A Season For Romance

by Marks, V. R.

  "Oh, that's just nasty."

  He stabbed a slice of toast with his fork, folded it twice, and worked the whole thing into his mouth.

  She gaped, and he shrugged. But when he could speak, he reminded her that this was how "normal young men" did things.

  Finally, he was alone in the kitchen. And alone with his thoughts.

  * * *

  Austin stood alone in the frozen wonderland of Hobbitville and struggled not to feel alone in the brand new year. That her mood the night of the party hadn't faded surprised her, but it wasn't a surprise to find herself searching for the solution here.

  The crystalline quiet sparkled around her, a blanket of stars draped over plants and statues. It had snowed both days of this new year and more was on the way, if the heavy clouds in the afternoon sky were any indicator. She probably should be worried about leaving a trail of footprints, but oddly, she didn't care if someone knew she'd been here, or if anyone followed her.

  Maybe, just maybe, she'd get lucky, and the person to follow her would be the one local guy she didn't yet know. Maybe he'd even be interested in getting to know her.

  And maybe the sparkling snow would turn to diamonds, and she'd open a jewelry store.

  She clapped her mittened hands to her face. Though she hadn't spoken aloud, she was shocked to sound just like Lana in her head. Worried she was becoming a true cynic, a state that would grind away her normally cheery nature, she rushed toward her happy cherub touchstone.

  Peeling away her mitten, on the off chance skin to stone would carry her to a new destination this time, she sank her hand into the fresh snow until she felt the carved waves of the cherub's hair.

  In a moment, she was swept into a swirl of snowwrapped wind, and she waited to open her eyes until she felt steady. Even then, she merely cracked her lids, hoping with every shivering nerve she possessed that she'd landed somewhere–anywhere–other than Llewellyn Cemetery. But the view was all too familiar. She sighed, the cloud of vapor fogging her view of the angel statue standing guard over the family plot.

  Why could she only jump here? Frustrated, she put her mitten back on and then shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She didn't even get a garden, just this musty old cemetery filled with the remains of one of the city's founding families. If it weren't so cold, she'd just walk home, that's how pitiful her jumping skill was.

  Instead, she walked away from the angel statue, ignoring the tiny gothic prayer chapel behind it. Her booted feet sunk into knee-deep snow as she trudged up the hill toward a marble-columned gazebo that overlooked downtown.

  She told herself she should feel guilty for her ungrateful attitude. Not everyone got to enjoy the excitement of moving through time and space by merely touching a statue. What she needed, if she couldn't achieve a change of venue, was a change of heart. Two days of no hot guy data base and she wasn't even having serious withdrawal, though it was hardly a victory. Didn't it take three weeks or so to make or break a habit? That's what the data base had become: a habit of listening and compiling information. The real test would be the reactions of the girls when she got back to school.

  Reaching the gazebo, she leaned back against a column and looked out over the city. It was a lovely view, no matter how Lana complained that nothing ever happened here. She felt compelled to make the most of the moments whenever she jumped, like she wasn't appreciating the magic enough if she only complained about where she ended up.

  At the sound of boots crunching through snow, Austin jerked and turned around. Seeing the young man trudging up the hill, trying to restrict his longer stride to the boot prints she'd made.

  "Hi!" she said when he was close. He stopped, and his face lifted. He looked so familiar, but she couldn't recall his name.

  "Sorry. I didn't realize someone was here." He dropped his gaze back to his feet. "I mean I knew someone was here–had been here–but…"

  He was looking at her so oddly. "It's okay. I get it." Austin felt the smile in her cold cheeks. Then, she worried maybe he was here to visit a relative. "I'll go if I'm intruding." It had never felt like that when she'd jumped here before, but she'd always been alone.

  "You're not. I just…um…come here to, ah, think once in awhile."

  "Oh, me too. It's a nice place." Better to use his excuse. He wasn't in the band, and he wouldn't believe how she got there, even if she could tell him. She held out a mittened hand. "I'm Austin."

