No, Not that Jane Austen

by Marilyn Grey

  "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.

  It's not that bad, really. Sense and Sensibility at least had some sense. Had Marianne wallowed in her tears or chased after Willoughby I may have taken away a star or two, but she married the Colonel and for that I am happy.

  Alistair and I walked back to the car without talking. In between thoughts I'd listen to the sound of our feet tapping the sidewalk, the songs passing from open car windows, and the endearing tunes of the ice cream truck traveling to fingers that would soon be covered in sticky sugar.

  Autumn texted me back: What are you doing?? I thought we were meeting for dinner??

  I responded: I’ll be there soon. Got held up with something. Explain later.

  Then my brother texted: OK, mom was worried cuz she didn’t hear from you, see ya later, happy bday sis.

  I responded: Thanks, be back later around 10 … I’ll text mom too.

  Alistair walked with his hands in his pockets almost the entire time. His hands seemed most relaxed there, but it left little room for his arm to sway into mine. Not that I wanted that or anything....

  In only a few minutes we would be sitting in the car, driving to his hotel. We would say goodbye forever and I shouldn't have cared. I'd only known him, well, not even a full twenty-four hours and I had my ... precautions.

  I'm only eighteen, I said inside. It wouldn't be the right time anyway. Not for me.

  Yet, being with him made a hectic city feel peaceful. He was right. It was comfortable. And it seemed different than Donovan or Autumn. It wasn't just comfort. There was excitement bubbling under the satisfied stillness. It was there. I know he felt it too, but I couldn't lead him on.

  “Deep in thought?” I said, interrupting the quiet air between us.

  He kicked the ground as he took a step and brought his hands out of his pockets. “Do you ever feel like your life is passing and there’s nothing you can do about it?” His hands made various motions as he talked, passionately. “I mean, here I am, I planned everything so precisely thinking, gee, perhaps life will be like this when I am in my twenties and here I am. It’s nothing like I planned or imagined and sometimes I wonder if I’m being tricked into a bland life I never wanted.”

  I tried to understand, but he lost me. “Tricked?”

  “Life feels fake sometimes, doesn’t it? As though we’re passing through without a choice in the matter.”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, maybe it feels that way right now, but you have choices.”

  “Like I could choose to stop you right here on this sidewalk and kiss you until you can't breathe?”

  I ran my hand through my hair, letting it drop into my face to hide my expression.

  “Kidding,” he said, laughing. “Well, sorta, you know.”

  We finally sat down in my car and my legs thanked me a hundred times. Did he really want to kiss me?

  "What kind of music do you play?" I asked as I turned the car on.

  "It's hard to classify." His tone suggested that he didn’t want to talk about his band for some reason.

  So, I shifted subjects. "W
hat do you listen to?"

  He jumped at the bait. "A lot, but mostly classic rock, blues, that sorta thing."

  That fit him.

  "I've pulled the hotel address up on my phone here," he said. "I'll tell you where to turn."

  "I'll just head back toward the airport and you tell me when it says to do something different. I think I remember where it is."

  "It's been nice." He turned his face toward the window. "A bit strange, I suppose, but it has been nice, hasn't it? Today, I mean."

  "Strange and nice about covers it."

  I stopped at a red light and danced my fingers along the steering wheel. He took my hand into his and pulled me toward him.

  "Jane, I'm sorry, but I really do want to kiss you right now."

  I pulled back and exhaled when I saw the light turn green. Foot on the pedal, I accelerated the car and tried to slow down my pulse. I would not, could not, kiss him.

  Dr. Seuss, anyone?

  Eyes on the road, I felt his gaze burning a hole into my head, but it most certainly would not burn a hole into my heart. Trees on the side of the road, fading sun to my right, two solid yellow lines—focus, Jane, focus.

  "I'm not asking to be your boyfriend. Just a kiss, like the others." He rubbed his legs and looked from the window back to me. "I know it can't work, but I ... I don't know ... do you know what I mean?"

  "Alistair." I shook my head. "It's not you. I know you're not some whacko trying to get in my pants. I guess there's always that chance, I mean, I don't know you very well. You could be a whacko and I really hope not, but I'm ... I can't kiss you."

  "It's trousers."

  "What?"

  "I believe you meant trousers, not pants. Although you could very well mean pants too." He stopped and looked at me. "I'm not in love with you."

  I laughed.

  He smiled. "There's something between us though. I know you feel it."

  "It's not real, Alistair. It's just our emotions eating us alive. British boy and American girl meet in an airport, spend the day together, and by the end of the day they've fallen in love." I glanced at him, expecting a smile but he looked as serious as possible. "It has all the necessary elements of a sweeping romance, but it's our emotions. It can't be anything more. It's not possible to fall for someone when you've only just met."

  "A relationship has to start somewhere," he said and pointed. "Turn there. Not saying this should be a relationship, but it's something, don't you think? There's something here."

  "What's the point?" I nodded toward the road. "Which way do I go?"

  "Left and then it's there on the right. Days Inn." He ran his hand along the open window. "What's the point in anything?"

  I laughed. "That's vague."

