Close to You

by Kara Isaac

  Then the guy’s voice boomed out, the American accent sucking her back into the past. So at odds with the softer English lilt she’d gotten accustomed to spending most of her days surrounded by.

  It had taken two months, but she’d finally stopped turning her head at every American male voice, hoping she would find the impossible face behind it.

  She hadn’t heard from Jackson since the day she’d shown up in Pennington. She’d thought she might be finally starting to get over foolish, nonsensical hope, but the way her heart lifted for a second, tried to make her believe this one, this American accent belonged to him, told her she’d been kidding herself.

  “Sure. Go ahead.” Her voice wavered. Had she missed a hand somewhere? It had sounded like the voice came from the back of the room.

  A ripple of movement toward the top left of the lecture hall. Someone was standing and seemed to be walking toward her.

  “You haven’t talked much about Aragorn and Arwen.” Allie’s breath caught. She knew that voice. She did. “Or even Faramir and Éowyn.”

  Her eyes searched the upper reaches for him, but the glare of the fluorescent lights temporarily blinded her. Then he appeared out of the haze. Three-quarters of the way up on the left-hand side, standing in the aisle. His gaze focused unwaveringly on her.

  Those ocean-blue eyes she’d finally managed to convince herself she was never going to see again. Here. In her lecture.

  She found her voice. “You’re right, I haven’t. Everyone knows about them. I prefer to focus on the other types of love woven through the stories. They’re even more important—like Sam’s love for Frodo. What would’ve happened without ‘I may not be able to carry the ring, Mr. Frodo, but I can carry you.’?”

  Jackson kept walking down the stairs. “But she gave up her immortality for him. Surely that must count for something?”

  “Something, yes, but not everything.” Her words came out raspy. He’d had a haircut. It made his cheekbones stand out even more. That bone structure belonged to a Renaissance sculpture, not a man.

  His gaze was still locked on hers, almost making the hundreds of spectators disappear. Except for the murmurs rippling across the room and the phones being lifted up. She abandoned any pretense they were talking about Tolkien. “What are you doing here?”

  He quirked a smile at her. The same one that still caused her heart to stop. “An MBA at Cambridge.”

  “An MBA?” She repeated the words. At Cambridge?

  He was nearly to the bottom of the stairs and turning over ground fast. “Turns out being a spectacularly failed entrepreneur does have some benefits, after all. Got me admission to one of the best programs in the world.”

  “Here? You’re here? In England?” Her voice boomed around the room. She was still holding the microphone. She put it on the desk behind her with an amplified thump.

  “I am. The first scholarship recipient of the Louis and Mavis Duff Foundation.”

  It took her a second to realize what he was saying. “Louis and Mavis got married?”

  He laughed. “They eloped—two weeks after the tour. Sorry I forgot to mention that.”

  Good grief. Who would’ve put money on the eighty-year-olds taking the gold medal in the whirlwind-romance race?

  She pulled herself back to the infinitely more important matter at hand. How long was the MBA program at Cambridge? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. “How long are you here for?”

  “At least the next ten months. Maybe more.” He hit the bottom step, then started walking across the front.

  “Maybe?” She tried to absorb everything. His haircut—she liked it. His insane blue eyes looking at her like she was the only thing on the planet. The fitted red T-shirt and jeans that accentuated his athletic physique. Her breath stalled.

  “It depends.”

  Her hands gripped the edge of the desk behind her. “On what?”

  His legs were carving up the remaining distance between them with sure, unwavering strides. “On you.”

  She couldn’t breathe. In a good way. If there was a good way not to be able to breathe.

  He stopped in front of her. “The last four months have been the longest months of my entire life. And I cannot spend another day without telling you how I feel.”

  She had no words.

  “Allison Marie Shire. I have loved you since the day you told me I don’t drink real coffee. I went to New Zealand thinking I knew what I was there for but, as always, Tolkien was right.”

  “About what?” The words just squeaked out.

  “ ‘You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.’ ”

  Allie almost fell over as he quoted The Hobbit to her.

  Jackson reached out and brushed her cheek. The girls in the class let out a collective sigh. “I found something so much better than what I was after. I found you. And I know we ­haven’t even been on a proper date yet, so this may be a little unexpected, but I never want to say good-bye.”

  I love you too. The words resounded in her head but didn’t make it out of her mouth. After months of self-analysis, she’d worked out that she’d fallen for him at the stupid dinner where he’d eaten her torte.

  Her vocabulary had abandoned her, so she did her best to tell him with her eyes.

  He stood right in front of her. “But this is what God told me to do, and I figure you don’t mess with the creator of the universe.”

  Wait. What? God had told him to do what now? What was he talking about?

  He started kneeling and opened his hand to reveal a small box in his palm. What was he doing? What was he doing?

  “So, Allison Marie Shire, will you accept this as the one ring to rule them all for the rest of our lives?”

  He was on his knee, flicking open a black velvet box. Nestled in there was a sparkling, princess-cut diamond set on a platinum band.

  Her pulse hammered in her ears. This was the worst thing in the world he could do. What was he thinking? Of all the places. Here. When he knew everything that had happened. The very same scenario where she had been humiliated and had her heart broken.

  Allison. Remember, I take broken dreams and redeem them. I’m the One Who writes a story for you that is better than you could even ask or imagine. The quiet words whispered through her soul and soothed away her fears.

  Here. Was perfect.

  “Are you sure?” The words whispered out.

  His gaze captured hers. Steady and strong. “Never been more sure of anything in my whole life.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay . . . ?”