  "Yeah, I know." He sort of lunged and leaped the last few steps to shake her hand. "I mean, I know your brother."

  "Oh?" The face looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. Considering he was what she'd label average-plus, she really should've known him if he lived in the area. Interesting that her data base was not as complete as she'd thought. Interesting and encouraging. Except she'd resolved to give that up.

  "Yeah, well. I'll just go then," he said.

  "Pardon?"

  "You're frowning." He wagged a finger at her face.

  "Oh. Sorry. I do that when I think sometimes. I was trying to remember your name." Oh, that sounded hideously rude. She couldn't tell if his face was red from cold or embarrassment, but she was sure she was blushing. "I mean you look familiar, but–"

  "No. That's okay." His quiet smile made her feel a little better. Almost. "I'm Daniel Oosterhouse."

  "But–"

  "I know." He used his gloved hands to make rings around his eyes. "Mom told me it was time to ditch the glasses. She didn't give me much choice really. But I think the contacts are more likely to freeze to my eyeballs."

  "That couldn't happen." He had such warmth in his blue eyes, she didn't think they'd ever freeze.

  He looked at her a second. "I was kidding."

  She felt herself blushing for sure now. Everyone thought she was the epitome of the dumb blonde, and conversations like this were the evidence used to prove the theory. No matter that it wasn't true. She cleared her throat. "So you know the results of the chess tournament. Can you share?"

  The annual event was held during the teacher's last work day before the holiday break. Their school, as last year's champs, had been doing the hosting.

  "You know about that?"

  She shrugged. "Is it supposed to be a state secret?"

  "No." He grinned, and her body temperature shot up.

  "We won again."

  "That's great, Daniel. Everyone will be excited."

  The grin faded to a very skeptical smirk.

  "Well, they'll be proud."

  "They'll be lucky to pronounce our names right. If they announce it at all."

  She laughed, couldn't stop it. He was so right. Most of the school, the part that wasn't talking or texting through the daily announcements, wouldn't care. Chess wasn't flashy like the team sports, and the chess competitors…well, they weren't flashy either.

  Though Daniel was looking a lot better today. If she still had the database going, she'd have to…

  "You're frowning again."

  "Sorry. Again. I haven't played chess in years."

  "You play?"

  She sighed. "My grandpa taught me. We used to play, then life sort of got busier."

  "That happens. So why'd you come out here to think today?"

  "Resolutions," she blurted. "I mean, I didn't resolve to think, I just was out here thinking how to make sure I don't renege on my resolutions."

  "Got it. I saw you at the party."

  Austin didn't recall seeing him. "I'm sorry I missed you," she said, meaning it, but thinking of the midnight kissing tradition. He had a nice looking mouth. Straight teeth, no braces. Oh–she caught herself. She had to stop analyzing and cataloguing details if she intended to get her own life this year.

  "Did you make resolutions?" She really hoped he'd start talking about himself, and she could practice just listening.

  "A couple. Mainly not to let my mom dictate my life. And wow. That sounded totally lame."

  She wanted to distract him because she was pretty sure that was a blush on
his face now. "Do you think it'd be sacrilege to build a snowman up here?"

  He blinked at her, then his smile was back. "Bet it's never been done. We could put it back there, closer to the trees. No one else would see it unless they went looking for it."

  "Good idea."

  "And besides, it's sort of my family, so my permission should count for something."

  "Even better." She remembered the other boys teasing him when they'd found out his middle name sounded like a girl's name.

  They each started rolling snowballs to the proper dimension, meeting by agreement where they thought the snowman should eventually stand.

  "Do you want to roll the base, or cheat and make a pyramid?"

  Daniel stared at her for a moment. He hadn't given much thought to the snowman details, he was more absorbed with Austin and how her boot trail started in the middle of the cemetery. Right where he'd had his illusion on New Year's Eve, but he could hardly blurt that out.

  Her idea was solid. "That sounds like a good plan. The pyramid, idea."

