“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Cat leaned down to pet Elvis, who was meowing at her feet. “I wrote about Derrick in high school, when I felt like an outsider and longed to be part of the in-crowd.” She let out a big exhale. “He did try to make me feel that way on our date. Well, kind of. But I figured out pretty quickly that’s not what I need anymore. I’m happier being weird little me.”
Eliza nodded.
“And Gray—well, who wouldn’t be attracted to Grayson Phillips?” Cat laughed sardonically. “He oozes sexuality. I wrote about him as an undergrad, stuck in the library for all those hours alone when I really wanted to be making out with someone. Anyone.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow at that.
“Okay, not just anyone,” Cat continued as she moved to the sofa, plopping down on it. Elvis immediately jumped up and settled on her lap, nudging her to pet him. “But you remember how that felt, right? Those coed days? The hormones?”
“If you remember, for much of my undergraduate time I was a grieving widow.”
Cat stopped petting the cat and looked at her friend. That had never occurred to her, how different college must have felt to Eliza as a new widow. Cat, for the most part, had been carefree. She’d had her studies, her friends, the occasional short-term boyfriend, her dad. “Gosh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry.”
“But not all of it,” Eliza added. “By senior year I was feeling, er, frisky again. So yeah, I get it.” She walked over and joined Cat on the sofa. “Why do you think you wrote about William?”
“I sketched him out when what I wanted most was a man to make me feel like my father had: safe, protected, loved, and supported. Maybe it wasn’t so much a Cinderella fantasy as an aching for my dad.” She stared unseeingly at the floor.
Eliza made a sympathetic noise.
“Fine, the Cinderella fantasy, too,” Cat admitted, “but mostly security is what I craved. What I still crave, really.”
She stopped, looking up at Eliza.
Eliza’s eyes widened and she clapped her hand to her mouth.
“What?” Cat’s voice was sharp.
“I just realized something,” Eliza yelled. “You’re Ebeneezer Scrooge!”
“Say what?”
“You’re Scrooge! Being visited by three men: Derrick, the man of the past; ageless Grayson, the man of the present; and William, the man of the future. That’s why the book brought these three guys to life; you’re Scrooge, and the universe wants you to stop saying ‘Bah, humbug’ to love.”
“I think you’ve reached your limit on the breakfast cereal, roomie,” Cat said with a snort. Her head was swimming. What about Ben? part of her demanded. She’d never written about him, so why was he in her life, and often on her mind? “In the end, Scrooge rejected all those ghosts, you know. He changed himself and changed his life. His future.”
“True.”
After a minute, Cat looked at Eliza again, horror etched across her face. “You said I was Ebeneezer. A fictional character. You don’t really think I’m a character, do you?” Cat took in great gulps of air. “What if we all are? What if somewhere someone else wrote a story about us, and now we’re alive because of them? Oh my God, Eliza.”
Eliza sat back down on the sofa, grasping her friend firmly by the shoulders. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
They both inhaled and exhaled for several breaths. After a minute, Cat gave a brisk nod. “I’m fine. Relatively speaking.” “I’d like to think if I’m a character in someone’s novel that they’d have pity on me and give me a more fulfilling life than this,” cracked Eliza.
Cat chuckled. “Yeah, can my author give me bigger boobs and an even bigger bank account?”
They both guffawed at that thought.
“Maybe you could do that for yourself, Cat,” Eliza said once they’d stopped laughing.
“Seriously?”
Eliza nodded vigorously. “Of course seriously. If you’ve created these guys, who knows what else you can do?”
Both women were silent for a moment.
“Maybe it’s not limited to just the romantic idea of love, you know?” Eliza ventured.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Cat jumped up and rushed over to the kitchen table, pulling a napkin from the center holder. Grabbing a pen from the nearby pencil jar, she scribbled down Catherine Schreiber had enormous breasts and a checkbook balance to match. Standing back, she peered down at her chest.
