Above All

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Casey was putting away the book and sighing that she’d stayed up so late reading when she heard footsteps crunching over the leaves leading up to the office door.

“Knock knock?” There was a familiar voice from outside, and then a familiar swatch of dark hair came in.

“I was just leaving,” Casey said quickly, addled to be facing him again—and so soon.

“I was heading this direction and saw your light was still on. I thought I’d drop off another book for your collection before I forgot.”

Now that Casey knew he’d be here for four days it seemed like a flimsy excuse, but she extended her hand to take the book anyway.

“What have you got?”

But she needn’t have asked. The shock of orange on the dust jacket had been all over the news for weeks. Even someone living in a cabin in a town of two hundred and forty-six—not counting dogs, coyotes, and bears—knew about this one.

“Are you sure you want to leave a hardcover here?” she stammered, not wanting to take it from him.

“Trust me.” Ben brushed his hair from his face and rolled his eyes in a gesture that made him look as if he were still a college student, although an impossibly hot one. “I don’t want to look at this guy’s mug ever again.”

Casey couldn’t hide her shock. “I thought everyone loved it.”

“Yeah, everyone who can’t read. It’s smug, self-satisfied, full of endless drivel, needed an editor or several dozen...”

He blushed as Casey’s eyebrows rocketed up in surprise. “I guess you have some feelings about it,” she said.

“I figured someone here might be happy to pick it up.”

“Your friends don’t want it?”

“Nah, they’ve already read it. They loved it. Figures.”

He sighed.

Casey reached over and took the book, half expecting there to be some kind of sign—a shock or explosion or prick inside her to mark the transfer.

But nothing happened. It was just paper and ink. It didn’t much care about her.

She ran her fingers over the cover, bright orange with a whirlwind of black silhouettes clustered toward the bottom as though falling off the book. Scratched across the top was the title, Four Quarks Madly, and under it, the New York Times proclaiming simply, A stunning debut. On the bottom of the page, in bright block letters, were three words. Nicholas St. Clair.

“He’s a lucky guy, that author,” Ben said, noticing her staring at the name. “I read a review that said he struggled for over a decade to write this one book, always thinking he wasn’t going to finish, and then he finally did and look at it. The thing practically exploded over night.”

Trembling slightly, Casey turned the book over in her hands, looking for the author’s picture on the back. She didn’t want to—she’d been intentionally keeping herself away from bookstores for months, closing down her web browser every time an advertisement for it came up, avoiding any and all mention of the author, the interviews, and the latest sensation that was topping every list.

But now that the book—his book—was actually in her hands, she couldn’t stop herself. It was there on the back, just as they’d envisioned it countless times when they were together.

And yet different than she’d ever imagined. His blue eyes looked straight out at the reader, daring and brash. His sandy-brown hair was cropped short, as befit the crisp headshot of a famous author rather than the tousled strands of someone trying to get by.

She’d always liked it longer, though. She was a sucker for things a bit out of place.

She turned to the front. Dedicated to his parents. Cheryl and Jim, who always told me to try. No surprises there—he was an only child and everyone’s darling.

She flipped through the pages until she got to a heading toward the end. She skimmed the acknowledgments quickly. His agent, his editor, his mom and dad, his grandma, a few friends whose names Casey recognized, a few she didn’t. She turned the page.

There, at the bottom, was the thing she wouldn’t have said she was looking for, until she found it and knew that of course it was what she’d been torturing herself with all along. The last line of the acknowledgments. The closing words to the whole book.

Above all, thank you to Aubrey Peterson, for being my sounding board, my inspiration, my muse. You’re the one who told me to keep writing when it seemed impossible and believed in this book when no one else did—least of all me. I will always be in awe of you.

His muse? Casey slammed the book shut.

“Uh, are you okay?”

Casey looked up, startled. She’d completely forgotten Ben was there, peering at her with a mixture of humor and concern.

“Yeah,” she stammered. “Just, uh...” She shrugged awkwardly with the book still in her hands.

“It’s okay, St. Clair’s ego is enough to get to us all sometimes.”

“You have no idea,” was all Casey could muster, amazed that Ben, in describing the book, had described its author so well.

She noticed, though, that he still had a bookmark in about two-thirds of the way through.

“You haven’t finished it.”

Ben shrugged. “You can keep it.”

“No really, at least finish it,” Casey insisted. “I have a feeling there’s a twist at the end.”

Ben frowned. “I seriously don’t want it.”

“I seriously don’t either.” Casey handed the book over, wondering whether he really had no plans to finish it or had been looking for an excuse to drop by again.

Either way, there was no way she could stand looking at that garish cover every time she came into the office. “At least sell it. It’s a good copy, and it’s hot right now.”

Finally Ben relented and took the book back. “But I promise not to enjoy reading it.”

“Good, I’d hate for you to have a good time.”

He grinned. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Casey tried hard to compose her features. “I’m fine, just tired.”

He paused as if there was something else he wanted to add. But instead, he wished her a good night and again walked out the door.

This time, Casey didn’t dare check him out as he left. She just sank into the office chair, stunned.

Who in the nine rings of hell was Aubrey Peterson? And what was she doing being Nick’s “above all”?

The door swung open, knocking Casey out of her daze.

“Look I know I don’t know you and all, but you don’t exactly seem okay.” Ben stuck his head back in.

“You’re letting the moths in,” Casey said faintly, not sure what was going on.

But this only made Ben step all the way into the office, which wasn’t what she’d had in mind. What she really wanted was for him and his perfect hair and cute butt and puppy-dog smile to go away and leave her to wallow in peace.

“I’m fine,” she said, and then more firmly, “Really. I’m fine.”

“Do you want to come join us for a beer? Jared’s got the fire going and Kristi’s pretty sweet on the guitar.”

“That’s nice of you,” Casey said slowly, “but I’ve got to head home.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.”

She forced a smile.

This time, she heard him walk away. She pulled out a flashlight Geller kept in the office and made her way down the path away from the rest of the campsite. Her breathing relaxed as the dark outline of her cabin came into view. She was going to heat up those cookies, get into her sweatpants, curl up with the crossword, and go to bed.

* * * * *