Thank you so much for taking the time to read Something Just Like This. If this story sounds familiar to some of you, that's likely because it is. I posted a half-written version of this under a different title about five years ago, but didn't finish it because my life has been crazy during the past few years, and has taken me through many familial, professional, physical, and geographical challenges, as well as a few moves across the globe, due to my husband's job. That said, I decided to do a complete rewrite, with a newly updated plot and new twists and turns as well, so it may be worth rereading if you've read the first half of the old, uncompleted version that was previously posted.
To those of you who are reading my work for the first time, welcome. :)
Please feel free to leave comments and criticism...all are greatly appreciated! Happy reading!
Chapter 1
Keep your Hollywood stars, and their stupid cars
And the Botox, that makes them look fucked
Just grow old with grace, have you seen Cher's face
It looks like it's been hit by a truck
- I Hate, Passenger
I stood behind a large group of elderly tourists, all clustered together, slowly making their way through the rose garden, at Lauritzen Gardens, in Omaha. The group was probably a bus tour, I surmised, judging by the two tour buses I had spotted in the parking lot.
I listened with half an ear as a tour guide droned on about the finer points of rose gardening, while I pondered the temperature. The combination of stifling heat and suffocating humidity gave one the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped inside a sauna. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't unusual for the end of May, and the close confines of the Friday evening crowd made it seem even warmer than it was.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, grateful at least that I had chosen to wear a cap-sleeved, off-the-shoulder lace blouse. It was one of the coolest and most comfortable pieces of summer clothing in my limited wardrobe.
I was peering around the edge of the crowd, trying to see if I could politely maneuver my way through or around the sea of gray-haired tourists when I heard a loud buzzing noise and glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye. I quickly turned my head and saw a wasp of gargantuan proportions hovering near my right shoulder.
I hate bugs, wasps and hornets, particularly. So, I did the only thing I could do in my horror-stricken state. I muttered a curse, turned, and ran onto the vast expanse of lawn, next to the path. The wasp continued to chase me, so I continued to run, much to the amusement of the garden tour crowd, many of whom I could hear chuckling in the distance.
I sprinted all the way to the Victorian garden before I eventually tripped over my own feet and landed face-down in the grass. Flip-flops are not ideal footwear to be caught in when running for one's life. I made a mental note to remember that, should there ever be a zombie apocalypse. I cautiously raised my head and looked around. No wasp. As I breathed a sigh of relief and began to pick myself up off the grass, I felt two large, strong hands grasp my arms from behind and pull me up. Once I was vertical again, I turned to thank the Good Samaritan who had assisted me.
I looked up, into the face of a breathtakingly gorgeous man, with a killer smile and hair so dark brown that it almost appeared black. He wore dark aviator sunglasses, soft-looking, artfully faded blue jeans, and a navy-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over tanned, muscular forearms. Sculpted biceps peeped out from beneath the rolled cuffs of his shirt. He was the living, breathing epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and hands-down, the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my life. Way out of my petite history geek league. No, this was the type of man who would typically be seen with a tall, leggy, drop-dead gorgeous brunette, or maybe a svelte, smokin' hot bleach-blonde bombshell. The top of my head of long, brown hair just reached his broad, sculpted chest.
I wryly wondered if I'd broken my neck and died when I'd tripped, and the man standing in front of me was an angel. Or a demon. Because between his ridiculously handsome face and god-like body, even the most devout woman on Earth would be hard pressed to prevent a sinful thought or three from creeping in. My heart thumped heavily, and I forgot to breathe.
The squelch and rattle of the automatic sprinklers activating recalled me to my surroundings, just as powerful jets of water shot up from either side of my flip-flop, soaking me almost instantly. I gasped in surprise and moved to step out of the line of fire, but my flip-flop caught on the sprinkler head and I stumbled to the side, instead.
Nope. Not dead then. The afterlife wouldn't be this awkward. At least I hoped it wouldn't.
The man grabbed my arm and led me at a jog to the relative safety of the dry sidewalk.
"Um…thanks," I mumbled in embarrassment, quickly withdrawing my arm from his grasp.
"No trouble, Miss," the man replied in a deep, friendly voice with an English accent – the yummy, lilting kind, with the syllables running together like whiskey over ice. "Are you alright?"
