I got an unexpected number of compliments on my flower, but that didn’t stop me from ditching it behind my computer just before Brett stopped by my cube for lunch. The last thing I wanted was to overshadow our lunch with shades of Sean MacInnes. My intention was not to think about him at all, to tune my romantic antennae on Brett and see how things played out with the Epitome of Sensible Romance. No pressure.
While lunch wasn’t quite tinged with the whole first-date vibe, my heart rate was speeding slightly as I followed Brett downstairs, out through the lobby, and across the parking lot to his car. His silver Audi was sleek and spotless, and Brett oozed competence as he slid into the driver’s seat across from me. It was slightly awkward to hold my feet in the air while he repositioned my floor mat for maximum coverage, but really, fastidiousness was just fine with me.
“So ... ?” I finally started, lunging into the silence. “Where should we go?”
After cautiously (and silently) backing out of his parking spot, Brett turned to me with a grin. “Pizza Garden.” Not so much a suggestion as a done deal. Luckily it was one of my favorite lunch spots.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“They have a great lunch deal,” he said, easing into a left turn, more serious than I would have thought necessary.
“They do,” I agreed.
Awkward silence, Take One. Luckily the restaurant was only minutes away.
Quickly seating us at a scarred wooden table near the window, our waitress recited the day’s pizza specials (today’s were Greek, Texas Fajita, and Basilica) and left with our drink orders, promising to return momentarily to take our orders.
“What are you getting?” I asked, flashing a smile.
“Texas Fajita.”
“Never tried it. I’m getting the Garden pizza.”
My smile faltered just slightly in the face of Brett’s disbelieving stare.
“But it’s not one of the specials.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s more expensive, but it’s a little bigger too. Six inches instead of four. I take the leftovers home.”
“But even if you factor in the additional size of the pizza,” Brett protested, “it’s not nearly as good a deal. And you don’t get a salad.”
“You’re right.” Maybe he just needed to know I’d done the math. “But it’s my favorite, and it’s loaded with vegetables, so I’m happy to splurge.” I could have jumped into a cost breakdown / nutritional analysis, but I didn’t think anyone wanted that.
“Okay,” he said, with a baffled, slightly concerned little shake of his head.
“Don’t worry, I can afford it,” I teased, linking my fingers, laying my palms flat on the table, and forcing myself to keep smiling.
Awkward Silence, Take Two.
The remainder of our lunch date was actually quite pleasant (if we didn’t count Brett’s quickly masked disapproving glance as my Garden pizza was slid onto the table in front of me). As expected, we had a lot in common, both past history and future goals, and I felt the tight coil of uncertainty in my chest begin to unfurl. This was what I’d expected, how I’d imagined my romantic life would be. Two compatible people blazing a sensible trail through life. My grin just kept on giving.
Right up until the check came.
We both reached for it, but Brett snatched it cleanly away.
Biting my lower lip, feeling a little thrill zip through me, it was on the tip of my tongue to thank him for lunch.
Thank God I controlled the urge, because two seconds later, he slid the bill back in my direction.
“Since I got the special, it’s not going to be an even fifty-fifty split.” Pulling out his wallet, Brett went for one final gloat. “I tried to tell you... .”
“You did,” I snapped, pulling the bill toward me and retrieving my own wallet. I yanked out several bills, including a generous tip, and placed them on the table, really hoping the topic was now officially closed.
He didn’t say a word as I packed up the remains of my pizza in the cardboard to-go box, his jaw busy crunching every last bit of ice in the jumbo-sized glass he’d drained of iced tea. What could I say, the man liked to get his money’s worth.
Awkward Silence, Take Three.
But no butterflies, no queasiness, and no surprises. There was something to be said for quiet companionship. But it definitely wasn’t “Wowza!”
Trapped on the test floor an hour later, my daisy defiantly back in place, I was bored senseless and figured it was as good a time as any to get the lowdown on Gabe’s burgeoning romance with my impressionable young mentee. Fishing my phone from the crowded pocket of my smock, I texted an opener.
NJames: Any luck convincing Beck to show you her tattoo?
