In the mid-1800s, a large clock
stood in the lobby of the George hotel in Piercebridge, England. The Jenkins
brothers, both bachelors, managed the hotel and took great pride in their
clock’s unusual accuracy. But sadly, when one of the brothers died, the clock
began to fail.
At first, it was only a few
minutes here and a few minutes there, but by the time the last clocksmith tried
to repair it, the clock was losing more than an hour each day. The news of the clock’s
incurable time lapse became as noteworthy as its unusual precision had been. But when the surviving brother died at the age of ninety, the clock was
silenced forever and couldn't be revived.
The new manager of the hotel
never attempted to have it repaired. He just left it standing in a sunlit
corner of the lobby, its hands resting in the position they assumed the moment
the last Jenkins brother died.
About 1875, an American
songwriter named Henry Work happened to be staying at the George Hotel. When he
learned the story of the old clock he composed a song about the fascinating
coincidence that the clock stopped the moment its elderly owner passed away.
Henry came back to America and published the lyrics that sold over a million
copies.
Some believe that all objects,
alive or inanimate, have a spirit. This is most easily detected in a home or a
place. Some are filled with energy, some carry a sense of peace, some are dark,
others sleepy. Learning how to read the spirit in a room or a person is the
first step in learning what makes someone or something tick.
In my book, The Tick-Tock Between You and Me, there's a clock that only ticks when Chad and Darby are together. And it's great for them to have this confirmation that they're meant to be. But life isn't like that.
At times, when faced with a big scary decision, I wish that there was someone to tell me the right or wrong, but really--where's the adventure in that? Because I write romances, it's easy to fall into the trap of believing there's a Mr. Right, or a Mrs. Wrong...but there's not. There are just people. And sometimes a person is right forever and sometimes a person is just right for right now.
There's a lesson to be learned, a step to be taken, a path that's either easier, harder, steeper, impassable, whatever with or without someone by your side. Those lessons are the adventure. And if you're able to share them with someone you love, you're blessed.
Modern
Day
Los
Angeles International Airport
Darby
stood in the line snaking its way toward the crowded Starbuck’s counter. She
shivered, but this had more to do with nerves and anticipation than the
over-zealous air-conditioning or her lack of caffeine. She glanced at the board
announcing the arriving flights and consulted her watch.
Benjamin’s
plane had been delayed. Again. She tried to wrap her head around this. After
all, it was August, not the dead of winter when one might expect turbulent
weather. Of course, he was flying from London—and when she had flown from
London to L.A., her flight path had gone over the North Pole, where rotten
weather was sure to happen. She needed to be patient, but she was tired of
being patient. Other than on FaceTime or social media, she hadn’t seen Benjamin
in three whole months.
Not
that she had known him for much longer.
A
sudden splash of burning hot wetness pulled Darby’s thoughts away from
Benjamin. “Ow!” she pulled her blouse away from her chest and stared at the
brown stain spreading like a fungus.
“Oh!
I’m sorry!” A man with large hands grabbed a handful of napkins from the
dispenser on a nearby table and tried to pat her chest.
She
flinched away from him and noticed his face for the first time. Aside from his
embarrassed and apologetic expression, he was incredibly gorgeous, like a young
Paul Newman—blond, blue-eyed, rugged and weathered as if he spent a good deal
of time outside. He was almost as good looking as Benjamin, but in a completely
different way. But of course, Benjamin was a model and an actor who made a
living with his beauty. This man was a silky-blouse-staining moron.
“It’s
okay,” Darby said, even though it obviously wasn’t because the coffee was
burning hot, her blouse was probably going to be ruined, and, worst of all,
she’d now have to welcome Benjamin to L.A. with a giant brown spot on her
shirt. She moved away from his clumsiness and wads of napkins.
“Oh
no, I can tell you’re upset.” He shook the coffee off his own hands, making her
realize he’d burned himself as well. “Let me pay for your dry -cleaning, at
least.”