At least, I think that's what he said; my jumbled mind and his silky smooth, rolling baritone made it difficult to know for sure. His voice sounded slightly familiar, too.
"Yeah," I replied airily, trying to pretend that the gorgeous man didn't make me nervous. "There was a wasp. I'm terrified of them." I grimaced. "I guess the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. Thanks, evolution, right?" I joked lamely. I blushed as he continued to stare at me with an unreadable expression. I shrugged and bent down to brush the grass and as much of the excess water as I could from my blouse and light blue skinny jeans. He was still there when I stood up.
"Well, thanks again," I smiled awkwardly, looking up at him one last time. I hastily swept my thick braid back over my shoulder, adjusted the strap of my small, Marvel Comic, cross-body purse, and headed back toward the front of the park, with no intention of finishing the tour. After all, who knew how many more of those winged little demons were lying in wait for me on the grounds? Dry clothing, and my air-conditioned condo and shower in Omaha's trendy Old Market district were calling me.
As I walked along, mentally muttering to myself, and not paying attention to where I was stepping, the toe of my flip-flop caught in a crack in the sidewalk. I stumbled, but a hand grabbed my arm, steadying me. Startled, I looked down at the large hand that still grasped my arm. My eyes widened as they followed the line of the arm that the hand was attached to, all the way up to the broad shoulders and handsome face of the man who had assisted me a few moments earlier. I narrowed my eyes in confusion.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.
"Yes," I nodded. "I said I was fine."
"Then why are you leaving? Are you certain there's nothing I can do to help?" he inquired again, concern creasing his sunglass-shaded brow.
"I'm sure," I shook my head. "I live here in Omaha, and I have a membership, so I can come back at any time. I just don't want to walk around in wet clothing for the rest of the afternoon or have another close encounter of the waspish kind." I shuddered at the thought.
"May I give you a ride home?" At my nonplussed look, he quickly continued, "It's just that you're drenched, which can't be comfortable, and you've tripped over your own feet three times within the last couple of minutes, and I'm a bit concerned about your ability to make it home without further mishap." He smirked and arched an eyebrow in question.
I reared my head back in surprise. "I'm fine, but thanks for your concern." With that, I threw him a wary look and resumed walking, puzzled, and completely unnerved by the handsome man's continued attention. I casually quickened my steps toward the visitor center. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I had heard the deep, smooth timbre of his voice before.
"At least let me buy you a drink or something at the café inside, please," the stranger insisted, from where he continued to walk beside me.
I tried to suppress the smile that pulled at the corners of my mouth and threw him a bewildered glance, instead. I returned my attention to the path ahead of me but slowed my pace. "Look, are you a serial killer or something? Because this whole situation is remarkably similar to the plot of the last horror movie I watched," I said, only half-joking. I don't believe in dicing words. Life is too short to be anything less than blunt. After all, by all accounts, Ted Bundy had been pretty handsome and charming.
The man laughed softly, beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him casually shove his hands into his jeans pockets.
I stopped walking and turned to face him.
"Not a serial killer," he answered with a shy-looking smile that caught me off guard.
I looked him up and down, warily. "Why, then?"
His brows furrowed over his handsome face. "I'm just trying to be nice I suppose. Besides," he shrugged, "I like a woman who shares an interest in good literature," he grinned, nodding toward my Marvel Comic purse.
The strange familiarity of his voice tugged at the edge of my mind again. "Alright," I conceded, my mouth tightening in resignation. I was too intrigued by the mystery of his identity to refuse. Curiosity killed the cat. "One drink. Elizabeth Bennet." I extended my hand to shake his in a belated introduction.
"Will Darcy," the man answered, enveloping my small hand in his large one.
Unnerved by the jolt of sensation I felt when his hand grasped mine, I pulled my hand away as soon as was considered polite. His name solved the voice mystery. Will Darcy, the handsome British actor, businessman, and landowner, who had made an impact on the British television world and had recently played his first, major Hollywood role in a wildly popular science fiction film franchise. Upon learning who he was and that I – most likely – had nothing to fear, I relaxed. Luckily, I'm not one to be starstruck and am generally less than impressed with the ilk of the rich and famous. I kept all traces of recognition from my face and voice as I replied smoothly, "Nice to meet you."
