Authors: Alyssa Goodnight
Austentatious (27 page)
Everything fell away but that misshapen parallelogram of paper—the fourth in a series—that read like a message from above ... or beyond. Was it
possible
I was reading too much into these trite little sayings? That I was letting my obsession with Sean and his abrupt departure, not to mention Fairy Jane’s involvement, twist words and meanings in my mind? Was there a chance I was seeing hidden meaning where there was none? Or had Fairy Jane’s magic wand truly extended into innocent little cookies?
possible
I was reading too much into these trite little sayings? That I was letting my obsession with Sean and his abrupt departure, not to mention Fairy Jane’s involvement, twist words and meanings in my mind? Was there a chance I was seeing hidden meaning where there was none? Or had Fairy Jane’s magic wand truly extended into innocent little cookies?
I would have killed for the ever-popular, always ridiculous
You love Chinese food
fortune right about now.
You love Chinese food
fortune right about now.
I could feel the regret starting to close in, its clammy hold grasping at everything. It came over me with the stunning power of a tidal wave, and its undertow was brutal. I regretted ever trusting in a magical journal, letting my guard down with Sean and then yanking it back up at the worst possible moment. And I regretted tearing into all four fortune cookies and the fact that I was now going to be subjected to a sympathetic but rousing pep talk when all I wanted was to slink away on my own, curl into a ball, and decide what to do.
Because clearly, I had to do something.
“It’s only a fortune, Nic.” Laura’s voice was quiet, soothing.
“Well, four,” Leslie clarified. “Pretty big coincidence, if you ask me.” Judging by the quirk of her lips, Leslie was both impressed and befuddled by the whole situation.
Wrinkling her nose a little in consideration, Beck suggested, “Maybe today holds some sort of astrological significance for you.”
“Like sexy planet rising over shy and quiet little moon?” Leslie cackled at her own joke, earning herself a collection of dirty looks from the rest of us. “What? I think writing horoscopes could be a blast.”
“I’ve known him less than a week.” The words came tumbling out, and I was too overwhelmed to stop them. “I wasn’t looking for anyone and certainly not him, but he charmed his way in. He made me imagine how it could all, just possibly, work out, and I just followed trustingly along.” My shoulders slumped in remembered defeat. “But then it became an international incident. If I were to go for it now, I’d have to contend with airlines, passports, customs, time zones, exorbitant cell phone charges, driving on the wrong side of the road, incessant drizzle ...”
“Pick me up a couple Toblerones and a bottle of Scotch whisky at duty-free.” I shifted my gaze to Leslie, marginally derailed. “When you get it all worked out,” she clarified.
“I like to stop at the duty-free shop.” The little
Seinfeld
ditty was Beck’s contribution to the muddle.
Seinfeld
ditty was Beck’s contribution to the muddle.
I decided to put a stop to it just as Laura chimed in. “Okay, enough!” A little karate-chop motion, and the table fell silent. “I never said I was going to Scotland. I was expounding on the fateful twists my life has taken in the last week, pondering what to do, and all you three can contribute is commentary on duty-free!”
“It’s only a matter of time, sweetie. I’m just trying to get my order in early,” Leslie said, sitting back to sip her wine.
“What makes you so sure—and smug?” I demanded.
“You’re in love with him, and you let him go. Now you’ve got four fortune cookies busting your ass, and you’re waffling.” Damn, was she smug. “Sean is your sexy coincidence, Nic. You know Lizzy would agree with me.” Raising her eyebrows in that “you know I’m right” way she had, Leslie waited as I mulled this over.
“Lizzy who?” Beck had switched from pity-partygoer to avid curiosity seeker in the space of a second.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” I clarified, grudgingly admitting to myself that for once, Leslie was spot-on: Sean was my sexy coincidence.
He
was my Mr. Darcy. Fairy Jane had been hyping him all along.
He
was my Mr. Darcy. Fairy Jane had been hyping him all along.
