street. What if people spill it all over the books?”
“You spill it, we bill it,” he said as he wiped the counter clean. “Although now that The Grounds has sold out and is becoming a Starbucks, I think you’ll draw in people who want a more local feeling. Like me.”
He walked over to her and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. “Plus, think of the amount of money you will save on your morning coffee alone.”
“True. That’s got to be enough to fund an entirely new section devoted to romances with trysts between fictional and real characters.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She poked him in the side. “I’m not joking. Since I’ve been given this power to create love interests, why not put it to good use?”
“Makes sense to me,” Ben said. “From what I’ve heard, romances are huge sellers. If you happen to become a rich and famous romance author, who’s to complain? But if you never sold a thing, you’d create the possibility of happy endings for a lot of people. Sounds good to me.”
Cat crossed her arms over her stomach. “On the other hand, isn’t that exactly what I didn’t want? Someone who had to love me, because I’d created them to do so?”
“Yes, but you knew that you had created them,” he reasoned. “Other people won’t. You could pen some novels and see what happens. You said you didn’t guarantee the outcome for Eliza, and you rejected the love interests you’d created for yourself. Thank goodness.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth. “Maybe the endings aren’t as fixed as you think.”
Cat chewed her lip, debating. “Well, it would certainly make Eliza happy, after all those years I teased her about her genre of choice.”
“But would it make you happy?” Ben bopped her lightly on the nose with his finger. “You’ve made Eliza happy—isn’t it time for you?”
“Yes,” Cat said after a moment, thinking about Jill and Grayson. About William. She had been planning a story for him already, ever since she’d told him he would find his love. She owed it to him. “Yes, I believe it would.”
She walked over behind the new drinks counter and surveyed the room. “I love this place,” she sighed. “Not just because it was my dad’s. But because it’s mine now. Truly mine.”
Ben brought out the photographs and portrait of Eliza from the back room. “Shall we hang these on the wall over the fireplace? That way it will feel as if Eliza is always here with us.”
Cat nodded. She liked how he said ‘us’ without seeming to think about it.
The door jingled and the blue-haired girl from Poetry Night and the New Year’s ball walked in with what must have been her new boyfriend, given the way he hung on her. His hair was a vibrant purple.
Ben and Cat looked at each other. “I’ve always wanted purple hair,” he whispered just loudly enough for her to hear. “I hear it gets all the ladies.”
“Sweet, an espresso machine! Now I don’t have to go across the street to read,” the blue-haired girl exclaimed, racing to the counter. Ben walked behind it. “A double, please,” the girl said.
“No problem, milady,” he replied, whipping up the drink. After paying for it, the blue-haired girl took the drink and crossed over to the couch, dropping into it. “I love it here. Don’t you, Ace?”
The boyfriend sat down beside her. “Sure. Very retro.”
“Told you the coffee would be a hit,” Ben said to Cat.
Cat eyed him. “How do you know how to make espresso like that?”
“I have many hidden talents.” He shrugged. “I’ve had a machine like this at home for a year.”
“And yet you came into the coffee shop almost daily?”
Ben shuffled his feet. “Well, yeah. My office is sterile. Some of my colleagues, too, but don’t tell them I said that. I wanted more varied human interaction. And then,” he added, his eyebrow quirking up, “I came for the delightful scenery. You know, the one that showed up every day at around eight.”
Happiness spread throughout her body.
“Listen, I have to teach class in half an hour, but there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Okay.”
“You know that date we haven’t been on yet?”
Cat laughed. “You don’t count it as dating when we’ve spent so much time together, reading Eliza’s letters, examining that medieval book, and talking about everything under the moon? Or after last night?”
He gave her a quick kiss. “As much as I’ve enjoyed every minute of that—and I have, especially last night—no, that’s not a date. But I know where I want to take you.”
“You do? Where? Tonight?”
“No, not tonight. And you have to be willing to close the store for a few days.”
“Now I’m intrigued. What do you have planned? Please don’t say camping, because I can tell you right now, I am not an outdoorsy girl.”
“I figured that out when you complained about walking to the Rotunda. No, what I want to know is,” he continued, getting down on one knee. “Catherine Schreiber, will you go to Florence with me?”
Cat nearly fainted when he dropped to the floor. “You scoundrel.” She pushed him hard enough in the shoulder that he fell over, laughing.
“I thought I was your white knight,” he retorted, clutching his sides.
“Who told you that? I never told you that!”
“Eliza did. She told me not to lose hope.”
“She did?” Cat gaped at him. “When? She never said anything to me. That stinker.”
“Back in November, when I was helping out on Black Friday. That stinker loves you very much. And I can see why.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Seriously, would you feel comfortable going to Florence with me? I have a conference there the second week in March. We could get separate rooms in the hotel if you wanted.”
