Текст книги "No, Not that Jane Austen"

Автор книги: Marilyn Grey

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We crossed our arms and analyzed the tattoo designs on the wall. Occasionally his voice sent waves through the silence with a, "This one is nice," or a, "This is okay." Then finally his finger landed on a beautiful design. "That's so mint," he said, finger trailing the art. "You should get this one."

"What? Are they mint leaves?"

"Mint leaves?"

"You said, 'That's so mint.'"

"Right..." He squinted. "Is that not something you say?"

"Is what?"

"You know, like that's awesome, or cool, or crackin'."

I nodded. "Cracking?"

"Anyway." He pointed. "That's my favorite one, but this is your body. What do you fancy?"

Did I really want to tell him that I had my eye on that one from the start?

"This your first tattoo?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Eighteen today?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "Maybe something simple, then?"

He moved toward me as we examined more images on the wall. Not the slightest hint of cologne came with him. Surprising. Most guys had enough scent emanating from their deodorant, plus the extra cologne on top of that, to instantaneously make me sneeze.

His breath landed on my neck as he leaned over me and pointed to another design. I stepped back and ignored the shiver making its way to my fingertips.

"Any ideas?" Phillip, the tattoo artist, said from behind me. "Need some help?"

"I have a few ideas." I really wanted the one Alistair liked—or fancied—but...

"Do you know where you want it?" Phillip said.

I turned to face him. "Thinking my arm. Down the side here. Or maybe my back or shoulder."

"Show me a few you like." Phillip stepped forward as I pointed a few out, then he continued, "Okay, I can see your style pretty clear here. How about we start small with this one"—he gestured to my second favorite design—"and then you can always come back and build from there to the vine down your arm." He paused. "You're not nervous, are you?"

I shook my head. "No, no. I'm ready."

The next hour, or however long it took, dripped by like water from a sink left on the absolute lowest setting. If I experienced pain along with the vibrating sensation on my arm, I didn't notice. My mind was far too distracted by the boy sitting across the room, scrolling through an iPad and laughing at the screen every few minutes. He carried with him a simple charm. Not that typical ladies man charm, but a distant charm that conveyed depth and passion. Mystery. He had mystery. That’s what it was. And I dare say … he intrigued me.

But….

The inevitable but.

It wasn't unlike me to make friends fast or to associate with strangers, but becoming distracted by a boy was not on my list of acceptable actions.

Especially one like him. My parents would have a field day and there was absolutely no way I'd allow that. Jane Austen would not marry a British man on the hills of an English countryside. She definitely, definitely would not do that.

Marry? I asked myself. How did we jump to marriage already?

I closed my eyes and hummed Tchaikovsky in the quiet of my mind until Philip said, "That your boyfriend?”

Eyes still closed, I said, “No. We just met.”

“Oh, really? You seem pretty close for just meeting.”

I didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he said, “Feeling okay?”

I nodded and continued humming songs in my mind.

Finally, he wrapped it up and told me to look. I opened my eyes to Alistair smiling down at me. Then quickly closed my eyes again.

Something about....

"I'm famished," Alistair said. "Mind if we stop and get something for lunch?"

Phillip helped me sit up. "What do you think?"

I analyzed the simple design on my left shoulder. "It's perfect. Thank you." Definitely sore though. "What do I do next?"

"Let me just bandage it up. Then it's important that you don't mess with it, touch it, pick at scabs. Keep the bandage on for a few hours and try not to get the tattoo wet." He began to bandage my arm. "Also try to stay out of the sun until it's completely healed. Ice packs do wonders for redness and swelling."

The tattoo didn’t excite me as much as I thought it would, but I liked it. We all sat in silence as he finished his job. I paid for my new body art at the front desk, feeling a little more thrilled about it, and turned to Alistair. "What are you hungry for?"

"Anything," he said. "My treat since it's your birthday. And yes, I insist.”

"When is your birthday?" I said as we walked out the door.

"September 15."

"Hm." I analyzed the slight lines forming around his eyes, so subtle. "You're about twenty one?"

"Twenty two." He almost opened the car door for me, but I beat him to it. We both sat down and he continued, "You're a queer one, huh? Perceptive."

"I take in details other people don't see right away. It's probably my love for mystery novels."

"Man, I think it's been years since I read a novel." He pulled the visor down when I drove out of the parking lot and into the blazing sun. "Music has consumed me like I'm about to consume whatever we eat."