Beck pondered this a moment and then said, “I think this would blow Lizzy’s mind.” She leaned in, nudging her plate with her hands, and added, “You know, you’re like a character from one of Austen’s novels now.”
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head, bobbleheading again.
“Oh yes, you are, and it’s your turn for a happily-ever-after and a Darcy of your very own. You have to go!” Beck insisted.
“And stop at duty-free,” Leslie reminded me.
“Who would have imagined you’d end up with a Brit?” Laura added.
“But what about all that other stuff?” I asked desperately.
“Trivial in the face of true love,” Leslie answered. “Didn’t
The Princess Bride
teach you anything? Sheesh.”
The Princess Bride
teach you anything? Sheesh.”
Is this true love? I’m not sure. But there’s only one way to find out.
“But what if he doesn’t want me back?”
“Seduce him.” It was Leslie who answered, but the other two nodded in sage agreement.
“But what if I start to resent him and—”
“Don’t do that,” Laura interjected in a voice she might use to talk to a three-year-old.
“But what if I’m not ready?” This was really the crux of it all.
“I have an idea,” announced Leslie, a huge grin settling over her face as her eyes twinkled with mischief. All eyes swiveled in her direction, braced against the very worst. “Do a test run—try something you wouldn’t have before Sean but that isn’t too terribly out of range for you now, in your ... chrysalis of Weird.” It was evident she felt as awkward saying that last bit as we did hearing it.
As an idea, it wasn’t half-bad. As an idea from Leslie, it was outstanding: nary a crude, unmentionable, or objectionable aspect in sight. Within seconds suggestions were flying around the table: a tattoo. A piercing. Body shots. Cliff-diving. Hippie Hollow. It was at that point that I felt compelled to intercede.
“I’m shooting for a mini-adventure, Leslie. I think a visit to the city’s token nude beach is more than I care to take on right now. And I’m afraid that’s all the time we have,” I announced in the mellow slide of my game-show-hostess voice. Not counting my little bribe to foot the bill for dessert at Amy’s Ice Cream, that was all it took to turn the conversation.
I had much to consider.
19
In which Cinderella storms the castle
B
elieve it or not, I’d settled on getting my navel pierced. Right up until I’d Googled it. Turns out the healing process runs from four months to a year! Considering the possibility of infections and a selection of less-than-desirable diseases, the adventure du jour promptly fizzled flat. With no particular fondness for any of the other outlandish suggestions, I skittishly considered the option of going for the whole enchilada, chips all in. Within seconds I was typing “Loched In” back into the search window.
elieve it or not, I’d settled on getting my navel pierced. Right up until I’d Googled it. Turns out the healing process runs from four months to a year! Considering the possibility of infections and a selection of less-than-desirable diseases, the adventure du jour promptly fizzled flat. With no particular fondness for any of the other outlandish suggestions, I skittishly considered the option of going for the whole enchilada, chips all in. Within seconds I was typing “Loched In” back into the search window.
I’d memorized the band’s URL, but with all this talk of Scotland, I was in the mood to see that photograph I’d stumbled over days ago—the ethereal castle poised on the edge of silent lochs, hovering serenely between the depths of sky above and water below. Lingering over it again had my thoughts turning to fairy magic, making me wonder whether it was foolish to fight it. And even downright dangerous to bury it in the laundry bin.
The spell was soon broken, though, and shaking free of those wispy thoughts, I typed in the band’s URL, prepared this time for the musical onslaught. As the site cycled through snatches of various songs, I pored over every detail, every picture, every word, rather startled with myself for not having indulged in this little vicarious thrill while Sean was still on my home turf. Then again, he’d kept me pretty busy.
