Austensibly Ordinary

by Alyssa Goodnight

  “Nothing,” I fibbed, plucking casually at the folds of my skirt. A minute ago, I’d been willing to use the journal as a springboard straight into Ethan’s house, but the bounce had gone completely out of that idea under the weight of one little question. Which meant I needed to backpedal quickly and find another way in.

  I honestly had no idea what I might find at Ethan’s apartment that would commence the demystification, but the very fact that I’d never been there seemed sufficiently telling—and suspicious. Enough so to push my luck.

  “We could watch an old movie—a black-and-white one. . . with dames and dramatic pauses.”

  “What are you hiding?”

  “What am I hiding?? Dude, you’ve seen me without makeup, and on occasion, without a bra. You get the lowdown on every guy I date and on every parent who inspires voodoo thoughts. What do I seriously know about you? You could be anyone—alien, witness protection enrollee, the teacher version of Dexter. . . .”

  He froze, just for a moment, and I could feel his defenses going up, and then he cut his eyes around at me. “Alien? Clearly I need to set the record straight.” His voice was friendly but tight.

  “Agreed. And while you’re at it, you could stand to host a playdate or two.”

  I’d been thinking Scrabble when the words popped into my head, but as they popped out of my mouth, the board game had been replaced by other, considerably more nefarious, activities. Activities that had no business lodging themselves in my brain while I was on a favor date with Ethan. I bit my lip, thankful for the darkness and the distraction of navigating through downtown. Maybe Ethan wouldn’t notice.

  Judging by the little half smile that now played around his lips, he noticed. And was even now trying to craft his response to my perfect setup. I closed my eyes, slumped ever so slightly in defeat, and waited. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “You’re right. It’s definitely time to even the score. It’s unlikely I’ll be up for Scrabble tonight, but I suppose I could take a stab at convincing you I’m not a serial killer.” He turned to look at me, and the reflected twinkle in his eye from a passing streetlight was eerie. I felt vaguely as if I’d lost control of the conversation.

  “Fine. Good,” I said with a conviction I was no longer feeling.

  “Where is this wedding anyway?” I asked, needing to make a clean breast of things.

  “Whole Foods.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “In a grocery store?”

  “On the roof, actually.”

  “Who’s marrying them, the produce manager?”

  “Actually it’s the DJ, who earned his officiant credentials online. Rob and Jules thought the whole thing would be ‘humorously ironic.”’ Judging by the look on his face, Ethan thought they were a couple of kooks. “Their perspective on the wedding itself is ‘git ’er done and git to partyin’.’”

  “O-kaay. Is it BYOB, spirits conveniently available for purchase one floor down, right along with the beef jerky and barbecue? Remind me again how you know Rob.”

  “I’ve known him for a long time—we used to work together.”

  “Doing what?”

  A pause. “Disposable jobs right out of college.”

  “Like delivering strip-o-grams, that sort of thing?”

  “Similar, but with fewer singles and more dignity.”

  “Gotcha,” I said, nodding. One more question artfully dodged. I narrowed my eyes with determination. One day soon, I was going to blow this thing wide open. Maybe even tonight. Wouldn’t that be humorously ironic.

  I could suddenly feel the beat of my heart as if, in the soundtrack of my life, there’d been a transition to adventure music. I glanced down at myself and felt, suddenly and paradoxically, both underdressed and overdressed. I couldn’t help but wonder if superheroes ever felt like that.

  As I skimmed my toes—the heels had been slipped off long ago—through the seeded grass growing on the downtown rooftop of Whole Foods and slowly sipped a mango margarita, I had to admit that this was a lovely spot for a wedding reception. Crisp white linens, fairy lights, dainty pots of pansies, rosemary topiaries decorated with white pom-pom garlands, and tall outdoor heaters positioned as sentries, guarding against the early November chill. And above us, the glow of the city, reflected back against shimmery, opalescent clouds, the pinpricks of starlight shining like rhinestones in a violet sky.

  A few couples were dancing, trying to keep up with the bride and groom, but I’d yet to be asked. Ethan was taking his best man job very seriously: mingling, taking care of things, being the responsible one. I couldn’t help but think he needed an alter ego of his own. I’d give him five more minutes, and then I’d sidle up to him, lay my hand on his arm, and lean in to whisper in his ear. It would totally freak him out, which would be just as satisfying as the dancing, if not better.