I laughed. "Music? Is that why you were in Nashville?"

He answered back with silence and a slight nod of his head. I didn't want to pry, even though I desperately wanted to.

"You into music?" he asked.

"I am, but probably not the kind you're thinking."

"Yeah? Like...."

"Like Brahms, Sebastian, Haydn, Liszt."

"Fascinating."

"Why?"

"I can't quite figure you out. Wearing a pretty little sundress with pearls hanging from your ears. You just got a tattoo that you wanted to go all the way down your arm and you like classical music. Any other music you like?"

"Not really. A little here and there, but I prefer classical."

"Just peculiar, that's all I can say. Not to mention your obvious aversions to romantic relationships."

I located an empty space a few feet from a local pizza shop and parked.

"I'd take you somewhere nicer," I said. "But it would take longer and I figured you're probably starved already. And, just to drill it into your head, I do not have aversions to romantic relationships. I have precautions. It's different."

"Pizza is great." He ignored my speech, opened his door, and bolted down the city sidewalk to the pizza shop. Hungry guy. He did, however, wait for me while holding the door. I plopped a few coins in the meter and jogged to him.

"You really like the chivalry thing, huh?" I walked through the door and brushed his arm, which felt surprisingly … never mind. I would not be that girl. It felt normal. Like Donovan. That's all I felt. That's all I would feel.

"I was raised to treat others with kindness." He touched my back as I walked through the next set of doors. "My father always told me to be a gentleman to everyone, even other men, regardless of how unfashionable it becomes."

"It has become unfashionable." I peered up at the menu. "And I'd like to know why it's so gentlemanly to open doors for people, but not gentlewomanly? Why can't girls get away with doing that stuff for guys?"

The tasty aroma of fresh rolled dough and melted cheese smacked me in the face. Best smack ever. I hadn’t eaten since my rushed breakfast. When I closed my eyes I could almost taste the salty, crispy fries and warm pizza. His hand warmed my back again as he guided me toward the counter. Was that a shiver crawling down my spine? What the—

"Can I help you?" the cashier said.

"Want to split a cheese?" Alistair said. "And some chips?"

His touch. His hand. Although now in his pocket, the warmth of his fingers remained on my back. "Sure. I'll take some fries and a Dr. Pepper too."

"We'll get a large cheese pizza, an order of ... fries, and two Dr. Pepper's," he said, then looked at me. "I meant fries when I said chips. Always forget that."

I excused myself for the bathroom. He did the same, although I bet he really needed to go. I just needed to collect my thoughts and berate myself. Pacing the empty orange-scented bathroom, I told myself not to get tingly sensations or enjoy the way his skin felt against mine. My hormones wanted to ruin me and send me into a full-fledged reel of tawdry romance. I couldn't allow it.

"But I'm not anti-love," I whispered to myself.

The other me chimed in, "He lives in England. It wouldn't work anyway."

"Yes," Less Reasonable Me agreed. "And I don't like to start something I can't finish either."

"Exactly."

"But—"

A toilet flushed. I jerked my head to the left as a lock on one of the stalls jiggled, then dashed into the empty stall before she saw me.

She will see you come out after her, I thought inside, then thanked myself for reminding myself that I wouldn't escape the embarrassment.

I waited until the hand dryer stopped and the door swung closed, then another minute before walking out. I didn't see any women sitting anywhere, thankfully, so I continued on toward Alistair. Starved as he was, the poor chivalrous fellow sat in front of the untouched food. Patiently waiting for me.

I sat down across from him and apologized for the wait. He clasped his fingers together and brought them to his lips, shaking off my apology as though it were unnecessary, then his phone rang. He lifted it, tilted his head back, and exhaled, nodding to me to see if I would mind if he answered the call. I shook my head and wondered if I should also wait to dig in. Be the gentlewoman and what not.

A young girl smiled at me from behind the counter as she lifted a slice of pizza from the steaming vegetable pizza on display. I smiled back and she giggled. Ah, the girl in the bathroom. I stared into my lap.

"Seriously, there's no way I can do that," Alistair said. "Colin, this is ridiculous. You know this isn't the way I wanted to do it. That's the last thing I care about." He paused and noticed me. Yes, I was candidly listening. "Sorry, but I'm not doing it." Another pause. "Give me a break, Colin." Another pause. "This is total rubbish." He ended the call and picked up a slice of pizza. "Let's eat."