Eliza stared at it, as well. “Nope,” she said after a few minutes. “No bigger.”
Cat hiccupped a laugh. “Maybe the boobs were too much to ask for. I’ll check the bank balance. Can I use your laptop?”
“Sure.” Eliza gestured toward the computer sitting next to the sofa.
Cat walked over to it and opened a web browser, typing in her info. It only took about ten seconds until she said, “Dang, no luck there, either.”
“Maybe you need to write a real story, not just a line on a napkin.”
“Maybe.” Cat paused. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, can you?”
“Eh, I’ve had weirder.”
Cat raised an eyebrow.
“All right, not much weirder, but Greg and I did stay up all night once imaging in elaborate detail what it would be like to be a cockroach.”
“Sounds like you’d been drinking too much tequila. Or reading too much Kafka.”
Eliza giggled. “Maybe. We decided a cockroach’s life might not be so bad. At least we knew we’d survive an atomic bomb. But we agreed if people started singing La Cucaracha every time they saw us, that’d be it. That song drove us nuts.”
Cat rolled her eyes. “We’re seriously nuts. Let’s go grab a coffee and get the store opened. I’m thinking we’ll get lots of Christmas shoppers today.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
“You do? That’s unusually optimistic of you. Is there some event going on I don’t know about?”
“Nope. I’m going to write an elaborate story about it while we’re at the coffeehouse. What further guarantee do you need?” She headed toward her room to get dressed.
“Based on your chest, or lack thereof,” Eliza called after her, “a much bigger one. Guarantee, that is.”
Cat turned around, grabbed Eliza’s latest romance off the back of the couch and whipped it at her friend. “Thanks a lot!”
“Anytime,” Eliza sang out as she danced away. “Anytime!”
Fifteen minutes later, they were settled in their usual coffee booth, Cat indulging in another morning muffin. Worrying about calories seemed a trivial concern in the face of everything going on.
“Lizzie,” she said, setting the muffin down. “Do you think I could write a story in which my dad doesn’t die? Do you think I could bring him back?”
Eliza was quiet for a bit. “You could try, I guess. If you consider the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
“I don’t know. We don’t know how all of this works. Based on our interactions with Gray and his sister yesterday, it seems once you change something about someone, the person doesn’t remember their life any differently. So if you write a story in which your dad never died, maybe you’d never be the wiser if it came true.” She nibbled at a chocolate chip cookie. “And what would that do to us? I wouldn’t be living with you, right? If your dad were still running the bookstore, what would you be doing? You told me often before he died that you didn’t see yourself selling books forever.”
“Hmm.” Cat fiddled with the stir stick for her coffee. “I’d like to think we’d have met in the same way, regardless. And even if I didn’t remember, you still would, just like you and I knew yesterday that Grayson had never really had a sister, even if he didn’t.”
“True. I guess.” Eliza ate the last of her cookie. “This is all so confusing. If I remembered, but you didn’t, who’s to say I could convince you to befriend me again?”
Cat couldn’t imagine ever not being friends with Eliza. “It’s a bizarre thoug
ht, isn’t it? Kind of sad. Although I’m certain I’d be friends with you, no matter what. You’re that awesome.” She paused, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “But I have to try, Eliza. I have to try.”
“Fair enough. Are you going to finish that muffin?”
“Nah, here, you have the rest.” Cat pushed the muffin over toward Eliza. “I’m going to write a story about my dad never dying. And I’m going to put in it that we also win the Lottery. Anything else?”
“Let’s see if those work, first.”
Cat spent the next fifteen minutes sketching out the details in the spiral notebook she’d brought with her. With a smile, she put the cap back on her pen and closed the book. Gazing out the window, she said, “I’m ready to go back to the Treasure Trove now. Maybe when I walk through the door, my dad will be there. My dad could be there, Lizzie.” She stared wistfully at the bookstore’s front steps.