We resumed walking toward the visitor center, near the entrance of the park. "So," I began conversationally, deciding to play dumb, "are you new to the area? Judging by your accent, I assume you're not from this side of the pond." I smiled half-heartedly.
"No," Will returned, raising his hand to absently rub the back of his neck, in what appeared to be a nervous gesture. "No, I'm here for a few weeks for work."
"Ah, sounds boring," I smirked. "Of all the places in the United States to be sent for work, you get stuck in Omaha, Nebraska." I absently kicked a piece of gravel on the path in front of me and watched it roll into the grass.
"It's not so bad," he replied, turning to look at me as we walked. "It's not as busy as London or other large cities. The people are quite friendly, too."
"Yeah, I suppose there is that," I agreed.
"Are you from here?" he inquired.
"Yep, born and raised," I replied as we reached the door of the visitor center.
Will opened the door and gestured for me to enter ahead of him.
"Thanks," I murmured self-consciously.
He gave a single nod in reply before he ducked through the doorway behind me, and turned his steps toward the café.
"What would you like?" he asked, as he stopped by my side in front of the counter and bent down to whisper, close to my ear.
I exhaled slowly to control my reaction to the feeling of his soft, warm breath against the exposed skin of my neck and shoulder. Despite my efforts, a small tingle traveled across my shoulders and straight down to my stomach, where it electrified a swarm of butterflies into flight. "I'll have a Diet Coke," I replied evenly.
"Ice cream?" he asked.
"As long as I'm buying," I answered, turning my head in his direction. "I do, after all, owe you for helping me up."
Will tilted his head to one side. "I believe that scaring you into supposing I was a serial killer would negate that good deed."
His smooth accent caused the words to roll into and over each other, quite unlike the standard 'BBC English' accent that Americans are used to hearing. I paused a moment to sort through what he had said. "Yeah. Sorry about that. It's just that most men aren't this polite. And they certainly don't ask to see me home or take me out for ice cream," I smirked.
"That is a tragedy. I insist," he smiled softly. "My treat."
"Compromise?" I asked.
"That depends." He straightened to his full height, drawing my eyes up to his angled profile.
I took a deep breath. "If you won't let me buy yours, at least allow me to purchase my own, okay?" Will grinned, and I swallowed to keep my reaction to his undeniable charm in check.
"Fine, compromise accepted, but only because I don't want to cause a scene." One dark eyebrow twitched downward, as though he winked. I couldn't tell for sure because he still wore his sunglasses.
"Good call." I nodded and stepped up to the counter to place my order.
After we had both ordered our refreshments, I followed Will to a table situated next to one of the tall, deep-set windows of the dining area, overlooking the floral display hall. He removed his sunglasses and placed them on the table, revealing the dark-lashed, deep blue eyes that had captured the hearts of millions of women around the world.
I quickly turned my gaze away to look out the window and took a drink of my soda.
"So, what kind of work do you do?" he asked.
I turned to face him, meeting his blue eyes with my green ones. "I'm a high school history teacher."
He tilted his head to one side, in interest. "You're serious," he stated, sounding surprised.
I rolled my eyes, imagining that he must be silently judging me behind those gorgeous eyes of his. I couldn't really blame him. I got that a lot. I looked considerably younger than my twenty-five years, and I was often mistaken for a student-teacher or even a student at the high school where I taught. "No, I lied," I replied, my voice and facial expression thick with sarcasm. "I play the guitar and dance to show tunes at the biker bar down the street." I took a bite of my ice cream.
"Hm, I'd like to catch that show. Would you mind giving me the address of the pub and the time of your next performance?" he asked in a serious tone, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I pressed my lips together in irritation and slowly shook my head. I picked up a napkin from the table and tossed it at him, inadvertently hitting him in the face with it.
Will jerked his head back in surprise and laughed, the sound was deep and warm. "Good Lord, first, you accuse me of a horrendous, premeditated crime, and now, you're throwing the tableware at me."
I didn't reply, but instead, looked down at my chocolate sundae, scooped up a spoonful of ice cream and shrugged before meeting his eyes again. "Looks that way," I smiled. I popped the ice cream into my mouth. "I am sorry, about the accusation, and the napkin throwing," I added when he continued to stare at me.