  “That’s a plotting smile, I can tell. I wonder if I should be worried?”

  I swiveled my head around in true distracted fashion and found myself staring up into the twinkling eyes of Jake Tielman, the sparkle of the Milky Way spread out above him.

  I popped to my feet in surprise before it occurred to me that I needed to stay in character. I might have been waffling between Cate and Cat in one great big tease with Ethan, but right now, I needed to be Cat Kennedy, Woman of Mystery. I slipped slowly back into my heels and took my time in answering.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. You’ve only just appeared. Give a girl some time.” I fought to hang on to the reins of my smile to keep it from going all delighted teeth and gums. Jake appeared unconcerned and flashed me a doozy.

  “So what do you think—coincidence or fate? There must be some explanation for both of us showing up here on this particular Saturday night.”

  A little tickle at the edge of my mind murmured, “Or magic. . .” Shooting Gypsy Jane a subliminal thank you, I smiled.

  “Too soon to tell,” I murmured, turning to retrieve my drink from the table to sip delicately.

  Another grin. “I lost track of Grace, but you knew that.” He tipped his head down with an endearing touch of bashfulness. “I chased another classy blonde, but couldn’t get her to agree to be my date.” He took a sip of his own drink, which looked like it could be straight Scotch.

  I peered up at him over the lip of my glass and tried to pin him down. It was clear that he didn’t take himself too seriously, so I decided to follow his lead.

  “Was she scared of birds. . . or heights?” I quizzed, wondering if he’d catch my Hitchcock references. “Because either could have been a problem up here.”

  He got it, judging by the way he tucked his lower lip under his teeth and gazed off over the rooftop before answering. “Honestly? I don’t think she’s afraid of anything.” He lifted his glass in a private little toast.

  I’d take that compliment! Evidently I had at least one man fooled. Meanwhile, Ethan was listing in and out, not entirely sure how to pin me down, and I was enjoying the hell out of it.

  “Bride or groom?” I quizzed, wondering at the degrees of separation that had pulled me into his orbit tonight.

  “Step-cousin of the bride,” he admitted. “It was a courtesy invite. But I wanted to see the city from up here. I tried to get a date, but luck didn’t smile on me,” he said pointedly.

  “That’s too bad,” I agreed. “But I will.” And I did. It was showy—with teeth—and a little bit out of character for Cat, but I let it slide.

  “Any chance we’re kissin’ cousins?”

  The blush rose up my neck and flushed my cheeks with heat.

  “Only if being a friend of a friend makes you a cousin.” I smiled apologetically.

  He leaned into me, and I held very still. But it was a false alarm. He set his empty glass on the table behind me, and his hand grazed my bare arm under the fringe of my wrap. A trail of goose bumps cropped up in its wake, and I shivered. A good shiver.

  “I’m guessing that means you’re not here alone. Will your plus-one mind if I
convince you to dance with me?”

  I didn’t even bother glancing around. At the moment I had no thoughts to spare for Ethan.

  “I don’t plan on asking him. That is, if you can convince me.”

  His grin was quick and cocky, and I braced myself for his attempt.

  “You know I’m not above playing to your sympathies,” he said. “Cut a guy a break?” He opened his arms in a gesture of encouragement. “I’d consider it a kick-ass consolation prize.”

  I stalled a moment and pretended to be considering before I set my own drink down and said saucily, “I suppose I could use a break from masterminding,” and then let him lead me to the dance floor.

  As I slid into his arms, he murmured, “This way I can keep an eye on you. And the advantages of that, Ms. Kendall, are innumerable.”

  A warm, melty feeling spread out over my body, and I relaxed into his hold, enjoying, for once, the feeling of having a little confidence in my own sex appeal. Sadly, it shot off almost instantaneously, like escaped air from a balloon, complete with mocking raspberry. And my heart screeched to a halt before double-timing it back to normal.

  He’d just called me Ms. Kendall. . . not Ms. Kennedy, which was how, I was quite certain, I had introduced myself on Halloween. Had I somehow given away my true identity?? Shit. That had, very specifically, not been a part of the plan.

