Instantly, goose bumps cropped up all over my body. While I might have just abandoned The Plan I’d been clinging to for the better part of my adult life and celebrated by having sex with the man who’d put me up to it, I definitely wasn’t ready to discuss my resident fairy godmother. Baby steps ...

I lunged forward, my jeans gaping, nearly tripped over the coffee table, and rather fortuitously, collided with Sean just as his hand brushed The Collected Works plus one.

He was momentarily taken aback, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. I’m sure I looked like a psycho, eyes wide and haunted, pulse jumping at my throat.

“You’re not a proponent of the praying mantis style of relationship, are you?” Sean asked, looking slightly concerned.

“Are you asking whether I plan to devour you now that I’ve had my way with you?” I found this oddly amusing.

“Pretty much,” he confirmed, glancing at the respectable row of Austen novels and my hand dramatically plastered up against it.

“It’s your lucky night,” I told him, lifting my free hand to settle at my stomach, suddenly conscious that my underwear was still on display. I smiled widely, with teeth, and tried to rally while I zipped up. “I’m in the mood for a cupcake.” I tried to relax. With my other arm tensed and locked in position over my big little secret.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, the corner of his mouth edging up. “You’re one of those Jane-ites.” At this point, I was thrilled he was amused and not uneasy. Keeping his eyes fastened on mine, and lifting a single eyebrow in challenge, he extended his arm to the shelf above and pulled down my Jane Austen action figure.

It had come complete with a miniature writing desk and quill and had been a gift from Ethan. While he’d intended it as something of a gag gift, I’d recognized it as a subtle reminder of good sense, sound decision making, and perfect romance. I’d bought Dating with Jane Austen as Your Wing Woman shortly after that and promptly classified Ethan as a Willoughby. It wasn’t long before Ethan realized his blunder: Jane Austen was a formidable nemesis.

“Maybe a little bit, but it’s not that,” I admitted, rolling with a sudden flash of inspiration. “This just happens to be where I hide my diary—in plain sight, so to speak.” Relinquishing my grip on The Collected Works, I snagged the little black leather journal and held it against my body, on display but out of reach. “Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed.” That much was true; I’d said some weird things in this journal, and Fairy Jane had managed to out-weird me at every opportunity.

“Ah ... a diary, huh?” He glanced down, running his eyes over the shabby little book with the vintage hardware, likely taking in my iron grip as well. Lifting his eyes, now sporting a wicked gleam, to mine again, he waggled his eyebrows and said, “Am I in there?”

“I will admit that you’ve made the occasional appearance.” I sincerely hoped that this modest admission would help him forgive the earlier wild-woman behavior.

“I happen to know that women aren’t always completely honest when it comes to their diaries,” he said, carefully putting Jane back on her shelf.

I promptly abandoned all modesty. “Do tell.”

“Younger sister, remember?” Clearly he wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed by this behavior.

“You should be ashamed! Girls keep their most private secrets in their diaries. They are not for prying eyes, particularly those belonging to nosy brothers or potential love interests,” I said pointedly. “I am going to hide this somewhere else in the house. You are going to stay here and out of trouble until I get back. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I decided to forgive him the ma’am. His grin sent nervous shivers up my spine, and with shaky legs I turned away and quick-stepped out of the room. I detoured into the kitchen to retrieve the journal’s lovely assistant, the Magical Key, and then locked myself in my room to stash the pair in a shoe box with some long-forgotten burgundy satin bridesmaid heels. Satisfied with my ingenious hiding place, I hurried back to the kitchen to whip up some cupcakes and frozen pizzas and act normal. The quote, I was to discover, read, “ ‘... why did we wait for any thing? why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!’ Emma.” On this one thing, Fairy Jane and I were in complete agreement.

A couple of hours later, heady with chocolate cupcakes and requited lust, Sean was persuaded to stay the night. Of course that meant his motorcycle was revving in my driveway at seven-thirty in the morning, right after he’d kissed me senseless, sans bra and makeup, in the kitchen.

And the revving, in turn, was why Leslie was pounding on the door fifteen seconds later. Quickly donning yesterday’s hoodie, I swung the door wide.

“Why, Leslie,” I drawled, “you know how I love the not-yet-decent morning pop-overs!”