Will sighed, seeming to contemplate my apology as he took a bite of his own dessert. "Hm…I suppose I could forgive you," he paused.
I tensed at his calculating expression.
"If," he emphasized, jabbing his empty spoon in my direction, "you allow me to take you out to dinner tomorrow night."
"To…dinner. Tomorrow night." I repeated, not entirely sure if I had understood him correctly.
He nodded once in reply.
I shook my head. "Sorry, I'm just having a bit of trouble understanding your accent," I stalled. "What kind is it, anyway?"
"Midlands. Derbyshire, to be exact." A smile played around the edges of his mouth as he waited for my response.
"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Not why the accent," I shook my head. "I mean, why do you want to take me out to dinner? I know that Omaha isn't exactly the entertainment capital of the country, but surely there are better things to do than hang out with me."
Will tipped back his glass of soda, before answering me. "Oh, I don't know about that." He set his glass down and leaned in toward me, resting his forearms on the tabletop in front of him.
I leaned forward and tilted my head to one side in concentration as if doing so would make it easier to understand him.
"After all," he shrugged, "I'm fairly certain that I've never met anyone quite so interesting as a history teacher who enjoys comics, plays guitar, and dances to show tunes at a pub." He paused a moment, his eyes intense, searching mine. "Or one who possesses green eyes that could charm anyone out of all conscience, for that matter," he winked.
I exhaled sharply and scoffed in disbelief. "Says you," I returned, taking a few more bites of ice cream while I considered how his blue eyes and gorgeous smile had charmed me into considering his dinner invitation. "If that's the case, you really should get out more. And I was joking about the guitar playing."
"M-hm," he grinned.
I raised an eyebrow and gave him a disapproving look.
He leaned back in his seat. "I know. Sorry, but you are fun to tease."
"Super. Should've hit you harder," I muttered, returning my attention to my sundae, which I was surprised to note was almost gone.
Will's eyes narrowed in acknowledgment of my jibe before his expression softened again. "You didn't answer me, you know. Will you allow me to take you out to dinner tomorrow evening?"
I sighed in defeat, smiling a little at his persistence. "What time?"
"Is six too early?" he asked, suddenly sounding a bit unsure of himself. He raised a hand to absently rub the back of his neck again. A stark contrast to the confidence I would expect from someone as physically and socially powerful as Will Darcy.
"Six is great," I replied, deciding to give him a break.
"Did you drive here?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I walked. I only live a few miles away."
"Will you please consider allowing me to give you a ride home?" he asked with the soft smile I was becoming accustomed to.
I shook my head again. "No, thank you. I'll be just fine."
"Please. I just want to see that you reach your home safely. And besides, I need to know where to pick you up tomorrow," he politely insisted. "After all, who knows how many more wasps are lurking about? Wouldn't want you running out into the middle of traffic, should one happen along while you're walking home."
I looked down at my dish and absently swirled my spoon through the remainder of the chocolate syrup and melted ice cream while I quickly considered the man seated across from me. I appreciated that he was trying to be kind, even though he didn't know me from Eve. I didn't understand his motives though. As I had observed earlier, Will Darcy was out of my league, and I knew that I was unlikely to garner the attention of a man who could have any woman he wanted. I mentally weighed his offer of a ride home. Maybe he was acting out of some misguided sense of duty. I didn't much like the idea of getting into a car with a near-stranger, but, if nothing else, I had a can of pepper spray in my purse. I scoffed inwardly. Right. Like Will Darcy, British heartthrob, and multi-millionaire would ever consider someone as ordinary as me tempting. I mentally shook myself, realizing that I had been silent for quite some time and looked up at Will uncertainly from beneath my lashes, before fully meeting his eyes. "Thank you," I replied, with more confidence than I felt.
"Shall we go then?" he asked.
"Sure," I nodded once.
We gathered up our bowls, cups, and napkins and threw them in the trash.
"What made you decide to teach history?" he asked with genuine curiosity in his voice as he opened the door that led to the large parking lot.
The heat and humidity hit me like a wall as we stepped outside. I shrugged. "I love learning and I love history. It's interesting and exciting to me, and I enjoy studying it. I believe that knowledge of the past is an essential tool for creating a better future. Without it, future generations are bound to repeat the same mistakes made throughout history and glean nothing from the good things humanity has learned."