"Thank you for that."

"For what?" he said between bites.

"For showing me that you're not always so nice."

He laughed. "I guess I'm prone to agitation as much as the next person."

"It's good. I mean, I'm all about being kind, but it's nice to see that you can also stand up for yourself. It's good to have opinions."

"Of course this is coming from a highly opinionated and therefore biased perspective." He smiled.

So did I. "So, you've already noticed." I laughed. "What was that all about?"

"My manager." He gulped his soda. "Trying to force me into gigs I'm not interested in."

"What are you? A guitarist?"

"Do I look like a guitarist?"

"Not sure." I tapped his hand. "You're fingers are calloused though."

"Nice work. I do play a bit of guitar, but that's not what I do in this band."

I realized my hand was still on top of his and I quickly yanked it back. "Sorry."

He laughed. "Don't be."

"So ... bassist?”

"Drummer."

"Wow." I slurped the last of my soda and wanted more. "Didn't expect that one."

"Stereotypes. I didn't expect you to be the tattoo or classical music type either. More like a country music fan."

"What?" I gasped. "No way. Country? Why country? Not that there's anything wrong with country, but ... why country?"

"I haven't the slightest clue. You seem pretty normal on the surface. I bet you're popular in school, huh? Did you really just inhale more of that pizza than me?"

I picked up another slice and widened my eyes as I brought it toward my face. "At least I’m careful not to get it all over my face.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “I’m not popular as in cheerleader and homecoming queen kind of popular. I do have a lot of friends from different cliques. I get along with a lot of different types of people, I guess. Is that popular? But normal ... I don't want to be normal."

"That's just the thing. You absolutely are not even close to normal." He brought a fry to his lips. "Rest easy."

We finished eating in silence until we ended up licking our fingers and dabbing crumbs. At the same time. We laughed, cleared the crumbs, and shoved our mess into one large pile on the empty pizza tray and stood. "Ready?"

"You want me to take you back now?"

He leaned closer to me, flickering his eyelashes just inches from mine. "I'm not sure want is the right word, Ms. Austen."

I sincerely hoped my face did not look as warm as it felt. "And what would you want exactly?"

He tossed everything in the trash, placed the tray in its designated return spot, and held the door open for me. "How about a walk?"

"Oh! How I shall fancy a delightful stroll about the town," I teased him with my best impression of his accent.

"That was pretty good," he said. "A little too posh for my accent, but good for an American."

We rounded the city corner. I watched him take in the surroundings. I'd never been to Nashville, but I couldn't imagine it being like Philly. I'm sure he wanted to see something nicer than a few boarded up houses and mini marts.

"Let's go left up here," I said. "We aren't in the best area for sight-seeing, but there are some more romantic streets over that way."

"Ro ... mantic?" He nudged me with his elbow, and I'm sure he intended to aim for my arm, but instead he jabbed my boob. "I am so ... what I ... oh, what a daft cow. I'm sorry."

"Daft cow?" I laughed. "It's fine. Not much here to fondle anyway."

"There's enough."

I pretended not to hear that. "So ... I meant romantic as in beautiful, lovely, pleasant. I'm not completely anti-romance, you know."

"But you're a little anti-romance? Parents divorced?"

"Not in the slightest. Their love story is too sappy for the cheesiest of Hollywood."

"That must be nice." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "My parents are divorced. Happily so. It's a bit awkward, but they parted on fairly civil terms."

"You'd think it would be nice to have cheesy parents who haven't released the honeymoon stage yet, but it's overwhelming. They named me after Jane Austen because they fell in love in high school when they were partners for a Pride and Prejudice reading project or something. Everything since then has been perfect for them. They never fight. They always stare dreamily into each other's eyes while I’m trying to get through breakfast. And the worst part is they gave me this ridiculous name."

"At least it's authentic cheese and not that artificial stuff."

I laughed. "What?"

"Your parents. Better to have real cheese than fake cheese." His left foot stepped forward in line with mine, then the right. "It's not that bad, anyway. Your name."

"It's not so much the name as it is the expectations that come with it. Jane Austen, child of insanely intense romance gurus, destined to fall in love and live happily ever after, staring blindly into her husbands eyes every morning." He started to speak, but I had to finish with, "I'm not cynical."

"I feel the same actually."

"What?"

