The Glassheart Chronicles

by Courtney Cole

  You know that love at first sight notion people frown upon, or vehemently argue doesn’t exist—that childish, contrived phenomenon that is more hormone driven than heart driven and has about as much staying power as a snowflake in the palm of a hand?

  I’m here to tell you they’re wrong.

  I’m living proof that love at first sight abounds and can endure after that initial spark has dimmed. For me, it has endured nearly two hundred years, and it will endure two hundred more, and two hundred after that, and . . . well, you get the idea. Two centuries I’ve devoted my life to her—two centuries of proving those naysayers wrong.

  Love at first sight isn’t just alive and well, my friends, it’s thriving, waiting for you to lower your wall of skepticism to experience all it has to offer. Waiting for you to march open minded in its direction until you meet it face-to-face. The moment you go from a believer to a partaker. The moment you realize it’s all over for you.

  My moment came decades back, when a woman came to me in my darkest night, illuminating it in such a way I’ve never been the same since. A woman who made me want to be a better man, and so I became one. A woman I fought family, friends, and perhaps even fate itself to hold onto. A woman lost in time, who I’d scoured the world ages for, never giving up hope that I’d succeed in my quest.

  This was my other moment, the other half that would complete what the first had started. For those individuals fortune tends to favor, they have the honor of meeting the one that made love at first sight a personal experience, but not me. The girl I was insanely in love with didn’t know I existed.

  This was the moment that was going to change.

  “I saw her,” Joseph hollered, jogging towards me. “She’s taking her sweet time to get here, but she’s definitely on her way.”

  My mouth went dry, surely a side-effect of the nervousness, yet up until this point in my life I’d experienced little of it firsthand. “So . . . ?” Of all the questions running through my mind, this served as the summation of them all.

  Joseph skidded to a stop in front of me, his eyes sparkling. “Let me just preface my response by saying I love my wife and she’s the finest creature to ever roam the earth . . .”

  “Duly noted.” I nodded, attempting to remain patient.

  “She’s gorgeous, William. Pick-your-jaw-off-the-asphalt gorgeous,” he said, gripping his hands over my shoulders and squeezing. “I mean, I never thought I’d one day be saying this, but you’re going to be the ugly one in the relationship.”

  “Thanks for the brutal honesty. Always appreciated,” I said, giving him a half-hearted glare, which he mirrored back, frown line for frown line. Other than a few years and a couple inches, my younger brother Joseph and I could have been twins.

  “I’m already all too aware of how, Cora aside, she’s the finest creature to roam the earth,” I offered, humoring him, “But how did she seem . . . temperament-wise?”

  I wanted to be prepared for whatever waited for me, and while I hoped to find her smiling and eager, I guessed it was more likely she’d trend in the opposite direction, given everything I’d orchestrated leading up to tonight.

  You know that worldwide, ages-long quest to find her that I mentioned? The instant I discovered she was a student at Oregon State University, I couldn’t get here soon enough—I’d crossed two state lines before realizing I’d forgotten to throw on a shirt in my haste. Arriving on campus a few days back, my intentions had been to watch and observe her from afar until an opportune moment arrived for me to introduce myself.

  Prior to finding her, I’d never had a problem with patience, but now—not more than seventy-two hours in the same zip code as her—I doubted if I had the smallest fraction of it left.

  Unable, or refusing, to patiently observe and bide my time, I pulled a few strings, called in a few favors, made a considerable donation to the campus, and one thing cart-wheeled into the next, right up to the present moment where I stood waiting in the shadows of the OSU common’s building, posing as a transfer student. A transfer student who was brazen enough to request a campus tour for a Friday night, reason being I’d confirmed the four other members of the Welcome Wagon committee had plans, leaving her with me. Leaving me with her.

  At last.

  A weak, lame, absurdly unoriginal cover I knew, but I was a desperate man, and I’d discovered that when an opportunity presents itself, no matter how inadequate, a desperate man doesn’t go looking for another alternative.

  “Okay, so other than way out of your league, how did she look?” Joseph mused, stroking his chin, taking his sweet time to answer. “I don’t know. She was walking all the way across campus, in the dark, in the cold—without a jacket. You wouldn’t be skipping to the beat of your whistling either, would you?”

  I had to tell myself twice not to run to her, anxious about her walking alone through a night so dark it could disguise the evilest of monsters. The need to protect her was suffocating, making it impossible to think about anything else. I had to remind myself she’d made it nineteen years without me at her side, ready and able to vanquish whatever might threaten her, she could make it another few minutes . . . although I doubted if I could.