Exactly seven parts ran through the full test suite at minus forty degrees before Gabe responded.
GVogler: i’m building up to it. what’s up?
NJames: I went out last night.
GVogler: WHAT??? NOT with the dude from the band?
NJames: Beck didn’t tell you?
This was my sly attempt at deducing just how chummy they’d gotten in the last two days.
GVogler: i see her tonight. spill!
Interesting ...
NJames: Yes, him. Where?
GVogler: adh-sxsw
ADH? Alamo Drafthouse? Probably. I glanced up to make sure the liquid nitrogen hadn’t frozen up the handler before quickly typing in my reply. I hated that I was going to miss seeing Gabe’s reaction, but it couldn’t be helped. I was stuck down here indefinitely.
NJames: Me too. Paramount
GVogler: serious!? with Scottie?
NJames: Believe it or not. Any new matches?
Another probe to determine Beck’s status.
GVogler: haven’t checked. got a meeting. later.
Anyone casually passing my tester might very well have mistakenly assumed I was absolutely thrilled over the effortless testing of a tray of parts at freezing temperatures. And technically, it was good news—a relief, really. But not as good as discovering that Beck might be on her way to vanquishing the One-Date Wonders. Whoot!
Eventually, though, the red light on top of the parts handler started flashing, necessitating some actual work. Dipping my hand into a freezing chamber to unjam a couple of parts, the truth of my work situation hit me full in the face (along with a blast of liquid nitrogen–laced cold). I could either toe the line and wait for management to embrace me, or I could take the escape route I’d been offered and juice things up a little myself. As much as switching from one engineering job to another could juice things up.
I didn’t dare risk asking Fairy Jane for advice, and Beck, I’d discovered, was a bit of a wild card. Gabe, tired of my bitching, would most likely vote for a transfer. So I was pretty much on my own, with Friday only a few days away.
Sean called around four to confirm our plans for the evening. The premiere was at eight, so we’d meet at the Paramount at seven-thirty. Apparently it was to be a red-carpet event, some dramedy called Peas and Carrots, with a couple of up-and-coming celebrities and likely a mad crush to get in. I was promised very good seats. We agreed to get dinner afterwards, which pretty much guaranteed that it would be a very late night indeed (for a Tuesday), and I spent the remainder of the afternoon riding the thrill of being—just for now—Sean’s “luv.”
Well that, and trying to squeeze in a mini roadtrip and an awkward chat with an elderly gentleman about his sister’s once-upon-a-time love interest.
Misty Glen Assisted Living Community, which I’d Googled and then phoned from my cubicle, was a trio of ranch-style buildings relaxing under the lacy shade of towering old pecan trees. The porches, clustered with rocking chairs and barrel tables holding giant checker sets, were empty, either due to the brisk spring breeze or the fact that my visit coincided with naptime. I asked at the desk for Mr. Nelson, crossing my fingers that he had few minutes to spare before an early-bird dinner at 4:45. I was in luck.
I found him in the rec room, playing Mexican Train dominoes with a trio of other inhabitants. After introducing myself, I was gruffly told that I could cool my heels until the game was over. Fair enough. I plunked myself down on the cushy couch and examined my quarry. A horseshoe of white fuzz clung to his head and crinkly lines edged a pair of faded blue eyes that, by the looks of things, didn’t let much slip by unnoticed. I’d have to be on my toes when my turn came around.
I tipped my head back, shuttering my eyes closed. I’d been paged four times on the trip down here, but I wasn’t up to returning any of them. Truthfully, I wasn’t up for much of anything right now—I was way outside my comfort zone, with no clue as to how I’d ever get back.
Time passed, and I kept quiet inside my little cocoon. Until I was launched like a butterfly as someone collapsed onto the couch beside me, close enough that our thighs brushed on my way back down. My eyes flared open and whipped around to catch the delighted little smirk on Mr. Nelson’s face.
“I won again,” he told me, I assumed referring to his game of Mexican Train. “Ha! It’s almost too easy.”
“Congratulations,” I said, trying to bring my heart rate back under control.