"There's too much emotionalism and sensationalism expected in relationships, so it sets a lot of people up for not having their happily ever after. Maybe for you, it's not worth it to try. I sometimes wonder that about myself.”

"I didn't say that." Did I? "I'm not anti-love."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm really not. If it happens, it happens, but I don't like this pressure girls are given from the age of two to dress up like princesses and pine over a prince, only to grow up and date way too many guys or get depressed because they don't have a boyfriend. Life shouldn't revolve around romantic love. There are other kinds of love in life, but when you're name is freaking Jane Austen it becomes a joke, really. A lifelong joke that drives me nuts."

"Have anything positive to say on the matter?" He nudged me again, this time careful to hit my arm instead. "I'm kidding. I completely understand."

"No you don't."

"Sure I do. You think I've watched my parents fall apart only to walk away looking for the first girl I found?" He took his hands out of his pockets and his arm touched mine again. I didn't want to notice, but it took all I had to stop noticing. "There's a reason I'm not flirting with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're obviously aware of your looks, or at least the several blokes who have been staring at you today, but you're also intelligent and unique. I can't say I've ever met a girl like you before."

"You're pretty interesting yourself."

We reached a nice block of houses with flowers and vines pouring from window planters. The sun painted the bricks a golden hue, as though it were already nearing sunset, but it couldn't had been that late already, could it?

He stopped walking and held my arm, securing us in a band of light that warmed his fair skin with a hazel glow. Gazing down, I focused on the freckles dotting his hands. I couldn't look into his eyes. One, I feared he'd try to kiss me. And two, I worried I wouldn't stop him. Then that would lead to three, four, five, and so on of consequences I did not want right now.

Precautions. Not aversions.

He stepped back and stuffed his hands into his pockets again. Slightly relieved in a disappointment-tainted way, I finally allowed my eyes to settle on his. He stood completely still. Not even a hint of a smile toyed with his lips. Just ... stood there. Staring. At me.

If I stopped staring, I'd seem shy. And shy would seem interested. So I continued to stare without staring, if that makes sense. Instead of staring into him, like I assumed a lover would do, I stared through him like a laser beaming passing through his eyes, in and out of his skull, and back out into the city street behind him. Yes, that worked. That erased any hint of interest. At least I thought so, until he stepped forward, hands still in his pockets, and said in a hushed voice, "I hope you don't mind. I only wanted to take a picture."

A picture without a camera. How clever. A picture with his mind.

His declaration splashed watercolors on the blank canvas I worked hard to maintain. Blank. I wanted blank. Now, I stared at my feet as the colors swished and curled around me, dying my tidy little world with its vibrant fever and pulling me into something unexplainable, something I couldn't control, something I didn't want as much as I wanted it.

He continued walking. It took me a second to gather the pieces of myself and catch up with him. I looked over my shoulder, back at the exact place on the sidewalk that he stopped me. The colors were already fading. Then a car sped by and the moment we had was lost in a cloud of exhaust. Lost forever.

The picture was only left in our minds.

Had I really gone the entire afternoon without checking my phone even once? I shot everyone a quick I’m sorry, I’m alive text as the sun dropped behind the buildings, making its way toward the other side of the world. The side Donovan was still traveling to. I hoped everything would go well for him, but somehow doubted it. Online dating never seemed to work out the way it should. At least not in any cases I'd seen first hand. Although there was Molly, Autumn's older sister. Three years out of high school and desperate for love, she tried one of those dating sites, found the man of her dreams, and within months they already had a honeymoon baby on the way. Thankfully Autumn thought it was just as crazy as I did, even amidst her love for everything Nicholas Sparks and yes, Jane Austen. Shudder.

It's not that bad, really. Sense and Sensibility at least had some sense. Had Marianne wallowed in her tears or chased after Willoughby I may have taken away a star or two, but she married the Colonel and for that I am happy.

Alistair and I walked back to the car without talking. In between thoughts I'd listen to the sound of our feet tapping the sidewalk, the songs passing from open car windows, and the endearing tunes of the ice cream truck traveling to fingers that would soon be covered in sticky sugar.

Autumn texted me back: What are you doing?? I thought we were meeting for dinner??

I responded: I’ll be there soon. Got held up with something. Explain later.

Then my brother texted: OK, mom was worried cuz she didn’t hear from you, see ya later, happy bday sis.

I responded: Thanks, be back later around 10 … I’ll text mom too.