  I let my gaze shift slightly to look into Jake’s face, to see if he had any clue what sort of havoc he was wreaking on my “sexy time.” His smile was warm. . . tempting, and I knew if I kept ogling it, I’d end up kissing him, real names or not. And I’d end up regretting it. I was, after all, here with Ethan—fake date or not—and it seemed a little tarty to kiss another guy. I was just going to have to make damn sure I got another chance.

  At the precise moment I realized that Jake was referring to my make-believe stint as Hitchcock’s Eve Kendall and not my—coincidentally matching—real name, I was subjected to another heart-stopping jolt.

  Ethan suddenly loomed large right beside us. A minute ago he’d been MIA, and now, suddenly, the moment I’d started flirting with another man, he was Mr. Attentive, with a rather forbidding-looking jawline. Ethan spoke first, edging out all pleasantries with his brusque manner.

  “May I?” His tone implied it wasn’t a question, more a dismissal. His whole demeanor was very Darcy-esque—the arrogant, insufferable side of the character—and I wasn’t at all impressed. Jake graciously gave way, and I offered him an apologetic smile.

  “How do you know Jake Tielman?” Ethan asked, moving us determinedly across the dance floor.

  “How do you know Jake Tielman?” I demanded. “And who cuts in?” I wondered in confusion. “My dance card has been empty all night, Chavez. Where have you been?”

  “Let’s just say I know him by reputation. And I’d prefer his name didn’t come up over Sunday Scrabble.”

  “So we’ll pick a new topic,” I snapped. “Maybe we’ll talk about your romantic conquests for once.”

  “I’m serious, Cate.”

  “Spell it out, Chavez. Are you forbidding me from dancing with him? Seeing him? Sleeping with him? What?” My jawline had tightened up nicely—now we were a matching set, with both our eyes flashing fire.

  Ethan stared down at me, obviously debating whether to back off, and as I watched, the heat in his eyes was gradually banked. “I’m not forbidding you to do anything, Cate. I’m just suggesting—as a friend—” His hand tightened fractionally around my waist. “That he’s a career charmer—all style, no substance.” And then he couldn’t help himself. “Out of curiosity, did he get to meet Cate or Cat?”

  I couldn’t help myself either. “He was getting re-acquainted with Cat when you cut in.” I smiled, and it felt justifiably brittle, and then I looked away from him and gave myself permission to smolder a little with outraged anger. At times I’d wondered why Ethan and I had never made the leap from good friends to friends with benefits and beyond. Why we had never connected romantically. Thinking about it always felt strangely bittersweet, although honestly, I couldn’t pinpoint why.

  He wasn’t exactly my dream guy. As a girl who’d grown up watching old movies, I was sort of partial to the charmers, to the men who understood that while life was serious, they didn’t need to take themselves too seriously. Ethan was always serious, at least as far as I was concerned. He acted more like a big brother than a potential lover. Which was good. Every time I started looking curiously—even longingly—at Ethan’s flexing biceps or really excellent ass, he put the kibosh on by launching into a discussion of income tax or hybrid cars. Which was a relief. I didn’t want things between us feeling even vaguely incestuous. Which brought us back to Jake.

  While Jake seemed to thrill in the mystery, Ethan went all Sherlock Holmes on me. And it was a real mood killer.

  I tilted my head slightly to peek at Ethan from the corner of my eye. We’d be friends forever, I was absolutely certain, but it was obvious things would never go beyond that.

  If I was here by myself, I might still be dancing with Jake. Or we might have decided to flirt over another drink. As risque as it seemed, I might have even let him seduce me. . . .

  As the song slid to a close, I was jolted back into the awareness that I was here with Ethan tonight, not Jake. And as agreed, I’d be going home with Ethan too. Which meant something entirely different than going home with Jake. Ethan dropped his arms and checked his watch, a very expensive-looking number that somehow seemed incongruous against Ethan’s sensible, frugal persona.

