Read Online Austentatious by Alyssa Goodnight - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alyssa Goodnight
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“Armadillos are filthy,” I said by way of explanation.
“A little wishful thinking never hurt anyone, Nic. Remember that,” she said, holding her hand out.
“I’d like to see some proof,” I countered, taking a precautionary squirt for myself. The pair of us walked down the sidewalk, rubbing our hands together like a pair of evil geniuses with a plan. Mwa-ha-ha.
“So,” I prompted, “did you get the number?”
Beck tapped her temple. “Ten digits, all accounted for. Got a piece of paper?”
I reached back into my purse and pulled out a cherry red Moleskine notebook, handing it over along with a ballpoint pen.
“His name is Elijah Nelson,” she said, handing back notebook and pen. “When are we gonna call him?”
Suddenly I felt a compelling need to ground us both in a little reality. “You know he may be the next step in this spontaneous little scavenger hunt, but I have a feeling he’s also the dead end. And then that’s it, it’s over, because he’s our only lead.”
We walked in silence for a few steps, and then Beck dipped her voice James Earl Jones low and intoned, “There is another,” then adding, “Nic, I am your mentee.” I turned to look at her, a dubious smile curving my lips. Apparently we’d moved on from Lord of the Rings to Star Wars . She bumped her shoulder against mine and cryptically suggested, “And it’s totally up to you whether this ‘other lead’ fizzles or not.”
“I don’t get it.”
“ You’re the other lead, Nic. The magic is meant for you. The question is, are you going to do anything about it? Are you going to follow this lead, take the advice, go crazy, and have a little adventure?” Before I could respond, she was at it again. “It’s lookin’ like there’s probably no logical explanation. You can admit that, right?” I nodded halfheartedly in agreement, still fervently wishing for a miracle. “So, you’d have to believe a little, take the whole mind-blowing situation on faith. Can you do that? Because if you can’t, you’re wasting it—the journal and your chance at a little magic.”
Back in Jo’s parking lot, Beck stepped away from me toward a vintage baby blue Mustang convertible parked a little askew. “Think about it, okay? This is big, Nic—a whopper. Don’t waste it.”
I couldn’t answer, could barely breathe at the urgency choking my throat. Was she right? Was it possible that my future happiness hinged on something I couldn’t understand, believe, or even get my mind around? It was like this was a test, and I didn’t know the answer. I’d always known the answers—I’d planned my whole life; I’d been so meticulous, ready for every contingency, every detour. And yesterday I’d had the rug—quite possibly the ground—pulled out from under me.
Beck honked as she pulled past me out of the parking lot, calling over the motor, “You’ve gotta pick a side, Nic.”
She was right, I did. I had to make a conscious decision to cling to normalcy or cross over to the Weird side, backseat my skepticism, and give the journal and its matchmaking Fairy Jane a fair, fighting chance.
It appeared I’d already made my decision, at least subconsciously. Because if not, then what was I doing? Why was I still writing out messages to a chatty little journal and then urgently checking for its reply? Maybe because I wanted to believe—just a little—that magic might be possible?
A reckless, fizzy zing skittered through my body, one part excitement, one part queasiness, and I wondered, fleetingly, if that was what magic felt like. In siding with Fairy Jane, I was letting go of both personal pride and “magical journal” prejudice, taking a chance on the unknown. I figured this was definitely “upping the ante,” and should officially classify me as a “wild woman.” I was still minus one Mr. Darcy, but maybe not for long.
5
have your cake but meet him too
I spent the duration of what I imagine was a lovely ceremony trying
“A little wishful thinking never hurt anyone, Nic. Remember that,” she said, holding her hand out.
“I’d like to see some proof,” I countered, taking a precautionary squirt for myself. The pair of us walked down the sidewalk, rubbing our hands together like a pair of evil geniuses with a plan. Mwa-ha-ha.
“So,” I prompted, “did you get the number?”
Beck tapped her temple. “Ten digits, all accounted for. Got a piece of paper?”
I reached back into my purse and pulled out a cherry red Moleskine notebook, handing it over along with a ballpoint pen.
“His name is Elijah Nelson,” she said, handing back notebook and pen. “When are we gonna call him?”
Suddenly I felt a compelling need to ground us both in a little reality. “You know he may be the next step in this spontaneous little scavenger hunt, but I have a feeling he’s also the dead end. And then that’s it, it’s over, because he’s our only lead.”
We walked in silence for a few steps, and then Beck dipped her voice James Earl Jones low and intoned, “There is another,” then adding, “Nic, I am your mentee.” I turned to look at her, a dubious smile curving my lips. Apparently we’d moved on from Lord of the Rings to Star Wars . She bumped her shoulder against mine and cryptically suggested, “And it’s totally up to you whether this ‘other lead’ fizzles or not.”
“I don’t get it.”
“ You’re the other lead, Nic. The magic is meant for you. The question is, are you going to do anything about it? Are you going to follow this lead, take the advice, go crazy, and have a little adventure?” Before I could respond, she was at it again. “It’s lookin’ like there’s probably no logical explanation. You can admit that, right?” I nodded halfheartedly in agreement, still fervently wishing for a miracle. “So, you’d have to believe a little, take the whole mind-blowing situation on faith. Can you do that? Because if you can’t, you’re wasting it—the journal and your chance at a little magic.”
Back in Jo’s parking lot, Beck stepped away from me toward a vintage baby blue Mustang convertible parked a little askew. “Think about it, okay? This is big, Nic—a whopper. Don’t waste it.”
I couldn’t answer, could barely breathe at the urgency choking my throat. Was she right? Was it possible that my future happiness hinged on something I couldn’t understand, believe, or even get my mind around? It was like this was a test, and I didn’t know the answer. I’d always known the answers—I’d planned my whole life; I’d been so meticulous, ready for every contingency, every detour. And yesterday I’d had the rug—quite possibly the ground—pulled out from under me.
Beck honked as she pulled past me out of the parking lot, calling over the motor, “You’ve gotta pick a side, Nic.”
She was right, I did. I had to make a conscious decision to cling to normalcy or cross over to the Weird side, backseat my skepticism, and give the journal and its matchmaking Fairy Jane a fair, fighting chance.
It appeared I’d already made my decision, at least subconsciously. Because if not, then what was I doing? Why was I still writing out messages to a chatty little journal and then urgently checking for its reply? Maybe because I wanted to believe—just a little—that magic might be possible?
A reckless, fizzy zing skittered through my body, one part excitement, one part queasiness, and I wondered, fleetingly, if that was what magic felt like. In siding with Fairy Jane, I was letting go of both personal pride and “magical journal” prejudice, taking a chance on the unknown. I figured this was definitely “upping the ante,” and should officially classify me as a “wild woman.” I was still minus one Mr. Darcy, but maybe not for long.
5
have your cake but meet him too
I spent the duration of what I imagine was a lovely ceremony trying
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