"Do you really want to know why I'm not with those other girls right now? Why they don't mean anything to me? Why they never cross my mind because there is only one who consumes every thought that I have? It's because they're not you, Rory. And if you still don't know what I mean, then I think you owe it to yourself to find out."
*****
Rory rhythmically flipped the event schedule in front of her face, enjoying the cool breeze that washed over her heated cheeks, providing relief from the sticky warmth that caused tendrils of her hair to curl against the damp skin on the back of her neck. The steamy early evening, July sun beat down relentlessly like an angry spotlight, watching over the proceedings of the annual Fourth Fest in Hartford, an arts and crafts extravaganza, often used as an excuse to mix and mingle with society rather than a reason to celebrate the historical birthday of America. The whole hoopla ended in a bang-up fireworks display at 11:00 later that night.
"So, who wants funnel cake?" Lorelai bounced eagerly on her toes, gazing out over the sea of heads towards the swarm of food stands, the origin of the delightful scents of candy apples, cotton candy, hot dogs, greasy fries, and of course, the ever-present funnel cake. The commercialized stands where scattered throughout the field, broken apart by the occasional table offering homemade goodies by local residents whose recipes were well-known in the city.
Rory turned to her mother who was looking too perky and fresh for a day out in the sweltering heat. They had only just arrived, and already Rory felt like a withered piece of lettuce that has been left out in the sun too long. "You're already thinking about food? I was fantasizing about a nice, tall glass of cold lemonade. Maybe even with one of those tacky plastic umbrellas."
"My day will not be complete without that doughy goodness called funnel cake."
"I thought coffee was the bane of your existence. Oh, now it will be upset that you don't want to marry it anymore. It's been dumped for a greasy piece of dough."
Lorelai's eyes lit up excitedly. "That reminds me, I should take some back home to Luke."
"So he can remind you how said cake is clogging your arteries and congealing in globs of fat as we speak?"
"All the better. You know, that sounds like a delectable combination. How about a coffee and funnel cake flavored ice cream? Contact Ben and Jerry's… I don't think it's been patented yet!"
Sookie, who had been poring over her schedule fervently, walked over to the two women, pointing at something on the wrinkled paper. "Before we do anything else, I want to check out Ms. Betty's stand. She's supposed to have the best succotash in the state. I'm hoping I can bribe her into sharing the recipe." She giggled, looking forward to taste testing all of the latest and greatest varieties of snacks, dishes, and pastries. Tugging on Lorelai's arm, Sookie began to plow her way through the throngs of people seeming to be moving around at an almost snail's pace.
Lorelai dug her feet into the grass, halting Sookie's determined march. "Rory, are you coming with us?"
Rory looked longingly towards the crafts section of the festival, clutching the schedule tightly in her fingers. "I really want to check out the paintings, so could we meet back here later?" She gestured to the flamboyantly decorated banner that marked the entrance to the celebratory scene.
"Be waiting with funnel cake!" Lorelai's voice trailed off as Sookie dragged her in the direction of the Shangri La of recipes.
*****
Rory strolled through the array of craft tables, occasionally picking up knickknacks and admiring the exquisitely handcrafted detailing in their smooth wooden surfaces. Children, faces sticky with cotton candy and spilled lemonade, gleefully ran by her, barely avoiding knocking over valuable works of expert craftsmanship and sending them shattering into a thousand pieces on the hard ground. She delicately lifted a replica of a rose, its petals that had been etched into the wood flowing easily like waves over sand. No detail had been overlooked, and it was almost as if the artist had actually planted a seed into the grained material and nurtured it until the bloom was revealed in all its glory. A rose that resembled hope and life, a rose like the tiny buds that had been embroidered on her dress the night of the last Chilton formal. The night when something deep within her began to work its way forth, like that seed reaching toward the first few rays of spring sunlight. The night when clarity finally shone through the veil of confusion, lighting the path straight to him, a path that had yet to be explored.
"I'll be seeing you this summer, Rory. You can count on it."
Tristan's vow still echoed in her ears over a month later, memories of a promise not fulfilled. But after time had passed with no sign of him, a part of her had resigned to the fact that her sometimes overactive imagination had twisted and turned over the occurrences that night, making it all seem like an over dramatized late-night television movie. Though, to be honest with herself, Rory knew every word that had been spoken by him that night was permanently branded in her mind, serving as a reminder that those statements were real, and for once, she had no intention of denying them.