“No,
don’t be silly,” she said, edging away from him, which wasn’t easy to do
because of the crowd. Most people were ignoring them, but a few watched with
open curiosity, waiting to see her response. Darby gulped back her frustration,
mostly because she didn’t want to make a scene, but also because the man was
cute and remorseful—a little like a puppy who knows his paws are too big.
“How
about I buy you lunch?” he said.
Darby
glanced at the board, noting that Benjamin’s flight had been delayed another
hour. “Okay,” she agreed, tempted by a free lunch…and the handsome man.
His
smile transformed him. He was actually much better looking than she’d
originally thought. Maybe even a close match to Benjamin. Not that looks
mattered. She didn’t love Benjamin for his (stunning) appearance. Looks had
nothing to do with their almost instant and incurable attraction.
“I’m
waiting for my boyfriend’s delayed flight,” Darby told the blouse-destroying
stranger, just so he would know he didn’t stand a chance with her because her
heart was pledged elsewhere to another, much less, clumsy man. This was just a
free lunch.
He
looked at his watch, an intricate timepiece on a leather band. He had strong,
thick wrists covered with blond nearly transparent blond hair. Darby shivered
again. She hated when men had dark gorilla fuzz, and she tried to recall
Benjamin’s arms, but couldn’t. This bothered her.
“My
sister’s flight is also late,” the man said as he guided her into a nearby
restaurant, separated from the airport’s concourse by a fountain running down a
glass wall and spilling into a black marble ledge. The water garbled happily,
it’s sound masking the airport’s bustle. The scent of barbequing steak wafted
through the air.
“Weird,
right? I mean, it’s August and sunny and warm.” Darby glanced around at the
linen-clad tables and glass and chrome decor. It was hard to believe that just
a watery partition separated the restaurant from the noise and chaos of the
rest of the airport.
“Not
all delays are weather-related. I’m Chad George, by the way,” he said, sticking
out his hand.
“Darby
Elliot,” she replied, liking his strong grip.
A
waitress name Kayla led them to a table overlooking the tarmac. They passed a
window to the open kitchen where men and women in white coats and tall
ballooned hats grilled a variety of meat over open flames. The smell made
Darby’s mouth water. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
“What
do you do, Darby Elliot, when you’re not waiting for boyfriends in the
airport?” Chad asked once they were seated.
“I’m
an accountant,” she said, unfolding the linen napkin and placing it on her lap.
He
leaned back. “Really?”
“Why
do you look so surprised?” Darby fussed with her napkin, slightly miffed
because his response was typical. Most people had the same reaction when she
said she was an accountant, and it bothered her that no one seemed to take her
seriously. Being the youngest in a family of seven kids didn’t help. But she
was used to her family’s dismissal and had grown to expect it. She didn’t like
it from strangers.
“You
just don’t look like an accountant.”
Darby
sat a little straighter, trying to add inches to her five-foot-three frame.
“And what do you think accountants should look like?”
“Well,
for one thing, they don’t wear strappy red sandals and New Occult jeans.”
“Maybe
not to work.”
“Although
they might wear silk blouses. Just not with big brown stains on them.”
Darby
didn’t mean to scowl, but she couldn’t help it. She picked up a menu to hide
her expression. “I’m actually freaky good with numbers.”
He
lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”
She
lowered the menu. “Yeah. Go ahead, test me.”
“Okay,
what’s three-thousand and forty-nine divided by sixty-three?”
“Forty-eight,
about.”
He
typed the math problem onto the calculator app on his phone. “You’re right.
Amazing.”
She
shrugged and went back to studying the menu. After a moment, she settled on a
shrimp salad. “What do you do?”
“I’m
a teacher at a small private school.”
This
surprised and concerned her because teacher’s salaries usually didn’t stretch
to cover fancy airport restaurants. “That’s noble,” she said. “It must be
really rewarding.” Just not financially.