“You find the key?” He glanced at me from under caterpillar-like brows. He was munching on what looked like a particularly lumpy homemade chocolate chip cookie.
“Sorry,” he said, catching me eyeing the cookie, “last one.” Then, to himself, “I love how she puts the Raisinettes in.” Popping the last of it into his mouth, he dusted his hands on his khakis.
Another cookie would have broken the ice nicely.
“I found the key,” I confirmed, then paused for just a second before adding, “and I read your sister’s story.”
“Hrmmph.” He produced a double-six domino, seemingly out of nowhere, and tumbled it, over and over, between his fingers. “So why the visit?”
“I ... ah ... needed an answer the journal wasn’t giving me.”
“Yeah? Which one?” He didn’t meet my eyes, and I knew this must be hard on him. I almost wished I hadn’t come.
But I had come—I’d driven all the way down here—and I was going to ask the question.
I looked down at my own fingers, linked in front of me, and wished I had a domino of my own. “Did she have any regrets? You said you thought she was happy, but after Tyler there was never mention of another man. Do you know if she fell in love again? If she got married? Did she ever wish she hadn’t taken the journal’s advice?”
“You know that’s more than one question, right?”
I smiled. “Noticed that, did ya?”
“Cat never married, and as to men, I couldn’t tell ya. Wouldn’t even want to know, if it came to that.” He cringed slightly. “What I can tell you is that she was happy. Every letter she sent told me that. She may have regretted leaving Tyler behind, but she would have regretted it a whole lot more if she’d stayed.” He paused on a heavy sigh. “Despite what I said before—blaming the journal for Cat’s skedaddling—that wasn’t exactly fair. I suspect Cat would have found her way to leaving with or without that diary.”
My gaze held his for several long seconds. It wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. Then again, I had no idea what I’d been hoping for—an easy solution to my complicated situation, I guess. Clearly, I wasn’t going to find it here.
“That’s good to know,” I finally said.
“I may not have agreed with her decisions, but I respected that they were hers to make.”
“You’re a smart man,” I told him, smiling.
I stood up and stretched a bit, dreading the hurried drive back to Austin.
He glanced up at me. “I wrote in there too, you know. Just once—couldn’t help myself.” He shuffled his feet and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. I sank slowly back into my seat.
“I didn’t know,” I told him, my heartbeat thumping crazily in my chest.
“It was right after I’d gotten Cat’s things back from England—after she’d died. I opened the diary—never put the key in, mind you—and just started to write.”
He had been the journal’s previous owner. His entry would have come right between Cat’s and mine. Somehow, I must have missed it.
My eyes were so wide they were starting to dry out in the dehumidified rec-room air, causing me to blink excessively.
“So did you ... ?” I lifted my shoulders expectantly.
“Did I get any advice from the all-powerful journal? As a matter of fact, I did.” He smiled.
I thrummed with tension and curiosity, waiting for Mr. Nelson to let me in on his little secret.
He chuckled. “I’ll give you a hint. Those cookies came from Ms. Eleanor Stone in apartment 112. We have a ‘date’ tonight to watch Rear Window—she’s a big Grace Kelly fan.”
My mind whirled. Had Mr. Nelson been the recipient of a bit of personalized romantic advice? Interesting ... I was now anxious to get back to Austin for an entirely different reason.
“Good for you,” I said, smiling. I stood, reached down to help him to his feet, and decided to take my chances with one final question.
“Did your sister ever mention the journal’s original owner?”
“Nope. Only said she was lucky that little book had found its way to her.”
I nodded and reached to shake his hand. “Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr. Nelson. Evidently I have some reading to do,” I said, winking.
“I don’t pretend to understand how that diary works its magic, but I’m convinced that it’s well-meant. That said, my advice to you, young lady, is to take any advice with a grain of salt. You’re the one that has to live with your decisions.” He gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Now if you come back, I’ll teach you how to play Mexican Train,” he said, nodding.
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, giving him a little salute before turning away. My real life was calling.
