Sorry, not home right now. Need something?
A burning disappointment swept through her. Yes, she needed something, desperately. The need to see him grew from a flicker into a flame. If she didn’t see him soon, her hasty words from last night would take root, and that would be that.
I need to see you, she texted back.
The next sixty seconds lasted an eternity as she waited for the buzz of her phone.
Meet me at Big Springs in a couple of hours.
She checked her watch; she might not be able to get there in two hours. If she could, why did Matt want to meet her there today, and in the afternoon, when it was filled with tourists?
When they went in the grayish-yellow of early morning, they had Big Springs to themselves — the bridge, the cool spring water that fed the Snake River, old Johnny Sack’s cabin in the distance, and the huge trout and quacking ducks below — all of it to themselves. At this hour, Big Springs would be crawling with people. Matt hated crowds.
Maybe he wanted to take the half-mile hike to Johnny Sack’s cabin. The path wouldn’t be exactly private — surely some people would be on it — but it would have far less traffic than the parking lot and bridge. That must be what he meant. She’d probably find him in his truck, avoiding the crowds until she showed up and they could escape into the woods.
K, she typed. I’ll get there as close to two as I can. She hit send and waited for relief to come. Instead, all she felt was uneasiness. Something wasn’t right. Matt hadn’t gone to work, and he wasn’t sick. Now out of the blue, he wanted to meet her at Big Springs. Why?
It all had to be connected to last night. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
He probably wants to break up. She couldn’t blame him. He thought he couldn’t live up to her Hollywood expectations of romance. He would be a gentleman about it and let her down as easily as he could.
Not if I can stop it. But how could she convince him that she no longer meant a word of what she’d said last night?
Chapter Six
Matt drove to Big Springs with his left leg bouncing nervously. He forced it to stop. This was no time to be scared. He had an important job to do, and he had to look and act the part.
He breathed deeply, in and out, in and out, the way Cassie had taught him. It worked to quiet his nerves until he pulled into the parking lot, which practically with vehicles — RVs, motorcycles, SUVs, minivans. He pulled into one of only a handful of empty spots and killed the engine. Pushing up the cuff of his rental tux, he checked the time. Cassie would arrive soon, so he had only a few minutes to set up.
He got out of the truck, taking along his duffel bag of supplies. As he walked toward the bridge, he did his best to keep the tux free from dust and dirt. Halfway to the bridge, he stopped and took in the sight. At least a dozen children were perched on the sides of the bridge as they threw bits of bread into the water for the fish and ducks below. Parents and grandparents stood by, taking pictures and supervising. Other visitors meandered about, reading landmark signs and taking pictures of the pond and the cabin on the other side.
Matt veered toward the wooden platform that extended into the pond, where he’d planned to stand. But a group of kids from about three to maybe ten years old lay on their stomachs right on the platform, peering over the edge into the water.
He couldn’t just tell them to leave. And now that he stood there, looking completely overdressed among tourists wearing shorts and tank tops, he wanted to run back to his truck and drive off. A group of teenagers noticed him, pointed, and whispered to one another, intensifying the feeling. Matt’s neck and face felt hot, something that had little to do with the afternoon sun.
Get ready, he ordered himself. You don’t have much time.
From his bag, he pulled out a cellophane bag he’d gotten from a florist. The bag held hundreds of rose petals that had fallen to the floor in the course of putting arrangements together. The florist had been about to throw them away when Matt showed up and asked for them.
He sprinkled petals along the pavement in a straight line toward the platform. Soon more people noticed him. Some people laughed. Others grinned with curiosity. A few women gave him smiles of approval, which bolstered his confidence. The people seemed to part, making way for him, something he was grateful for on the one hand but embarrassed about on the other. He didn’t want their attention. But he smiled back and continued dropping rose petals until he reached the platform.
A couple of women, likely sisters, realized where he was headed and hurried to their children, urging them off the planks to make room for “the nice man in the tux.”
“Thanks,” he told them as they herded their energetic children past him.
“I wanna Popsicle!” one child cried.
“In a bit,” one of the mothers said. “We can’t leave quite yet,” she added with her eyes focused on Matt.
Great, he thought. She’s going to stick around to watch.
The other mother spoke up. “Go see if Grandma has more bread for the ducks.” The children scurried away, but she settled in to watch Matt.
The tux felt like an oven, and his ears seemed ready to burn right off his head. Gulping, Matt dumped the last of the petals onto the platform a few inches from where he’d be standing. Then he pulled out his phone and cued the playlist he’d spent all morning on, filling it with love songs from an online list that supposedly had the top twenty most romantic songs of all time.
He trusted that one of them would do for becoming their song. Most of them were from the same romantic movies Tammy and Andrea had suggested he watch. He’d meant to watch several overnight, but that was before he knew that Pride and Prejudice was six episodes long. He’d fallen asleep during it, so he rewound and watched the last hour. Then he stayed up, playing other movies in the background as he downloaded songs and made plans.
Now, as he plugged his phone into a mini speaker, he hoped his plans would be romantic enough.
He didn’t put the phone onto the platform yet; he held it until the last minute in case Cassie texted or called. Other than that, he was ready.