  “Was she alone?” I swallowed, asking one of those questions I didn’t want to for fear of the answer. Up until a couple of days ago, I didn’t even know her name, let alone if she had a significant other.

  Joseph looked back at me, his all-out grin igniting. “Yeah, no boyfriend in sight, no heart-shaped jewelry around neck, no ring on that one finger on her left hand you’ve staked your claim on,” he said, nudging me “And if I know you, I’d bet my Mark Newson board”—my eyebrows tilted for clarification—“Yes, the nickel-plated one, that you already have a ring picked, purchased, sized and on hand for when the first opportunity arises to ask her to become Mrs. William Hayward.”

  I grinned, nothing abashed about it. “It’s irritating how well you know me,” I said, casting a look behind him, half expecting to see her ghosting through the fog, smiling and beckoning me towards her like she did in my dreams.

  “Yeah, well I hope you’ve put as much thought into what you’re going to say to her tonight as you did on that diamond ring. Let me guess . . .” He closed his eyes, spacing his fingers over his head like he was conjuring up a psychic reading. “Round-cut, flawless, three maybe four carets—not too small so as to give her reason to doubt your love, not too large she’d think you were trying to buy her love.” He opened his eyes, his mouth curling up. “How am I doing so far?”

  “Incredibly irritating,” I said under my breath.

  Shrugging, he said, “It’s a gift.”

  His impish grin faltered as my expression went rigid. “What should I tell her?” I sighed, my voice as heavy as the thoughts mucking up my mind.

  “You really don’t know what you’re going to say?” he asked, stunned, and rightfully so. I always had a plan, a detailed plan, for everything. Chalk strategic planning up, right below patience, as yet another quality rendered useless in this woman’s presence.

  “I’ve gone through a few hundred possible greetings, dozens of explanations as to who—what—I am,” I rambled on, squeezing the bridge of my nose, “none of which felt right, or genuine, or unworthy of her taking out a restraining order on me if verbalized.”

  Joseph nodded, squinting like he was searching for the right words of advice. “Just tell her the truth.”

  My mouth dropped, sure I’d heard him wrong. “Sure, that’s a brilliant idea. I can just see it now. Hi, Bryn Dawson, love of my life”—my heart rushed saying her name—“My name’s William Hayward. I’ve spend the last two hundred years as an Immortal being, living in a clandestine world that’s as ancient as the universe, having random visions of you in the midst of my foretellings, which—by the way—portray visions of Mortals dying. I love you, I’d die for you, I want to spend all of eternity with you. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

  Joseph didn�
��t even try to hide his smile at my tirade. “You’re right, whatever you do, don’t tell her the truth.”

  My jaw clenching in frustration was my only response.

  “Will you calm down? She’s going to take one look at you, fall in love . . . and then you two can figure out what to do from there.” Joseph said, the note of cautious optimism in his voice one I’d heard plenty of as of late, in reference to the precarious situation I was in.

  Bryn and I were from different times, different origins, different upbringings . . . different everything, but it was my hope that the love I had for her, and the love I prayed she’d one day reciprocate, would be our common denominator, cancelling out the glaring reasons we shouldn’t be together. Number one on that list of reasons why we shouldn’t be together, and a non-negotiable in the world I was from, she was a Mortal.

  That designation and I had parted ways centuries ago, and there was no way for me to go back. But I would have, for her. I wouldn’t need a moment’s deliberation if a genie showed up at my door, granting me the opportunity to go back. Fifty years as a Mortal, despite knowing death would be the period in our love story was worth more than an eternity alone. What was an eternity without her anyways?

  Hell was the word that came to mind.

  “How can you be so sure that: a—she’s going to talk to me, b—she’s going to like me, c—liking me will grow to loving me, and last but certainly not least, d—put all that I am aside and want to spend her life with someone . . . something like me?” I asked, finding my confidence—another part of me I’d never had issues with before this night—taking a hiatus. If they kept escaping me at this rate, I wouldn’t have a single positive attribute left by the end of the night. I now understood why they said love made fools of men.

  A dimple drilled in Joseph’s cheek from his cockeyed smile. “Because every woman falls in love with you. Like moths to a flame.”

  “Are you guys talking about me behind my back again?”

  And our happy duo was no more.

  “Patrick,” Joseph and I muttered in unison, more in exasperation than welcome. In addition to his fitting the classic younger-brother role, he had an irritating way of showing up whenever the timing was at its worst, his gift of teleportation only aiding him in it some of the time.

