It’s about a man who returns home after his father is found murdered. He and his father didn’t get along. His father was physically abusive to him throughout his whole childhood. He left there as soon as he could. While the main character is back in his childhood town, arranging details for his father’s funeral, the fingers of accusation start to point his way even though he wasn’t even in the state at the time. But evidence starts cropping up, making it seem as though he were there, to the point that he starts to doubt his own sanity and wonders if he was actually there and if he did murder his father.
Even though I have zero interest in fictional crime stories, I do have to admit that the plot sounds brilliant.
I like seeing how animated he becomes when talking about his work. How his eyes seem to brighten even more when he shares his ideas for the story.
I ask how he comes up with the concepts for his books. The mind of a writer has always fascinated me. How they come up with a story. How it forms in their minds.
They build these whole worlds that readers can get lost in. It’s incredible.
Jack shrugs and tells me that it just comes naturally to him. Something that he has always been able to do.
An idea will appear, and then it will just grow quickly until it becomes the whole story.
“Do the characters talk to you? Like, you actually hear them in your head?” I ask, dying to know the answer.
He smiles, his lips lifting at one corner. “If I said yes, would you think I was crazy?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve heard before that many writers hear their characters, almost as if they were real people to them.”
He chuckles. “My friend …” His eyes move away, looking down at the counter. “The one I mentioned last night.”
Something uncomfortable lodges in my chest, and my stomach tightens into a thousand knots. “The one who lives in Australia?”
The same friend who I’m fairly sure is an ex-girlfriend. The person who sent his manuscript off to a publisher. The reason he got his first book deal.
The ex-girlfriend that I think he still has feelings for.
“Yeah. Well, he used to say that there was a fine line between being a writer and having schizophrenia.”
“Should I be worried?” I laugh, lifting my brows.
Jack widens his eyes, giving me a crazy look. “Maybe …” He grins.
Sniggering, I get up from my stool and start helping him clean up.
“Leave the plates in the sink,” I tell Jack, glancing at the clock. “I really should set off for work. I’ll wash them when I get home tonight.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Just let me get my things together, and then we can go.”
Five minutes later, Jack and I exit my apartment. I’ve got the helmet he bought me in my hand. He stops by his apartment to put Eleven back in there. He puts down fresh food and water for her and grabs his laptop. Then, we head out.
And Jack holds my hand the whole time.
I can’t even explain the way it makes me feel. But it is definitely something that resembles happiness.
We exit the building into the cold air. At least it’s not snowing at the moment.
We make our way over to his bike. Jack gets his helmet out of the bag on his bike while I put mine on. I have finally figured out how to fasten it. Though I do miss Jack doing it for me and having him close.
But then I get to have him as close as I want, as often as I want.
That thought makes me smile.
I get on the bike behind Jack. Snuggling in close, I wrap my arms around his waist.
The journey to my work takes all of five minutes. Jack parks the bike. He leaves me at the library doors with a kiss and a promise to see me soon. He’s coming in the library to write today, but it doesn’t open for the public for another twenty minutes. So, he goes to grab some coffee from the coffee shop.
I head inside the library, thinking about the first time I saw Jack in here. I can’t believe it was only a few weeks ago.
A lot has changed in that short period of time.
But I know better than anyone how things can change in the blink of an eye.
Nope. Not going anywhere near those bad thoughts today.
Today is a good day, and nothing is going to spoil it. Especially not thoughts of my past.
“You look happy today,” Margaret comments as I stand in the doorway to her office.
“What?”
“Happy,” she repeats. “I said, you look happy.”
“Oh.”
A normal response would be, Don’t I always look happy? But I’m not even going to waste my breath saying something that would be a lie because I don’t usually look happy.
Happy hasn’t been my thing for a long time.
But apparently, I am today.
And I know exactly why.
Jack.
I’m just still not sure if it’s a good idea or right and fair for me to be feeling even a scrap of happiness when others can’t because of me.
“Well, it’s nice to see,” she adds when I don’t respond further.
“I just came to check on what you need me to do today.”
“If you could work on the desk again, that would be a big help.”
I don’t relish the thought of being on reception and checkout, but I also don’t hate the idea as much as I once used to.
Standing at that desk means I will have full view of the library. Where Jack will be sitting.
“No problem. Have you heard anything about Mike?” I ask her.
Her face drops, and I immediately feel bad for bringing it up.
“No,” she says quietly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I’m quick to say.
She gives me an unhappy smile. “You didn’t. It’s just the situation as a whole is sad.”
I nod my agreement. “I’m sure everything will be fine,”