Eliza closed the novel she’d been reading while Cat wrote. Catching a glimpse of the cover, Cat snickered. “Earl To Bed, Earl to Rise? That’s the title of your latest smut book?”
“I thought it quite catchy, myself. Wouldn’t you want your earl to be able to ‘rise’ to the occasion?” Eliza said cheekily, standing up and gathering her to-go cup.
Cat raised her eyes to the ceiling.
“Look who’s talking,” Eliza said. “You’ve written about three men having the hots for you, in some highly descriptive detail, I might add, and you’re chiding me about my reading material? I only read it, oh, Queen of Smut, I don’t write it. Much less live it.”
“Point taken,” Cat muttered. “Point taken.”
Cat bounded up the stairs to the bookstore, eagerly unlocking the front door and launching herself through the entrance.
“Dad?” She scanned the room. Running toward the back, she called out again. “Dad? Are you here?”
Eliza walked into the storage room after her. “I’ll check upstairs.”
“No, no, I’ll go. If he’s here, I want to be the one to find him.” Cat raced up to the apartment. As she flung open the door, she called out, “Dad, it’s Catherine!”
The only answer was a questioning meow as Elvis padded out to see what all the commotion was about.
Cat waited a moment. “Dad?” she said more softly.
But it was clear he wasn’t there. She shuffled back down the stairs. Eliza stood waiting at the cash register, a hopeful expression on her face. Cat shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. Eliza’s face fell, too, and she rushed to gather her friend up in a fierce hug.
“I’m so sorry. Maybe you need to give it some time?”
“I doubt it,” Cat answered dully. “I wrote that he’d never died, and crafted an elaborate scene in which he was decorating the store with thousands of Christmas lights, the way he used to love to do. I dated it today, this morning, at 8:30.”
She sighed, tears streaming down her face. “It’s 8:43 right now. It didn’t work.” Waves of grief washed over her, nearly as strong as they’d been right after he’d died. She didn’t want to acknowledge how much she’d pinned on being able to see him again. She knew how lucky she’d been to have a father as wonderful as her dad. She just wished she’d had him a little longer. Was that so much to ask? A few more years?
Eliza rubbed her back for a while, holding her friend. “I’m sorry. I know how much you miss him. I know.” After a minute, she asked, “I guess it’s too much to hold out hope we won the Lottery?”
Cat choked out a half-laugh. “I don’t know. Let’s see if there is a ticket in my wallet. If not, then nope.”
Backing out of the hug, she pulled her wallet out of her pocket and checked its insides. “Nope, no ticket. And like they say, ‘you can’t win if you don’t play.’” She started to giggle.
Eliza watched her, concern etched across her face.
“I guess raising the dead is better left to sorcerers.” Cat cackled harder.
“Do you need to go back to bed?”
“No, no,” Cat replied, struggling to adopt a more sober demeanor. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m just wondering what the frigging point is of this super-power, as you call it, if I can’t use it for what I truly want. It’s been fun to have some male attention, but I don’t want love, Eliza. What I want is my dad back.”
Eliza rubbed her back again. “You think you don’t want love, but maybe it’s exactly what you need. Ever consider that?” Cat pushed away from her. “Romance isn’t the only thing in the world. Wasn’t that what you told me after Ryan left? That there was so much more to life than being in a relationship?” Her voice exuded bitterness.
“Yes. I did say that. Because you were my friend and you were grieving and in pain.”
Cat looked at her with wary eyes.
“It’s still true,” Eliza continued. “There is a lot more to life than any single relationship. But wouldn’t that ‘more’ be richer still if you had the right person with whom to experience it?”
Cat sniffed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Some friend I am.” She hugged Eliza again. “Sometimes I’m so focused on my own crap that I forget about yours. You seem so at peace with it.”
Eliza rocked back on her heels. “I guess I am. Do I wish Greg had never died? Of course. But sometimes I wonder if we would have made it. We were so young. So very young.”