He mentally rehearsed his speech, a composite of several romantic monologues he’d gleaned from movies and online. Every word was true; he just needed help expressing what he felt. He wished he’d done all of this earlier, so Cassie would already know. But he’d slacked off, and now she needed something big to know he cared. He hoped this would be big enough.
Oh, wait — the ring, he thought, fishing into his inside coat pocket to confirm that the dollar-store ring still rested inside. Part of his speech included the fact that Cassie was worth more than any diamond on earth and that she deserved to pick out her own ring. He hoped the dollar-store one would do until they could replace it with something better. He didn’t have time to go into town to visit a jeweler; he wasn’t about to put this off another day. It was by sheer luck that he’d been able to rent a tux from the community theater.
He wiped his brow with the back of one hand and watched the entrance of the parking lot. At last, he saw her car. He couldn’t take his eyes off it — or off her, when she emerged.
The milling crowd seemed to know that something was about to happen, and they stilled. They all gazed at Cassie, who wore a summer dress with brown strappy sandals. She must have stopped off at home to change. The thought made Matt smile. It made him hopeful that maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right over the next few minutes, he wouldn’t lose her after all.
Cassie walked down the hill slowly as if unsure about what lay ahead of her. She seemed to have noticed the quiet tourists watching her, but not Matt. She didn’t see the petals at first either, only the people staring at her. Cassie glanced down then paused in her step after seeing the petals. She kept her face lowered, deliberately walking the path of the rose petals as if she knew they were for her.
The only sound was the gurgling water rushing through lava rock from the spring and flowing under the bridge. That’s when Matt realize
d he hadn’t turned on the music. He quickly hit play and adjusted the volume, setting the speaker by his foot, and straightening again.
At the first strains of Journey’s “Faithfully,” Cassie’s head came up. A broad smile spread across her face as she looked around. Calling out to her would ruin the moment, Matt thought. He’d learned that much from the movies. So he waited, his heart pounding.
The moment Cassie spotted him, he knew it. Her step slowed and then stopped, and her smile grew bigger, showing her teeth, until her hands flew to her face in delight. Matt stood taller and clasped his hands loosely in front of him, trying to look relaxed and confident, even though his knees were pretty close to giving out.
No one but Cassie moved, not even the children. As she drew closer, her steps slowed, and her expression seemed to change from one of joyful surprise to — what, sadness?
Uh, oh. Did I do something wrong?
She stepped onto the platform. Her hair was down, something unusual for her, yet oh so beautiful. She smiled, but with tears in her eyes. What had he missed?
Pushing aside his worries, Matt held out one hand to her. She took it, and he drew her close. He reached into his pocket for the ring. But as he was about to get down on one knee, Cassie shook her head and urged him back up.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.
“Yes, I do,” Matt said, suddenly terrified that she’d say no and this would all be for nothing. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Yes,” she said helplessly. “And no. I mean—” She reached for his phone and turned off the music. She leaned down, unzipped his duffel, and shoved both the phone and speaker into it. Then she stood, holding the bag, and nodded toward the path to the cabin. “Let’s go.”
When he didn’t move, she reached for his hand and pulled him toward the trail. He shot the crowd a look of helpless apology and followed. Not far up the trail, just out of public view, Cassie stopped and turned to face him.
“What’s—” Matt began, but he didn’t finish before Cassie pulled him close. She wrapped her hands about his neck, looked into his eyes, then kissed him long and hard.
His worries quickly melted. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back. He hoped she could feel how deeply he loved her and that he would do anything for her.
She pulled away, and for a moment they stood there, gazing into each other’s eyes, catching their breaths. She nodded in the direction of the bridge. “They didn’t need to see that.” She grinned.
A trickle of relief flowed into him, but the last few minutes still confused Matt. He tried to explain what he was trying to do, but Cassie cut him off.
“No, Matt. I was wrong. So, so wrong. I bought into a fantasy that doesn’t exist — a fantasy I wouldn’t want even if it did. I know that now.”
He narrowed his eyes, still confused. “I don’t under—”
“Matt, I want you. I used to think that true love meant fireworks all the time. That if the fireworks ever stopped, it meant the love had died.” She stepped even closer and tightened her arms about his neck. “But you see, I forgot the most important thing.”
He wanted to stand there and hold her like this forever. He was so transfixed that he couldn’t move and could hardly breathe. Somehow he managed to say, “What did you forget?”
“That there’s something a lot more powerful than fireworks.”
He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in question.
“Magma,” Cassie said.
The answer surprised Matt. “What—”
“Hidden beneath a mountain, the magma is always there. It will always be hotter and last longer than any firework display. Fireworks may look flashy for a few seconds, but they burn right out.” She went onto her toes and pressed her lips to his briefly again. Then she pulled back slightly, so their noses nearly touched. “I thought I wanted fireworks. But I forgot that I already had — that we already have — the real thing: magma.”
Warmth spread through Matt’s body, erasing his fears. She did love him. Yet questions lingered in the back of his mind. He looked in the direction of the unseen crowd he’d intended to propose in front of. “What about wanting to show the world? I thought you needed something public.”
