Isabel blushed and nodded.
Laura gasped. “You reenacted a scene, didn’t you? The staircase one, I bet.”
“I’m not telling you,” Isabel said as her blush deepened. “And lower your voice. We’re in the library.”
“Who were you with?” Laura whispered fiercely. “I want details.”
“I already said too much.”
“This book really changed your life?” Sydney bit her lip with worry. She was trying to disprove the book, to show that the affair between Hazel and Ernest was fictional and no forbidden love could be that beautiful and life affirming. Hers certainly hadn’t been. But Sydney had never thought about the consequences of successfully proving that the diary could be fictional. Would Isabel retreat back into her shell? “How would you feel if you found out this diary is really a work of fiction?”
Isabel looked away as she considered the question. “Disappointed,” she said. “Disappointed and betrayed. But I really do believe this happened. Hazel and Ernest are very real to me. What do you think, Laura?”
“I believe Hazel and Ernest were real people, but did all those things happen to them? I don’t know. It could be...what’s it called? Artistic license. If Hazel didn’t do all this, she definitely fantasized about Ernest. Ernest may have been her muse more than her lover.”
Muse. The writer had probably had a muse. Someone she knew but couldn’t touch. Sydney understood what that felt like. She glanced over to where Matthew stood on the other side of the room. How many times had she imagined unbuttoning Matthew’s shirt? She shivered as she daydreamed about dragging his clothes off and revealing his muscular body.
“No, this happened. I’m sure of it,” Isabel argued. “She wouldn’t have risked everything by writing down her fantasies.”
“Sure, she would,” Laura shot back, “if it was the only way she could explore the things she wanted to do.”
Sydney pulled her gaze away from Matthew, her pulse skipping a beat. Maybe she had approached this diary challenge the wrong way.
She sat up straight. Instead of making up Victorian-era characters she didn’t understand and couldn’t imagine, she should write down all the things she had dreamed of doing to Matthew Stone. She bit her lip as fragments of several fantasies crowded her mind.
“We’ll discuss this later.” Isabel glanced at her watch. “Come on, Laura. We need to get back to work.”
Work. Sydney flipped open her notebook and grabbed her pen. This idea could work. But she didn’t dare use Matthew’s real name. She couldn’t have it get around town that she had the hots for the mayor. She would be accused of showing favoritism to a man she had to report about in the paper.
“Already?” Laura slumped in her chair and groaned. “When will this community service end?”
“You only have a few more hundred hours left,” Isabel said in an encouraging tone. “They’ll go by fast, I promise.”
Laura reluctantly stood and followed Isabel to the shelving carts. “All this for damaging my ex-boyfriend’s stuff when I threw it out my window.”
“See you later, Sydney,” Isabel said. Sydney gave an absent wave as she wrote. In her mind, the buttons on Matthew’s shirt were flying off.
* * *
AS DORIS BROWN interrupted her tirade to greet one of her friends, Matthew glanced over her head and saw that Sydney was still at the table. Her writer’s block was clearly gone as she was writing furiously.
He liked watching her work because she put her whole body into it. Sydney would tuck her tongue in the corner of her mouth if she was thinking about something. She’d flip, twist and push her curly brown hair. If she wasn’t muttering to herself or gesturing with her hands, her eyes would widen and narrow as she worked out an idea.
And then there was what she did with her pen. She’d tap and rub it against her lips. Bite down on it, draw it into her mouth or nibble on it. He knew she didn’t mean anything suggestive by her actions, but he still found her incredibly distracting.
At first he had considered pursuing her but she was a sophisticated woman who wouldn’t be interested in a guy like him. He hadn’t traveled the world; he didn’t wear designer brands. A fling, a one-night stand, was all he could hope for.
But even as the attraction grew stronger, he’d held back, knowing that one night would not be enough for him. And he couldn’t afford to have a wild, passionate affair while he was the mayor of this conservative town.
So it was a good thing he hadn’t asked her out. It was. Definitely.
“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Matty,” Miss Doris said. She gave him a kindly pat on his arm. Matthew was sure she would have ruffled his hair if she could reach that high. “Now you can go flirt with that pretty reporter.”