  “So the rumor-mill back at Townsend Manor is right. For once,” he said, looking around us in answer. “When I heard a couple of his Enforcer meat-heads talking about you hanging around a college crawling with Mortals,”—he wrinkled his nose before flashing a smile—“I knew if it was true, I simply had to be a part of it.”

  “I know this is going to blow your mind, Patrick,” Joseph said, crossing his arms without giving it the seriousness he’d intended. The youngest of the Hayward brothers could no more look angry than a frolicking puppy. “But William and I are doing just fine without you.”

  “That’s unlikely,” Patrick answered, loosening his tie. “Highly unlikely. William getting a date unlikely. A woman looking at me without swooning unlikely. You beating me in a—”

  “With you gone so much these past few years, I’d almost forgotten how obnoxious you could be,” Joseph interrupted, shoving Patrick aside. “Why don’t you make rebel spy your permanent profession and Townsend Manor your home-base?”

  Patrick fell to the side, overdone and dramatic. “What? Are you jealous of my mad skills to pull the wool over the eyes of the Lucifer of Immortals?” Patrick jeered, spreading his arms wide at his sides. “I don’t know why William comes to you for advice all the time. You’re the perpetually disillusioned one in the family.”

  I knew, from decades of experience, these two were just getting warmed-up and could keep this battle going strong all weekend. “Hate to interrupt you two, but I brought you purposefully,”—I eyed Joseph—“and you inadvertently”—I scowled at Patrick—“because I need some advice.”

  “What can I help you with?” Patrick asked, crossing his arms and propping a fist under his chin. I had to work at not smiling at his attempts to strike a serious pose. Serious was a word no one who’d spend more than a minute in Patrick’s presence would use to describe him.

  “There’s this girl,” I began, proceeding with marked caution, not about to tell him this was the girl, namely because I wasn’t ready for anyone else to know, and the rule of thumb was, if Patrick knew, everybody knew.

  “You’ve come to the right man.” Patrick shouldered Joseph away as he was opening his mouth. “Step aside little brother. I’m about to give William advice someone innocent and happily United shouldn’t be exposed to.”

  Joseph threw his hands in the air. “Oh please, Patrick. I’m more carnally aware of a woman than you are as a mere review of the color of my eyes versus yours will attest to.” His sapphire glared into Patrick’s pale blue ones as they rolled to the side.

  As if we weren’t freakish enough, all Immortals are reborn with pale blue colored eyes, remaining that way until they are United . . . in more ways than one, with their mate, where the pale shade is permanently replaced by a sapphire blue.

  “Details, details,” Patrick said, flapping his hand dismissively. “Besides, you’ve only been with one woman. I’ve been with hundreds, save for that tiny, last step.”

  Joseph crossed his arms, standing taller. “Trust me, once you experience it, you won’t be calling it tiny.”

  “You like to rub that in my face every chance you get, don’t you?” Patrick asked, his mouth drawing into a fine line. “And I’m sure in reference to you, it is tiny.” His eyes hinted at what he was referring to. “Thankfully, it doesn’t run in the family.”

  “I’m leaving. You guys have fun,” I scolded, backing away from them. I hadn’t made it this far to be caught in between two bantering brothers who sounded like a couple of junior high boys caught up in locker room talk.

  “Good luck, Romeo,” Patrick hollered, right on my heels. “I’m going to pitch a front-row seat tonight because this is going to be a great show. Too bad it won’t last long since you’ve got the romantic height of an aardvark.”

  I stalled, knowing Patrick was right. I didn’t have a clue what to do, or what to say for that matter; grade-school aged boys had more experience asking a girl out than I did. I hated when he was right.

  “Are you going to give me some valuable advice, valuable being the operative word, or will you be continuing your stand-up comedy roast of your brothers?”

  “Both, of course.” He shrugged his shoulders, folding his hands into his pockets. “This is me we’re talking about.”

  I wanted to scowl, but a smile won out. This is why he did so well with the fairer sex, he was impossible to stay angry at.

  “What time are you meeting up with our fair lady?” he asked, stifling his grin.

  I looked at my watch-free wrist, more out of nervousness than habit. “Five minutes ago.”

  “Good. Good. Keep her waiting. Make her sweat a little.”

  I had an image of her coated in sweat which did things to my body that didn’t help it calm down. Virtuous chivalry—cross that one off the list, too.

  “If there’s one thing you learn from me today, one thing you take with you, remember this. Girls want what they can’t have. That’s Female Psych 101. Make her think there’s no way in even her hottest, steamiest, far-reaching dreams she can have you, and she’ll come panting at your door.”