I was cutting it close and luckily missed much of Austin’s horrific rush-hour traffic. And before succumbing to what would likely prove to be a thirty-hanger pile-up in my bedroom as I prepped for tonight’s date, I was dead set determined on reading the bit of journaling that had resulted in a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies with Raisinettes.
I never thought I’d be reading my sister’s diary. Then again, there’s not much left of her musings. Not sure I could have stomached the original. She was gone for a long time, half a world away from central Texas, and I wish I’d had a chance to catch up a little before she died. Cat had a good head on her shoulders, despite what some folks thought after she left Tyler behind to get on with her own life. I only regret that she never came back. Seems as though her life kept her busy—and happy—and for that, I’m thankful. I’m relieved that she lived such a full life, far away from small-town judgment and other folks’ expectations—I hope she found what she was looking for. I know she treasured this diary and its peculiar brand of companionship through the years, and I’m thankful to have it in my possession. Reminds me of her spunk.
E. Nelson 01.12.10
Well, obviously I didn’t know exactly what Fairy Jane’s advice had been, but I suspected something like, look for companionship and spunk in 112. Crafty, very crafty. And it looked as if things were progressing very well indeed if the cookies and movie night were any indication. Nicely done, Fairy Jane.
I was now perilously close to running late for my date with Sean, and I didn’t have even a little time to obsess over what to wear. I resigned myself to calling for backup. I tried Beck first, but the call rolled over to voice mail, forcing me to fall back on a very dubious second choice.
“I can’t decide what to wear,” I whined to Gabe.
“Not really my area of expertise.”
“Are South by Southwest festival goers usually dolled up or grunged down?”
“It’s Austin—there’s a mix of both. Some are even half and half.”
The man had a point.
“So jeans are okay, not too casual?”
“I plan to wear jeans.”
How to say this ... “I’m talking about other people—stylish people.”
“You know, you called me.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” I assured him. “How about jeans, a shirt with some shimmer, and a nice fitted jacket?” All three items were currently in my field of vision, hanging off or draped over some piece of furniture, the jacket having been shrugged off the minute I got home.
“That’ll work. Just relax, Nic, or you’ll look like a tourist.”
I didn’t bother mentioning that as far as tonight went, I was pretty damn close.
“Okay, thanks.” Deep breath. Good.
“Have fun,” he said.
Within ten minutes of hanging up, I’d scrambled into my outfit for the evening, added a sparkly belt and some earrings, and even gone a little crazy with the hair gel, scrunching my hair into what I hoped was a slightly edgier look. One final mirror check—oops! a daisy! Sliding the slightly wilty stem from my button hole, skimming my fingers along the petals, I dipped my face once again into its cheery red center and inhaled the swoony scent of a bad crush. It definitely stayed here.
As I skidded out the door, it occurred to me that I’d managed to go the entire day without Fairy Jane running interference. The little burst of confidence and my smug little smile didn’t last, though, because it was still anybody’s game. The day was far from over yet.
Sean, of course, was waiting, and I was left to wonder how a girl who prided herself on punctuality could suddenly be late for pretty much absolutely everything. A couple waves of the wand could help with that—green lights, convenient parking ... Maybe I could put in a request.
As I got close, I raised my hand and offered up a friendly wave, but the second I was within reach, Sean snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me in for a couple of quick, very heated kisses. When he pulled back and skimmed his fingers through my daring ’do, my eyes were drawn up to the Paramount’s Old Hollywood–style marquee, its glamorous brilliance setting off flashbulbs in my head.
“I like the dangerous new you,” Sean informed me, sliding a festival wristband into place on my arm. I was relieved to see that he’d dressed casually as well in beige corduroys and a chocolate brown sweater.
“It’s sort of a special occasion,” I confided. “Eight years in Austin, and this is my first visit to the Paramount Theater, my first time at a South by Southwest venue of any sort.”
“Well then, I am at your service, my little Virgin Queen,” he teased, bowing low, his wicked grin making me think seriously about sexual favors.
And then suddenly I was on the red carpet. Admittedly it was a red carpet in Austin, Texas, where cowboy boots are paired with just about anything and pretty much no one is anyone—or everyone is someone—but still. My eyes were flitting about like hummingbirds, and my fingers were tightly twined with Sean’s as I rode the wave of jabbering festival goers.