Cat shoved her bangs out of her face. “Wait, are you saying you don’t think love can last forever? You, the romance novel addict? Who’s told me repeatedly that’s what you want?”
“Of course I want that. I just don’t think every relationship, or even every marriage, can achieve that. I’m holding out for one that can.”
“How will you know when you’ve found it? Everyone wants that, but most marriages end in divorce.”
“Not most. Fifty percent and that number is going down,” Eliza said. “I’ll know when I find it.”
Cat raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll know. I believe Greg and I were destined to be together, but as the years have gone by, I’ve come to believe we were also destined to be apart. Like a flame meant to burn only briefly. I can’t explain it. I’ve always felt as if that lifelong love is still out there, waiting for me. We just haven’t found each other yet.”
“You are an incurable romantic.”
“Yes, I am, Ms. Schreiber. And proud of it.”
The door jangled and a group of teenagers wandered in.
“Shouldn’t they be in school?” Cat remarked.
“On a Saturday?”
“It’s Saturday?” Cat shrieked.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Oh, no! I have that date with William this afternoon.” She ran over to check her hair in the mirror next to the door. “You can still cover the store, right?”
“Sure thing. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you and possible true love.”
Chapter 21
“So to where are you spiriting me off?” asked William, as he crawled into the front seat of Cat’s Honda.
“Can you ice skate?”
His eyes lit up. “Yes, I can. We skated on my cousins’ backyard pond in Wellesley every Christmas. I love it.” He adjusted his long legs without complaint in the cramped space of the passenger seat. “I’m nowhere as good as my cousin’s son, though. He’s training for the Olympics.”
Cat snorted. “I should hope you’re not that good. I’m not sure I can make it around the rink without falling down—it’s been years since I’ve skated. But I thought it sounded like a fun, low-key afternoon, so I’m glad you’re up for it.”
“Where’s the rink? It’s hardly cold enough for ice around here.”
“There’s an inside rink downtown.”
“Great!”
She drove through Charlottesville, casting surreptitious glances at Will. He was definitely handsome, and whatever cologne he was wearing smelled heavenly. He caught her looking at him and smiled, placing his hand over hers on the gearshift and squeezing it.
“I’m glad I’m here today, Catherine. I enjoy being with you.”
She smiled in return, but her smile slipped a little when she reminded herself he liked her because he had to like her. She’d created him that way. Or had she? Just because she said she wanted a certain type of man and they showed up didn’t mean they had to like her. They could be into her of their own volition. Couldn’t they?
A frown puckered her brow.
“Was that too forward?” said William, removing his hand.
“Not at all. I was trying to figure out how to switch to third gear without disturbing your fingers,” she lied.
He smiled but kept his hand on his own knee. “I don’t know many people who drive a stick anymore. That’s a skill.”
“My mom insisted I learn. I’m glad she did. One of the reasons this car was cheap was because the dealer said nobody wanted a manual transmission anymore. It was the only way I could afford it.”
“I could get you a car if you’d like,” Will said casually.
“What?” Cat glanced at him in surprise, and then flicked her eyes back to the road. “You can’t be serious. We hardly know each other.”
“I know I like being with you, and I know I can afford it. It’d make me happy to give you one if you’d take it.”
“Well, I won’t. Besides, what’s wrong with this Honda?”
“Nothing,” William conceded. “If you don’t mind very little leg room.”
“It’s cute.”
Will wrinkled his nose. “Cute? Cute is not a characteristic one looks for in a car.”
“It is if you’re female, buddy. Or at least this female.” She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Let me guess. You like Mini Coopers and Bugs.”
“Why, yes, I do. My favorites are those tiny Smart Cars, though.”
William shook his head in mock disgust. “Those things are death traps. One fender bender and the car would be totaled—and you along with it.”
“Good thing I’m an excellent driver, then, because I still want one. Only not from you,” she amended quickly.
The Magic of Love Series Page 19