  I was a far cry from experienced, but even a rookie like me knew this wasn’t sound advice for wooing a woman. “That’s insane. Besides, that won’t work on this girl. Trust me.”

  “No, no. Trust me—this works on any girl with a pulse,” he said, glancing towards the building. “Where are you meeting her?”

  “Inside there.” I glanced through the window, scanning for her anxiously.

  He nodded, examining the common’s building like it was a heavily guarded enemy fortress. “I’m going in. If either of you knew what you were doing, I’d say
cover me, but since you’re the polar opposite of female cat-nip, stand back, observe, and learn.” Sparing not another word to clarify, he jogged towards the commons, combing his fingers through his hair, and adjusting his smile just so. I’ve seen that smile before, many times before, and it’s been deemed far and wide as the Lady-Killer.

  “What in the world is he doing in there?” Joseph asked after a few minutes passed by. I couldn’t see Patrick, but I had a bad feeling about whatever he was brewing up inside. If most sane, responsible people approached a blaze with a fire hose, he charged into it with a barrel of gasoline and a crate of dynamite, because what was the use of a fire if you couldn’t have a little fun with it?

  “After two-hundred-and-fifty years, I’ve stopped trying to guess,” I answered, right as Patrick burst through the door, loping towards us with the Lady-Killer adjusted down a few notches, settled into the Victory.

  “I got a whole herd of them in there waiting for you. Hook, line and sinker,”—his eyebrows jacked sky-high—“Patrick style, so you know they’re goners. You can thank me later.”

  I stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language, Joseph gaped at him like he was speaking Martian.

  “How is it I’m related to you two?” He rolled his eyes. “Just go in there, plant yourself in the middle of those foxy college co-eds, act like me, and when said female sees you, she’ll be slapping her way through bronzed cheekbones to get to you. She’ll be mad for you before you can open your mouth and screw it up,” he finished, sliding into a devilish smile.

  “Mad as in insane mad?” I asked, not sure I’d heard him right.

  Patrick shook his head into his hands. “That’s it, I demand DNA testing to confirm blood relation between us because it simply can’t be possible,” Patrick ranted, dodging Joseph’s shove. “No, not insane mad, mad as in hot and bothered, take-me-to-your-lair-mighty-god-of-love, mad.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” Joseph said, not able to take it anymore. He put himself square in front of me, locking eyes “Just. Be. Yourself.”

  “Terrible idea,” Patrick shouldered Joseph over, replacing himself in front of me. “Don’t be yourself. Trust me on this. I love you, brother, you know I do. But your game plan can’t be ‘just be yourself’ or else we might as well call this game on account of weather right now because I predict a cold front, with a high chance of icy expressions and hurricane-force shutting-you-down if you go in there acting like yourself.”

  He hitched his arm around my neck, steering me towards the common’s building. “Here’s your theme, your motto, your marching song. When you find yourself under heavy female fire, just ask yourself, What would Patrick do?”

  “Yeah, you should ask yourself that if you want to get slapped in the face and black-listed by every female three generations deep.” Joseph hustled up to us, blocking the door just as Patrick was preparing to launch me through it. “Be yourself,” he repeated. “It will be enough.” Joseph’s words were sincere, the kind of sincere that had his eyes glassy.

  “Yeah, yeah, blah-blah, kumbaya, and whatever else you flower-wearing, peace loving hippies chant.” Patrick hip-checked Joseph away from the door “I’ll deal with you and your nonsense later little brother, but right now, it’s show time.” Patrick threw open the door, shifting a perfume heavy breeze at us, along with a few dozen female heads.

  None of them were hers, but whatever Patrick had said or done to pump me up was working a little too well. Some looked as if they were nearing salivation level. “One more thing, don’t go in there planning to get a mile from her, this is a marathon not a sprint. Your mission tonight, should you choose to accept it, is to get an inch. Not even the square kind, the linear will be just fine.”

  “An inch?” I repeated, feeling the crease between my brows deepen.

  “Oh, great,” Joseph grumbled, kicking a pebble. “The inch lecture.”

  “It’s a proven theorem for weaseling your way into a woman’s heart.” Patrick snapped back.

  “But it’s about as stable as nitroglycerin.”

  Patrick made a face, waving away Joseph’s comment, before leaning towards me. “If she gives you an inch . . .” he lowered his voice, like this was top secret information, “that’s your in, that means you’re golden.”

  “An inch,” I said again, minus the inflection.