  "The point is I want to kiss you. You said we have a choice. Well, I’m making a choice for once. A choice for myself. I may not love you or know you inside and out, but when I watch your lips move I want to kiss you. What would it hurt?"

  "It's weird."

  He laughed. "It is a bit queer, that's true." He repositioned in the seat and unbuckled himself. "Still doesn't change the fact that I want to kiss you before I leave. I won't ever see you again and the least I could give you for your birthday is the best kiss you've ever had in your life."

  I shot a stunned look at him only to find him leaning toward me with exaggerated and dorky puckered lips. Laughing, I parked the car and left it on. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture with full cannons played quietly in the background. I bet he didn't notice, but I did. Quite dramatic for the moment, but I thought it was funny so I left it on.

  I glanced in the backseat at the box Donovan gave me. The box that would explain one of the many reasons why I am the way I am. Why I developed my precautions. I couldn't wait to go home and open it, as much as it scared me, but for now I needed to send off a sweet boy without the kiss he so wanted.

  The kiss I half wanted.

  “One minute,” he said, pulling out a scrap of paper, tearing it in half, and grabbing a pen. He cupped his hand over the words and wrote something way too long to be a phone number, email address, or even mailing address.

  Intrigued, I tried to peek, but he glanced at me, pretending to be agitated but failing. He leaned back against the door so that I couldn’t possible see what he wrote on the paper hidden by his hand. I tried and he flashed me a few grins. He obviously liked tormenting me with his mysterious ways. Finally, he finished writing and ran his fingers through his hair and ... okay, maybe I sixty-five percent wanted to kiss him.

  The distance tempted me. No last names, phone numbers, or addresses. No strings. No attachments. No arguments and jealousy and break ups.

  Just a kiss. A once and done kiss.

  Couldn't hurt, right?

  "You're thinking about it," he said. "I can tell. My winsome accent has won you over."

  "Right." I laughed. "Winsome, all right. Speaking of accents, what do British people think of American accents?"

  "Everyone always asks this."

  "And?"

  "We don't think about it the same way American's do." He held my hand again. "So..."

  "This is so strange! I can't kiss you when you ask. It's weird, awkward ... queer."

  He smiled. "You really don't want to?"

  "I do and I don't."

  He inched toward me until his breath touched my neck. Funny how warmth can send chills down your body. I closed my eyes, allowing the heated shivers to cover me. His breath smelled like spearmint and if he moved closer to my lips I wouldn’t be able to deny tasting him.

  I opened my eyes as he kissed my cheek.

  "Was that okay?" he said.

  I nodded, now eighty-nine percent wanting his kiss.

  "Well." He opened the door and swung one leg out. "Thank you for entertaining me today. It's been a day of all sorts, and you've made it a bit less dreadful." He swung the other leg out. "And happy birthday."

  The cannons erupted at the end of 1812 Overture and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Hilarious timing. A quizzical look appeared in his eyes as the end of the song burst forth. I shrugged. He smiled and stood outside of the car.

  I liked that he didn't force himself on me. And I liked that he didn't give me his phone number or email address or even try to draw out the conversation to stay in my car longer. I liked it so much I wanted him to stay.

  "Thank you," I said as he shut the door.

  He leaned into the window, smiled, and held my gaze for what felt like minutes. Then he tapped the door and walked away, disappearing behind glass doors without so much as a nod back in my direction. His hands-in-the-pocket stride carried him out of sight. Out of my life.

  My pulse should have slowed, but it quickened again.

  And so that's it....

  I almost—not quite almost, but almost almost—went after him for that kiss, but More Reasonable Me said, “No, let it go. It was nothing more than an interesting afternoon and now it’s time to go back to normal life.”

  “Yes,” Less Reasonable Me said. “But…”

  I shifted the car into drive and noticed a ripped paper on the passenger's seat. I turned it over, pulled off a mint candy taped to the paper, then read:

  If we are meant to kiss one day, let's call it The Big Day, then we will meet again. This day, May 17th, four years from now. The Big Day. You'll be 21 then. That should be enough time to consider a kiss, yes? If you are willing and we are both as single as we are now, I will be at the airport on May 17th, your 21st birthday, and you will be there too, and I will kiss you like I want to right now.

  Let’s see where life takes us...

  Till then, Alistair Anonymous

  I glanced back at the glass doors, hoping to see him standing there, but he was gone and you know, I kind of liked it. Autumn and Donovan would never believe me. I’m not sure I even believed it myself. Did I really spend an afternoon with someone I just met?

  I drove away, smiling as 1812 Overture ended with full-bodied emotion.

&
nbsp; Yes, four years. That was plenty of time to consider falling in love. And I would … I would at least consider it before The Big Day.

  To Be Continued...

  This prequel will continue in The Best of Fools which is available now for pre-order on Amazon US and Amazon UK. Did you enjoy No, Not that Jane Austen? Are you excited to read more in The Best of Fools? Let Marilyn know by leaving a review of No, Not that Jane Austen right now! Your review helps support the authors and books you love. So, if you love an author/book, please consider leaving even the teeniest of reviews! It is so appreciated!

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