The Best of Fools (Jane Austen Book 2) (33 page)

I nodded and tried to process everything.

"Do you want to run away right now?"

Someone set a pizza, two fries, and two drinks at our table.

"Thank you," he said, then turned to me. "Am I not allowed to love you?"

"No, no. It's not like that. I'm sorry."

"Jane."

I finally looked into his eyes.

"You don't have to say it back," he said, smiling.

"It's just a lot all at once. The shop. The surprise. The people. You. This." I took his hand. "I like you. I like talking to you and being with you, but..."

He nodded. "Go on. It's okay."

"But you live in England."

He broke eye contact and turned toward the table. "You're thinking too far ahead."

"I have to." I opened two straws and gave him one. "Don't you see? What if we start this and it gets so deep and so beautiful and then it doesn't work? What if our hearts don't line up with reality? I can't pour myself into a sieve. It's not fair to either of us."

"Jane."

"Yes?"

"Just eat."

I picked up a fry. "Are you annoyed at me?"

"A little." He threw a fry at my face. "But you deserve it."

"Fair enough." I threw it back, but it soared right by him and smacked an older woman in the face.

I hid my face in his shoulder as her husband snapped his head toward us.

Alistair pat my head and smiled at them. "I apologize. She was aiming for me."

Their contorted eyebrows slowly eased and I held my laugh inside. The woman still looked horrified that anyone would do such a thing, but her husband was definitely suppressing a laugh.

Alistair leaned into me and whispered, "Do it again."

"No way." I moved back into place and picked up a slice of pizza. "I'm too hungry to waste anymore."

"That's right. I forgot you eat triple the amount of normal girls."

"I like food, what can I say?"

After our meal, we walked back to the shop and discussed possible names. Anything related to Batman. And it was in that conversation that I realized I did love him. Who knows if it was real deal marriage type love, but I loved who he was. The way he glanced to the side at me without moving his head. And the way he used his free hand to speak so enthusiastically about Batman, a subject none of my friends and family could ever get that deep into. I loved his laugh and the way he made me laugh. His dreams and goals and passions.

But I couldn't tell him that. I didn't want him to take it the wrong way.

We stayed in the shop for a while as he rummaged through every last piece of clothing, commenting on all of them in detail. No one ever did that. Not even Don. Most people said, "Wow, this is nice. Good job." But Alistair spent at least a minute looking at the front, back, and inside of everything and then he'd say something like, "I love the asymmetrical pattern on this one and the way this knot ties here."

Finally, when we only had about three women's outfits to go, I said, "Are you really this into fashion or is it just because it's me?"

"Psssh..." He slapped my thigh with the back of his hand. "Don't be so full of yourself. It's because it's...." He lowered his voice and continued, "the Batman."

"Oh." I smiled. "Why, of course!"

We finished analyzing each thing, which was more fun than I ever thought it could be, when he turned to me and said, "I'm chuffed for you. It doesn't matter if people buy it or not, it's amazing and really well thought out."

I clasped my hands and lowered my head. "Thank you."

"I should probably get back to my hotel. Where did you park?"

"Wait. Where's my apartment? I didn't even stay to find out."

"Oh." He pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. "Donovan anticipated that. He gave me your key. Address is on the envelope."

"Wow." I took the envelope and read the address. "He knows me too well."

"He's a good friend."

"He is." I peeked around him. "Looks stormy out. We should go."

"Yeah, okay then."

I wanted him to ask to come over, but he didn't seem to want to and I wasn't about to ask and give him the wrong impression. "So ... how long will you be here?"

"I don't have any set plans."

"Let's, um..." I nodded toward the door.

"Right, well I'm parked in the back parking lot."

"Right. Should I walk you there?"

"Jane." He took my hand again.

"Alistair."

"I didn't get a hotel."

"Oh, so you need some—"

"Jane."

"Mmm?"

"I'm staying with you." He smiled. "If you don't mind."

The apartment was on the second floor of a house, with the first and third floors occupied as well. A note in the envelope said rent was paid for the next five months, but after that I'd pay $750. The door opened to the living room and dining room. One big room separated by the back of the couch. The enormous kitchen had a window to the dining room, a huge bay window, and a long countertop. Zoe would love it. The hall led to two bedrooms, one half bath with a shower, and a master bath off the back room, complete with a jacuzzi tub. All wood floors, old with dings and scratches, and cream-covered walls that were in dire need of paint.

"What do you think?" Alistair said.

"I love it. The loft was more artsy, but this is nice in its own way."

"That's a crackin' tub." He nodded down the hall as we walked back to the living room.

"I know. I'm sure I'll use it a lot."

"What would you like to do?" He sat on the couch and pat the spot next to him. "I'm knackered after that flight. Want to watch Batman?"

"Really? I would love that. I'm ... what was it ... knackered? Too."

"Knackered. You don't say that here?"

I shook my head and bit back a laugh as I opened a window. "Would you like a cuppa too?"

"That'd be nice, yeah. Why don't we go make us a brew, duck?"

"I'll go make us a brew. You get comfortable here. Duck."

I searched the kitchen for the tea kettle and found it in the oven. Odd. Had to remind myself that this was my place. Once I fired up the kettle, I leaned against the counter and noticed he turned the lights down and lit a candle. Rain tapped on the window as the vanilla scent warmed the room.

Oh! What if I didn't have tea?

I looked through all of the cabinets and the fridge, just in case, but didn't find much more than flour, rice, and a few cans of diced tomatoes.

"Um, Alistair?"

