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The second book of the Luminary Saga
Emily Wren’s thoughts went round and round, even as she tried to get her mind to focus for the hundredth time. She needed to update this story so they could push it out on the website. The fact that City Council moved to impose a rate hike on parking fees in downtown Marietta -- didn't interest her-- at the moment.
Trying again-- unsuccessfully to forget her brief encounter with a certain former soldier, David Bowen. “Concentrate,” she said between clenched teeth. Her mind kept replaying the meeting over and over on some never ending loop.
It had started out simple enough. She’d been heading back to her car after a meeting with her adviser for next semester. It was her last year at Millstone University. Now a senior, she was nearly finished with her American Lit degree.
This maniac lost control of his Harley Davidson motorcycle and almost hit her. Granted, she had been walking on the edge of the road and now that she thought about it, probably shouldn't have been. She managed to jump out of the way, only to fall through a hedge by a drainage ditch.
David had swooped in like some gallant hero, coming to the rescue. It didn’t hurt that he actually looked the part. He picked her up, dusted her off and propped her on the grass. There-- she'd sat dazed but blissfully happy as he'd carefully navigated the rocky terrain leading down the embankment and retrieved her scattered belongings one by one.
Watching the recovery operation, she’d leaned back on her hands. Astonished by her good fortune, what else could she call it, having met this handsome, gentle, sweet man?
Her fingers encountered a hard square object on the ground behind her. Twisting to look at it, she’d found a textbook for an e-publishing class. It must be David's, she thought, it wasn't hers.
There were two pieces of paper sticking out from under the front cover.
She looked up and saw that David was still down in the ravine. He had her book bag slung over his shoulder as he bent over to pick up her purse.
Emily pressed her lips together for a moment, unsure if she should snoop. Her curiosity winning out. She looked back at the book and pulled out the two items, the first was a receipt from the bookstore. From the date and time stamp -- it was obvious that he'd just bought the book. The second item was a folded piece of paper which she flipped open and read:
Class/ Section: e-Pub 101 -A
Units :6
Component: Lecture
Day(s)/ Time: Monday/ Wednesday 6:45 pm - 9:00pm
Building/Room: 300/106
Instructor: L. Chang
OH NO! That's the same class her adviser had tried to get her to take next semester, she thought. Emily looked back at David, he had what was left of her sunglasses in one hand and was heading over to pick up her keys-- about a yard away from them.
She wondered if she should warn him about Professor Chang's difficulties with English. It was not his native tongue.
“Mm-mm, maybe not,” she murmured, wrinkling her nose in thought, deciding against it.
They’d just met. She didn't know if he'd appreciate the fact that she'd been poking around in his stuff.
Folding the schedule, she carefully put both items back inside the front cover of the book and returned it to its spot on the ground.
Her gaze returning to her raven haired knight in, well, not shining armor, she smirked, more like denim and dark gray wool. David seemed sure-footed and deliberate in his movements as if he gave each step great care.
Emily was thankful that she had held on to her cellphone and that it had only been her possessions that had tumbled as far as the rocks. Looking at the hard, sharp, uneven surface of the embankment below, she shuddered lightly. Falling on that would have been painful -- not to mention dangerous, she thought. Not a place for anything fragile like bones or cellphones.
Several minutes later, he slowly trudged up the stony landscape, muscular arms full. Her eyes staring at him. He said nothing to intrude upon her inspection.
She found it rather difficult to look at him with an open mind. He’d come to her rescue after all. He was tall...well over six feet, she guessed, big and heavily built with broad shoulders over a tapered waist. Dark, wavy hair with thick brows over the kindest, bluest, round eyes. A hint of something childlike and trustworthy rested in those eyes.
He had a slight hole in his chin. Rubbing her index finger and thumb together in a little circular motion unconsciously, wondering if the tip of it would fit there. Not yet bold enough to find out.