  He arched a brow. “Women don’t give guys an inch unless they’re interested in going a mile,” he said, nudging me like he was waiting for me to get it. “And here’s one more thing to keep in mind, if she gives you a mile right off the bat, run and don’t look back.” The corners of Patrick’s eyes wrinkled from some memory as he shuddered. “Been there, done that, still paying off the shrink from the damage done.”

  “Super,” I growled. “Here’s what you two have so readily and capably equipped me with: What would Patrick do?, just be yourself, play hard-to-get, I’m in if she gives me an inch, which, by the way, I have no clue what that means. Anything I missed?”

  Patrick’s mouthed snapped open, no doubt about to enlighten me as to just how much I’d missed, but my look of death aimed at him snapped it shut just as quickly. “This is going to be a train wreck,” I muttered, knowing I couldn’t waste any more time.

  Something about showing up ten minutes late for an event you’ve been waiting for every second of every day just didn’t equate. “I’m going to do my best to erase your ‘advice’ from my head, and pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” My voice actually broke, like it had when I was twelve-years-old. I was that nervous.

  Patrick pinched at my shoulders, like he was preparing me to go ten rounds, before shoving me towards the flat-ironed, glossy-goopy lipped women. “I’ll be right here if you need me, trying my hardest not to double over laughing as I watch you woe unnamed vixen.”

  “You’re staying?” Before my face had a chance to fall, Joseph came to my rescue.

  “Let the man work his magic,” Joseph said, pulling on Patrick’s suit sleeve. “We’ll get the highlights later. No need to make him any more nervous than he already is.”

  I sent my silent thanks to Joseph before he spun away with Patrick in tow, who was already in full sulk mode. That was another classic younger brother thing, if he wasn’t busy being annoying, he was sulking.

  “Thanks for all the brotherly advice,” I called out to them, a twinge of sarcasm lacing my words together. “It wasn’t confusing or contradictory at all.”

  Joseph shot a thumbs-up behind his back, a firm arm still guiding Patrick in the opposite direction of the common’s building.

  Right before they were swallowed by the night, Patrick hollered back, “Remember, What would Patrick Do?”

  “Words to live by,” I shouted after them, a roll of laughter their only response.

  The company, or distraction, of my brother’s gone, the gravity of the situation hit me. I’d been equipped with two opinions as conflicting as they come . . . things were clear as mud.

  I was more uncertain of how to proceed now than I was ten minutes ago. I needed more time to figure out how I was going to make a first impression that would “impress” her enough to one day want to spend her life with me. Despite being an Immortal, time wasn’t a luxury I had at present, and I tried not to feel shafted by the irony.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I breezed through the doorway, heading towards the group of woman that were looking at me like I was something edible, if for no other reason than I didn’t know where else to go. On one shoulder, I had a little Joseph angel singing, Just be yourself, and on the other shoulder I had a Patrick devil cackling, What would Patrick do?

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” the brunette wearing an outfit that made me blush said, running her hand down my arm. Like I was a pin-ball, she shot me into the swarm of woman, sending me bouncing against them until I landed in the middle.

  Another one wearing something
so slight it could have classified as a swimsuit brushed against me.

  “Your friend really talked you up,” she said, and despite the heavy dose of perfume she’d showered in, it couldn’t cover the cigarette smell that leaked off her. The smell was hideous, so much so it took a gallant effort to keep from curling my nose.

  “Was your debut album really the number one record in Europe for two years straight?”

  “Just how long were you imprisoned for starting a riot in Tunisia?” Another one asked, elbows shoving through the sea of girls.

  “How many polar bear shelters are you building in Long Island so they’ll have somewhere to live when the glaciers melt?” the blonde behind me asked—perfectly straight-faced—rubbing her body against me to the beat of her words.

  The questions kept firing at me, one right after the other, all as sensationalized as untrue as the first. Tall Tale creator . . . a new title for Patrick. The roar around me was suffocating, this was no job William “just be yourself” Hayward could handle. The evil Patrick devil won out when I finally opened my mouth.

  “Ladies, ladies,” I said, raising my hands. I barely recognized the voice coming from my mouth, it was so Patrick—in that amused, cocky, kind-of-way—I half expected to find him standing beside me. “One question at a time.”

  This calmed the crowd, somewhat, but only long enough to prepare to unleash another wave of questions.

  “Perhaps you can help me,” I said, rushing to get my words out first. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, but she’s already ten minutes late.” The words were no more out when I felt something. Something I’d only imagined, never sure if it existed, ever would, or what it would feel like, but experiencing it now made it seem familiar, like it had always been a part of me, I’d just forgotten about it.

