A/N: Thanks for such a great response and I'm glad I was able to introduce the Serendipity movie to some of you!
December 20, 1999
The brunette smiles to herself in the cab and raises a cool finger to the hot blush on her cheek, thinking of Rick with the impossibly blue eyes and charming, crooked grin.
She's known him for less than an hour, but it's like he's sledge-hammered a hole in her wall. Guilt grows in the pit of her stomach when she thinks of how he made her smile—she has someone else. She hopes Jacques likes the gloves.
The gloves.
She pats the seat around her and looks down at her feet only to find the red and green bag from Bloomingdale's missing. She leans forward towards the cab driver.
"Scuse me, sir? Do you mind turning around? I forgot something."
She weaves her way through the crowded parlor at Serendipity, slowing when she reaches the little table she and Rick had shared. She spots the bag hiding under her chair and bends down to pick it up, pausing at the sight of a striped blue-grey scarf caught on the table leg. She unsnags it and runs her hands over the fabric.
He left his scarf.
"You're here."
She turns at the sound of his voice, a tingle running down her spine.
"Rick," she says, slightly stunned.
"I can't believe it," he says.
"Don't even say it," she says quickly, catching the moony look on his face.
"C'mon. This isn't a coincidence."
She narrows her eyes at him.
"So what? It's fate?"
"A fortunate accident," he replies and her heart skips a beat in betrayal. She wasn't supposed to see him again. This wasn't... she jerks her bag from beneath the table and walks past him without a word.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, chasing her out onto the street.
She whirls to face him. "What's wrong? I barely know you and whatever's happening here, it's...it's nothing, okay?"
He takes a step closer to her.
"Maybe that's the point of all this. Us. Meeting again. The universe is telling us we should get to know each other better."
She eyes him warily. "Has anyone ever told you you're full of it?"
"All the time," he says, flashing her a cheeky grin.
She huffs out a breath, creating a white puff in the cold air. She hates how he's already burrowed under her skin, making her re-think chance and circumstance. She stays silent, contemplating.
"Can I at least get my scarf back?" he asks.
She looks down at her hands, still clutching the knitted wool.
Oh.
"Uh, yeah," she says, offering it to him.
He takes it, wrapping it around his neck. He sighs.
"I apologize if this all sounds like one big line. I just...I don't want to let you go without knowing that I think you're really, really hot."
She snorts; a strangled sound, teetering between a genuine laugh and outright skepticism.
"You're an ass."
"But a cute one, right?"
Heat blooms in her belly when he winks at her roguishly. Damn, him.
"Ok, let's do something," she says, ignoring the pang of guilt in her gut and going against all of her rational instincts.
"Yeah?"
"Don't push it."
"I have an idea," he says, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the block.
"So you won't tell me your real name. Tell me something else then...are you in school?" Rick asks as he skates past her at the Wollman Rink in Central Park.
"Taking the year off for now. You?" She glides up to him easily.
"One more semester of undergrad to go," he says, keeping up with her pace.
"Any plans after?" she asks.
"I'm working on a novel," he answers.
"What's it about?"
"I haven't decided yet," he says.
"What's holding you back?" she probes. He gives her a long look.
"Waiting around for inspiration."
"Is that a funny way of saying procrastination?"
"Have you been talking to my mother?"
She smiles and pulls to a stop in the middle of the rink.
"Here's an easy question...what's your favorite movie?" she asks.
"The only correct answer is Forbidden Planet."
"Is that the one with the robot?" she asks, playing dumb.
"You've never seen Forbidden Planet? C'mon, it's Leslie Nielson long before his comic glory."
"We're all part monsters in our subconscious," she quotes. He looks at her, mouth agape.
"Oh, I see. You're yanking my chain. You're very cruel, you know."
"Says the guy who practically forced me to go ice-skating."
"Whoa, whoa. I only said I wanted to see you in action. You fully consented."
"Uh huh," she says with a smirk. "Favorite New York moment?" she asks as she pushes her skates to start again.
"This one's climbing the charts."
"You're pretty cliché for a writer," she says, spinning to face him and skating backwards.
He puts a hand against his heart in mock pain. "Like an arrow through my soul," he pouts dramatically. "Any other hurtful questions?" he asks.
"Favorite sexual position?"
He stumbles, choking on his next reply as he grabs for a nearby railing.
She chuckles. "You should see the look on your—" she says just as her left skate catches in the ice and she trips, falling hard.
Rick blinks out of his trance and rushes over to her.
"You alright? You hurt yourself?"
She sucks air through her teeth as she raises her elbow to him. He gently rolls back the sleeve of her sweater and tuts softly.
"That's a deep, deep gash," he exaggerates, inspecting the small scrape. "We'll fix that right up."
They sit down on a bench outside the rink and she lets him smooth a band-aid over her tiny cut. She knows it's stupid but she foolishly wants an excuse to get closer to him. His hand lingers on her elbow, feathering down her forearm, his fingers tracing a pattern. Her skin hums at his touch.
