Chapter 8
Jack Mathis? No way was that possible. How could it be? Stella shook her head and walked toward the stairs leading up into
the library. “I can’t do this right now. Whatever this is.”
“Hey,” Jack called.
Curiosity and heat zinged through her body on a current of electricity. Stella wanted to keep walking away, but her body halted
her, causing her tennis shoes to squeak against the floor. She glanced at Jack, the soldier from her dreams. Not to mention
a soldier from a novel.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I want to grab some things for Arnie and take them to the hospital.” She started up the staircase. “I’m not hanging out with
you, Jack Mathis, and Mr. Darcy and whoever the French couple is. I wasn’t invited to this costume party. In fact”—she stopped
halfway up the staircase—“what am I thinking? You need to go home.” She turned around and descended the stairs.
Arnie’s voice drifted into her mind. Keep them in here, okay? In the library. Take care of them. What did that even mean? Who were these people in the archives? Was there a chance they were characters from books?
Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and pursed his lips while he rocked on his boot heels. “Stella, right?” He didn’t wait
for her to answer. “I don’t want you to freak out, but this is our home for now.”
Stella’s thoughts stuttered. “I’m sorry, what? This is most definitely not your home. This is a library and we’re closed.” She rubbed her temples. Everything in this moment felt like complete madness.
Arnie was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital, and she was stuck dealing with . . . “I’m supposed to believe that you’re
Jack Mathis? And that man in the black coat . . . he can’t be Fitzwilliam Darcy—”
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Darcy spoke up from behind Jack, stepping out into full view. “I most certainly am—”
“No!” Stella yelled at him, cringing at the shrill tone of her voice. She looked sheepishly at Mr. Darcy. “You’re exactly
as I imagined you’d be, but this is ridiculous, right? Arnie might have put this party together, but I’m ending it.”
Jack stepped toward her, and she temporarily lost her grip on her anger. “You’re upset. You and Arnie are close, and you’re
scared and confused, and I know this sounds cockeyed.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “I am Jack Henry Mathis. I have no reason to lie to you, Stella.”
His words resonated in her chest, flowed through her like steaming coffee, warming her all the way to her toes. He pulled
his other hand out of his pocket, and three words, pastel pink and fluttery, drifted out as though caught on a breeze and
floated straight toward her. You. Me. Please. Stella watched the words as they coasted toward her. Without thinking about what she was doing, she opened her hands. The
words landed on her palms and melted into her skin, leaving behind an imprint of warmth.
“Jack Mathis is from a book, one of my dad’s favorites,” Stella babbled. “It’s impossible. People don’t walk out of books. Who would believe that? Sure, what book nerd hasn’t dreamed about a fictional boyfriend being real or seeing Mr. Darcy?”
Mr. Darcy’s shoulders straightened, and he inclined his head. “I cannot argue with her logic.”
Jack pointed toward a study table. “Perhaps you should sit down. Arnie didn’t want you to find out this way, but he’s been
keeping secrets from you.”
Arnie was keeping secrets. But why? Jack pulled out a chair, and Stella walked to the table and dropped into it, feeling the cold, unforgiving
wood press against her bones. The back of her head throbbed. I wish I had an aspirin, a Pepsi, and a do-over for the past few days—no, years.
The French couple lingered near a bookshelf, watching her. Stella remembered all the French lessons she and Arnie had done
together. She asked, “Parlez-vous francais?”
The woman nodded, which loosened strands of dark hair from her braid. She smoothed her hands down her dress before wringing
her hands together in front of her.
“êtes-vous ici pour une fête?” Stella asked.
The woman glanced at the nobleman beside her. His shoulders stiffened, but he nodded as though encouraging the woman to answer.
She replied, “Non.”
Jack sounded surprised when he said, “You speak French.”
Stella nodded. “And a few other languages. A fun thing Arnie and I have done together for years. He knows I love words.” She
pressed her palms against the cold tabletop. “The French couple says they’re not here for a party. And they’re not the first
strange characters—emphasis on the word characters—I’ve seen roaming around the library.”
Jack sat on the edge of the table and looked at her. “You have an idea about what’s happening, don’t you?”
She glanced up at his handsome face, studying the lines of his eyes and mouth. “An idea that I’m not ready to accept.” Looking
at him felt like a dream. In fact, the last few days were playing out like a strange waking dream sequence. Could this actually
be happening?