Leslie, as usual, ignored me in favor of inquisition-style tactics.

“I assume I just heard the triumphant getaway of yesterday’s bad influence.” She was sporting the proud my-daughter-lost-her-virginity-on-Prom-Night look.

“Never assume, Leslie.”

“Funny,” she said. I couldn’t help but find her reaction amusing, and my own smile settled in to get comfortable.

The stare-down was her next plan of attack, but two seconds after leveling me with a stubborn glare, she abandoned the tactic to play the pity card. “You would seriously deny me the chance to share in this proud moment?”

“Okay, fine. I may not have been cobblered exactly, but I definitely had a little ‘Brown Betty’ action going on, if you know what I mean.” It was very hard to keep a straight face. Leslie, however, had no trouble at all.

“Fine,” I conceded, just wanting to get this over with. “Sean spent the night. Heterosexual activities ensued. Good enough?”

Leslie’s face slumped right along with her shoulders. “Do you seriously not know how to tell a good story, or are you just out of practice?”

“Could be either,” I admitted, completely serious.

She uncrossed her arms, and her boobs slumped in delayed reaction to my subpar storytelling. “Try to work on it.” Seeming to realize her reaction was a little off, she quickly rallied. “Brava, chickadee! You rode the bull!” I got a thumbs-up, and she got fodder for a gossipy breakfast. She was halfway down the steps before she called back, “Bring him over Friday night!”

How could I possibly resist?

Flicking the lock on the door, I made myself a cup of cocoa, fully intending to play up yesterday’s imagined illness with a late start today. Seeing that it was now somewhat of a ritual, I couldn’t help but check the chunky little calendar block. Turns out I’d gotten used to its conveniently updating itself. And reading, “ ‘How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and the changes of the human mind!’ Mansfield Park,” on this sunny morning was a pleasure—I couldn’t help but smile. Fairy Jane was back in my good graces, and I needed to rescue her from yesterday’s impromptu hiding place. It seemed a little thank-you was in order....

My room was full of fresh distractions, not the least of which was the tousled, tangled state of my bed. But my eye caught on the purple wadded Weird shirt flung over the nightstand.

I guess it was sort of official: I was weird—and happy.

Admittedly, I wouldn’t be claiming weirdness right now if it weren’t for Sean. If it weren’t for Fairy Jane and her magical abode ... If it weren’t for the spilled chai latte and that wild mushroom with a mind of its own. I wouldn’t be weird without any of those things, because without them, I hadn’t been ready. But I was ready now—as ready as one could be for a life of weirdness.

Smoothing the wrinkles from the shirt, I laid it on the bed, conscious of the unexpected kink I’d put in my life. It was eight o’ clock on a workday, and I wasn’t at work. I’d never even bothered to check my messages from yesterday. Crazier still, when I did finally get to work, I planned to make things official with the job swap and avoid Brett if at all possible. Then tonight, it was back to Sixth Street for my second SXSW first. The music portion of the festival had kicked off, and crazy as it sounded, I was sort of “with the band.” Wowza—weird.

Palming the journal, it occurred to me that Beck still hadn’t seen the magical transformation. I’d work something out soon. After this week SXSW would be over, and things with Sean would start to calm down a little. I assumed. Right now though, I needed to hurry.


Okay. I admit it. You were right, and I was wrong since the very beginning, and I apologize. I just never imagined life included chatty journals and fairy godmothers. But now I know and will make every effort to keep an open mind in the future.

Likely it comes as no surprise to you, but Sean finally charmed his way in. Yesterday played out somewhat like a quest, and I slayed the dragon—also known as “The Plan.” I admit I’ve had a mad crush on Sean since that very first moment with its unexpected mushroom surprise, but I’d been more than willing to ignore the feeling and let it burn itself slowly out. It took a whole day alone with him before it finally sank in—nothing is ever going to go back to normal. Welcome to Austin!


The ride to work felt different, as if the city was suddenly sparkling with possibility. My secret—not that it was a secret, more of a “nobody knows yet”—was crowding my chest, threatening to spill out in the form of strange squealing noises. More significantly, I wasn’t stressing. The Plan was now crosshatched with motorcycle skids, and I still wasn’t having even low-level second thoughts. First test would be a little chat with Mark Frasier.