He didn't respond. I walked into the living room and started to say his name again, but he was sleeping. Dead asleep on the couch. A little disappointing, I must say, but hey, I didn't have tea anyway. I turned the stove off, changed into my pajamas, grabbed a blanket from my room, then held it as I watched him sleep.

I thought of the night he accidentally called me on Skype. The time I watched him sleep before getting caught. That was before I knew his favorite color was orange and that he liked to drink tea right before bed because his mom gave him a taste of hers when he was a kid. It was before I knew that his parent's divorce actually did hurt him, even though he tells everyone else it didn't. Before I knew the way he stumbled over words when he was excited. Or the way he had some uncanny musical ability to play any instrument he put his hands on.

It was before I knew him.

And now that I knew him better ... he graduated from sexy to adorable. Instead of focusing on the rise and fall of his chest like last time, I focused on the slightest flutter of his eyelids and the way he tucked his hand under his pillow. His other hand draped over his chest and his breathing was slow, but heavy. He didn't snore like Don though.

I unfolded the blanket and put it over him as gently as possible. Then I sat on the floor with my back against the couch and listened to him breathe. I leaned back and whispered to myself, "I don't think he'd mind."

"No," my other side responded. "It would be weird if I just..."

"He'd like it," I said.

His fingers ran down the back of my head and lingered on my neck.

"He'd like it if you came up here," he whispered. "You nutter."

I waited. Then turned. "Hey."

He touched my hair again, then moved over to make room for me. "Come here, duck."

Suddenly ... my heart decided to beat fifty thousand times faster. So fast I wondered if he could hear it. Or see it. Or feel it.

He pulled me toward his body and I slinked down beside him.

"Cute pajamas." He wrapped his arm around me and pressed my body against his. Our legs touched. Our fingers locked. And I wondered if he'd kiss me.

The anticipation, the fact that I didn't know if and when he would, created a major rush inside of me. Every touch of his skin against mine—his thumb rubbing my hand, his leg warm against mine, his heart under my ear. Every touch and sound intensified and sent electricity through me. I unlocked my hand from his and ran my fingers up and down his arm. His breathing increased in depth and speed. The rain picked up outside, loudly pelting the window. Moving my hand toward his neck, I watched his lips. Slightly open under closed eyes. His pulse throbbed in his neck as I ran my fingers up to his face, tracing his jaw down to his lips.

What am I doing?

I closed my eyes and felt his lips with the tips of my fingers, then opened my eyes as he took my hand into his and kissed each finger one at a time.

Thunder rumbled in the background as adrenaline took over every inch of my body. I couldn't wait for him to kiss me.

I propped myself up on his chest and looked down at his sweet smile. His eyes, barely open, stared up at me as my hair fell out of its braid and touched the side of his face. He took a strand of hair—eyes still on me—inhaled, then curled it around his hand.

My breathing grew as rapid as my heart rate. I moved closer, then pressed my hand against the one he held above his head. Closer. Our eyes met and stayed there. Fixated on each other.

Then his lips parted.

I licked mine and stopped centimeters from his. Lightning flashed, casting a blue tint on his face as a gust of wind snuffed the candle.

He titled his jaw upward and swallowed, then closed his eyes again.

The electricity heightened. Sparks. Definitely lots of sparks. My lips touched his, lingered there on the softness, unmoved. Still as can be, we just breathed. Heavy. Into each other.

"Alistair," I whispered against his lips.

"Jane."

And then it happened.

It felt like every summer day and every winter night all at once, passionately filled with heat as chills coursed my body. He gently sucked in my bottom lip and opened his eyes as I opened mine, ever so briefly, then closed them as he brushed his fingers through my hair and pushed me a few inches away.

We quietly read each other's eyes while his thumb traced the outline of my face.

"So," he whispered. "That was worth waiting for."

Thunder shrieked and the street lights went out. I jolted and fell off the couch, holding my erratic heart with shaky hands.

"You okay down there?" He laughed.

"Seriously scared me."

"Come back up here." He touched my hair. "I'll calm you down."

"No." I smiled as I climbed back to him. "I don't think calm is the right word."

I woke up before Alistair and stood up as quietly as possible. He stayed asleep as I wrote a note telling him I'd be back in a little bit, but opened his eyes as soon as I came out of my room.

"Good morning," he said.

"Hey, I'm gonna run out and get some groceries so we can make breakfast."

"Oh." He swung his legs off the couch and yawned. "I'll come."

"You can stay if you want. I don't mind."

"I can't stay more than a few days." He stood and pat his pockets while looking around, then grabbed his wallet off the couch. "I'd like to see you as much as I can while I'm here."

I wanted to say, "Then what?" But I didn't. Then you're over there and I'm over here and we experience that unbearable feeling of emptiness as we fall asleep alone. Exactly like I feared. How could this work? I'd have to move to England or he'd have to move to America just to have a normal dating relationship, and then what if it didn't work after all that?

"You're spaced out again," he said.

"Sorry."

We walked out to the car, drove to the grocery store and parked, when finally he broke the silence. "Do you regret last night?"

"No. Not at all. It was perfect."

"Best kiss you've ever had?" His voice didn't carry the same joy it always did.

"Best kiss I'll ever have." Bet that surprised him.

But he didn't show it. Maybe it was the sadness in my voice as I said it.

We went inside the grocery store and bought a bunch of food, which he insisted on paying for to be "kind-personly," plus he said I could remember him for weeks whenever I ate.

We finally got back home and attempted to make breakfast together, but we were both terrible at it.

"The eggs aren't the worst," he said as we finally started to eat.

"Pancakes taste like sponges. I need Zoe's recipe."

He laughed. "Eat sponges often?"