Florence? Ben Cooper is inviting me to Florence? As in Italy? She thought of the pictures hanging in her room, of the Duomo and the Ponte Vecchio. The Uffizi. For so many years she’d longed to go there, to fall in love there. Dad, if there were ever a sign, this is it, don’t you think?
“I hardly think that will be necessary.” Pouncing on him, she kissed him with great fervor, only breaking off when the sound of clapping intruded.
She and Ben looked toward the couch, where the blue- and purple-haired couple was applauding them.
“Epic,” the boy said. “Old people making out. This place rocks.”
Laughing, she stood
up, pulling Ben to his feet. Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza’s portrait caught her attention. She could have sworn her friend’s smile had grown a little wider.
“That’s right, Eliza,” she whispered. “This story is about the bookstore owner and the professor. And we’re making it up as we go along. Can you believe it?”
“I can,” Ben said. And he leaned in to kiss her again.
Epilogue
“Who knew so much mail could pile up in a week?”
“Who cares? Let’s go to bed.”
“Good Lord, you’re insatiable, Mr. Cooper. A week in Italy, every night together, wasn’t enough?”
He laced his fingers through hers. “It will never be enough. But that’s not what I meant. I’m exhausted. I could blame it on the long flight, but...”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “ ...But?”
“I’m not sure I’m the insatiable one.”
She threw the envelopes she held in her hand at him, laughing at his startled expression. As the envelopes fell to the floor, the handwriting on one of them caught her eye.
“Hey, that’s from my mom. Since when does she send letters? She’s more into email than I am.”
“I think anyone might be into email or texting more than you, my luscious little Luddite.”
She bent down and picked up the envelope, ignoring his jibe. She pulled out the folded paper within and opened it to reveal a second, smaller folded piece of paper. She looked at her mother’s writing.
Dear Cat, the note read.
I found this when Marie and I were cleaning out the upstairs. I don’t really know what your father was talking about, but since it mentions a manuscript and you’d asked about one, I thought you might be interested. Love, Mom.
Cat sucked in a breath as she unfolded the second piece of paper.
“What is it?” Ben walked over to her.
“Something from my dad.” She held her finger to her lips as she began to read.
Grandma Schreiber says manu handed down thru family. Origins not known—somewhere medieval Germany, maybe 13th cent. Can create love, create people (!), according to Grandma. Only for certain female members of the family, every 2nd or 3rd generation, @ 25. Must be guarded carefully, kept secret. Ancestors killed over it, died for it. Only told me b/c her health is frail & doesn’t think she’ll live to see Catey to 25. Only C will understand, Grandma claims.
Grandma’s nuts, but I’m writing it down, as she said. Guess I better encourage Catey to learn a little Latin.
A tremulous smile broke over her face, even as her eyes filled with tears.
Ben’s brow creased. “You okay?”
“Yes. Yes. Fine.” A tear fell down her cheek. “Just one final gift, one final treasure from my father.”
She cradled the paper against her chest. Thank you, Dad.
Looking at Ben, she held out her hand. “He loved me,” she said, as their fingers intertwined.
Ben’s eyes softened. “He’s not the only one.”
Reaching up, she smoothed her other hand through his hair, pulling him closer. The rich chocolate of his eyes melted her heart, and she knew the love there was mirrored in her own.
She touched her lips to his. “Here’s to our own happily-ever-after, Mr. Cooper. Right after that nap.”
He laughed, catching her up in a fierce hug. “Agreed, Ms. Schreiber. Agreed.”
Acknowledgments
“No man is an island,” said John Donne. The sentiment is equally true for authors. This book would not exist had I not received assistance and support from so many people.
To Kary, for her constant support, help at all stages from brainstorming to beta reading to revisions, and especially for being such a wonderful friend.
To the Shenandoah Valley Writers, and especially Tamara, Rebekah, Taryn, and Deb. Every writer needs a community, and I’m so blessed to have found this one.
To my cousin Joy, for being my very first beta reader and avid cheerleader. And for having told me all those years ago that I was a writer.
To Jeanine, Johanna, Heather, and Teresa for beta reading and providing invaluable feedback.
To Joy Lankshear of Lankshear Design, for designing the amazing cover, and formatting the contents. My book looks so much better because of your efforts.
Thank you to Emily June Street, for her ebook-formatting wizardry. You are magic to me.
To Tessa Shapcott, my editor, for helping to shape Cat’s story into the best it could be (or at least the best I could make it). Thank you for holding this nervous debut author’s hand.
To my kids, for putting up with mom’s need to escape to the Writing Cave to work.
And to Brett, without whom none of this would be possible. You’re my everything.
For Ellie, my very own little spunky sunshine.
Chapter 1
December 31, 2011
Eliza James smoothed her hands over the cream-colored, empire-waist gown. The dress was a bit small, straining at her chest too much for her liking, but that didn’t dampen her joy at being in full Regency garb. Tingles raced up and down her arms. Tonight! It was happening tonight!