  "Then we can roll the next part on top and smooth everything in."

  "Sure."

  He watched her for a second, then set to work on the side opposite her, patting snow into place. He'd been tired on New Year's Eve, and the contacts were new. Still, he thought of asking her about it, but he changed his mind. If he said anything about seeing her, she'd likely ask what he'd been doing here, and he didn't want to share his secret.

  She worked quietly, concentrating, eyeing the slope.

  "This guy will be tall," she said with a wide grin.

  For once, he was grateful for the way his face reddened in the cold. She wouldn't see him blushing–or wouldn't know he was blushing anyway. The look she aimed his way made him think she liked him, made him think about what it would be like to be liked by her. He tried to shake it off.

  The base shaped, they rolled the middle of their snowman up the slope and lumped it on top. She laughed, rushing to fill it in while he held it in place.

  Daniel wished for something neutral to talk about, some familiar bit of conversation to share, but beyond snowman construction and late night illusions, he was coming up empty. He'd told her he came out here to think, but he wasn't ready to admit how often he came out here to write in the prayer chapel.

  She got the middle secure, and they worked and smoothed and then dropped the head piece on top. She was grinning again, and he felt his own expression move to mirror hers. It was the most fun he'd had in a long time. Chess was fun, writing was fun, but…God forbid his mother find out…just being spontaneous with another human was a different kind of fun. A fun he suddenly wanted to do more often. With Austin.

  "Drew was going to introduce us at the party," he said. As smooth moves went, it wasn't, but it was out there, so he'd own it.

  "I wasn't having one of my better nights. Sorry if I was rude."

  "No, not at all." He cleared his throat. "I sort of chickened out."

  Austin–in all her girl-next-door, fresh-scrubbed appeal–just stared at him. Then, she looked down at her hands and slapped the snow off her mittens. "I'll take offense to that," she said softly. "I wasn't looking that mean."

  He had the apology halfway formed when her words sunk in. Then suddenly, their snowman had a dimple because she scooped out a bit of his cheek and threw it at him. It splatted against his shoulder, and cold snow slithered under his collar.

  He gasped from the shock of her as much as the cold and scooped up some ammunition as he ducked behind the snowman. Popping up, he fired and missed when she dodged away.

  Her laughter bounced through the clear air and died abruptly when his second snowball pegged her in the back as she ran for the trees. "No fair," she cried, but the indignant tone couldn't hold up under another peal of laughter.

  They lobbed snowballs back and forth for some of the longest and most fun-filled minutes of his life. He couldn't believe it. Here he was, chess team nerd extraordinaire, out here playing with one of the most popular girls in school.

  He finally surrendered under a barrage that threatened to knock over the snowman they'd built together.

  "Don't make me wave a white flag," he pleaded, waving his hands instead.

  "Fine," she said, but she didn't sound all that disappointed. She walked out, brushing snow from her jacket, and gave the snowman a hard look. "He needs features."

  Daniel agreed. "At least eyes. He's kinda creepy faceless."

  "I can bring some stuff back tomorrow."

  She sounded so certain he just stared at her.

  "Or not."

  "No," he hurried to reassure her. "That's fine. I was thinking I could donate my old glasses to the cause. If I can find where my mom hid them."

  She stared at him, and he did his best not to squirm or look away. She had the prettiest eyes, honest eyes, and he wanted to enjoy the experience.

  "They really didn't do you any good," she said, then covered her mouth with her hands. "Wow. That was rude. I meant those heavy frames really hid your whole face."

  Her whole face was turning red, and he couldn't help laughing at her obvious distress. "It's okay. You're not the first one to say so. And my mother's resolution to change my 'image,'" he put it in air quotes, "will probably backfire come Monday."

  "Oh, definitely not. I think it'll really work in your favor. In fact, I bet I get–" she cleared her throat and got busy smoothing out the dimple on the snowman's head.

  "You bet you get what?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm done with that."

  "What?"