She quickly changed her mind about the shrimp salad and selected a cup of soup.
“Sometimes,”
he said with a smirk.
Kayla
the waitress came to take their orders, and Chad surprised Darby by asking for
the steak. Her gaze wandered to the chefs in the kitchen and she wondered if
the steak would taste as good as it smelled.
“Are
you sure you just want soup?” he asked.
She
nodded, even though she wasn’t quite so sure anymore. After all, the sun
glinting off the airplanes told her that it had to be warm outside away from
the air conditioning. The thermometer had been pushing toward eighty when she’d
been in her car and that was before it was even noon.
“I
love tomato soup,” she said. “I practically lived on it when I was in London.”
Where it was cold and dreary most of the year.
“You
lived in London?”
She
nodded. “That’s where I met Benjamin—my boyfriend, the one I’m waiting for.”
Just saying Benjamin and boyfriend in the same sentence sent a happy tingle
down her spine. She recalled his face to remind herself of how much she loved
him and how perfect he was for her and how romantic their first meeting had
been—much more romantic than some doofus spilling his coffee on her and ruining
her favorite blouse. “You know, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can
salvage my shirt.”
“Sure,”
he said, looking disappointed, but not surprised.
She
found the restroom near the bar and once inside, she peeled off her shirt,
doused with water and squeezed some hand soap onto it. While she scrubbed, her
thoughts bounced between Chad and Benjamin. She found herself comparing them,
and even though this made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t stop herself. Chad, a
teacher, according to her parents, had the noblest of vocations. Benjamin, an
actor and model, again, according to her parents, probably had the least
admirable vocation. It also bothered her that she continually measured things
and people with her parents’ yardstick, but that was normal, wasn’t it? She
hadn’t intentionally patterned herself after her parents, but even at
twenty-nine, she still sought their approval.
Except
when it came to Benjamin. She loved him in spite of her family’s warnings.
After
a final rinse and a couple of blasts from the hand-dryer, Darby put her shirt
back on. The damp fabric clung to her skin and bra and she wondered if she’d
just made the situation worse. She left the restroom with her feelings toward
Chad almost as chilly as the wet blouse. It didn’t help that he smirked when he
took one look at her blouse.
She
sat across from him and launched into her How-Darby-and-Benjamin-Met story.
“Benjamin literally fell into my life!”
Chad
leaned back as Kayla returned with their food, placed a thick slice of steak
with a side of a baked potato oozing with butter and a serving of steamed
vegetables in front of Chad and a cup of steaming hot tomato and basil soup in
front of Darby.
Darby
opened a bag of crackers and crumbled them into her soup. “We met the day
before I left London. Sad, right?”
Chad
looked as if he didn’t know how to respond. After a moment, he came up with,
“What were you doing in London?”
“I’m
a CPA for Hopper and Rhode Accounting, and one of our clients was having
issues. I thought at first it was a huge honor for them to send me, but then I
realized no one else wanted to go.”
“How
come?”
Darby
frowned. She really wasn’t supposed to talk about her clients, especially if
she didn’t have anything good to say. “Let’s just say that my client likes to
smoke cigars.” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips. Yep, it was hot.
After a moment, she added, “She had other vices, as well of course.”
He
lifted an eyebrow. “She?”
“Yep.”
She paused her spoon. “Are you telling me you’re one of those sexist people who
think women can’t enjoy cigars?”
“Can
anyone really enjoy cigars?”
After
another sip of soup, she put down her spoon and smiled. “Nope. I don’t know why
anyone smokes them, unless, of course, they’re just intentionally trying to be
annoying. Although, in general, it’s really a bad idea to try and annoy your
accountant. After all, a good accountant is trying to save you money and
often—as in this woman’s case—her business.”
“What
was her business?” he asked with a smile he probably considered charming.
“I
can’t talk about my clients. Sorry.”