He was handsome. Not like McDreamy handsome, she thought, comparing him to a Grey’s Anatomy character from TV. No, he was more like the prince from the storybook handsome.
She shook her head ruefully.
Wow, that knock to the noggin must have done some damage, Emily mused. Ever practical, she wasn’t one to easily get swept off of her feet. Off of them -- she certainly was.
The lowering sun was suddenly too bright on his face. His cyan eyes squinting against it. Grunting with good humor. A corner of his mouth rose as he noticed that her eyes were still on him.
Within seconds those eyes watered with unshed tears.
Reaching her spot, he'd given everything back.
“Oh crap!” she’d said, getting upset when she saw her key chain. It had one of those mini electronic digital photo frames attached to it. Despite its protective case the glass cover was demolished. It wasn't expensive. Seeing it smashed up had made her sentimental.
"The pictures of my grandparents, my mom and dad...my friends from home are on it," she said, turning it over in her hand.
Sniffing mightily, she'd struggled not to cry and managed to regain her composure.
He'd stood there silently, supportive. It was then that she noticed his phenomenal ability for tranquility. It radiated from him like a physical force. Reassuring.
Pressing fingers over her top lip, she sniffed one last time. Blinking at him thoughtfully.
After that, he'd insisted on walking with her to her car. He'd even carried her book bag.
"Are you sure you're okay to drive?"
"Yes, I'm fine. My pride's a little bruised…but I'll get over it...it’s not like I've never fallen down in public before," she'd admitted candidly.
His big cyan eyes were staring into hers. How weird? she thought, only then realizing that he was not her normal type. Emily had always been attracted to guys with brown eyes.
She had stood beside her car longer than needed, just looking into that cyan gaze, waiting on him to say something. Somehow it hadn't felt awkward or anything. Her own cobalt gaze melting into cyan as she noticed that his lashes were long and dark like his hair -- except for two in the outer corner of his right eye, they were lighter than the others. What caused it? she wondered. An imperfection? Nah, she thought. A unique trait in an otherwise perfect face.
It had been okay just being quiet with him.
Finally his phone buzzed, breaking the spell. He'd fished it out of his pocket to read a text.
She knew it wasn't hers because she didn't hear a ring tone, chime or a bicycle bell, she had different prompts set up to alert her whether it was a call, email or text coming in. Emily was insanely organized.
"I have to go," he'd said earnestly.
Still, he’d stood there looking at her. It was clear that David had not wanted to leave. And truthfully, she had not wanted him too either.
Emily sat very still at her desk reflecting on meeting the storybook prince. Would she ever see him again? Her mind distant with reminiscence. Eyes resting on the flashing cursor in front of her. Yet it wasn’t part of her thoughts.
"Emily... Emily Wren... Earth to Emily!" Her boss, Harold, was standing outside of the pony wall of her cubical. He was the managing editor of the Marietta Gazette.
Emily looked up from her computer screen, surprised to see him there. "Yes sir?" She blinked, coming back from her daydream.
"You act like that’s some pretty riveting material
…you 'bout done with the rate hike story?"
"Almost sir. I'm sorry... I got caught up in thinking about how I ...." she paused. She didn't want to blurt out anything to her boss about David. What was she thinking? Emily pondered, mentally chastising herself.
"I know you by now, every word is fine," said Harold. “I took the liberty of reading it over your shoulder…It’s good. Not space out good, but good.” He grinned.
Emily smiled. Harold was a nice guy to work for. He treated all the staff like his extended family.
"After you push out your story...I was wondering if you'd mind doing some transcription work? He glanced at her, his eyes tightened slightly as if he was trying to judge her reaction.
Emily knew that she didn’t have a poker face. Most people told her that she was too easy to read. If she liked something or disliked something, it was right there on her face. And right now her expression was curious. It was rare for her to be asked to do this kind of work.
"Liz is going home sick. I need someone to transcribe the latest UNESCO feed about the destruction of cultural artifacts. I need it condensed and posted on the site. You up for it? It would mean some overtime."
