Alyssa Goodnight - Austentatious

Nic James Does Austin. This film not yet rated.

“Okay.” My voice wavered just slightly. Steady, girl. “I’m game.” Sean’s grin flared wide, knocking out the dimples, and feeling just a little smug myself, I laid down my conditions. “However, I draw the line at getting tattooed, pierced, naked in public”—I figured I’d keep my options open, making it clear I wasn’t averse to private nakedness—“drunk, or high.” I figured I’d need my wits about me. “And I reserve the right to veto one activity on your list.” I let this sink in for a second before adding, “Do we have a deal?”

“We do, absolutely,” he conceded with a nod. “I’ll just need to get a little creative.”

I tried for a blithe smile but wasn’t certain I pulled it off.

Probably sensing the chicken behind my bravado, Sean wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and massaged gently. As I started to relax and go fuzzy-eyed, he leaned in and laid his lips softly over mine. He tasted spicy and sweet, like grilled pineapple. I’d never been able to resist good pineapple, and I didn’t even bother trying.

It wasn’t until I was back home, soundly kissed, that it occurred to me that Brett was getting stomped. Sean was running rings around both him and me, and I wasn’t sure either of us would ever catch up. It was already midnight, and while I could feel fatigue pulling at the corners of my eyes, a wild, structured urgency was careening around inside me. So many things I needed to do. I needed to call in sick, although it was probably best to leave that for the morning. I needed to talk to Fairy Jane—to pour everything out of me in a jumbled, incoherent blurb and have her shoot back a succinct little shot of advice. And I needed to come up with an itinerary for my half of the day tomorrow. And it couldn’t be typical Austin fare, because while I could safely (if perhaps unchivalrously) be termed a Virgin Queen, Sean had obviously been around the block. I needed to shoot for the extraordinary, the bizarre, and the downright odd.

I was so not equipped for this.

I could call Beck or go next door—talk about your bizarre—but it was late, and either option would be a cop-out. I was just going to have to hunker down with my laptop and do a little surf and search. We’d agreed to meet for breakfast tomorrow at ten. Just maybe I’d have enough time to do everything and still sneak in a little time to sleep.

I tackled the journal first:

Two dates in one day. Quite the statistical improbability for me—and a rather guilt-inducing situation. I feel like these guys are auditioning for the part of Nic James’s Love Interest. But everything is scarily unscripted. Sean’s invitation to play hooky and spend the day together having an impromptu “virgin adventure” took me completely off guard. And while I probably shouldn’t have, I said yes—I wanted to say yes. Sean has a way of making even the ridiculous seem irresistible. So it seems I’ve agreed to be somewhat of a guinea pig, hustled around Austin according to the whims of Sean’s big dethroning plans. I really don’t want to think about what he has planned—I may have laid out my conditions and insisted on a veto, but I suspect he’ll find ways of getting around all of it. I fully expect to spend half the day in a constant state of anxious uncertainty.

Then the other half is mine. Seeing as it’s already midnight, and my exciting friends are off-limits, I’m going to have to really dig deep—otherwise Sean’s going to find himself inveigled in a city-wide search for the perfect cupcake. So far, my mind hasn’t moved past the idea of insisting that Sean don a kilt for at least part of the day—it’s pretty firm on that point. In fact, I plan on calling him in the morning to shock the pants right off him.

I’m nervous, but lately I’m nervous over just about everything. Sean should come with a warning label, because the truth is, if I had to venture a guess, it would be that by tomorrow night, life as I know it will have changed irrevocably. I’m not sure how ready I am for that eventuality.

I reread the words out of habit, wondering what sort of advice this magical little journal would squeeze out this go-round. Part of me was yearning for the shakable (and re-shakable) simplicity of a trusty Magic 8 Ball or the sweeping near miracles of a dusty old Ouija board. Fairy Jane’s offerings were whimsical at best, but her opinion was clear: Sean was precisely what my life was missing. But could I trust her? I hadn’t decided yet.

Tipping the cover shut on my entry, I reached for the key, slipped it into place, and watched the magic unfurl all over again, amazed anew at the hidden depths of this little book. And then suddenly it was heavy on my lap, the lost and found-again pages brittle and crinkly with secrets. I settled in to read.