She took a sip of her lemonade, disgruntled to find that the cup was empty save a small mess of melted down ice. Weaving her way to the massive, blue plastic trash bin, her eyes scanned the hordes of people around her, searching for any familiar face. The one she found was the one least expected, the one who caused her to stop in her tracks, regardless of the festival-goers who threw her peculiar glances. Tristan was standing with a group of three other guys a little ways away, facing her. Unnoticed, Rory stood frozen in place, mesmerized by the all too attractive way he carried himself, casually but yet oozing a confidence that spoke volumes about the kind of person he was. It was something she had noticed before but never given much thought to, but now, his every nuance seemed to strike a chord deep within her. The way the sun glinted off his messily tousled, but still perfect, blond locks, the way his bronzed skin contrasted sharply with the pale blue shirt he was wearing, loosely unbuttoned over a white tank top that tapered down over his slim waist to rest on khaki cargo shorts. None of these discoveries were lost on Rory, for she freely drank him in with her eyes, not seeming to realize that she was openly staring, something she wasn't accustomed to. At that moment, Tristan glanced up, those stormy as an ocean blue eyes locking on hers as a slow, satisfied half smile curved on his lips. His companions remained talking to him, but he paid no attention, completely caught up in the feeling of Rory being there as he caressed her with his gaze alone.
Rory felt a tremble play out a melody on her spine, and she shook her head imperceptibly, knocking herself out of the daze that had begun to envelop her since that warm summer night over a month ago. She took a step forward, her elbow knocking into the hard surface of the trash bin, sending it and herself sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and plastic. Her hands shot out to brace her fall, her fingers digging into the slightly muddy grass. Standing up on quivering legs, she reached for her cup and the spilled ice, whirling around with a yelp when she felt a stream of freezing cold liquid trail like a tiny stream down her neck. Tristan was behind her, an innocent glisten of mischief in his eyes as he held an ice cube, melting into nothing more than a puddle of water, in his palm.
"What are you doing?" Rory asked him indignantly, rubbing her neck where Tristan had just languidly ran the ice cube over her bare skin.
"No hello, Tristan? How are you doing today, Tristan?" He flicked some of the excess water onto her arm. "That's quite a greeting, Rory."
"I just wanted to know why you suddenly felt the need to wet me down with freezing cold water." Rory pulled at the bottom of her shirt, wiping the beads of liquid off her arm.
Noting her flushed cheeks, a self-confident smirk graced his features in that familiar way. "You looked hot."
Rory didn't miss the way Tristan's eyes seemed to take in every inch of her at once, lingering on her lips, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to hold himself back from something that would eventually be unavoidable. She rolled her eyes at him, not able to ignore the way her stomach was performing circus style high diving skills at his smoldering stare. "Your creeping up like that scared me. I didn't even see you."
Tristan took a step closer to her, breathing in the fresh, clean scent of her airy perfume, something simple that triggered a thousand memories that came flooding over him. He absorbed the way her eyes seemed to flit everywhere at once, the way she bit her lip at the sudden intimate contact of his shoulder against hers. "Oh, I saw you watching me."
"I know… I mean, I wasn't…" Rory stammered uselessly, giving up her fruitless protests when the knowing smile spread across his face. She searched for a safe topic, anything to change the subject from where she knew he would most likely take it. "How's your summer going?"
He stepped away from her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. "The usual; hanging out at the country club, helping my father with mundane tasks at the firm, anything that will keep me occupied."
Rory raised her eyebrows at him quizzically. "Why do you need to keep yourself occupied? Why can't you just let yourself go for once? Summer has relaxation written all over it."
"That might be easy for you, Rory, but I have a lot of things on my mind."
"Like what?"
"You."
His answer was simple, yet it carried with it a crescendo of innuendos, those that made a current of electricity run through Rory's veins, jump starting her heart into a rapid race towards the unknown. Just the idea of him thinking of her, made a flush rise over her, working it's way up to her cheeks. She would admit now that Tristan had crossed her own mind, more often than none. "You think about me?" Her voice came out like a desperate squeak, and she ducked her head, imagining how foolish she must have sounded to someone always so calm and collected.
Tristan tantalizingly ran his finger down her arm, letting it linger on the inside of her wrist before pulling away. "Let's just say, you've made it hard for me to get any sleep."
Rory shivered at his touch, not daring to even think about what the pressure from his lips would do to her, if just the feeling of his skin being against hers had the ability to send her world hurtling into space around her. Yes, they had kissed once before, but that was before things had been said, before things had changed in ways she still wasn't sure of. He had told her that those other girls who so desperately wanted him, who would give him anything he desired, meant nothing to him because they weren't her. At the time of that unveiling of Tristan's feelings, Rory had been in a state of semi-disbelief, but seeing the way he was looking at her now, like she was the only person he ever wanted to look at again, things began to become all too clear. "Tristan, you…" She was interrupted by an urgent tug on the hem of her shorts.
"Excuse me?" A little girl, beneath brown pigtails and a smattering of freckles, asked Rory tentatively, gazing up at her with sparkling green eyes. "Me and some other kids are trying to get a water balloon toss going, but we need some judges, and I saw you two standing here…" The girl paused to take a breath, waving her hands around animatedly. "So could you help us?"
Rory crouched down to bring herself to the girl's eyelevel. "That sounds like fun. I'd be glad to help, that is as long as my friend can come along?"