“Go get the things for Arnie,” Jack said. “I’ll keep everyone down here in the archives tonight.”
Stella’s logical brain kicked in. She thought of the cash box, which held very little money, and the priceless antiques and
artifacts in the archives. An image of the costumed strangers pilfering Blue Sky Valley’s precious history formed in her mind.
She shook her head.
“I can’t leave people in the library. That’s against the rules.”
Jack touched her arm, and she stared at his fingers against her skin. She wanted to reach up and place her hand on his, just
to feel his skin and see if her fingertips would tingle at the touch, to see if he was actually real.
“Lock us in. We’ll be fine.”
She wanted to believe him, but what he was saying wasn’t reasonable. Arnie trusted her to be responsible with the library and its holdings,
but he’d also told her to keep these people in the library. What if logic had nothing to do with what was going on? Could
she sincerely be standing in the flesh with her biggest crush? Her gaze drifted over Jack, taking in the real-life version of him.
Jack’s World War II uniform consisted of a drab olive-green, long-sleeve jacket with copper-colored buttons and two front pockets.
A tan tie and matching olive-green shirt were tucked behind the jacket.
Patches, pins, and stripes of color decorated the jacket, and if her dad had been there, he would have known what each item represented.
Stella, on the other hand, was completely distracted by his hazel eyes.
“You can trust me, Stella,” Jack said, interrupting her thoughts.
The weird part was, she did feel like she could trust him. “This is outrageous, but okay.”
When Jack smiled at her response, Stella’s lips parted. For years she had wondered what Jack Mathis looked like when he smiled;
now she knew, which made her need to see it over and over again.
“Go see Arnie. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jack said, his words sounding like an enchantment in her ears.
Stella nodded. “I’m not locking you in the archives. That would be barbaric, but I’ll lock up the library like usual. I’m
assuming you know how to get out if you need to, but just know you’ll set off the alarm if you open the outside doors.”
Jack nodded, repeating himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Stella left Jack and the others in the library, closing them up in the archives. Although this entire night felt like an out-of-body
experience, an awareness of powerful magic hummed through her. The words had sent her to Arnie’s aid tonight. She had so many
questions, but all she could handle was putting one foot in front of the other.
In the darkness, she crossed the lot between the library and Arnie’s cottage. Using her spare key, she let herself into his
place. He would want a change of clothes—his own clothes—rather than the open-back gown and skid-proof socks that were the
normal standard issue at the hospital.
Stella had never been in Arnie’s bedroom before, so she flipped on the light and stood in the doorway, hesitating and trying to shake off the feeling of being an intruder.
This is for Arnie and his sanity. He needs his own things, she told herself.
She stepped into his room and went straight for the closet.
There was an overnight bag on the top shelf,
so she pulled it down and packed a couple shirts and a pair of pants, along with a belt, two pairs of socks, and underwear.
Then she added some miscellaneous toiletries, not knowing what he could live without or what he might actually want. Because
he would only be gone a few days at most, and then he could have whatever he needed. Arnie was coming home; she wouldn’t accept—couldn’t
accept—any other scenario.
When she arrived at the hospital, she tried to remain calm, but all she wanted to do was run as fast as she could to the nurses’
station. Skinny, trembling words crowded together on the sterile white tile in the hallway, but they parted like the Red Sea
as she hurried past. Worry tightened her chest.
Lisa Danforth sat behind the circular desk, blew a pink bubble with her gum, and popped it before smiling at Stella.
“Hey, honey,” Lisa said with a voice so gentle it could subdue a wild animal. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here. He’s
in ICU room 79.”
Stella clutched the rounded edge of the desk. “ICU? Why? Is he . . . is he worse? Is it that serious? I mean, I know it’s
serious, but the ICU—”
Lisa reached up and gently pried Stella’s fingers from the edge of the desk. “It’s customary to put most heart attack patients
in the ICU. Yes, it’s serious, but he’s stable.”
Lisa had lived next door to Stella’s family and was a young nurse just starting out at Blue Sky Valley’s hospital when Stella was born.
A few years later, when Maria ran off to New York, Lisa came over to their house often to check on her and Percy.
On Saturdays, which was usually Lisa’s day off, she’d bring over baked goods and spend time with them.