Destiny Ever-Changing (3 page)

"Oh, good," I sigh. "If I would've called a tow truck, there's no telling how long I would be waiting. I'm so thankful you were out here."

"It's nothing, really." He stands up, dusts his hands off, and wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead. "You're all set."

He puts the old tire in the trunk, and we begin packing my things back in. As the last few things are crammed in and nothing more could possibly fit, I remember "the box." I don't recall putting it back in there, which means that
he
did. Twice now, this very ruggedly attractive man has seen my "granny panties." I feel the burning in my cheeks again as a disturbed look sweeps across my face.

"I don't think this last one is going to fit in there," he says, holding out another box.

I turn and blindly reach for the box while I attempt to shut the trunk—realizing too late that it's
the
box that he's holding. I gasp and immediately fumble for it, my unwieldy hands knocking it from his grasp just as a fierce gust of wind comes in off the ocean. 

Suddenly, several pairs of the panties take flight—blowing into the highway, into the yard, and one is even proudly displaying itself on a road sign. To further my humiliation, the man immediately chases them down until they are all safely back in the box, and he jogs back to my car and places it in my backseat, acting as if he thought nothing of it. 

Meanwhile, I stand here with my mouth hanging wide open, absolutely mortified.

This can't be happening . . .

"Looks like I'd better get back to my work now, if you don't mind," he says while picking up his tools.

"What do I owe you for helping me out?" I am unable to even look in his direction.

"Nothing at all," he says laughing quietly, a hint of a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Really, I owe you."

I look up, my eyes finally meeting his. "How so?"

"I needed a good laugh today," he chuckles, winking at me before he turns to walk away.

I feel my face flush, yet again. "Oh. Well, thanks."

He turns his head around, nods at me with a smile, and continues to walk back toward the house. I can hear him snickering the whole way.

I get into my car and speed away as fast as I can. I have never been more embarrassed in my life. I hope I don't run into him for the next few days that I'm here because I know I couldn't face him again. He probably went straight to everyone else at the house and told them all about my flying panties.

I am so caught up in what just happened and trying to get away, that I nearly pass Nana's house. I slam on my brakes and actually have to back up a bit in order to pull into the driveway. I am still quite flustered from my experience with the gardener, and I can't get that mocking smile out of my head. He is still laughing, no doubt.

Chapter Two — The Beauty and the Beast

Brooks:

I can't stop giggling like a teenage girl as I walk back up to the house. As soon as I see her car pull away, I literally start rolling on the ground laughing. I haven't laughed like this in quite some time. Even if only short-lived, I feel human again. I truly need that.

I find it hard to believe that, only an hour ago, I was yelling at a Goldenrod bush, taking all of my frustrations out on it, until that girl showed up, anyway. I felt sorry for her, but it's nice to see that someone, other than me, is having a bad day . . . week . . . year. I almost wanted to walk over and start assaulting that tire with her, not to say that would have made either of us feel better. My current situation certainly wouldn't have changed. I wonder what is going on in her life. Is it anything like mine?

I heard the thumping of her tire right before she pulled over in front of my house, so I immediately stood up and dusted myself off, knowing that I would likely be changing it. As she jumped out of her car, the first thing I noticed was how attractive she was, and my eyes darted to the passenger side of her car, expecting a woman that beautiful to have a boyfriend or husband along with her. No one was there. Watching her kick the tire and scream at it was quite entertaining, and I couldn't help but replying to her plea. By the look on her face, I'm pretty sure I startled her, but her turning around allowed me to get a better look.

Her long, dark brown hair swung around as she turned, blanketing her right shoulder in a silky sheet. Her face was thin, but the structure of it was like that of a goddess: pronounced cheekbones, full lips, and glistening green eyes. I could instantly tell, though, that she had been troubled long before her tire went flat; I could see dried streaks of mascara under her soft eyes. I knew exactly how she felt.

I'm positive I didn't help her to feel any better either. I'm typically an incredibly pleasant guy, but the last few weeks have not exactly helped my demeanor. I could tell that I wasn't being overly friendly by any stretch of the imagination, but at least I helped with the tire, right? She was very easy to like, even with her saddened expression. She displayed such a kind and genuine personalitya quality that I rarely see in the women in my social circle.

Just as we finished cleaning her trunk out so I could get the spare, she gasped at what I was holding. I didn't even realize what it was, at first, but I could see that it really embarrassed her. In fact, I didn't even know they were panties until I had turned to put the box down with the others. I wanted to laugh, but I knew she was humiliated enough, so I attempted to act as if I didn't notice.

After I was finished replacing the tire, we crammed everything back in the trunk, box by box. I intentionally avoided that one box that made her so uncomfortable, but she was too focused on making sure everything fit in the trunk to notice that it was still on the ground. Reluctantly, I picked it up to hand to her, and I noticed a gift tag stuck on the side. It said, "To Laura, From: Aunt Judy, with love.
"

Her name is Laura.
I thought.
And
I didn't think those were quite her style.

I had to stop myself from looking at her backside to see if I could determine what her style
was
. I held the box out to her, and again, she was mortified. She grabbed at the box, obviously trying not to look at it, and I lost my grip. A few little storm clouds were blowing in, and the winds were beginning to pick up with absolutely perfect timing. Just as the oversized, parachute-like lingerie spilled out of the box, the wind gusted with such force that they took to it like kites. If I ever decide to make a kite, I'll know exactly what kind of material to use, at least.

Forgetting for a moment what I was in pursuit of, the knight in shining armor in me kicked in, and I ran after the panties to retrieve them, feeling slightly perverted. She didn't take long to leave after that incident, which made me wish that I hadn't changed the tire so quickly.