  He didn’t know which question she was answering. “Yes, Jackson Gregory, I would like to marry you. Please.” His face lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve as she held out her left hand.

  Slowly, carefully, he slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. “How did you know?”

  “Told you. Creator of the universe.” He whispered the words in her ear as she was swept into his arms and off her feet.

  She was in the air. Arms around his neck.

  He pulled back, tipped his forehead against hers. Just like the day they’d been lost in the bush. “Is it weird we’re going to have our second kiss in front of like two hundred people?”

  Allie looked over his shoulder at the class, who were now on their feet, cheering and whistling. “Do you want to wait?” She wanted to kiss him so badly she wouldn’t have cared less if the university marching band wanted to stage a concert in the hall.

  Her answer was found in a split-second throaty laugh before his lips claimed hers and gave her the kind of kiss that rivaled anything any fairy tale had ever woven.

  Jackson pulled back, leaving her breathless. “You still prefer the Sam-and-Frodo kind of love?”

  Allie shook her head,
her ears hurting from the noise rolling across the room. But all she saw were the eyes of the man she would love for the rest of her life.

  Acknowledgments

  WHEN I STARTED WRITING, IN the beginning of 2006, it was as a young, single twenty-something who had big dreams of putting words on pages that might one day be good enough for other people to read. I dreamt about the day I would be sitting at my laptop, tapping out my own words of thanks. Admittedly, my vision was a lot more glamorous than the reality of sitting in old track pants, surrounded by piles of washing, after an extended sleep negotiation session with a three-year-old.

  The idealistic young writer had a different name, a different hair color, a much bigger disposable income, exponentially fewer stretch marks, and a lot more sleep. But the thrill of writing these words is even greater than I imagined it would be. The task of putting on paper my gratitude to the very large tribe who made this dream a reality is even more daunting.

  So, without further ado, my inadequate words of thanks to my people:

  Jesus, because it’s only thanks to Him that the crazy, ­impossible dream of this girl from New Zealand could ever come true.

  My amazing husband, Josh. Surprise! Of course I was always going to dedicate this to you. Sorry (but really not sorry) for all the elaborate subterfuge to convince you I wasn’t.

  My sister, Melody, my first ever reader, #1 fan, and most brutal critic, who has been cheering me on since I wrote that first (truly awful) chapter.

  The rest of my amazing family and family-in-love, for never suggesting that maybe it was time to quit trying and accept that the odds were never going to be in my favor. Especially to my parents—from you I know what it looks like to love God and live a life that takes the road less traveled.

  My amazing Sister Chucks: Jaime Jo Wright, Laurie Tomlinson, Halee Matthews, Anne Love, and Sarah Varland, for talking me off more ledges than I can count, riding this crazy writing-life-wife-mom-friend roller coaster together, brainstorming over text when I’m totally lost in plot holes entirely of my own making, the 24/7 living over Facebook messenger, the emergency Double Stuf Oreo deliveries across the globe, enriching my life with your friendship, and making my stories so much better than I ever could on my own.

  The dream team. My wonderful agent/fairy godfather, Chip MacGregor, for signing a girl who lived half a world away and having an unswerving belief this would happen. My amazing editor, Beth Adams, for loving Jackson and Allie’s story as much as I do, your ability to see exactly what the story needed and stretching me to make it the best I could. I still can’t believe I got to do my debut novel with you! The team at Howard Books: Katie Sandell, Ami McConnell, Bruce Gore, and everyone else who has embraced this story. I am beyond honored that I get to be on your team.

  Kathleen Kerr, for the perfect encouragement at the time when the dream felt too hard and I was so close to giving it up and taking up something more achievable, like learning to play the piano with my toes. I will never be able to express what having you love my writing so much meant when I felt like this was never going to happen.

  Charlene Patterson. Remember that day when you asked me, “Have you ever thought about writing a romance to do with The Lord of the Rings?” I thought it was crazy and there was NO WAY I would be able to pull it off or that anyone would want to buy it. I’ve never been more glad to be proven wrong.

  Ann-Maree Beard, Olivia Williams, Fee Conway, Anna Holmes, Nicky Parlane, Elizabeth Norman, Myra Russell, Ally Davey, Steph Mowat, Heidi Benson, Wendy Harper, and my amazing Mosaic Table 3 girls, for feeding my family and watching my little people when I was on deadline, for cheering this book on and telling me how much you already loved it even when you knew nothing about it, but most of all, for being incredible friends I am blessed to do life with every day.

  To my two little hobbits, aka the Buddy and the Buzz. There is no book that could ever compete with the joy of being your mum.

  Last, but definitely not least, to whoever you are, reading this. The world is full of incredible literary voices whose works deserve your time. Thank you for taking a chance on mine.

  About the Author

  © Jenny Siaosi

  Kara Isaac is an award-winning writer who lives in Wellington, New Zealand, where her career highlights include working in tourism as private secretary for the prime minister. She loves great books almost as much as she loves her husband and two Hobbit-sized children.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Kara Isaac

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  First Howard Books trade paperback edition April 2016

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  Cover design by Micah Kandros

  Cover images by Shutterstock

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Isaac, Kara.

  Close to You / Kara Isaac—First Howard Books trade paperback edition.

  pages ; cm

  1. New Zealand—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR9639.4.I83C58 2016

  823'.92—dc23

  2015021092

  ISBN 978-1-5011-1732-9

  ISBN 978-1-5011-1733-6 (ebook)