Chad
pulled out his phone and tapped out something. Darby tried not to be curious.
After a second, he leaned back in his chair, gave her a pleased grin and showed
her his phone’s screen. “Your client, Amanda Ward, an American living in
London, president of Finders, Sneakers, a U.S. based company—”
“I
know who she is,” Darby said. “How did you do that?”
“It
was pretty easy, really.” He pocketed his phone. “I knew she had to be the head
of a U.S. company—otherwise, why hire a U.S. accountant? But she was living in
London…although, I think the cigar smoking pretty much nailed her.”
“It
probably will nail her—into her coffin.” Darby’s hand flew to her mouth. “I
should not have said that. You won’t tell my boss, will you?”
Chad
smiled and cut into his steak. It let out a waft of heavenly scent. “So, since
you can’t talk about your mysterious cigar smoking-client, tell me about the
boyfriend that fell on you.”
Darby
set down her spoon. “He was at a party right above my hotel room and there was
a fire. Of course, I didn’t know that since I was asleep in my bed. Anyway, to
escape, he jumped down onto my balcony saw me sleeping in my bed and woke me.”
“No
fire alarm?”
“Huh,
I guess not.” The memory of the first time she’d seen Benjamin’s gorgeous and
concerned face flashed in her mind. “He picked me up and carried me outside.”
She didn’t add that they had spent the rest of the night making out on the
hotel lawn and that she’d only been wearing a silk teddy. Remembering the cold
wet grass pressing against her naked legs, Darby took another spoonful of soup.
“It was very romantic.”
“But
then you left London?”
She
nodded.
“So,
you really don’t know him all that well.”
Darby
bristled because this was exactly what her mom, sisters, brothers, and friends
had been saying. “We’ve Skyped every day. In some ways, this is a better way to
get to know each other because we couldn’t get carried away with snogging.
That’s the British word for—”
“I
know all about snogging,” he said with a smile.
Yes,
from the looks of him, he probably did.
“I
know it’s absolutely none of my business.” Chad buttered his potato. “But when
you only know each other via social media, it’s really easy to just show your
good bits.”
Wow.
He really did sound like her mom. “You’re right.” She swallowed another
spoonful of soup. “It’s none of your business. But sometimes, when you meet the
right person, you know.”
“You
just know, huh?”
She
nodded. “That’s how it was for me and Benjamin. He fell into my life at the
right time. It was meant to be.”
“Hmm…I
wonder if the hotel owners felt the same way.”
“What?
Why would they care?”
“It
was their hotel on fire, right? I just wonder if they had such a fatalistic
attitude.” He grinned and took a bite of his steak.
“Do
you believe in fate or Kismet?”
“There
are people who believe there’s no such thing as coincidences. I’m not sure if
I’m one of those people.”
“What
sort of people are you?” Darby asked.
“I
believe that relationships take work and commitment. Just because someone fell
into your life doesn’t mean they’re bound to stay there. They have to want to
stay there, and you need to make it an enjoyable place to be.”
Darby
thought about her parents and their noisy and chaotic home. “In my house,
sometimes it seems as if love is more about taking out the trash, mucking out
the garbage disposal, or being the one to change the poopy diaper. But I don’t
think it has to be that way. There should be room for romance, too.”
“Are
you from a large family?”
“I’m
the youngest of seven.”
Chad
whistled. “But if you’re the youngest, your parents can’t still be changing
diapers. At least, I hope not. Sorry if that’s too personal a question.”
“I’m
not wearing Depends, if that’s what you’re asking. My sister and her three
children live with us.”
“You
live at home?”
Darby
nodded.
“Your
parents must have a full house.”
“You
have no idea.” She didn’t feel the need to tell him she shared the house with
her parents, her brother Tom, her sister, Meg, her two nephews Tristan and Luke
and niece Jolene, her other sister, Henley, her Grandma Betty, and the dog,
Wheezer.