Alistair walked with his hands in his pockets almost the entire time. His hands seemed most relaxed there, but it left little room for his arm to sway into mine. Not that I wanted that or anything....

In only a few minutes we would be sitting in the car, driving to his hotel. We would say goodbye forever and I shouldn't have cared. I'd only known him, well, not even a full twenty-four hours and I had my ... precautions.

I'm only eighteen, I said inside. It wouldn't be the right time anyway. Not for me.

Yet, being with him made a hectic city feel peaceful. He was right. It was comfortable. And it seemed different than Donovan or Autumn. It wasn't just comfort. There was excitement bubbling under the satisfied stillness. It was there. I know he felt it too, but I couldn't lead him on.

“Deep in thought?” I said, interrupting the quiet air between us.

He kicked the ground as he took a step and brought his hands out of his pockets. “Do you ever feel like your life is passing and there’s nothing you can do about it?” His hands made various motions as he talked, passionately. “I mean, here I am, I planned everything so precisely thinking, gee, perhaps life will be like this when I am in my twenties and here I am. It’s nothing like I planned or imagined and sometimes I wonder if I’m being tricked into a bland life I never wanted.”

I tried to understand, but he lost me. “Tricked?”

“Life feels fake sometimes, doesn’t it? As though we’re passing through without a choice in the matter.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, maybe it feels that way right now, but you have choices.”

“Like I could choose to stop you right here on this sidewalk and kiss you until you can't breathe?”

I ran my hand through my hair, letting it drop into my face to hide my expression.

“Kidding,” he said, laughing. “Well, sorta, you know.”

We finally sat down in my car and my legs thanked me a hundred times. Did he really want to kiss me?

"What kind of music do you play?" I asked as I turned the car on.

"It's hard to classify." His tone suggested that he didn’t want to talk about his band for some reason.

So, I shifted subjects. "What do you listen to?"

He jumped at the bait. "A lot, but mostly classic rock, blues, that sorta thing."

That fit him.

"I've pulled the hotel address up on my phone here," he said. "I'll tell you where to turn."

"I'll just head back toward the airport and you tell me when it says to do something different. I think I remember where it is."

"It's been nice." He turned his face toward the window. "A bit strange, I suppose, but it has been nice, hasn't it? Today, I mean."

"Strange and nice about covers it."

I stopped at a red light and danced my fingers along the steering wheel. He took my hand into his and pulled me toward him.

"Jane, I'm sorry, but I really do want to kiss you right now."

I pulled back and exhaled when I saw the light turn green. Foot on the pedal, I accelerated the car and tried to slow down my pulse. I would not, could not, kiss him.

Dr. Seuss, anyone?

Eyes on the road, I felt his gaze burning a hole into my head, but it most certainly would not burn a hole into my heart. Trees on the side of the road, fading sun to my right, two solid yellow lines—focus, Jane, focus.

"I'm not asking to be your boyfriend. Just a kiss, like the others." He rubbed his legs and looked from the window back to me. "I know it can't work, but I ... I don't know ... do you know what I mean?"

"Alistair." I shook my head. "It's not you. I know you're not some whacko trying to get in my pants. I guess there's always that chance, I mean, I don't know you very well. You could be a whacko and I really hope not, but I'm ... I can't kiss you."

"It's trousers."

"What?"

"I believe you meant trousers, not pants. Although you could very well mean pants too." He stopped and looked at me. "I'm not in love with you."

I laughed.

He smiled. "There's something between us though. I know you feel it."

"It's not real, Alistair. It's just our emotions eating us alive. British boy and American girl meet in an airport, spend the day together, and by the end of the day they've fallen in love." I glanced at him, expecting a smile but he looked as serious as possible. "It has all the necessary elements of a sweeping romance, but it's our emotions. It can't be anything more. It's not possible to fall for someone when you've only just met."

"A relationship has to start somewhere," he said and pointed. "Turn there. Not saying this should be a relationship, but it's something, don't you think? There's something here."

"What's the point?" I nodded toward the road. "Which way do I go?"

"Left and then it's there on the right. Days Inn." He ran his hand along the open window. "What's the point in anything?"

I laughed. "That's vague."

"The point is I want to kiss you. You said we have a choice. Well, I’m making a choice for once. A choice for myself. I may not love you or know you inside and out, but when I watch your lips move I want to kiss you. What would it hurt?"

"It's weird."

