"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."
A picture without a camera. How clever. A picture with his mind.
His declaration splashed watercolors on the blank canvas I worked hard to maintain. Blank. I wanted blank. Now, I stared at my feet as the colors swished and curled around me, dying my tidy little world with its vibrant fever and pulling me into something unexplainable, something I couldn't control, something I didn't want as much as I wanted it.
He continued walking. It took me a second to gather the pieces of myself and catch up with him. I looked over my shoulder, back at the exact place on the sidewalk that he stopped me. The colors were already fading. Then a car sped by and the moment we had was lost in a cloud of exhaust. Lost forever.
The picture was only left in our minds.
Had I really gone the entire afternoon without checking my phone even once? I shot everyone a quick I’m sorry, I’m alive text as the sun dropped behind the buildings, making its way toward the other side of the world. The side Donovan was still traveling to. I hoped everything would go well for him, but somehow doubted it. Online dating never seemed to work out the way it should. At least not in any cases I'd seen first hand. Although there was Molly, Autumn's older sister. Three years out of high school and desperate for love, she tried one of those dating sites, found the man of her dreams, and within months they already had a honeymoon baby on the way. Thankfully Autumn thought it was just as crazy as I did, even amidst her love for everything Nicholas Sparks and yes, Jane Austen. Shudder.