In the middle of it all, Sean dipped his head down beside mine, his breath feathering hot against my chilly ear.
“Dodge out of work tomorrow and come ’round the city with me.”
A shiver ran through me as I imagined the thrill of playing hooky with Sean, seeing the city through the eyes of a “cool kid.” But it was quickly squelched. I couldn’t just take off without warning—I was the Go-To Girl.
“Very tempting, but I have to work.”
A Hummer limo pulled up in front of the theater, and I craned my head to catch a glimpse of its occupants.
“Do you really?” Sean pressed, evidently unconcerned with the arrival of the stars. “Is it an absolute must or just habit?”
My gaze shifted to meet his, and I felt as if I’d been caught in a lie. Sean’s gaze was patiently challenging, as if waiting for everything to click in my head.
“No, I really do.” Of course I did—it was a Wednesday. I couldn’t just randomly not show up on a Wednesday. My face scrunched with uncertainty. Could I? I turned back to the Hummer, forced to squint against the onslaught of flashbulbs, and tried to consider this unfamiliar alternative.
“We could come up with a proper itinerary and everything.” He lifted his hand to settle on the back of my neck, squeezing gently. “Has no one ever taught you to snatch at opportunities when you can, before they disappear?” Sean murmured.
Those particular words served as the necessary inducement. I suddenly felt a feverish need to race the clock, to make every second of this temporary romance count, knowing that it would, inevitably, come to an end. “Okay.” The word just ripped out of me before I could snatch it back, and the inherent hesitancy was just hanging in the air between us. I couldn’t seem to stop the flood of stilted sentences that followed. “Definitely. I’ll take the day off. Wednesday. Hump day. I need a break anyway.”
“I must be even more charming than I imagined to lure the dedicated Nicola James away from the office on a random Wednesday. This definitely calls for a celebration, a toast to tomorrow’s adventures. But being short on drinks, a kiss will have to do.”
The moment his lips began to skim and slide over mine, the strangeness that had settled over me began to fall away. The uncertainty gave way to compliance, and I began to morph from Go-To Girl to Swoony Girl. Everything inside me began to loosen: melting, unfurling, derailing. I should resist him—I knew I should—but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Danger, Nic James, danger! And then suddenly we were swept up in the wave of people flooding through the doors on an urgent mission to find their seats. As we stepped from the lobby into the theater, with its breath-stealing, turn-of-the-century grandeur, my heart hiccupped and my throat closed. I gripped Sean’s hand, desperately needing to hold on to something. When he gazed down at me, I’m certain he saw stars in my eyes.
“Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely dazzling,” I agreed. “Thank you for inviting me.”
His answer was only a slow smile.
We slid into seats near the back, and as the lights dimmed and the film credits began to wink past on the darkened screen, I felt myself relax. By the end of the movie, my head was propped lightly against Sean’s cashmere-soft shoulder, and it felt ... nice. So did linking our fingers as we walked through the chilly evening back to my car.
Sean was first to break the silence. “I am now starving and willing to eat virtually anything.”
“Most places around here will be packed with festival crowds. Do you want to widen our search parameters?” Whoa, did that sound geeky!
“Logical to a fault—it’s impossible not to love you.” Suddenly I was frozen with uncertainty. He’d said the “L” word (not “lesbian,” thank God!), and it was up in the air, hanging there between us, unclassified, and I hadn’t the slightest clue what to do about it. “I’m game for anything,” he added, oblivious to my dilemma.
“Hula Hut?” I finally suggested in a shy, scratchy voice.
“Hold here for a sec. I’ll grab the bike and follow you.” And then he was jogging off into the darkness.
His absence was palpable, and I caught myself staring into the rearview mirror, straining to catch a glimpse of him. The snarl of the motorcycle engine set my nerve endings on full alert long before I had a visual. Then I was squinting against the glare of the headlight until he pulled up close behind me, helmeted and very competent looking astride his roaring beast of a bike.