Taking up where I’d left off the night before, I discovered the first entry written by a society miss in love with a servant. Reading between the lines, I’d say that Fairy Jane was quite the progressive instigator, encouraging the romance as well as a daring adventure or two. The second entry was really quite juicy:

I met him, just as you suggested, in the folly. No one would imagine the crumbling structure, long vacant, might harbor the most illicit of romances, but it did, and it most definitely will again. Passionate deeds are definitely addictive. I have responsibilities and a life that requires my attention, but it doesn’t preclude me from wishing for the impossible. I daresay I’m no longer certain the word even applies. This journal has convinced me that there is magic lurking about, and henceforth, I vow that I will endeavor to search for it most strenuously.

The next few entries had me vicariously enthralled, shocked, and slightly guilty to be reading such personal, passion-filled thoughts. But not sufficiently to stop. Talk about your bodice-rippers. . .

I am sure I surprised him, waiting as I was when he arrived. And the manner of my greeting no doubt surprised him even more. To anyone watching as I set off from the house, I’m sure I looked every bit a lady out for a walk and picnic, but my basket was crowded with other things ... I’d sneaked into the bedroom reserved for the seamstress and stolen away yards of tulle that would now be conspicuously absent from the wedding dress I never intended to wear. My trousseau had been pilfered as well, and I shivered with the secret thrill that the lacy confections would be worn solely for the man I intended. All week I’d been setting off in the chilly dawn light, a down pillow concealed beneath my cloak, and, ever so slowly, the folly had been transformed. When Luke stepped through the door, I watched his eyes darken with appreciation as I lay nestled amid all that stolen luxury. We indulged ourselves for hours, touching and exploring, until finally, while he lay sated, I convinced him to run away with me... .

By the end, my mouth was gaping, my breathing erratic, and a sense of wonder had settled over me. Despite the odds, the obstacles, and the implausibility of it all, the pair had found their happily-ever-after.

It was pretty easy to tell which of the journal’s previous owners had been willing to take a chance on a little magic and which hadn’t. The squeamish ones wrote one, maybe two, even three entries, but no more. The believers kept coming back, chatting up Fairy Jane in pursuit of the fairy tale. I fell somewhere in between: an obliging skeptic, willing, at least for now, to play the odds.

It didn’t escape me that the underlying theme running through these vintage journal entries was that some occasions called for a bit of conscientious rule breaking. Cat Nelson had left her love behind, but I was hoping to go forward, and even willing to deviate from The Plan, to find mine.

Life with Sean might seem like a pipe dream, but life without him now seemed eerily hollow. I’d try to keep that in mind during the enthusiastic corruption he no doubt had planned for tomorrow.

Removing the key, I waited for the magic to seep away before flipping the pages back to my latest entry. Fairy Jane had already done her homework.

an adventure shouldn’t be planned—otherwise it’s just a venture

On that note, I decided I’d forgo the planning altogether and go to bed. I was still the Virgin Queen—at least for tonight—and I planned on dreaming of my own folly.

“As requested, a kilt-wearing escort for a day of hooky.”

Sean was waiting for me outside Juan in a Million, balancing Austin’s fine line of fitting in while standing out. Likely the fact that he’d paired a black “Keep Austin Weird” tee with his knee-skimming plaid had something to do with it. Or it simply could have been that he was heart-stoppingly gorgeous even in a skirt.

After fibbing on the phone to my boss’s voice mail, I’d called Sean and laid out my first request. Not surprisingly, he hadn’t balked.

The kilt had been nonnegotiable, and the fact that I’d planned that aspect of the day didn’t make the reality of seeing Sean in a kilt any less of an adventure. Besides, I had no idea what he might be wearing underneath. And that had adventure written all over it.

With that single exception, I’d taken the advice. Weird, yes. But today, by its very nature, was deviant from the norm—a Wednesday without work, a day of surprises with a sexy Scotsman ... Why not do the opposite? It had worked for Costanza. I do admit to balking slightly when faced with the latest quote-of-the-moment: “ ‘It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides.’ Persuasion,” but I tried to let it roll off me. So while I was about to eat breakfast tacos with a man in a kilt, beyond that, I had no plans.