I tried not to let my mind linger overly long on certain, particularly fond memories, but it was a definite tussle to stay on track. Navigating back to the band’s bio page, I reread Sean’s blurb. He hailed from the picturesque village of Dornie and began singing in the local pub as just a lad; he played guitar, piano, and if sweet-talked, the bagpipes as well. He was also a firm believer in the famed monster of Loch Ness and hoped the band’s music shared a little of the magic of Scotland with the rest of the world.
Suddenly I wasn’t just lusting over the man but the country as well.
What if I went?
Out loud (and straight from Leslie’s mouth) the idea seemed absurd. But I wasn’t the same girl anymore—I’d outgrown a lot of things, I’d changed. And with the haunting music of Loch’d In niggling at my subconscious, a little international adventure seemed like an exhilarating possibility.
Pulling up Google Maps, I typed in Dornie, Scotland, and searched around a bit, zooming in and out, checking for airports, calculating distances. The village was on the edge of three lochs: Loch Alsh, Loch Duich, and Loch Long.
Something was skirting the edges of my memory. I pulled up the castle again and read the artist’s description. Eilean Donan Castle sat at the join of three lochs—the very same three! My fingers skimmed over the keys as I Googled the castle, and as I read, they begin to shake ever so slightly. That glorious, steeped-in-history, edged-in-mystery “Loched In” castle was just outside the village of Dornie, home of the band “Loch’d In.” I couldn’t decide whether it was coincidence or fate. Or possibly even magic.
My mind started zinging with what-ifs.
I’d visited Scotland once, about two years ago, for work, and it had been wet, green, and chock full of rowdy, rosy-cheeked, laugh-a-minute, deliciously accented people. I’d lived in a hotel for seven days, sick for six of them, ordering room service and longing for ice cubes. On that last day, I’d trudged out, taken the train to Edinburgh, and indulged in a gorgeous adventure via window seat. As lilting conversation buzzed around me and the hedgerows whizzed past, my thoughts had run to the filmed-on-location BBC adaptations of Miss Austen’s masterpieces. Staring out into the drizzly gray, I’d daydreamt of country dances, frilly bonnets, and curly haired gentlemen.
Those remembered mental images had me newly wondering whether Fairy Jane’s competency was sufficient to direct my own whirlwind romance nearly two hundred years beyond her expertise. In her defense, Jane had ensured, in each of her novels, that things had all come out right in the end, romantically speaking. Not to mention the fact that she’d somehow found a way to provide happily-ever-afters for those intrepid journalers in the years in between. With Sean in Scotland and me in Austin—and a vacuum between us—this was hard comfort. But given a couple minutes, I just might get around to fixing that.
I tried for a moment to imagine a longer stay in Scotland and pictured myself schlepping about in wellies and hand-knit sweaters, making up peat fires and spending casual evenings at the pub. Hmmm. It all sounded very cozy, but I didn’t know how I’d feel after a few weeks of rainy, chilly days with no quick runs to Target and the closest Mexican restaurant hundreds of miles (or more!) away. But Scotland had marvelous, melt-in-your-mouth butter toffees. And well, Sean, of course. There’d be Sean, with his sweet-n-sexy grin, his smooth, velvet voice, all wrapped up in a kilt ...
Spurred into action, I dashed into the kitchen, grabbed hold of the quote-a-day calendar with both hands, and scanned the top page. “ ‘What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.’
Emma
.” I grinned, grabbed for the phone, and dialed Gabe’s number. He answered on the fourth ring, and unable to contain myself, I blurted, “I’m thinking of giving chase.”
Emma
.” I grinned, grabbed for the phone, and dialed Gabe’s number. He answered on the fourth ring, and unable to contain myself, I blurted, “I’m thinking of giving chase.”
“Huh?”
Closing my eyes, priming myself to start over, I explained. “Sean’s in Scotland, I’m here. Ergo, I’m thinking of giving chase.”
“Who
is
this?” The jocularity was coming through loud and clear.
is
this?” The jocularity was coming through loud and clear.
“Get it out of your system, Gabe—this is a serious call.”