  She sighed, looked at him, then back at the snowman. "I'm not really popular, you know. I just know things that other people want to know, so they come to me with questions. It got to be a bit of a habit, and honestly, it got overwhelming, and everyone thinks I'm only good for one thing, which I won't be doing anymore. So, like you, Monday will probably backfire on me, too."

  He was impressed with her ability to say it all–and still say nothing–on one breath.

  She started walking away. "I should go."

  "I'll walk you to your car." He got more curious when she blanched. "Or not?"

  She shook her head. "I don't need an escort. Do you want me to bring back stuff for our friend's face tomorrow?"

  He didn't push because he did want to see her again. Back at school, they probably wouldn't get to talk much. Naming a time, he was relieved when she nodded. Then, she turned away, tromping down the hill.

  For a moment, he worried she'd look inside the prayer chapel and find his secret, but the way she was rushing off, it didn't seem likely. He thought about following her, but when his mother's voice sounded in his head telling him to be a gentleman, he walked into the trees looking for arms for their snowman instead.

  Later, he'd check the snow for the rest of her trail.

  -Three-

  Austin couldn't put words to her mood, other than to think of the afternoon as the most fun she'd had with a guy in a long time. There was her brother, of course, but he didn't really count. And there was the band, but they didn't count much either since no one seemed to give her credit for being much more than a boy-crazy girl.

  Well-informed was a far cry from crazy.

  But, she admitted grudgingly, when the world only saw one side of a person, the resulting opinion was bound to get skewed.

  "Hey, Austin?" her brother called from the kitchen.

  "Where you headed?"

  "To Brie's," she said, stopping in the kitchen on her way to the garage. "Girl's night."

  "Oh."

  She recognized that tone in her twin's voice. He'd been thinking up something. "Why?"

  Andrew sighed in a completely put-upon way. "I've been trying to introduce you to a friend of mine. I thought you two would hit it off."

  She started groaning and making the sign of the cross with two hands. "No. Nonononono. Can't make me. No."

  "He's a nice guy."

  "Of course he is."
r />   "I'd make it worth your while."

  Austin thought about that, thought about her biology grade. Where she struggled, Drew thrived. But she was resolved to do better, and making him do the work would hardly prove anything. "No. Thank you very kindly. See you in the morning."

  "You're sleeping over?"

  "Not your business." She glared at him. "But yeah. It's chick flick tradition." He didn't need to know she was heading out early to put a face on the snowman guaranteed to make Daniel laugh tomorrow.

  She parked in the lot that served the neighborhood playground, then walked a couple blocks over to Hobbitville. At her touchstone, she took a breath reached out and let it carry her to the Llewellyn Cemetery. She didn't realize the trouble right away, experiencing the same buoyant feeling as any other jump while the snow settled.

  Then, she heard the gasp and knew her arrival had been seen.

  When had this small, ignored cemetery become such a hive of activity? She reached out to jump back to Hobbitville when a voice croaked out, "Austin? Is that you? Wait!"

  Recognizing Daniel's strained voice, she didn't go. She made a valiant effort to create a plausible explanation for her sudden appearance as he came to a stop in front of her, eyes wide like he was looking at some sort of monster.

  "Hi. I brought a face for the snowman." He continued to stare. "Hello?" She tried to pretend she'd just walked up,and he was imagining the rest.

  "What?" He blinked a few times. "How?" He was looking around her, at the untouched snow around the statue.

  Daniel might be a nerd, but he was both cute and notoriously smart. It would be a hard thing to convince him he was insane, even temporarily.

  "What are you doing here?" she countered brightly. "Isn't it a little too cold to be hanging out, um, outside?"

  "You're here." He touched her shoulder, squeezed her arm through her jacket. "Really here."

  "Yeah, I just walked up," she said.

  "No. No you didn't. I heard a wind, saw a flurry, and here you are." He poked her cheek.

  She batted at his hand. "Hey. Back off." He took a step away, looking so contrite and confused. She felt a smidge of pity. It wasn't his fault she'd been careless.