“We’re beautiful.”
Eliza threw a grin at her best friend, Catherine Schreiber, as they studied their reflections in the mirror. “Yes, we are. There’s something to be said for emphasizing the feminine form, isn’t there?”
She’d never felt so gorgeous in her life. Sure, men hit on her often, complimenting her sapphire eyes and flaxen blonde hair, but now, standing here, dressed as if she could have walked out of a Pride and Prejudice movie set, she believed it—despite those pesky twenty extra pounds.
“At least the boobs,” her friend said. “They haven’t seemed this perky in years. I actually have cleavage.”
Eliza elbowed her. Cat may envy her curves, but Eliza would trade for Cat’s tall, lean frame in an instant. Until now, perhaps. Her boobs did look particularly appealing, squished up in the low-cut bodice as they were. She just hoped they didn’t escape the dress at an inopportune time.
“Look at us, Eliza. Really look at us.” Cat’s hand grabbed hers. “I’d like to think that if we had lived two hundred years ago, we still would have been best of friends. You mean the world to me, and you always will, even if tonight is the last night we are together.”
Eliza’s eyes welled up. She wiped away the tear that escaped and gave Cat an impulsive hug. Their last night together. It didn’t seem possible. Maybe it wasn’t possible. But Eliza hoped it was.
Tonight was her fairytale ball, her chance at being Cinderella, and ending up with her very own Prince Charming. Well, not a prince, but a duke, if all went right.
It was crazy, this plan she and Cat had hatched to launch Eliza back to the early nineteenth century. The Regency period. In England. If any of their friends knew, they’d say the two ought to be committed.
But nothing seemed crazy anymore, not after Cat had found a medieval manuscript left to her by her father, plus old love stories she’d written but forgotten about, and strange things had started happening. Make that strange men.
They’d come out of nowhere, these men asking her friend out. No one had paid attention to Cat in years, which was exactly as Cat liked it. Then suddenly, she’d had three guys hot after her. And not just any three guys—guys exactly like the ones in her stories.
Eliza almost cackled out loud. It still amused her to know that Cat, who’d teased Eliza mercilessly for years about her reading genre of choice—romance novels, when not Jane Austen—had secretly written her own stories about the fantasy men she’d longed for. The men who’d appeared, one by one, this fall.
The only explanation was magic. Well, that, and Cat’s manuscript, which claimed its owner had the power to turn words into flesh. Her friend hadn’t believed it, had fought against it. Who wouldn’t? The whole idea was insane. But when Cat had changed a story and it’d changed reality, they’d known: Cat could bring fictional men to life.
That�
��s when Eliza had come up with this nutso idea: to throw a Regency-themed ball in the Treasure Trove, Cat’s downstairs bookstore, in order to bring an English duke, one Cat would create for her, forward in time to find Eliza—and take her back with him.
Over the last two weeks, the friends had played around for hours on the British Museum’s online site and on Pinterest, researching and plotting and drafting to their heart’s content, until Eliza was satisfied with her dream duke—someone she envisioned as a cross between Hugh Jackman, Colin Firth, and the hero of every romance she’d ever read.
Her heart swelled with the idea that she would be meeting him tonight. So did her anxiety levels. Because, really, even if this duke, this Deveric Mattersley, as Cat had named him, did show up and whisk her back two hundred years, who was to say he’d actually fall in love with her, Eliza James, twenty-nine-year-old widow, perpetual grad student, a woman too fond of brownies and not fond enough of exercise? She wasn’t exactly ideal duchess material.
She shook off those thoughts. Who was to say she’d fall in love with him? Love was a two-way street, after all. And it would work out as it should. It would. She had to believe that.
“I’m sorry for leaving you, Cat. I love you like the sister I never had. Thank you for understanding ... and for letting me go.”
“I’m not letting you go. I’ll just have to meet you in a different place.” Cat backed up a step. “If this works, that is. May I admit I’m secretly hoping it won’t?”
“You may,” said Eliza. “But if it doesn’t, I know you were willing, and that means everything to me.” She wiped more tears off her cheeks. “Thank goodness most Regency women didn’t wear mascara,” she said, “or I’d resemble a raccoon right now.”
She breathed in and out, in and out, working to calm herself. This was going to work. This had to work. There wasn’t much here for her, anyway, besides Cat. Eliza’d lost her husband ten years ago, and then her parents. She loved her best friend, but she wanted more. Now that Cat was hopefully on the verge of her own happy-ever-after, it was Eliza’s time for more, right? She lifted her chin up, adjusting her breasts in her dress a final time before pulling on her evening gloves. Start as you mean to go on, girl. She sniffed as she checked one last time to ensure her jewelry and phone were tucked in the hidden pocket she’d added to the costume.
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