  My eyes shifted to a spot like a compass needle to north, not able to see her thanks to the teased hair and six inch heels surrounding me, but knowing she was there. The room quieted to silence, the flapping mouths of the girls around me freeze-framed mid-question, the backpack-laden students lumbering up the stairs froze. There was nothing but the sound of a breath, a breath that had started an acceleration, along with the movement of air as she advanced towards me. I was hyper-aware of her and oblivious to everything else.

  A shiver crawled up my body, and as if fate were confirming this, the ocean of girls parted.

  I didn’t need to scan the room to find her, my eyes glommed onto her as if they’d been trained to find her, which, I suppose they had. I’d seen her countless times in my dreams with a clarity and realness that makes you question the dream state, but seeing her now was like seeing her for the first time. And she didn’t disappoint.

  She was beautiful of course, stunningly so as everyone doing a double-take in passing could attest to, but from the clothes she wore a size large to the way her shoulders curved down, it was apparent she was oblivious to the affect she had. But it wasn’t the shape of her body—that made my pulse quicken, or the cupid’s bow of her upper lip—which had mine trembling, or her cheeks that were flushed—that had mine flushing a shade deeper, that held my attention. Make no mistake, they all caught my attention, but it was something else that held my attention.

  It was her eyes.

  Eyes I didn’t only see my past in, but my future in as well. Eyes that had opened in the midst of my darkness, creating a light I held onto like my life depended on it. Eyes that pulled me back from the brink, planting me on solid ground. Eyes I’d seen warm and welcoming and loving and comforting, but all the dreams I’d had of her, two hundred years worth, I’d never seen the emotion in them that was staring back at me now. That was glaring back at me.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but my nervousness ratcheted up a few levels.

  Just be yourself, Just be yourself, Just be yourself, I repeated. Well, just be yourself was getting me nowhere, rooted where I was, gaped mouthed and wide eyed. She was never going to go for me if she thought I was an immobile mute. An immobile mute with a staring problem.

  It was then that a reminder sounded in my ears, What would Patrick do? I could almost feel the Patrick devil on my shoulder poking me with his trident.

  What would Patrick do? I’d seen him in action enough to have it singed in my mind. I can do this, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, I thought, concentrating. And suddenly, he was there, as if controlling me via a remote controller.

  The corners of my mouth pulled up, slower and smoother to be any genuine piece of myself. Giving over to Patrick wasn’t just affecting my mind, but my body. From the smile that was too Lady-Killer, to the way my shoulders rode low, in that indifferent, too-cool-for-school kind of way, I’d just become the dark-haired version of him.

  I wasn’t able to process, nor correct, just how unnatural it was playing Patrick before something that looked like shock, or surprise, flattened out the former wrinkles of anger, although a remnant of the glare was still present.

  Her body trembled, likely caused by the cold-soaked night she’d just emerged from. I don’t know if it was Patrick or me, but seeing her chilled, uncomfortable, I broke free of whatever shackles held me frozen and moved towards her. My only concern was to ease her discomfort, with my jacket, a warm drink, or maybe, fate-willing one day, my arms.

  How would she receive any of these offerings from a stranger? I didn’t know. But I didn’t care. Like a vital organ, I needed to make right whatever ailed her to keep myself functioning.

  As I took my first steps toward her, it hit me that my decades old role of searching for her had changed in a crease of time. My search was over, to be filed away, my eternity would now be spent protecting her.

  I’d loved her longer than I could remember, like trying to recall a first memory. It was such a base level memory it had been lost to the recesses of my mind, and I would continue to love her, whether from near or far. That was all up to her, although I wasn’t above begging, groveling, or spending exorbitant amounts of money on jewelry to shift the tables in my favor, but I knew this wasn’t the kind of currency that would catch this woman’s attention. True love, passion, unconditional love, ‘til death do us part . . . overused phrases, underused practices, but these currencies of the heart were the only kind of wealth that would attract her. I knew that without actually knowing her.

  Her narrowed eyes didn’t leave mine as I crossed the final few feet I’d been chasing down for so long. Before I could let the fear that tonight might be the night I both found and lost her strangle me, she slid backwards a few steps. It was painful, like a knife thrust through my gut, watching her balk away from me.

  I waved at her, motioning her to wait, preparing, if need be, to barricade the exit with my body. I was sure my eminent insanity would have ensued if I had to watch her drift away in real life like she did in my dreams. There wasn’t enough heart left to break for that.