"Sure... I'm almost done with this anyway,” pointing vaguely to the computer on her desk with an upturned hand, her face remained turned toward Harold. “Is Liz okay?"
"She's got some kind of stomach bug...something she ate. I told her that I'd try to find someone to fill-in....I'll let her know."
He turned to go, hesitated then turned back around.
"Speaking of eating. I bought some gourmet pickles, a whole case actually. My wife and kids aren't really happy with 'em,” he looked somewhat sheepish, a rosy hue coming across his full face. “There's no way I'll be able to eat them all. So I've put several jars in the refrigerator in the break room. Feel free to help yourself."
"Free pickles YAY!" Emily smirked. "I never knew that working for the gazette came with such highfalutin perks. Now if I can find some mustard packets and some saltines, I can make myself a sandwich. Wow...you take such good care of the staff," she teased.
"Nice… Miss Wisenheimer," he replied before walking away, not offended in the least that she was a smarty-pants. A big smile spread across his face.
Emily appreciated the overtime especially since she had her eye on a new leash for Max, her dog. His old one was pretty worn, it was about time to replace it.
He got overly excited at times. One of these days, when the terrier took off on a new and feverish, albeit never-ending campaign against squirrels -- he was going to pull the current leash apart.
Shaking her shoulders to stretch out the kinks after sitting still for so long, she glanced around the newsroom. Nearly all of the cubicles were full -- heads of every ethnicity and hairstyle partially visible above the half walls, except for two empty ones near the back door which led to the stairs and eventually down to the employee parking lot.
There was a general murmuring of low voices as other staffers tracked down details on their stories, gathered more facts or set up meetings with sources by phone. A faint clicking noise from dozens of fingers steadily typing on keyboards throughout the space was ever present.
Emily smiled. This was her home away from home.
She’d been keeping up with the U.N. story on her on. Just because she studied American Literature, that didn't mean she wasn't also interested in world history. She was developing a journalist’s noble curiosity -- a driving need to know the truth and details behind what was happening in national and international events.
Life was something these rebels didn't seem to respect at all. The United Nations special agency had been tracking the destruction of priceless artifacts and monuments in hot spots around the globe by terror groups. The idea of finding out the latest on the investigation appealed to her.
After putting a couple of finishing touches on her story, Emily got up to stretch her legs again and walked over to another woman’s desk, letting her know the rate hike article was ready. Katherine was the city beat copy editor.
Emily didn’t know that much about her, aside from the fact that she was a stickler for details and had a fondness for giraffes and martinis. A trio of small, rubber, giraffa camelopardalis figurines adorned the side of her work space between the landline and her computer. There must be a story behind it, she assumed, without any clue as to what the specifics might be.
As far as the martinis -- Emily had never developed a taste for gin.
She stopped by the break room, grabbed a bottle of water and checked out the pickles Harold had left in the fridge. She was too sensible to spend money on something she wasn't sure she would eat. Not on her freelancer’s salary, anyway.
Free samples are free samples, she thought.
Pulling a jar off the shelf and opening the lid, the sharpness of the brine assaulted her nostrils. There was a strong odor of vinegar, pepper and basil.
Wrinkling her nose faintly, she pulled one pickle out with her fingers. Shook off the excess juice over the jar and brought it up for a whiff. It smelled like a pickle alright, she smirked.
Taking a bite, she was pleased by the satisfying crunch. Was that mustard seed in the brine? she mused, glancing back at the label. The pickle tasted pretty good. Not the regular bread and butter variety that she normally bought to layer on sandwiches -- of which she was a connoisseur. They were certainly better than tolerable. Crunching happily, she took another bite, she had no complaints.
Her thoughts strayed back to David, wondering idly if he liked pickles? It was inane and she knew it. How could she have met someone like that, felt what she had and he suddenly be unavailable?