Driving up South Congress toward the glowing green rotunda of the Capitol building, the colors of Austin nightlife streaming by like a small-town carnival, I finally felt like I belonged in this city. I switched on my blinker, turned left onto West Sixth, and peeked again at my rearview mirror. I was mesmerized by this whole situation and the fact that, head down, eyes focused, Sean was following me. With most of Sixth Street’s clubs and restaurants running to the east of Congress, we bypassed the crowds and began to leave downtown behind. As Sixth snaked into Lake Austin Boulevard and the city gave way to tree-lined neighborhoods, my gaze was ping-ponging between the narrow roadway in front of me and Sean behind me.
I was starting to imagine a whole spider / fly dynamic. We were heading into an increasingly intricate, very sticky situation, and it almost seemed as if the motorcycle behind me, cruising along at neighborhood speeds, was poised to pounce. My slightly giddy SXSW / hooky high began to morph into more of a predator/prey nervousness. Particularly as the predator was undeniably sexy and the prey couldn’t seem to help herself.
I made a valiant attempt to dial back my Animal Planet–fueled imagination and just park the car. Sean might well be a master of seduction—a grand master, or whatever kung-fu term supersedes them all—and Fairy Jane might have done a little wand-waving here and there. But ultimately I’d made the decisions. More or less. I was going to go ahead and go with that assumption anyway. As the saying goes, I’d made my bed, and I was going to have to lie in it.
Watching Sean dismount, slide off his helmet, and immobilize me with a smile in the dark, it occurred to me that that particular saying was especially thought-provoking. And a quick FYI: It’s very difficult to behave normally with a man while you’re imagining all sorts of bed-related pastimes. It’s also difficult to keep your eyes from roving. And your hands from twitching. And your body from sparking off fireworks or puddling in a heap.
But somehow you manage.
“Come over here a sec,” said the spider to the fly... .
Even in the dark with the engine off, the motorcycle was intimidating, but I stepped cautiously forward.
“I’d wager you’ve never even been on a bike—never straddled one, leaned in, and pretended to ride.”
I swiveled my gaze to his and narrowed my eyes slightly. He looked so innocent, it was impossible to tell whether he was using these particular words on purpose, whether he could read the lurid train of my thoughts. But I couldn’t accuse him without giving myself away. So I tried to picture myself flying down Mopac on the back of this motorcycle, fear forging a frozen trail from my head to my stomach. It went a long way toward dredging my mind from its lust-ridden haze.
“No,” I answered. “I haven’t.” And I was pretty sure my placid smile implied that I didn’t ever intend to.
Sean quirked his lips, seeming to be working an idea around in his head, and I felt the faint stirrings of nervousness. But as he grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the bike toward the restaurant entrance, the nerves were covered over with fresh stirrings of lust. Clearly distance (from the bike) made the heart grow fonder (of Sean).
It wasn’t until we were cozied up under our very own private tiki hut on the patio, overlooking the moonlit waters of Lady Bird Lake, the romance at its zenith, that I was let in on the secret.
“Shall we tackle tomorrow’s itinerary, leave nothing to the whims of chance?” We’d already dispensed with the menus, deciding to split the infectiously termed Huli Huli Luau Platter.
“Definitely,” I agreed, relieved that we were finally on the same page.
“You’re all in, then? You’re committed to the hooky?”
Hooky ... nooky ... When did simple word association get so dangerous? Clean it up, Nic.
“I am,” I admitted, schooling my features.
Sean’s knee bumped up against mine and stayed, radiating little curls of heat in all directions. “As I see it, the proper way to go about this is to divvy up the day. You get half, and I get half.” He speared me with a look and laid his cards on the table. “My half will be devoted to dethroning the Virgin Queen.”
Oh. My. God. Is he talking in euphemisms, or is this the real deal? It was possible I was going to need a translator to make it through this conversation.
“Meaning what exactly?” My voice was pitched low; it was difficult to get anything out around the wad of nervousness trapped in my throat.
Sean was clearly reveling in my reaction, smug as a satyr with wicked intent dancing in his eyes.