“Okay, fine. But who knew you’d give up the ‘thrill of the 401(k)’ for the ‘thrill of the chase.’ ” Gabe’s laugh was barely contained and so was my temper. I didn’t answer. “Okay, seriously?” he said around a chuckle. “That’s awesome. When are you leaving?”
Wishing we weren’t doing this over the phone, I begged, “Just play pro and con with me. Subject: Compulsive International Travel. I’m pro, you’re con.”
“Really? I have to be con? I think I’m much better suited to pro.”
“But shouldn’t I be the one fighting for him?”
“Point taken,” Gabe conceded. “Me first?”
“No, me. If I go, I have a much better chance of getting Sean back.”
“And an equally good chance of embarrassing yourself to within an inch of your pride.”
“I’ll have made the grand gesture, followed my bliss ...” I envisioned all sorts of pride-numbing endings, and my conviction faltered a bit.
“You’ll be out the cost of the plane ticket, transportation, accommodations—not to mention the cost to your pride.”
“You’ve mentioned that,” I reminded him.
“It’s a biggie. You know, you could just call him.”
“I can’t. We’re way beyond that. I think I have to go for the grand gesture, if only to make the point that I can be flexible and spontaneous in a pinch.”
“But it’s an eight-hour flight—over an ocean—and unplanned time off work. That’s a whopper of a gesture for a man you’ve only known a week.”
True. As gestures went, it was big. I quickly squelched that train of thought, not about to let my sensible side get a foothold here. I countered, “There are perks over and above just seeing Sean. I haven’t had a vacation in almost a year, and Scotland is drenched in history, culture, and glorious scenery. The castles alone would justify the trip.”
“Drenched being the operative word. And I don’t think you’d much care for the castles ‘alone.’ I’m sure they’re better with a friend.”
Damn, he was good. I gritted my teeth and tried again.
“There’s the toffee and the tartans and the cashmere.” It was a desperate, last-ditch effort.
“All of which can be purchased with minimal effort over the Internet. And the shipping costs are nothing compared to the monumental cost of flying over to pick them up.” I could hear the smugness in Gabe’s voice as he added, “Keep ’em comin’, ’cause we haven’t even touched on the flighty irresponsibility of ditching out of your first day on a new job.”
Gabe was irritatingly, excruciatingly good at this, but I’d realized it didn’t matter. The whole time I’d been trying to convince him, I’d convinced myself. I was going. I’d find a way to work out the job thing.
“Your work here is done,” I told him breezily.
“How’d I do?” he asked, the interest clear in his voice.
“I plan on making my travel arrangements as soon as we get off the phone.”
“I’ll score it as a win.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah, well, bring me back a souvenir—if you end up coming back. I’m a large if you’re shopping for cashmere—same for toffee.”
“If you’re lucky, I’ll bring you a kilt. Beck will love that, trust me.”
As promised, within thirty minutes it was done. I decided it was positively providential that my passport was up to date. I booked a one-way flight into Inverness, a seat on ScotRail over to Kyle of Lochalsh, and accommodations for two nights in a cottage with a view of Loch Alsh. With luck, Sean was somewhere in the vicinity and could be unearthed simply enough, leaving me free to focus my efforts on an all-out seduction.
The flight was costing me just over nine hundred dollars, not to mention many long coach-trapped hours, but none of it was fazing me—at least not yet. I was excited, thrilled even, eager to fast-forward through two days of waiting until Saturday morning and the start of my big adventure. I used a good chunk of the time to back off my grudge and lose myself in the pages of
Emma
and
Pride and Prejudice,
marveling at how elegantly everything in the novels worked out. I definitely had a few things to learn.
Emma
and
Pride and Prejudice,
marveling at how elegantly everything in the novels worked out. I definitely had a few things to learn.
I called Beck to give her the news. She was thrilled, of course, and insisted I take a vow of “full disclosure.” Evidently spurred on by my gutsiness (her words), she had decided that she and Gabe should go ahead and “give each other a whirl.” I insisted on an identical vow from her.