He laughed. "It is a bit queer, that's true." He repositioned in the seat and unbuckled himself. "Still doesn't change the fact that I want to kiss you before I leave. I won't ever see you again and the least I could give you for your birthday is the best kiss you've ever had in your life."

I shot a stunned look at him only to find him leaning toward me with exaggerated and dorky puckered lips. Laughing, I parked the car and left it on. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture with full cannons played quietly in the background. I bet he didn't notice, but I did. Quite dramatic for the moment, but I thought it was funny so I left it on.

I glanced in the backseat at the box Donovan gave me. The box that would explain one of the many reasons why I am the way I am. Why I developed my precautions. I couldn't wait to go home and open it, as much as it scared me, but for now I needed to send off a sweet boy without the kiss he so wanted.

The kiss I half wanted.

“One minute,” he said, pulling out a scrap of paper, tearing it in half, and grabbing a pen. He cupped his hand over the words and wrote something way too long to be a phone number, email address, or even mailing address.

Intrigued, I tried to peek, but he glanced at me, pretending to be agitated but failing. He leaned back against the door so that I couldn’t possible see what he wrote on the paper hidden by his hand. I tried and he flashed me a few grins. He obviously liked tormenting me with his mysterious ways. Finally, he finished writing and ran his fingers through his hair and ... okay, maybe I sixty-five percent wanted to kiss him.

The distance tempted me. No last names, phone numbers, or addresses. No strings. No attachments. No arguments and jealousy and break ups.

Just a kiss. A once and done kiss.

Couldn't hurt, right?

"You're thinking about it," he said. "I can tell. My winsome accent has won you over."

"Right." I laughed. "Winsome, all right. Speaking of accents, what do British people think of American accents?"

"Everyone always asks this."

"And?"

"We don't think about it the same way American's do." He held my hand again. "So..."

"This is so strange! I can't kiss you when you ask. It's weird, awkward ... queer."

He smiled. "You really don't want to?"

"I do and I don't."

He inched toward me until his breath touched my neck. Funny how warmth can send chills down your body. I closed my eyes, allowing the heated shivers to cover me. His breath smelled like spearmint and if he moved closer to my lips I wouldn’t be able to deny tasting him.

I opened my eyes as he kissed my cheek.

"Was that okay?" he said.

I nodded, now eighty-nine percent wanting his kiss.

"Well." He opened the door and swung one leg out. "Thank you for entertaining me today. It's been a day of all sorts, and you've made it a bit less dreadful." He swung the other leg out. "And happy birthday."

The cannons erupted at the end of 1812 Overture and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Hilarious timing. A quizzical look appeared in his eyes as the end of the song burst forth. I shrugged. He smiled and stood outside of the car.

I liked that he didn't force himself on me. And I liked that he didn't give me his phone number or email address or even try to draw out the conversation to stay in my car longer. I liked it so much I wanted him to stay.

"Thank you," I said as he shut the door.

He leaned into the window, smiled, and held my gaze for what felt like minutes. Then he tapped the door and walked away, disappearing behind glass doors without so much as a nod back in my direction. His hands-in-the-pocket stride carried him out of sight. Out of my life.

My pulse should have slowed, but it quickened again.

And so that's it....

I almost—not quite almost, but almost almost—went after him for that kiss, but More Reasonable Me said, “No, let it go. It was nothing more than an interesting afternoon and now it’s time to go back to normal life.”

“Yes,” Less Reasonable Me said. “But…”

I shifted the car into drive and noticed a ripped paper on the passenger's seat. I turned it over, pulled off a mint candy taped to the paper, then read:

If we are meant to kiss one day, let's call it The Big Day, then we will meet again. This day, May 17th, four years from now. The Big Day. You'll be 21 then. That should be enough time to consider a kiss, yes? If you are willing and we are both as single as we are now, I will be at the airport on May 17th, your 21st birthday, and you will be there too, and I will kiss you like I want to right now.

Let’s see where life takes us...

Till then, Alistair Anonymous

I glanced back at the glass doors, hoping to see him standing there, but he was gone and you know, I kind of liked it. Autumn and Donovan would never believe me. I’m not sure I even believed it myself. Did I really spend an afternoon with someone I just met?

I drove away, smiling as 1812 Overture ended with full-bodied emotion.

Yes, four years. That was plenty of time to consider falling in love. And I would … I would at least consider it before The Big Day.