“Meaning this time tomorrow I’m hoping your list of Austin ‘been there, done thats’ will be considerably longer.”
Okay, now I was truly nervous. Forget all those little uncertainties over sex—he was going to try to get me on his motorcycle. Deep breath. I looked deliberately away from him, running my eyes along the maze of colored lights strung up on the patio and then out over the sparkles on the water and up the dark cliffs to the mansions hanging on the edge. Austin was bewitching at night—a city of surprises—and tonight, I was definitely caught up ... but insecurities were hovering, waiting to make an entrance. And this could very well be their cue... .
When did my life get so out of control? When did I decide to let Sean waltz in and spin me until my life got dizzy and unrecognizable? When will I make it stop?
My heartbeat was loud in my ears, roaring almost, as my mind sped through the possibilities that might conceivably comprise a day with Sean. This was effectively a dare, and on principle, I didn’t do dares, but it was about time I earned my Weird shirt—without any help from Fairy Jane. And really, what was the worst he could come up with?
Nic James Does Austin. This film not yet rated.
“Okay.” My voice wavered just slightly. Steady, girl. “I’m game.” Sean’s grin flared wide, knocking out the dimples, and feeling just a little smug myself, I laid down my conditions. “However, I draw the line at getting tattooed, pierced, naked in public”—I figured I’d keep my options open, making it clear I wasn’t averse to private nakedness—“drunk, or high.” I figured I’d need my wits about me. “And I reserve the right to veto one activity on your list.” I let this sink in for a second before adding, “Do we have a deal?”
“We do, absolutely,” he conceded with a nod. “I’ll just need to get a little creative.”
I tried for a blithe smile but wasn’t certain I pulled it off.
Probably sensing the chicken behind my bravado, Sean wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and massaged gently. As I started to relax and go fuzzy-eyed, he leaned in and laid his lips softly over mine. He tasted spicy and sweet, like grilled pineapple. I’d never been able to resist good pineapple, and I didn’t even bother trying.
It wasn’t until I was back home, soundly kissed, that it occurred to me that Brett was getting stomped. Sean was running rings around both him and me, and I wasn’t sure either of us would ever catch up. It was already midnight, and while I could feel fatigue pulling at the corners of my eyes, a wild, structured urgency was careening around inside me. So many things I needed to do. I needed to call in sick, although it was probably best to leave that for the morning. I needed to talk to Fairy Jane—to pour everything out of me in a jumbled, incoherent blurb and have her shoot back a succinct little shot of advice. And I needed to come up with an itinerary for my half of the day tomorrow. And it couldn’t be typical Austin fare, because while I could safely (if perhaps unchivalrously) be termed a Virgin Queen, Sean had obviously been around the block. I needed to shoot for the extraordinary, the bizarre, and the downright odd.
I was so not equipped for this.
I could call Beck or go next door—talk about your bizarre—but it was late, and either option would be a cop-out. I was just going to have to hunker down with my laptop and do a little surf and search. We’d agreed to meet for breakfast tomorrow at ten. Just maybe I’d have enough time to do everything and still sneak in a little time to sleep.
I tackled the journal first:
Two dates in one day. Quite the statistical improbability for me—and a rather guilt-inducing situation. I feel like these guys are auditioning for the part of Nic James’s Love Interest. But everything is scarily unscripted. Sean’s invitation to play hooky and spend the day together having an impromptu “virgin adventure” took me completely off guard. And while I probably shouldn’t have, I said yes—I wanted to say yes. Sean has a way of making even the ridiculous seem irresistible. So it seems I’ve agreed to be somewhat of a guinea pig, hustled around Austin according to the whims of Sean’s big dethroning plans. I really don’t want to think about what he has planned—I may have laid out my conditions and insisted on a veto, but I suspect he’ll find ways of getting around all of it. I fully expect to spend half the day in a constant state of anxious uncertainty.
Then the other half is mine. Seeing as it’s already midnight, and my exciting friends are off-limits, I’m going to have to really dig deep—otherwise Sean’s going to find himself inveigled in a city-wide search for the perfect cupcake. So far, my mind hasn’t moved past the idea of insisting that Sean don a kilt for at least part of the day—it’s pretty firm on that point. In fact, I plan on calling him in the morning to shock the pants right off him.
