No, Not that Jane Austen (3 page)

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."