“So,
there’s not a lot of romance…”
“There’s
a lot of love, but sometimes…” Darby grappled for the right words. How could
she explain her family to this stranger? “It can be chaotic, too. Not a lot of
bathrooms and too many people—and creatures—in too tight a space. Romance gets
lost in the piles of laundry or the overflowing toilet.”
“I’d
like to meet your family.”
Darby
put down her spoon. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“I’d
pick love over romance any day.”
“I
don’t think it has to be an either-or choice.”
“And
you think Brit-boy can deliver both?”
Darby
nodded. “I know he can.”
“I
hope you’re right, for your sake. But I’m pretty sure real-life steps in
eventually on everyone’s romance.”
“That’s
very jaded.”
“Not
at all. Being in love isn’t something that just happens to us, it’s a way of
being. It’s a choice, or rather a series of choices. It’s choosing to put
someone else’s needs over own over and over again.”
“Which
brings us back to the clogged garbage disposal and the poopy diapers.”
Chad
pointed his fork at her and smiled. “Exactly.”
“Life
doesn’t have to be so real,” Darby argued. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting
more romance, flowers, wine, and less chaos and noise.”
“No,
but I bet the chaos and noise keep things interesting.”
“Interesting
is a good word for my family.”
“I’d
like to meet your family,” he said again.
“You
don’t know what you’re saying.” Darby didn’t want to be annoyed by this
handsome stranger, but it rankled that his words echoed pretty much everything
her family had been saying about Benjamin, romance, and real life.
“I’m
waiting for my sister,” Chad said after a moment to fill the awkward silence.
“She’s coming into town to help celebrate my grandfather’s eightieth birthday.”
While
Chad went on and on about his family, barely noticing her prolonged silence,
Darby ate her soup as quickly as she could without slurping and occupied her
thoughts with memories and fantasies about Benjamin.
Where
he would stay had been a trick since she couldn’t very well bring him home. Not
only was she from a long line of staunch Catholics, she was also from a large
family…who happened to live in a not so large house.
Benjamin,
of course, had understood and made arrangements with some friends who lived in
L.A. Still, it made snogging difficult.
“Are
your grandparents still alive?” Chad interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes,”
she said, though she did not want to talk about Grandma Betty. Darby shoveled
in the last drop of soup and put down her spoon. “It’s been really nice meeting
you and thanks for the lunch, but I have to go.” She gathered up her purse,
said goodbye, and left.
#
Chad
watched Darby walk away. Guilt about ruining her blouse pricked him. He
finished his meal, and while he waited for the check, he looked up the cost of
shirts online and debated whether he should send her one. He didn’t know her
address, but he did know where she worked. Would that be too stalkerish? How
would her boss feel about her receiving personal packages at work? What size
did she wear? All these questions kept him company as he wandered back to the
baggage claim area where he’d arranged to meet Cecelia.
He
spotted Darby. She had her back to him, but he recognized her high ponytail and
dark curls—a very non-accountant sort of hairstyle. She sat on a chair, her
legs crossed. A book dangled from her hand.
He
wondered what she was reading and considered going over to ask, but changed his
mind when he heard, “Chadwick!”
He
spun around and opened his arms to Cecelia. Lean, with shimmery dark blond hair
and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, she still looked like his baby
sister, only taller. She launched herself at him, and he caught her. “Hey!” He
smiled down into her beaming eyes. “I’m so glad to see you!” Looking into her
green eyes was almost like looking into his own.
“How
are you?” she asked.
“I’m
good,” he said, “but school starts soon, so that will change.”
She
slugged his arm. “You know you love it.”
“I
do,” he admitted. Although being a P.E. teacher hadn’t been his first choice,
in the last few years it had become his only choice.
“How
are the parentals? Are they still giving Grandpa a hard time?”
He
nodded slightly. “It’ll be good to have you here to take off some of the heat.”
A
small frown touched Cecelia’s lips.