I’m nervous, but lately I’m nervous over just about everything. Sean should come with a warning label, because the truth is, if I had to venture a guess, it would be that by tomorrow night, life as I know it will have changed irrevocably. I’m not sure how ready I am for that eventuality.
I reread the words out of habit, wondering what sort of advice this magical little journal would squeeze out this go-round. Part of me was yearning for the shakable (and re-shakable) simplicity of a trusty Magic 8 Ball or the sweeping near miracles of a dusty old Ouija board. Fairy Jane’s offerings were whimsical at best, but her opinion was clear: Sean was precisely what my life was missing. But could I trust her? I hadn’t decided yet.
Tipping the cover shut on my entry, I reached for the key, slipped it into place, and watched the magic unfurl all over again, amazed anew at the hidden depths of this little book. And then suddenly it was heavy on my lap, the lost and found-again pages brittle and crinkly with secrets. I settled in to read.
Taking up where I’d left off the night before, I discovered the first entry written by a society miss in love with a servant. Reading between the lines, I’d say that Fairy Jane was quite the progressive instigator, encouraging the romance as well as a daring adventure or two. The second entry was really quite juicy:
I met him, just as you suggested, in the folly. No one would imagine the crumbling structure, long vacant, might harbor the most illicit of romances, but it did, and it most definitely will again. Passionate deeds are definitely addictive. I have responsibilities and a life that requires my attention, but it doesn’t preclude me from wishing for the impossible. I daresay I’m no longer certain the word even applies. This journal has convinced me that there is magic lurking about, and henceforth, I vow that I will endeavor to search for it most strenuously.
The next few entries had me vicariously enthralled, shocked, and slightly guilty to be reading such personal, passion-filled thoughts. But not sufficiently to stop. Talk about your bodice-rippers. . .
I am sure I surprised him, waiting as I was when he arrived. And the manner of my greeting no doubt surprised him even more. To anyone watching as I set off from the house, I’m sure I looked every bit a lady out for a walk and picnic, but my basket was crowded with other things ... I’d sneaked into the bedroom reserved for the seamstress and stolen away yards of tulle that would now be conspicuously absent from the wedding dress I never intended to wear. My trousseau had been pilfered as well, and I shivered with the secret thrill that the lacy confections would be worn solely for the man I intended. All week I’d been setting off in the chilly dawn light, a down pillow concealed beneath my cloak, and, ever so slowly, the folly had been transformed. When Luke stepped through the door, I watched his eyes darken with appreciation as I lay nestled amid all that stolen luxury. We indulged ourselves for hours, touching and exploring, until finally, while he lay sated, I convinced him to run away with me... .
By the end, my mouth was gaping, my breathing erratic, and a sense of wonder had settled over me. Despite the odds, the obstacles, and the implausibility of it all, the pair had found their happily-ever-after.
It was pretty easy to tell which of the journal’s previous owners had been willing to take a chance on a little magic and which hadn’t. The squeamish ones wrote one, maybe two, even three entries, but no more. The believers kept coming back, chatting up Fairy Jane in pursuit of the fairy tale. I fell somewhere in between: an obliging skeptic, willing, at least for now, to play the odds.
It didn’t escape me that the underlying theme running through these vintage journal entries was that some occasions called for a bit of conscientious rule breaking. Cat Nelson had left her love behind, but I was hoping to go forward, and even willing to deviate from The Plan, to find mine.
Life with Sean might seem like a pipe dream, but life without him now seemed eerily hollow. I’d try to keep that in mind during the enthusiastic corruption he no doubt had planned for tomorrow.
Removing the key, I waited for the magic to seep away before flipping the pages back to my latest entry. Fairy Jane had already done her homework.
an adventure shouldn’t be planned—otherwise it’s just a venture
On that note, I decided I’d forgo the planning altogether and go to bed. I was still the Virgin Queen—at least for tonight—and I planned on dreaming of my own folly.