  “Give me fifteen minutes, and we’ll go. Unless you want to wait to see if you can catch the bouquet,” he teased, smiling in that boyish way he had that always had me forgiving him much too quickly. I set my mouth in a tight line and tried for unforgiving. Never one to give up, Ethan leaned in, his lips just skimming my ear and his breath hot on my neck. A spike of electricity shot up my spine with enough juice to shake my lips loose and offer up a breathy sigh.

  “Go find Mr. Tielman and treat him to fifteen minutes with Cate Kendall. See if he can keep up.” And then he walked away from me.

  It took me five full minutes to recover from those ten seconds, and by then Jake Tielman was nowhere to be found. Coincidence or fate. . . it could have been either. But my money was on magic.

  Chapter 10

  Ethan’s house was one of those sleek new “green” houses—the sort made from reclaimed materials with a teensy carbon footprint. (Me? I was still living in Mom’s chunky footprint.) It was all straight lines and right angles, and only five minutes from Mom’s. Curious that I never knew that. And even more curious that this house seemed way out of a teacher’s pay grade. Even a teacher as multilingual and multifaceted as Ethan. This was rapidly turning into quite the little mystery.

  Knowing I wouldn’t get any clues out of Ethan, I kept my comments confined to the sort offered up by the casual visitor. (It should be noted that I no longer considered myself anything of the sort.) I insisted on the deluxe tour—and even had a couple of minutes to myself when Ethan changed out of his best-man garb—but the only thing that popped out at me was Ethan’s collection of vintage globes and maps—his entire home office was papered in them. Interesting.

  Clearly I was going to have to come up with some sort of strategy to discover precisely what Ethan was hiding. And I was going to have to go about it with a certain amount of flair.

  What I needed was a distraction. . . .

  “So. . .? Does it live up to all the hype?” Ethan asked, striding back into the room in a T-shirt and pajama pants.

  “If the hype you’re referring to is me insisting I get to come over, then yeah,” I told him, nodding, “it does.”

  “Okay, well then good. And I assume you didn’t see any evidence that I’ve been killing people in my spare time? No grudge-bearing bulletin boards, surgical tools, random tarps . . .”

  “That’s true. Although all that computer equipment in your home office could probably contact y
our home planet . . . if you were an alien,” I countered.

  “Would you like to see if you can pull off my human head to find the reptile alien beast beneath?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “So what’s it gonna take, Cate?” he asked, seemingly resigned as he headed to the kitchen. I followed, glancing around me, full of curiosity. I wanted to skim my fingers over the volumes in his bookshelves, get the story on the trio of miniature elephants that traipsed across his mantel, and get culinary with his countertop herb garden. I wanted to know the him I was missing. But short of asking questions and watching him artfully dodge them, I hadn’t a clue how to proceed.

  I wondered, fleetingly, if I could get him to let me crash on his couch, giving me an after-hours, unsupervised window of opportunity. But I had serious doubts as to Ethan’s agreeableness to the idea. Think, Cate!

  He set a glass of orange juice on the counter for me, and I climbed onto the closest bar stool to pick his brain, even though my own felt like an old sweater, recently de-pilled. I gulped down half of the juice, hoping the vitamin C would give me a little problem-solving boost.

  I laid my hands flat on the counter and tapped out a quick little beat. “So.” I looked up at Ethan—sipping his own juice, barefoot in his eco-modern kitchen, a dark shadow of stubble shifting on his jaw—and had to regroup with another fortifying sip of juice.

  “I would actually like to take a look at that journal again. Full-sized.”

  “I think it’d be good for you. It’s mostly about girls outsmarting boys.”

  Ethan smirked, likely at all those poor, delusional girls, me included. “And which boy are you outsmarting?”

  I ignored that question. I didn’t have an answer for either of us. “You’ll have to tolerate quite a lot of romance,” I warned, glancing up at him. I didn’t predict such a casual statement might be awkward, but it was, and I looked away first to stare into my quickly dwindling OJ. “That’s Gypsy Jane’s specialty.”

  “Gypsy Jane?”

  “The last entry I read today likened the journal’s omniscient and prophetic advice to the fortunes told by traveling gypsies. When I remembered how we found the book smack in the middle of the Trailer Park, I considered it a fitting nickname for the reincarnation of Ms. Austen here in Austin.” I smiled, raising my eyebrows in challenge.