She clears her throat.
"You looking at my freckles?"
"These aren't just freckles."
"Oh?"
"If you look closely, you can see Cassiopeia," he says.
"Cassio-what?"
"Right there. Hold on a minute," he says. He reaches inside his coat and pulls out a sharpie from a hidden pocket. "Writer's habit," he explains at her look.
"I didn't say anything," she says, tamping down a smile.
"So here's the story," he starts, uncapping the sharpie. He draws a line between two of her freckles. "A long time ago, there was a queen in Ethiopia named Cassiopeia who thought she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world and there wasn't anyone in the kingdom who wasn't offended by this woman's relentless vanity. And one day, she really screwed up with the gods. I don't really remember what she did or who she offended, but it was bad. It crossed the line."
He continues to connect the dots on her arm. "But anyway, Poseidon, the sea god, punished Cassiopeia by placing her in the heavens upside down in her throne, stuck for eternity with her skirt around her shoulders, all the blood rushing to her head. And now she's just a constellation in the sky. And a bunch of freckles in the shape of a throne on your arm," he says, finishing the last line with a flourish.
"So she made one tragic mistake," she says.
"And paid for eternity," he follows, staring at her.
He brushes the hair from her face.
They gaze at each other, everything stilling around them.
His eyes flicks down to her mouth.
"I should get going," she says suddenly, standing up.
"What? Why?"
She tucks her hands underneath her arms and walks briskly away from him and out of the park. He trots after her.
"We were having a moment."
"And that's all it was," she says curtly.
He jogs ahead of her.
"Wait," he says.
She slows to a stop, resigned.
"Rick, please. You know this isn't right."
He opens his mouth and closes it, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.
"Can I at least have your number in case anything changes?" he asks.
She bites her lower lip, considering.
"Do you have a pen?"
He pats himself and curses.
"I left my sharpie back there, just give me a second, I—"
"Relax, I have one," she says, rooting through her backpack purse. She extracts a purple marker and a scrap of paper. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she says, scribbling down her cell.
"You have to let fate take its proper course," he says, rubbing his chapped hands together.
"I already regret this," she says, passing it over to him. He clutches it, a triumphant grin spreading across his face just as a truck speeds by on the street and a gust of wind sweeps over them. The paper flies out of Rick's hand and gets lost in a swirl of loose leaves and bits of garbage. His jaw drops.
"That was an accident. Write it down again. Please," he urges.
"Wasn't that, what did you call it...a sign?" she rebuts, resisting the urge to laugh.
"But if fate didn't want us to be together, then why did we meet tonight?"
"Well, I don't know. Fate isn't an exact science, is it? Plus, I don't really believe in it. So there," she supplies.
"What if you're wrong?"
"What if I'm right?" she counters.
"You're maddening."
"Fate isn't real, Rick. And whatever this is...it can't be anything more. We both have people waiting for us. This isn't fate."
"You can't even believe it might be possible?"
"If you believe in fate so much, don't you think it'll deliver my information straight to your doorstep?" she asks.
Rick's eyes light up. "That's the best idea you've had all night." He pulls out a crumpled bill from his pocket. "Can I have your marker?"
She hands him her purple felt-tip pen.
"What are you doing?"
"Writing my name and number down," he says.
"On a five dollar bill?"
"Yes."
"You are a strange and interesting man," she says.
"Wait, there."
He runs across the street to a newspaper kiosk and buys a pack of gum with the bill. He rushes back to her, sticking a piece in his mouth and pocketing the change.
"When that five dollar bill makes it way back into your hands, you'll be able to call me. And when you hear my voice on the other end, then you'll believe in fate."
"Ok, and what about me?" she asks, as they continue walking south of the park.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we have to send something out in the universe with my name don't we? Isn't that the only fair thing?"
"Do you have something in your bag?" he asks, an idea sparking in his eyes.
She reaches for her purse and digs around. "This book," she says, presenting it to him. Love in the Time of Cholera.
"This is a first edition," he says, taking it and inspecting the cover in awe. "Are you sure you want to use this?"
"Depends. What do you want me to do with it?"
"I thought you could write your name and number on the dedication page and then sell it to a used bookstore," he says.
"So every time you pass a bookstore, you'll have to go inside and see if it's there," she puts together.
"Exactly. Or...you can just give me your number."
She chews her lip, deciding something. "Too late. You've already sold me on this. We're locked in."
"Are you positive? I mean, you don't have the most incredible night of your life with a perfect stranger and leave it all to chance, do you?"
She feels breathless.
"You're the one who believes in fate," she says simply.
"Damn, it. You're right." He looks up and realizes they've migrated all the way to the Waldorf-Astoria. "Come with me a second."
"What, we're gonna get a room?" she asks, panic gripping her chest.
"Not a bad idea," he says, grinning wolfishly.
She gives him a withering look.
"I'm kidding. But I wanna try one last thing," he says, tugging at her hand.
"Where are we going?" she asks as he tows her inside.
"You'll see."