by Marilyn Grey
"Can't believe this." He looked down at his phone and shook his head.
"I better get going." I opened the door. "Hope everything goes well with your friend there."
"I procrastinated. Changed my flight and decided to stay a few extra days. Came from Nashville, but my flight stopped here to board for London. But I missed it because of a delay from Nashville. I suppose I need to find a hotel. You mind taking me to—wait, it's your birthday. I don't want to intrude." He stepped back and turned to walk away, then looked over his shoulder and waved. "Have a great birthday."
No phone number. No flirting.
Color me shocked.
I sat down and turned on my car, then looked at the box on the passenger's seat. Still couldn't believe Donovan found it. I held it in my lap and opened the top, then slipped a credit card under the velvet and pulled up. The tape didn't have the slightest tear. Donovan didn't see it, then.
I set the box back on the passenger's seat and backed up, then drove away only to find Alistair holding his thumb out along the main road.
I slowed down and pulled over. He motioned for me to keep going, but I parked and stuck my head out the window.
"Come on," I said. "I'm not letting you hitchhike in Philadelphia."
He settled into the passenger's seat and closed the door. "Are you sure?"
I laughed and pulled back on to the highway. "Stop being so nice. "
He exhaled, barely laughing under his breath.
I started to speak, but stopped when I realized he was saying something at the same time.
"You go right on," he said.
"What were you saying?"
"Just that there's a hotel about three minutes up this road." He pointed over the dashboard. "That will be fine. Thank you so much. I feel rubbish messing up your birthday."
"Rubbish. That's cute." Did I actually just say cute?
He didn't seem to notice. "Turn right here."
"You know what?" I ignored the turn and drove straight. "You obviously know a thing or two about tattoos. That was my birthday present today from my friend. Pretty much the only thing I wanted besides a different name. Want to come with me? You seem like you could use a distraction from whoever is bothering you with those texts."
"You really want to change your name?"
I nodded as emphatically as possible.
"But it's who you are."
"No." I pat my chest. "Who I am is in here, not out here."
"I don't know. It's your name."
"So I can turn around and take you back to your hotel of choice or you can hang out with me and I'll bring you back tonight." What am I doing? "This is a bit strange, isn't it?"
He inhaled slowly and exhaled even slower. "It is a bit, but comfortable too." He rubbed his face, then dropped his hand back to his lap. "Then again, I'm rather used to hanging out with strangers."
I didn't ask what he meant. Not that I didn't want to, but my mind fell into a hole when he said it was comfortable. Of all words, he said comfortable. I only experienced that kind of comfortable with Donovan and Autumn, but there was something about this Alistair, something that made him seem new and familiar all at once. If he lived here we’d become instant friends.
That worried me.
"Like that," he interrupted my thoughts. "I don't have silent moments like that with most people I've only just met. That just happened."
I wanted to respond, if only to prove that I wasn't contemplating it as much as I was.
"I don't mean to scare you, Ms. Austen." He laughed. "Contrary to your assessments of me, I am not looking for love and I live across the ocean. It wouldn't make sense to..."
I stopped at a red light and stared at him.
He stared back. "I don't start things I can't finish.”
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."