Page 4 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

Ae fond kiss and then we sever, the singer croons.

Our eyes hold as the lyrics hang in the air, a suggestion heavy between us.

My hands, curled around the nape of his neck, pull him closer. Will’s eyes hold mine as his hands curve back around my waist again and tuck me in tight. We don’t say a word, but I feel like, just how this began, we both know in some silent way what we want, what comes next, what the music’s spoken into this moment between us.

Holding his gaze, I press up on tiptoe again. His hands glide up my back, wrapping me close. I drift my hands from the silky tips of his hair, over the sharp curve of his jaw, beneath that thick beard, and cup his face. I press a tender kiss to his cheek, a sliver of smooth, freckled skin at the edge of his beard. “Goodbye,” I whisper.

I turn quickly, prepared to have to muscle my way through the crowd, but a path opens among the couples, like it’s been paved just for me, reminding me that now is not the time to meet someone, to want someone, to dance in their arms and daydream about staying there.

I slip through the crowd, then yank my coat off the hook and shoulder open the door, sending it banging against the outside wall. A rush of icy December air whips back my hair and cools my flushed face.

As I shrug on my coat, I start down the path, shivering against the wind, the aching pain pulsing through my joints that’s botheredme for months. All week, I’ve noticed the pain has felt harsher. I told myself it must be heartbreak’s ache, bleeding through my body.

But now, I’m not so sure.

I walk down the path, and my eyes drift up dreamily to the dark, star-studded sky. I replay those few moments with Will, my handsome stranger. And I smile. Because right now, even though I ache from head to toe, I don’t feel heartbroken at all.

•One•

Juliet

July, seven months later

I have never in my life been more drenched than I am right now. Hair plastered to my temples, sundress stuck to my skin, I stumble into the greenhouse behind my childhood home and shove the door shut against the sideways wind that carries sweeping sheets of rain. As I slump against the door, gasping for breath, my reflection greets me in a tall pane of greenhouse glass.

Irises as wide as blue-green china saucers, hair a sopping sable mess, I blink away water and try to catch my breath. There’s a tear in my sundress straight up my left thigh from a branch that sank its sharp end into the fabric, then ripped it when I tugged myself free. My pulse is flying after my run from the small woods behind my parents’ house toward the nearest shelter (my physical fitness is currently shit). In short: I look like I barely survived a shipwreck rather than a summer evening rainstorm.

I knew I should have stayed inside where I was minding my business in my parents’ house, justNew Girland a hefty pour of whiskey for company. But no, I had to go and chase the damn cat, who snuck outagain, and then get myself stuck in a microburst.

Meow.Speaking of the devil, Puck, the ancient family cat,crawls out from under Mom’s potting table, his typical fluffy white fur and matching bottlebrush tail waterlogged and dripping. He looks like a mop.

I snort a laugh, wiping water from my forehead before more can drip into my eyes. “Serves you right for running out of the house before the whole damn sky opened up.”

Meow, he grumbles, shaking himself to lose some of the water matting down his fur.

“Well, at least you made it to safety, too.” Puck twines around my legs, tickling me with his half-wet, once-again-fluffy fur. “Wonder if we can make a break for it yet.”

I turn to peer out of the greenhouse as the wind’s howl slides up an octave, only to see a wall of rainwater rolling down it.

Looks like we’ll be waiting out the storm here, then.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off and I know I’m not about to be swept away by a storm, my body’s usual aches (thanks for nothing, mixed connective tissue disease) make themselves known. My elbows, wrists, hips, knees, and ankles pulse with pain. Sitting isn’t going to make it go away, but standing isn’t going to make it better, either, so, on a groan, I ease to the floor. A shiver racks me as the backs of my wet legs connect with the tiles. The greenhouse is, as you’d expect, quite warm, but its floor tiles are still cool.

I slump back onto a bag of potting soil and sigh. Per usual, the cat takes my reclined position as an invitation to help himself to my lap.

“Puck”—a grunt leaves me when a paw hits my ovary—“is it too much to ask that you sit on my lap without squishing my internal organs?” His front paw smashes my boob as he crawls up my chest. I wince. “This is all your fault, you cantankerous animal. You just had to make an escape and harsh my fun Saturday night vibes.”

The cat plops onto my chest and lazily blinks his mint green eyes, as if to say,What “fun Saturday night vibes”?

“Listen here, you,” I mutter, scratching behind his wet ears because I’m a sucker for this furball, even when he’s a giant pain in my ass, “New Girlreruns and whiskey is the definition of a roaring good time.”

Meow, he says, swishing his tail.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, throwing that in my face. It’s amonthlyhoroscope, Puck, and I reserve the right to act on its advice when and how I see fit within themonthof July.”

It’s pathetic, that I’m arguing with my cat, since I’m really just arguing with myself, but I’ve got no one else to verbally process with right now. My parents have been off on one of their post-retirement adventures on the other side of the world for the past few weeks, which is why I’m house- and cat-sitting. Kate, my younger sister, is currently traveling for work, and Bea, my twin, has been holed up in her paint studio the past couple of days thanks to a burst of artistic inspiration. All my friends are busy being full-time employed, happily paired off, hands full with all their commitments—capital-A Adults.

So it’s just me and the cat left to muddle over what to do about my life, which has started to feel like an idling engine, running fine but going nowhere. Enter my dauntingly ambitious monthly horoscope:

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