“Just
kidding,” Chad said as guilt swamped him. He wanted his sister home and not for
the reason he just gave. He had missed her while she’d been in Paris.
He
took in the tired lines around her eyes and the rumpled hair. Like him, she
shared their mother’s coloring and height. He also noticed her blouse. It
looked a lot like the one Darby had been wearing—minus the coffee stain, of
course. “Huh, Cecelia, strange request.”
She
lifted her eyebrows, waiting.
“Can
I buy that blouse off you?”
Confusion
flitted across her face. “What? Seriously?”
He
nodded. “I spilled coffee on this woman, and I want to make it up to her.”
Cecelia
elbowed him. “Do you like her?”
“You
know I’m with Jessica.”
“Ah.
Yes, Jessica.” Cecelia blew out a quiet, but non-informative, raspberry.
“What?”
Chad asked. “You like Jessica. Right?”
“Of
course, I do.” She looped her arm around his. “But if we both like Jessica so
much, why are we giving this stranger my blouse?”
“I
just…I probably not only spilled coffee on her, but I also probably offended
her.”
“Oh!
Tell me!”
Beside
them, the luggage carousel began to whirr, announcing the arrival of the bags.
Chad
repeated Darby and Benjamin’s story while they waited for Cecelia’s luggage to
arrive. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I barely know her. Why should
I care if she’s being scammed by this guy?”
“What
makes you think she’s being scammed? If you like her enough to give her my
blouse, he probably likes her, too.”
He
thought about this. Darby hadn’t actually said she had bought Benjamin’s ticket
to L.A., so what had made him think she had? In his mind, he raked through
their brief conversation trying to put his finger on what had raised his
hackles…Raised his hackles—that was something Grandpa Bern would say. Still,
his hackles were quivering and maybe if he gave Darby a blouse he’d feel
better. And maybe he could forget her as she obviously wanted him to.
“Let’s
not give her this blouse, because, you know, I’ve been wearing it for the last
ten hours,” Cecelia said. “If you really like her, you can pick a clean one
from my suitcase.”
Chad
brightened, and he cast Darby another glance. She stood on the opposite side of
the baggage claim area in a shaft of sunlight pouring through a sky-light. She
seemed illuminated—a bright spot in an otherwise Fluorescent-lit monochromatic
world.
Cecelia
followed his gaze. “Is that her?”
He
nodded.
“She’s
smaller than me,” Cecelia said.
“That’s
okay, right?” Chad asked, wondering why he cared so much. “It’s better for the
shirt to be too big rather than too small.”
Cecelia
nodded at the luggage carousel. “There’s my bag. It’s got a red bandana on the
handle.”
Chad
hurried to the carousel to retrieve the bag. Cecelia followed him to an
unoccupied row of chairs. He placed the suitcase on the chairs and she unlocked
it.
Clothes
in all shapes, sizes, and colors…he didn’t know how to do this.
Cecelia
took pity on him. She pulled out a silky floral top with a ruffle for a sleeve.
“How’s this?”
He
nodded. “Good choice. How much?”
Cecelia’s
eyes glinted as she waved the blouse in front of him like a flirty flag. “Fifty
dollars.”
Chad
faked a smile and wondered what made Cecelia and their dad, for that matter, so
greedy. Chad reached into his pocket, pulled out some bills and handed them to
his sister.
Cecelia
reached for the money, but he yanked it away. “You’ve got to give it to her.”
“What?”
“You
have to be the one to give her the blouse.”
“No
way! You’re the one who spilled the coffee!”
“Yeah,
but I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
Cecelia
narrowed her eyes. “And what idea is that?”
“I’m
never going to see her again, so—”
“Exactly,
you’re never going to see her again.”
He
blew out a breath, reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and drew out
another twenty.
Cecelia
held out her hand, wrapped her fingers around the bills, and stuffed the money
into her pocket as if afraid Chad would change his mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment