Page 12 of Rewrites of the Heart

“The past, the future doesn’t matter. What matters is right here, right now. And I don’t want to pass up another moment with him. He’s my sole reason for living.”

She threw herself on the loveseat. JJ was worried. The experiment appeared to be exceeding her expectations.

Just then, Blake burst into the office.

“Aha!” he said, and in a twitch of an index finger he conveyed the power of his own personal revelation. The pair looked each other in the eyes as if playing a romantic game of dare. Neither lowered their gaze. Neither had to verbally express their thoughts.

The longer they held the stare, the more uncomfortable she felt. She wasn’t accustomed to watching her scene unfold like a piece of theatrical drama.

“I think it’s time for me to run some errands, I’ll be back.” She shut the computer down.

The pair failed to unlock their gaze. JJ added, “Maybe I’ll grab a bite to eat, too. And, well, don’t worry about me. I may be a while.”

She picked up her messenger bag from beneath the desk that contained her laptop, plucked a book from the shelf, and began to ease out of the office.

“A long while.” She scrambled out of the house as quickly as possible.

Chapter 11

Food and good coffee. That’s what every decent romance writer wants after writing the ultimate love scene (well, maybe a little bit more, but food and good coffee would do). In the town of Bell Wyck, Ohio, that only meant one place: the Physics Café. The city’s most popular casual dining establishment, the Physics Café was a special favorite of the students, faculty, and staff of the University of Northern Ohio.

She opened the door to the café, and the buzz of customers’ conversations and laughter hit her. Busier than I expected, JJ thought. She scanned the walls as she strode toward the front. The photos of the physicists that hung on the wall above the booths and tables reminded her of her first visit. She had gone in on a lark, intrigued by the name. She recalled not recognizing any of the scientists except for Einstein. Today, she nodded to Marie Curie, Erwin Schrodinger, Max Planck, and others.

Indeed, she even could tell you what the mathematical equations were that accompanied many of the photos. She felt smarter just walking in.

Three physics geeks (that was the only way to describe them) opened the café several years ago, mostly on a dare. They complained one day, so the story goes, they were tired of glamorous themed restaurants. Anyone could make money in a restaurant likeHard Rock Café. But it would take a bit of business acumen, they said, to make money from an eatery where the glamorous celebrities were all physicists, like Einstein, Max Planck, and Niels Bohr.

They claimed they could open a restaurant aimed at the “geek” market and make a killing. A group of businessmen overheard their conversation, challenged them, and even offered to back them financially. And the Physics Café was born.

She was pleased to see Alvin working the register. He, along with Simon and Ted, were the three geeks. And he looked every bit the part. He was tall and lanky, with short, brown hair. His green eyes were hidden behind large, round, black glasses.

“It’s been a while, doctor,” Alvin said as he flashed a smile and nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s been too long,” she answered. “You’re busier than I remembered.”

“Our lunch crowd,” Alvin explained. “It seems to start earlier with every passing week.” He paused as if he were unsure of what to say next. “What can I get you?”

She picked up a menu on the counter and instantly found what she wanted. The Philadelphia Experiment Cheesesteak. As the menu described it, the sandwich was “a classic Philly cheesesteak with a twist. The sautéed onions on this sandwich are treated by our very own de-particlizer. While your sandwich appears to have onions, should they disappear while you’re eating your meal, you’ll receive a free cappuccino.”

“I’d like a side of Onion String Theory with that too,” she said. A White Chocolate Dark Matter Cappuccino completed her order.

“What size?” Alvin asked, “Dwarf, nova, or super nova?”

“Dwarf,” she answered. She paid for her meal and Alvin handed her the placard with her order number on it. “We’ll call your number as soon as we can, doctor.” She saw it was 26Fe, the periodic number for the element iron.

“And this is just one more reason I love this place.”

She went in search of a seat. All four booths along the left side of the café were taken. The tables in the front of the coffee shop were filled with students, staring at their laptops, every so often nudging their neighbor to look at their screen, or engaged in animated conversation.

Frustrated with the lack of available tables, she finally found an empty spot at the laptop counter. It wasn’t the most glamorous seat nor the most comfortable, but the counter, built against a four-foot free-standing wall, provided plenty of electrical outlets.

She carefully eased herself between two male customers, both of whom appeared to be concentrating on an internet search. She imagined they were in a search of life’s most difficult questions no doubt: what celebrity made an ass of himself today?

While she waited for her order, she opened the book she had brought along. An alternative view of President Warren G. Harding’s death, it claimed that Harding’s wife actually poisoned him. She had been meaning to read it for what seemed like forever. Maybe I have been writing too much, she thought with shrug.

She took a five-by-seven inch spiral notebook and a pen out of her bag and laid them next to the book. It has been far too long, she thought, that I actually did historical research. And what better book to re-ignite my interest? Maybe someday I’ll write another history book. Just the thought of it made her happy. She had missed history and teaching, she realized, more than she had imagined.

As she was just settling in, she heard her element called. She tried to get up as gently as possible without disturbing the two persons between her. She retrieved her food and once again faced the tricky problem of getting back into the tight quarters.

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