  She stalled, and I rushed my last few strides towards her, using my Immortal speed a temptation. I came to a stop, wanting to pinch her or myself to ascertain reality. In all my experiences as an Immortal—innumerable battles, witnessing sunrises and sunsets from every continent, presiding over the thousands of births I had in every unnamed piece of soil in-between the dots on a map, watching man take his first step on the moon–I’d never come close to feeling my body react like it was now.

  I didn’t think it was possible to feel the acceleration of my heart, the air hitching up in my lungs, my stomach feeling like it was taking a beating from the inside out, these were physical hallmarks of a Mortal. But this woman I loved, who had already proven to me miracles exist, was affirming a few more.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” I said, the words falling out of my mouth in the midst of my nostalgia, because a simple Hello or How are you? wouldn’t have sufficed. Patrick was right. I was as smooth on the female front as curdled milk.

  Not thinking it possible, her eyes narrowed even more, nearing the slit stage. Time to stop
being myself—immediately—if I wanted to see the full shape of her eyes some time tonight.

  An eyebrow arched. “Just how long have you been waiting?” she asked, the sharpness of her voice not penetrating me the way she’d intended. This was the first time I’d heard her voice, and the only way I could respond was with a softening of my eyes and a wide smile.

  “Too long. I’ve been waiting for you far too long.”

  I let my smile pull up a tad higher on one side, crossing my arms to keep them from reaching out and touching her. I didn’t need Patrick’s assurances to know this would put me into major creep status if I put my hands on her—even if it was just to ascertain reality—and any chance I might have with this woman would vanish.

  “You looked like you were well attended to while you had to wait a whole ten minutes for me,” she said, more edge, but in addition to intimidating me, I found it extremely attractive. Grit your teeth and shudder attractive.

  I held the shudder at bay, but had to reply back through clenched teeth. “Yeah, but they’re not you. My very own tour guide for the night, or for however long it takes.” I winced internally, realizing how ridiculous I sounded.

  “I’m sure your fan club would have no problem giving you a tour of our illustrious campus,” she said, pointing her eyes over my shoulder. “Perhaps even an in-depth study in the classroom anatomy is taught.” I guessed she was referring to the team of women Patrick had assembled, but I didn’t look back to confirm. In fact, I wasn’t taking my eyes off of her until absolutely necessary. I wouldn’t have minded if “absolutely necessary” never came.

  I combed my fingers through my hair, a nervous habit that would have resulted in premature balding if I hadn’t been cemented in a twenty-two year old body. “You’re feistier than I thought you’d be,” I replied, no qualms showing my approval. I’d held no expectations, no desires, for what she’d be like, I knew whatever she was, it would be enough. And I’d been right.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” she said, purposefully avoiding my gaze.

  “On the contrary. I’m pleased,” I said, willing her eyes back to mine, at least until I’d memorized every grey line contrasting through the deep blue of her eyes, counted the flecks of gold circling her pupils, followed the arch of her eyelashes . . .

  “I can die knowing I fulfilled my calling in life.” She crossed her arms, drawing them tight into her ribcage. “I’ve pleased a man, my life’s sole mission.”

  I knew the sear that reached my cheek was about as instant as it gets, but hers might have beaten mine to the surface. She was flustered, so much so I could tell she was thinking about making another go for the exit.

  Forcing re-composure, and showering myself in an imaginary cold one, I said the one thing I knew without a moment’s hesitation Patrick would have tossed back, probably with a wink, although I wasn’t that confident. “Pleased a man indeed.” I even managed to mimic his tone that came out like a caress, but my answer, and letting my mind wander farther than I should have, accentuated the flames burning under my skin.

  Her only response was a circumnavigation of her irises, glancing forlornly at the door.

  “Shall we?” I said, moving to open the door for her. If she was still thinking about making a quick escape, I was following her.

  “Why don’t we head to the cafeteria first so we can go over what classes you’re taking? We can do the tour after.”

  She looked down a hallway which I presumed led to the cafeteria. I wasn’t sure if she’d suggested this because this was how she normally did things, or maybe she was scared to be alone with me. I guessed her father had likely told her to be leery of strange men, I would have told my own daughters the same if I’d ever had any—followed up by arming them with a holster and a .45—but it was hard to accept that I was a stranger to her when I felt anything but.

  I started to extend my arm to her before I caught myself. Smooth, William, real subtle. “You’re the expert. I’m your humble liege.”

  Her response of looking like she was gagging confirmed I needed to put Patrick on a shorter leash. This conversation was starting down a trail of self-destruction I wasn’t sure I could return from.

