More Than This: Contemporary Christian Romance Novel (17 page)

Her smile brushed his heart. “Cool.”

Liz took the two books out of the stacks and over to one of the tables that overlooked the lobby below. She’d always liked this library. It was far better than the one on campus. This one felt like it contained the whole of knowledge, more than any other she had ever been in. At the table she slung her backpack onto it and followed it with the notebook. She wasn’t planning to take a long time to assess her choices, but the light in the stacks was atrocious. With no more pretense, she sat down and flipped the first book open.

Ducking, he took the chair next to hers and hunched his shoulders. She saw him glance around again, and how bored he must be struck her blindside. Guilt crowded over her.

She left the book to focus on him. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to stay. I could probably just check both of these out and read them at home.”

“No.” His gaze snapped to her, and he smiled before he shrugged. “It’s cool. Really.” He nodded to her books. “Go ahead. Do what you need to. I’m in no hurry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He leaned back, looking casually cool in a way that skidded across her heart. Again he nodded at the books. “Seriously. I’m fine. Go ahead. Take your time.”

Still not wholly convinced that she wasn’t imposing on his time and patience, Liz turned back to her books. She opened one and read a sentence she didn’t even really see. Guilt tromped back over her, and she turned back to him. “You could… get something to read or something if you want.”

His gaze jerked from hers over to the shelves of books and then came back with a whack. “No. I’m cool. Really.” He glanced down at her books. “Just read. Seriously. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

With a sigh of uncertainty, she went back to her reading. This time it was only a little better. At least she understood the paragraph she read. After a few moments, she felt him stand.

“I’ll just be over here,” he said, pointing at the railing.

“Oh. Okay.” Her gaze followed him all the way to the railing and to the sunlight streaming in the other direction. With a long sigh to calm her racing heart at how incredible he looked doing that simple thing, she reanchored her gaze on the book, pulled it to her, and hunched over it. Space by space she blocked out the rest of the world and let herself fall into the knowledge the book held. Somehow it was comforting to know he was there, watching out for her, waiting.

The view over the balcony was breathtaking. Below, trees reached up to the sunlight reaching back to them through the towering glass. The whole place was gray but lined with white and sunlight. People. That was the other thing Jake noticed. So many people. And they all looked interesting and smart. They must be brilliant to be here, in this place. He couldn’t imagine all of the stories this place held. It was overwhelming. He could feel them all, and he breathed them in. The stories called to him, whispering what it would be like if he could grasp them, hold them, take them in like everyone else could. Fairy tales about what life would be like if ever after were possible and reality wasn’t real.

He leaned on the railing, watching, listening, experiencing. And then, just like that Jasmine walked in down below. He knew it was her instantly. She was beautiful, captivating, cunning as she had always been in his head. She was here for research. What kind of case was she on now? With only that flash, his mind started spinning through the story. It was an espionage case. A rogue government had taken power and was crushing dissent, holding secrets on private citizens, being ruthless in dealing with enemies of the state, and Jasmine was somehow caught in the middle of all of it— fighting for her country and her life.

Jake let go of reality then and let the story take him into it. Jasmine, cool and calm, climbed the stairs, up, past them, to the unseen floors above. She went to a man there and asked to see the
Treasure of Vincent St. Patrick.
It was a book, one she had learned about in Africa, though when she asked about it, others had insisted it was only a rumor that it even existed. In the book was a code, the code for a burgeoning society, a secret society that was racing to save the country from collapsing. She had to figure out the code and then get the information to those that could use it to bring the rogue government down. But could she find it, and would anyone believe her if she did?

There was no telling, but she had to try. Everything about everything rested on her shoulders, on her ability to connect the pieces. If she couldn’t or if it took too long, she would never be able to stop them. And if she didn’t stop them, it meant horror for everyone. Down the rows Jake followed her without ever moving from his spot overlooking the balcony. He followed her all the way to the man who had said he knew just the place to find the book. Right to a shelf in the very back. There the man turned to her, and in the next second the gun flashed between them. Jake gasped and jerked back.

“I’m sorry,” Liz said, yanking her hand off of his shoulder. “I just… I’m finished. I was wondering if you’re ready.”

Jake straightened, putting his hand to his head, fighting to get reality somehow back in place over fantasy. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah. Sure. If you are.”

“I think so. I decided to go ahead and get both of them.”

“Oh. Good.”

As she turned, he ducked his head and shook it. Stupid. He knew it was stupid, but what he really wanted to do was to go up in the stacks, to the fourth floor to make sure Jasmine was all right.

Jake was strangely quiet as they left the library. Liz wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how. He had seemed so distant during her search and then at the table. Not to even mention his strange reaction when it was time to leave. Somehow, he was there, but he wasn’t.

Half a block down and not knowing how much longer they would have together, she tilted her head to look up at him. “So, does your heroine know she’s being followed?”

His gaze snapped to hers in surprise. “What?”

She smiled because she knew that had gotten his attention. She swung her gaze back to the sidewalk with a shrug. “I mean, the story would be totally different if she knows, right?”

A step and another. Hands stuffed in pockets, his gaze had gone back out in front of them, and for a moment she thought he might not reply.

Finally he exhaled. “Well, now I think I may have more trouble than that.”

That intrigued her and puzzled her. “Oh? How so?”

“I think I may know the next book.”

The thought thudded into her. “The
next
book? I thought you were writing this one.”

“So did I.”

Okay. Now she was completely confused. “Mind explaining that?”

Jake sighed, long and slow. “Well, I just saw her. In the library.”

“O-kay…”

“Not her, her. Exactly. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

Well, Liz wasn’t going to disagree with that, but she wanted to hear just the same. “Explain the ‘you saw her’ part. She walked in? Her? Or someone who looked like her?”

He squinted into the question. “It must’ve been someone who looked like her.”

Yeah, because she’s not real!
  But Liz kept that to herself.

“But then my mind, it just kind of… took off.”

She wanted to follow, but she really wasn’t. “And?”

He glanced down at her, clearly trying to surmise how weird to be with her. “And then she went upstairs to get this book that has this secret code in it.”

“A secret code?” Liz shook out of that, trying to keep her voice interested and not freaked out. “Did she find the book?”

His shrug was barely there. “I don’t know. Some guy pulled a gun on her before I found out.”

“A gun?” Liz let out a breath and laughed. “Wow. This chick doesn’t mess around.”

A moment and Jake laughed with her. “She’s always getting into some kind of a jam, that’s for sure.”

A step and then another.

Liz glanced up at him again, now more intrigued than frightened. “So, do you have these… visions… often?”

“Sometimes.” His gaze found the concrete at their feet. “Okay. A lot.” Now he looked like he wanted to hide again; however, they were in the middle of a New York sidewalk, so hiding wasn’t exactly an option. He glanced down at her. “I used to use them to put myself to sleep. I’d find one, dream it up, whatever. Then I’d hit play, and watch it in my mind until I went to sleep.” His shrug pulled up the shoulders of his deep wool coat. “Now, I don’t know. They just… come. I try to get some of them written down. Not that they’re any good. I just wish I could keep ahold of them, you know? Make them into a movie I could watch over and over. Weird, huh?”

But Liz shook her head. “No, not weird. Intriguing, maybe but not weird.”

At her apartment building, they turned together and headed inside. It was warmer than the chilly November weather outside.

Liz never even considered letting him go. “Okay, you get these visions, and they tell you stories.”

He nodded, suddenly looking not wholly comfortable with the conversation.

“Do they come like all together, like a whole story, or just bits and pieces?”

“Bits and pieces mostly. I get some of this story and some of that one. That’s what makes writing so hard. Well, one of the things.” He leaned on the wall watching her unlock her apartment.

“Oh, yeah? One of the things?” She got the door opened and pushed into the darkness beyond. At the coat rack, she shed her backpack and the coat, barely getting them onto the hooks. “What are the others?”

He sighed, clearly hesitating with his coat; however, she turned, waiting for him to also come in from the cold. After only a second he complied. “Oh, a lot of things.”

She put her arms over her stomach and waited for him to remove his coat. “Name one.”

“Rules.” Shrugging out of the coat, he held it for a second as if he might in fact not stay, and then he reached up and hung it there.

Rules?
That didn’t tell her much. “What kind of rules? Grammar rules?”

“Yeah, those too.” Looking like a pull toy with one missing wheel, he followed her to the couch, where they each took a side. “But this writing group I’m in has all these rules about everything.”

“Like?”

“Backstory and point of view and not using was. I mean how do you write a whole story without using was?”

Lifting her eyebrows, she shook her head. “I have no idea. What do they have against was?”

He laughed. “I have no idea.” He drifted out of the laugh. “I just want to write my stories, you know? I want to tell the stories that come up in my head, but when I try, then I run into all of these reasons what I’m writing isn’t good enough.”

“Good enough?”

His shrug was sad. “For them. The editors. The world.”

Liz considered her next words very carefully. She knew what they had done to him last time. “Well, would you consider letting a friend read it even if the world never gets to?”

Jake’s gaze had fallen between them, and her heart fell with it. He looked just this side of crying. Gently she reached across the expanse of space to lay her hand on his.

“Hey.” The syllable was soft. “I’m not saying you have to, just that…”  She sat back, letting the words wind between them. “I’d like to sometime… if you don’t mind.” Why she felt so drawn to him, so responsible for not hurting him, so protective, she couldn’t adequately explain. There was just something about him that was at once so mysterious and yet so vulnerable. He looked like a little kid, all alone on a playground when all the other kids had someone to play with. “You know, I really liked hearing about her. Jasmine, right? I mean that whole book with the secret code in it thing. That’s cool stuff. Do you think the book was really there, or had the guy with the gun taken it?”

Somehow Jake hadn’t realized she would be at all interested in his made-up, fantasy world, and at the question, his gaze jerked up to hers to see if she was teasing him. She didn’t look like it. He thought through the dream or the vision or whatever it was.

Jake scratched the five o’clock shadow that never really left as he thought into the vision. “I don’t know. I really think he was waiting there for her.”

“He knew she was coming?”

“No. Not like he knew
she
was coming, but maybe he was part of the secret society too. Or he knew what the book was and what it could do if the right person came for it.”

“Oh, so he was guarding the book?”

“Yeah, or maybe he was just waiting for someone who came to ask about the book so he could kill them.”

“Well, which is it?” Liz leaned forward, toward him, as if he held the secret to life. “How do we find out?”

His eyebrows arched. “We?”

“Well, yeah. You can’t just leave me hanging with a girl in a library and a guy with a gun pointed at her.”

Jake dug into the vision. “Well, it wasn’t really pointed
at
her.”

“Huh? I thought it was.”

“So did I, but now that I think about it, he was holding it up— like someone who was there to protect her.”

That threw new intrigue into her face. “Or to protect the book. Did he say anything? Anything that would tell us what his intentions were?”

“‘Ms. Van Ongevalle, follow me.’ That’s what he said.”

“Van…?” she stumbled on the name.

“That’s Jasmine’s last name.”

“Oh. Well, how did he know her last name?”

He stopped, not at all sure. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. But he wants her to follow him? Where?”

“To the back. There’s a secret door behind a stack of books.”

“Wait!” Liz jumped up and ran for the door where she grabbed her notebook and pen from her backpack and raced back. She bounced onto the couch. “We need to get this down, so when you get to the computer, it’s not gone.”

Fear burst through him as he looked at her. What was he doing telling her all of this? This was nuts.

“Seriously,” she said, her pen poised as her gaze found him. “Okay. He takes her to a secret room behind the shelves. And what’s back there? Knives? Guns? The society? What?”

Feeling a little strange but much less so than he would ever have thought, he shut off the concern of what she would think of him and let the vision take over. “More books.”

“More books.” She wrote that down. “What are they?”

And then, for no reason he could really explain, he simply let go and started telling the story as it came to him. It really was like it was just playing out on a television in front of him. Details, scenes, what they said, Jasmine how she looked, and the book. It amazed even him at how easily it all flowed from his mind. He didn’t censor it, didn’t edit or question. He just let it come. It was like breathing for the first time ever.

Hours later they were still sitting on the couch. The light from outside had long ago faded, and they had resorted to using the little lamp on the end table. Together, they had been immersed in a tangled web of secrecy and lies so deeply that neither had thought to so much as move since Liz had turned the light on. Jasmine was still alive although just how neither could say. She’d had quite a day.

Jake let a tired yawn take over his body, and he stretched far beyond the couch. Shaking out of the story, he came back to reality. It was much like waking from an actual dream.

“Do they always come like that?” Liz asked as she sat, notebook still opened, looking at him.

“No, not like that. Not most of the time.” He sat forward, glad for the stretch and for the company. He anchored his elbows on his knees and fought another yawn. How could he be so tired from just sitting there all day? Spinning his wrist, he was surprised at the time— nearly ten o’clock. “Oh, man!  I didn’t realize it was so late.” He stood, knowing he had far overstayed his welcome. “I’m sorry. I really should get going. You haven’t even eaten supper yet.”

She didn’t stand quite so quickly, and when she did, it was reluctantly, pulling on the bottom of her shirt and pitching the notebook to the couch where she had sat. “You know, you really don’t have to go.” Reaching up, she scratched the back of her head. “I mean, you’ve got to eat too. If you…”

Pleasant surprise danced through Jake. Was she hinting what he hoped she was? They’d been together almost seven hours, and she still wasn’t ready to get rid of him? “I’d hate to take advantage.”

Her shrug was courtesy of having her hands in her back pockets. “What advantage? I was just going to have a grilled cheese sandwich and some soup.”

“Ooo. Wow. Grilled cheese and soup?” he asked, teasing. He put his hands together and rubbed them. “How could I pass that up?”

She smiled at him hopefully. “You can’t?”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“It’s grilled cheese. Are you sure you don’t?”

Preparing supper together was more fun than preparing supper had a right to be. Liz couldn’t decide how this had all become so easy. He stood at the stove over the little skillet, flipping the bread, looking like he was making a masterpiece instead of grilled cheese. For her part, she emptied the soup into a pan, turned it on, and started setting the table.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get anything read of your books,” he called from the kitchen as she stood over the table, wondering how soup and grilled cheese could feel so intimate and romantic. Maybe she should get the candles out. Then she laughed at her own insanity.

“No, I had fun writing.” She went back into the kitchen and sucked in a fistful of air at the sight of him, standing there over her stove. “Are the other two books that intense?”

“They try to be, but it’s a lot harder than it looks.” He flipped one piece of bread and barely caught it with the pan.

“You look kind of dangerous there.” Laughing, she grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet. “Remember, we have to eat those things.”

“What fun is cooking if you have to do it the boring way?”

With a lift of her eyebrows, she gazed at him skeptically. “The boring way?”

“Yeah, you know. Stir the beans. Check the bread. It’s a lot more fun if you put some style into it.”

Strangely, she would never have pictured him cooking with style when he was ensconced in his little corner at the coffee shop. There, he had looked sullen and sour on life. Here, he looked as alive as an electric wire. “Do you always put some style into it? Even when you’re alone?”