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keeping himself. In his few appearances to her, he seemed so anxious to be near her.
    As she threw herself into her daily tasks, her mind began to infect her with thoughts of imaginary friends and total delusions. As each hour passed without any word from Jacob, Maggie grew more and more disillusioned and doubtful.
    Still, she was able to concentrate and the business of the day kept her mind mostly occupied. Then she remembered his words from the evening before.
    With no one in the bookshop, she quietly tried once more, “Jacob?”
    No sooner had she gotten his name off her lips than he was there beside her.
    “I wondered where you were. I was beginning to doubt that you existed.”
    “I was just giving you a little space. Sometimes I worry that this revelation has been too much for you. I am so conflicted between my selfish desire to be with you and my desire to keep you happy and sane. I worry that maybe I won’t be able to accomplish both. I don’t want to let you down as you have been let down in the past.”
    “I appreciate that. I know that I’m more than a little gun shy. I know that you understand why, if you have truly witnessed my life as you say you have.”
    “I have the kid gloves on. I will proceed with the utmost caution. You are the most important thing in my life. I am not afraid to confess that you are my first true love; and, being such, I have not earned the same stripes that you have. I don’t have the same fear, apprehension and trepidation as you. I am open to whatever comes our way. That leaves you, my love. And knowing you the way I have learned to know and love you, I will not do anything to harm your sensibilities.”
    Maggie only responded with a nearly inaudible, “Thank you,” and turned back to her work.
    “What have I said wrong?”
    “It is nothing.”
    “I don’t believe that. You are shuddering.”
    “It’s just that . . . I’ve never been . . . or felt . . . it’s just all, you know, so . . . you really never had a true love before?”
    “Oh, Margaret, I was so rapt with my work, my studies, the cause of philology, things like that, that I never took the time to bother with what I perceived as so trivial. How foolish I was. I always thought there would be more time. Wilhelm had a lovely wife and children. I believe I must have used them as substitutes for my own. I know it sounds cliché, but only on my deathbed did I look back and question my choices.”
    “You and I have led quite different lives, Jacob. I have always doted on being a wife and mother and have begrudgingly worked to support myself during the in-betweens. You have focused on career, loving it, but were left with no family. The one thing we do have in common is our love of words and their origins and the desire to share them with mankind. You see, I have a little secret. I have always wanted to be a writer and along the way, I have started more books than I care to recount. But the need to survive and support myself has always gotten in the way. Now it’s too late. I’m old and tired.”
    “And full of great stories and characters. Look what you have to work with, my dear. Literature is full of authors who started much later in life. There are late bloomers in every field—people who went on to make enormous contributions to humanity. You, my darling, have made a terrible mistake in disclosing this to me. I will haunt you, quite literally, to fulfill your dream. I know you will be a wonderful storyteller with all the experience that you have to draw from.”
    Maggie couldn’t hold back the giggle. She loved having someone in her corner to prod her on, even if he wasn’t exactly among the living.
    He added, “Once you get your feet wet, I want you to write our story. It will have a happy ending. I promise you that.”
    Maggie beamed at the thought. She rarely had anything to excite her now that her kids were grown, but today, she was glowing and everyone who entered the bookshop that day could feel