Besides the requisite packing and a little chat with my new boss about this impromptu but nonnegotiable vacation, I considered it prudent to call a truce with Fairy Jane, step one being a full pardon and retrieval from the laundry bin. I wouldn’t want her to exact revenge at inopportune moments. That would be bad. So basically I needed to suck up.
I took my time, paging slowly through the notorious little journal, reading over the scattered words of the now-poignant messages left behind. I’d changed a lot since finding that first little scrap of fortune cookie wisdom. I’d been stubborn and close-minded, and a bit of a bitch, but Fairy Jane had been just as stubborn, and she’d won the day. I still didn’t understand it—really
any
of it—but that part of the picture no longer seemed to matter.
any
of it—but that part of the picture no longer seemed to matter.
On the cusp of my wild and reckless adventure, I’d take any help I could get, magical or otherwise. Where I was going, what I planned to do, I figured I needed a posse. It couldn’t hurt to go back and read the letter that had started it all—the dedication from Jane herself.
“... I dedicate to You the following Miscellanious Morsels, convinced that if you seriously attend to them, You will derive from them very important Instructions, with regard to your Conduct in Life.”
“Miscellanious Morsels”—wasn’t that the truth! Fairy Jane had definitely stepped in and stepped up when I needed her. With only a few select words, she’d helped me realize that I simply needed to let go, to relinquish my white-knuckled grip on life and go after my best chance for a happily-ever-after.
I could do that. I
would
do that—no regrets, no looking back.
would
do that—no regrets, no looking back.
This whole thing could go down any number of ways, from the downright depressing to the cringingly embarrassing. I preferred not to dwell on those possibilities, let alone write about them. For now at least, I was hopped up on optimism, and in a surprise turnaround, looking for affirmation from my journal. Her banishment days were over—she’d been upgraded to trusty sidekick.
I admit it—you’ve converted me—truly this time. Logic is out; magic is in. On a trial basis. I’m incontrovertibly in love with him, and I plan to give chase, across the pond, to the land of fairies, not to mention kilts and toffee. My flight leaves Saturday, and despite the very real possibility of failure, I’m oddly psyched by the hugeness and spontaneity of it all. Maybe I have a touch of the adventurer in me after all. I have a plan—
obviously
I have a plan—but it’s simple and straightforward and not likely to go as expected seeing as Sean is just the opposite. The plan is to find him and lure him back—back to Austin would be preferable, but—and here’s a shocker—even that isn’t a requirement. I’m hoping for an Austen ending—my very own happily-ever-after—but with a dollop of scorching sex thrown in.
obviously
I have a plan—but it’s simple and straightforward and not likely to go as expected seeing as Sean is just the opposite. The plan is to find him and lure him back—back to Austin would be preferable, but—and here’s a shocker—even that isn’t a requirement. I’m hoping for an Austen ending—my very own happily-ever-after—but with a dollop of scorching sex thrown in.
Obviously I don’t want to jinx it, and I certainly don’t assume it’ll be a cakewalk, but I’m not going to let that get me down. I’m going to play it weird, live juicy, and just do it. How’s that for a strategy? And I’m letting you, Dear Journal, tag along, just in case I need some last-minute advice. Or a little bit of magic ...
I decided to leave Fairy Jane’s reply for a bit of in-flight reading.
Other books
Wild Borders by Cheyenne McCray
The Journal: Ash Fall by Moore, Deborah D.
Love With a Scandalous Lord by Lorraine Heath
Parker 09 The Split by Richard Stark
The Sunfire by Mike Smith
Heart of Avalon (Avalon: Web of Magic #10): by Rachel Roberts
City of Sin by Ivy Smoak
Bloodmark by Whittet, Aurora
AMERICA ONE by T. I. Wade
To Love & To Protect by Deborah R. Brandon