  Not another word, she started for the cafeteria. “It’s brutal to lift their hopes only to let them down,” she said when I came up beside her, tilting her head back in the direction of the lobby area.

  I didn’t know what she was referring to, but even if I did, my speech was incapacitated by the curve of her neck as it wound back and the gentle scents coming from it, like fresh-picked vanilla bean and sun-warmed tangerines, put me into a semi-hypnotic state.

  “Surely you didn’t miss the effect you had on every one of those girls back there,” she added, not missing my state of hypnosis.

  At last, the first glimmer giving me hope I’d conjured up something in her other than irritation. “Did I have the same effect on you?” Her head snapped forward, her expression ironing out.

  “It takes more than a smile and a schmooze to make my heart go pitter-patter.”

  I wasn’t versed when it came to the ways of women. Other than my two sister-in-laws that were more sister than in-law, I’d had about as much female interaction as an inmate on death-row, but I wasn’t oblivious to a person giving a blasé front. She was hiding something, and I could only hope whatever it was would be in my favor.

  “That,” I said, stifling most signs of exhilaration, “I did expect.”

  “You know,” she said, picking up her pace. “This whole egomaniac thing you’re trying to sell doesn’t fool me.”

  Okay, my birth-date was going to age me here. This was a term I was unfamiliar with, and from her tone alone, I deduced it wasn’t a compliment. “Ego-maniac?”

  “E-G-O-maniac as in cocky, conceited, full of oneself, afraid to show the teensiest bit of vulnerability,” she began, sounding like she didn’t believe I had no concept of the term, “so on and so forth.”

  If this conversation wasn’t going south at an alarming speed, I would have let myself enjoy the adorable way her hands moved with agitation.

  “Isn’t that what women want? It seems I’ve heard somewhere that nice guys finish last. Besides, you’re one to talk,” I said, finding it hard to keep my voice level. Passion was everything I’d heard it to be—volatile, “With your quick witted answer to everything. You’ve had a chip on your shoulder before you even met me from whatever preconceived ideas you had of me. So, who exactly do you want me to be?”

  I could only hope she’d answer me honestly, because my Patrick act, complete with pieces of William falling through, was not working.

  “You could never be anything like what I want,” she said, her tone as scalding as her words.

  Her pace quickened in a way that said she didn’t want me anywhere near her, but I’d never been a skilled translator of the female dialect, and I wasn’t going to start now. I shouldered back up to her, trying to keep emotion at bay.

  “So you must be one of those people who believe in soul mates, love-at-first-sight, that whole bit, right? That lovely rose-tinted glasses idea that there is only one person out there made just for you.”

  So much for keeping emotion out of my voice, but having said what I needed to—but probably shouldn’t have—I waited long enough for her reply to come in the form of a sealing of the lips.

  “Stop me if I’ve got it wrong,” I pressed, feeling hope rising.

  Her lips stayed sealed, but I found my answer as her eyes fell in resigned confirmation. If I was nothing more than another admirer trying to hound their way into her heart, she could have flat-out disagreed with me. It was as simple as replying, you’ve got it all wrong, or even turning and walking away disgusted. But she was still here, flushed and fumbling for a response. Even though she hadn’t made a verbal agreement, everything non-verbal had. Go ahead, call me a glass-half-full guy—I was used to it—I had to be to find her.

  This was my inch
, she’d given one to me, which if I accepted Patrick’s relationship-truisms as the gold standard . . . meant that she wanted to go the distance. An inch tonight, a foot next week, a mile next month, and, dare I dream, the end of this journey facing an altar with her on my arm, only to begin a new journey.

  I lowered my head until my eyes looked into hers, letting mine flood with the emotion she was keeping out of hers.

  “Lucky for us, I’m one of those people too.”

  Pulling the E-brake, she came to an abrupt stop, gaping at me as I strolled up to the end of the cafeteria line. I made no apology of staring at her as a careful smile pulled at her lips.

  I didn’t need hindsight to recognize that, up to this point, today was the greatest day of my existence, nor did I need it to know this was the greatest moment of this day as she advanced towards me, in the same assured, hurried way I’d been advancing towards her for years.

  If ever a man loved a woman, it was me. If ever a moment was made of perfection, it was right now.

  The End

  About Nicole Williams…

  I'm a wife, a mom, a writer. I started writing because I loved it and I'm still writing because I love it. I write young adult because I still believe in true love, kindred spirits, and happy endings. Here's to staying young at heart *raises champagne glass* . . . care to join me?

  Nicole loves hearing from her readers. You can contact her at nwilliamsbooks@gmail.com.

  Bonus Interview with the Authors