The girl nodded her affirmation and ran off in the direction of another group of children, shouting excitedly. Rory reached for Tristan's hand, threading her fingers through his, a tingle running up through her arm at the contact. "Come on." She pulled on his arm, urging him to follow her.
Tristan barely had time to register surprise and control the sharp intake of breath at the feeling of her tiny hand squeezing his, something that meant even more because she had taken the initiative. It was a thoughtless gesture, almost as if it were completely natural for their hands to find each other in this manner, like keys fitting into a lock of the home where you belong. As Rory dragged him over to the kids, Tristan couldn't suppress a laugh at the boundless energy Rory seemed to possess. This was the girl who had come to mean so much to him, the one uninhibited by other… people. The particular name of that person would remain unspoken, for nothing was going to tarnish the special otherworldly texture in the air. Tonight it was just him and Rory. No one else mattered, no one else existed. "What have you gotten us into?"
Rory glanced back at him over her shoulder, chuckling at his expression of trepidation. "I thought you would welcome any type of relief from this muggy weather. Water balloons should do nicely."
He grinned at her seductively, his eyes flashing heatedly, their blue depths flickering with unexpressed emotions. "Speaking of water, seeing you in a wet T-shirt is definitely something I could get used to."
She heaved a deep, exaggerated sigh. "Some things never change. Besides, I don't plan on getting wet."
"We'll see about that. Water balloons are meant to be broken."
*****
The water balloon toss had just finished a mere few minutes earlier as Rory crept up on Tristan, easily shifting a rubbery balloon bloated with water between her hands. He was standing with his back to her, conversing with a young boy who kept claiming that he deserved a prize for his expert skills at the game. Rory reared back her arm and let the balloon fly, watching as it bounced harmlessly off Tristan's shoulder and fell uselessly to the ground with a wet splat. He slowly turned around to face her, his eyebrows raised in mild amusement. Picking up the balloon and squeezing it lightly between his fingers, he walked towards her in a stalking, almost predatory manner. "I thought you had a better aim than that, Rory. I guess I'm more of a distraction to you than I originally thought."
"You are not," Rory insisted weakly, wringing her hands nervously in front of her when she saw the evil glint in his eyes.
Tristan stopped a few feet away from her and tilted his head to gaze at her speculatively. "We all know you can't resist me." As soon as that last remark had been delivered, he threw the balloon at her, watching in triumph as it hit her side, busting in a shower of water.
Rory shrieked, instinctively jumping away, but the damage had already been done; her shirt was soaked straight through to her skin. She glared at him, growling at the way his shoulders shook with almost uncontrollable laughter. In a flash of movement, before he even noticed her, she grabbed the water hose used to fill up the balloons and aimed the spray at him, intent on giving him no mercy. Tristan barely registered surprise as he looked down at his own clothes, already beginning to be drenched, and he jogged over to Rory, grabbing the hose in his hands. She jerked it from him and hurried away, so focused on escaping that her feet slid out from under her on the slippery, wet grass, sending her crashing into Tristan's warm, firm body. Rory clutched the front of his shirt, trying to get a grip as they both tumbled to the ground with the hose falling on top of them, raining over them like the middle of a summer thundershower.
Tristan lay sprawled on top of Rory, one arm bracing himself up beside of her, the other cradling her head protectively. Water shimmered in his hair, like pearls freshly gathered from the ocean, as it dripped down over his chiseled cheekbones, beading in his long, thick eyelashes and pooling over his lips. Rory felt like it was impossible to move, not only due to the weight of Tristan pressing on every inch of her body, but also because of the unparalleled effect he had on her nervous system. Every fiber felt like it had melted along with the water, like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz, but it was a feeling of intense pleasure, one to be greeted with wonder and amazement at this incredible phenomenon that had taken over her body. Rory took in every marvelous detail at once, not missing the way Tristan's saturated tank top was nearly transparent as it clung to him like a second skin. The water droplets from his face peppered hers as he leaned closer to her, his fingers running through her wet hair, massaging her neck.
"How's the whole resisting thing going now, Rory?" His lips curled up into a small smirk, teasing her. "Are you ready to give in yet?"
The huskiness in Tristan's voice had her quaking from the hairs on her head down to the tips of her toes, and she was positive he could feel it. His face moved closer, enough to where she could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with the freezing cold water on her skin. His lips were inches from hers, and she knew that she was ready, ready to give in, to surrender to him, to the indescribable connection that had been built between them. Something that had always been there, but that had only recently begun to work its way forth because she had allowed it to, for she knew that it was time to open the door so he could enter her life. Rory arched her neck, waiting for the melding of his lips against hers, but it never came.
A chorus of childlike giggles drifted over them, and with a groan of dissatisfaction, Tristan pulled away from her, looking up at the group of kids watching them with wide eyes. Getting to his feet, he reached out a hand to Rory, helping her stand up. They stood apart from each other yet they were joined in an eye-lock of their never-ending perusal of each other, both unaware of the children staring at them curiously or the puddles of water that gathered at their feet.
To Be Continued…