“I said so many dumb things that night, and I’ll always be sorry for them. I never want you to be miserable for my sake.”
He reached up and took her left hand. “But we don’t even have a song, and—”
She pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his words. She smoothed her hand across his chest, and the warmth of her touch through his shirt certainly felt like magma. She looked up. “We do have a song,” she said. Her eyes swam with what he now knew were happy tears.
“We — we do?”
“Our song is the way you took my hand and saved me from falling into the scalding water. And then how you held my hand for hours because you cared. Our song is the sounds of lapping water on early mornings when we fish for trout, then it’s the sizzling of the frying pan as we cook our catch. It’s the sound of the two of us laughing together after getting sopping wet from falling into a lake. Our song is the crunch of our footsteps on long hikes. Our song is your voice reading aloud to distract me from the pain of my broken foot. Our song is…”
Her voice caught, and she licked her lips before going on, as if gathering her emotions. “Our song is the way you make sure I’m safely in my car and then always say you love me before I leave. Our song is the ding of my phone with sweet texts from you. Matt, you are the melody of my life. That is our song. And I want to be around to play it again and again and again.”
She hugged him, burying her face in his chest, and he held her tight, resting his cheek on her head — and only then was he aware of his own tears wetting her hair.
There in the quiet privacy of the woods, away from the eyes of tourists, Matt kissed Cassie once more — a kiss that proved beyond all doubt that no firework could ever match the heat and endurance of genuine magma.
Head Over Heels
Chapter One
“Who names a girl Tristan anyway?” the guy in the Klingon costume asked.
The question, while annoying, wasn’t offensive. Tristan got past that reaction sometime around fourth grade, and she’d heard variations a thousand times since. An unoriginal question deserved an unoriginal answer, so she delivered one with a smile. “Turns out my mom and dad named a girl Tristan.” She added a light giggle to be sure he wouldn’t take offense.
She took a surreptitious glance at one end of the room, where a giant timer counted down. Ten seconds left. Then one more round of speed dating to go. Tomorrow would be her last day at Salt Lake Comic Con, and while she looked forward to it, she felt wrung out by all of the excitement, crowds, and celebrities.
She was skipping part of today’s convention to have lunch with Alyssa, her best friend from college. After speed dating ended, she’d make a beeline to the media room before heading to the restaurant to write her thoughts and impressions so she wouldn’t forget anything. The last hour might have been close to misery, but it had given her plenty to write about — possibly an entire five-day series for her online singles lifestyle magazine, Single File.
Klingon guy chuckled, but Tristan could not remember what they’d been talking about. He tapped his name tag. “You’ll have no trouble remembering my name. Plain old Mark. Like in the Bible.”
Contrary to his suggestion, the chances of her remembering such a common name were slim to none, but with the timer about to go off, and this mini date having gotten nowhere beyond discussing Star Trek trivia and names, she had no desire to keep the conversation going.
The timer buzzed. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the Klingon. Matt? Mark? One of the New Testament Gospels. See, she’d already forgotten. He put his right fist over his heart and bowed in what she guessed was a Klingon gesture. To her, it resembled something from Galaxy Quest.
She gave him a slight wave. “Nice to meet you...
” He’d introduced himself as Worf, so she almost called him that. She checked his name tag. “... Mark.”
“It was an honor to meet you,” Worf/Mark said. “Although... I would like to offer a suggestion?”
To her credit, Tristan didn’t mention that raising your tone at the end of a phrase didn’t actually turn a sentence fragment into a question. Noticing things like that made her a good writer. Pointing them out wouldn’t help her love life. Not that actually getting a date from this experience had anything to do with why she’d come to the mecca for adults who played elaborate dress up — cosplay, it was called, short for costume play.
She’d heard of cosplay before the convention, but the sheer numbers of people participating and the lengths they’d gone to for authentic-looking costumes blew her away. Some looked store-bought, but others were handmade, with remarkable detail. The convention hosted cosplay panels and how-to workshops — even competitions. So far, her favorite costumes were worn by a twenty-something steampunk couple decked out in cool gears, hats, and coats. The woman wore the coolest corset ever. A close second was a toddler dressed as Gandalf. Attendees constantly stopped cosplayers — total strangers — to get pictures with them. Tristan had caved once, posing with a guy dressed as the David Tennant Dr. Who, mostly because another college roommate, Tara, would fangirl all over it.
Tristan was wearing a thrown-together attempt at cosplay: she’d pulled her hair into three knot-type buns, and crisscrossed thick strips of off-white fabric over her torso, which she’d tied at her waist. A toy light saber on one side finished the look. Most people, to their credit, recognized her as Rey from The Force Awakens. But Worf/Mark had made it quite clear he didn’t approve. He looked down on all things Star Wars because of the prequels, which he called “the George Lucas debacle.” Tristan had pointed out that Lucas sold off the franchise before The Force Awakens was made, and that it wasn’t a prequel. The observation garnered her a judgmental eyebrow raise — a reaction that served only as excellent writing material.
Love Far from Home Box Set Page 10