I was just starting to warm up to her, but I can't blame her for running off so fast. I'm sure it was weird for her to have the lowly
gardener
looking at her panties; I still can't believe she assumed that I just work here. But, based on the way I'm dressed today, I can see the reason for her immediate assumption.

Interrupting my thoughts, my fiancée, Jacqueline, steps outside and immediately swats at the tiny gnats swarming around her heavily perfumed skin. "I don't know why you insist on doing all of that yard work. You know the landscapers will be back next week."

"It's not beneath me to do physical labor," I reply as I wipe away a trickle of sweat just before it reaches my eye. "Now that someone is living here, there's no need to have the landscapers back until we leave. I prefer to do it myself."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Just be sure you keep your rough hands off of me until I get you a manicure. Oh, and who was that out there you were talking to a minute ago? And
what
are those tools for?"

"That woman had a flat tire, so I changed it."
Right before I handled all of her panties.
"And you can forget about the manicure."

Jacqueline laughs mockingly. "You mean to tell me that you think you are a mechanic now?"

"Look, she needed help, so I helped her. People do still do that, you know. You should try it sometime."

"Oh, Joshua, I aspire to be as perfect and saintly as you someday," she gushes dramatically, just before pretending to stick her finger down her throat to gag herself and slamming the door.

Joshua.

She sure knows how to get under my skin. I hate it when anyone calls me Joshua, but she insists that it sounds more dignified than Brooks. I was named Joshua Brooks Tucker, Jr. after my father. My father always preferred the moniker "JB," since he never cared for either name. I have told Jacqueline at least a dozen times that I detest being called Joshua, but she doesn't care. That's how she isself-absorbed and doesn't care about anyone else's feelings. If she decided that God himself should be called something different, she would do it.

I know I haven't been at all pleasant with Jacqueline lately, but I haven't always been that way. I have known Jacqueline Martens my whole life, and she was once a compassionate, affable girl.  I actually developed a crush on her when I was approaching my early teen years, and, over those next few years, I was crazy about her.

Inevitably, though, when she was about 16, she finally realized that her family was wealthy, and she acted like it. All she could talk about then was her ever-increasing social status, everything she had recently purchased, and how much better she was than her friends were. I began losing interest in her at that point, but we still had to see each other often.

Our fathers were best friends in college, and they have always maintained that friendship. Even though they own competing oil companies, they somehow manage to put the rivalry behind them and remain close. Our families spent a lot of time together while I was growing up, and they still do. Most of the vacations that we went on included the Martens family, so I could never escape from Jacqueline; although, I didn't always complain about it.

She is a stunning woman, and there isn't a man alive that would deny that. What man wouldn't find a girl like her attractive? Her waist-length, blond hair shimmers like it's made of spun gold, her deep blue eyes are framed with dark eyelashes, she has smooth bronze skin, and her lean body curves in all the right places. She's very well-kept, and she would never allow someone to see her otherwise, which is why she locks herself in the bathroom for nearly three hours every morning. She even has an hour dedicated to her so-called beauty routine before she goes to bed. It's ridiculous, actually. To me, a woman that has to put that much time into her appearance, really isn't beautiful at all.
Natural
beauty is something that I truly admire.

Once I graduated college, she and I began a serious relationship, much to the delight of our parents, and she seemed to have finally outgrown her belief of superiority. My parents have always preached to me about the importance of marrying well, which, to them, actually means to marry someone with money. Jacqueline certainly meets their qualifications; although, she doesn't meet all of mine. Sure, she is exceptionally beautiful, independent, and smart, but she lacks one immensely vital thing to mea heart.

Regardless of how I feel about her, we are to be married on August 31
^st
, and it's already the beginning of May. Overwhelming dread fills me more and more every day. I could very easily break things off with her; I have no real attachment to her. However, this is more of a business transaction than a marriage. How could my own father do this to me?

Chapter Three — Mystery Man

Laura:

As I pull into the bumpy, gravel drive leading up to Nana's house, I notice that its appearance remains unchanged. Though it's nothing special, I've always loved it. The house isn't big and extravagant like many of the other houses on this highway; it's quite small, actually.

Built in the 1920's, the quaint, white two-story home still has the original navy blue shutters and matching wooden front doorprecisely the same as it has been for ninety years. My grandparents have resided here since they were married in 1958. My grandpa made a few minor repairs throughout the years and touched up the paint, but, overall, they never altered the house. However, they did build a garage with an office upstairs back in the eighties, but it's not connected to the house.

I pull up in front of the garage after passing the flower garden. Nana has quite a passion for flowers; the flowerbed is so large, it covers a majority of the front yard. There are roses, tulips, jonquils, pansies, lilies, and a number of flowers that I can't name, all in nearly every color one can imagine. Her garden is a haven for butterflies, and since she is usually alone, I almost believe that she considers them a part of her family.

Getting out of my car, I begin to wonder if she is even here. She normally would have been bounding out of the house before I could put my car into park. I take a few steps toward the house, and I have my answer.

The front door flings open, and I hardly recognize the petite, white-haired woman waving both arms in excitement. "My sweet Laura! You made it!"

"Nana! I've missed you so much!" I say after running to the porch and meeting her in a firm embrace. She seems so much smaller and feebler than when I saw her last.

"You must be hungry after your drive." She ushers me inside the house. "I've been making your favorite double fudge cake since you called. I just put the frosting on it."

"Nana, it was just a few hours' drive," I giggle.

"Nonsense, you need to eat something. You look like skin and bones. Haven't you been eating well? I can tell you haven't, so there's no sense in denying it. I'm glad you came, so I can fatten you up for a few days."

I smile and shake my head. "I've been eating well, I promise. I'll be more than happy to take some of that cake off your hands, though."