Will nodded thoughtfully in response to my answer as he stopped in front of a black C8 Corvette convertible.
"Yours?" I asked, somehow not a bit surprised.
"An American legend," Will replied, walking around to the driver's side.
I hesitated. "I don't want to ruin your upholstery…my clothes are still wet from the sprinkler."
"Don't worry. It's a rental," he said as he bent to rummage behind the driver's seat.
"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works." I grimaced at the thought of water coming into contact with the luxurious leather seats.
Will straightened, a beach towel in hand. He walked around to the passenger side, and I stepped back as he opened the door and draped the towel over the seat. He turned to me and gestured toward the interior of the car with a sweep of his hand and a tilt of his head.
I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed the towel-covered seat, before meeting his eyes. "Do you always carry beach towels with you while driving around the most land-locked place in the Western Hemisphere?"
He grinned and strode back to the driver's side. "One should always be prepared for anything."
"Like what?" I asked. "In case Nebraska suddenly becomes an inland sea again?"
Will leaned toward me across the top of the car, casually resting one hand on the top edge of the windshield, and another on the boot. He certainly had an impressive wingspan. "Or, in case a beautiful woman has a run-in with a sprinkler," he replied with a pointed look.
I rolled my eyes and looked down at the convertible. "I didn't know rental companies even had these." I eyed the sleek, fierce-looking vehicle appreciatively.
"You just need to know the right people," he winked at me.
"Okay, you're not helping your case at all. You make it sound like you're in the mafia or something," I grinned. Will opened his door and we both ducked inside the car. Well, he ducked. I didn't need to. I wondered how he fit inside the vehicle when the top was on.
"Not quite," Will shook his head as he buckled his seatbelt.
The close confines of the car and his broad shoulders put us in very close proximity to one another – almost shoulder-to-shoulder. To cover my nervousness, I turned my head to look outside the vehicle before speaking again. "So, you do know that we drive on the other side of the road here, right?" I asked, only slightly joking.
"You're serious?" Will scoffed.
I cleared my throat and lifted my chin. "Just having second thoughts about taking my chances with the wasps, that's all."
I felt his fingers gently brush my cheek, drawing my attention back to his handsome face. My eyes widened in surprise at the gesture as a tingle of electricity shot through my jaw and my heart jumped into my throat.
"You're safe with me, Elizabeth. I promise." His voice was sincere, and he nodded his head slightly as if to accentuate the honesty of his statement.
I swallowed hard. The tips of his fingers still rested lightly against my cheek.
Will removed his hand and gaze from my face to adjust the rearview mirror, and then backed out of the parking space.
I released a shaky breath and fisted my hands in my lap, digging my fingernails into my palms – an age-old, nervous habit.
When we reached the entrance of the parking lot, he looked at me questioningly. "Where to?"
I nodded to the right of the exit. "Go straight until you hit Tenth Street, then go right, and right again, in about three miles."
There was just enough fast-moving traffic – thousands of people heading to the downtown district for a Friday night out - to require all his attention to be riveted to the road, and to carry us expediently to our destination.
"Turn here," I instructed, pointing to the right. "It's three blocks up on the corner, left-hand side of the street."
When we reached the indicated spot, Will parked in one of the spaces in front of my apartment building; a historic, six-floor brick warehouse that had been converted into trendy apartments and condos. He turned in his seat to face me.
"Thanks again for the help up, and for the ride home." I sincerely meant it.
"Happy to help," he smiled a little. "So," his mesmerizing eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he spoke, "can you give me your mobile number so I can give you a bell tomorrow before I pick you up?"
I took a deep breath as I mentally sorted through his words and determined that 'mobile' meant cell phone and 'bell' meant call. "You want my cell phone number so that you can call before you pick me up tomorrow?"
Will gave me an odd look. "Yes…"
"But I thought you said you'd pick me up at six o'clock. I'll just meet you in front of the building. There's really no need to give you my number," I shook my head.
He continued to regard me dubiously.
I sighed and leaned my head against the back of the seat. "Okay, fine." I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and proceeded to rattle off my phone number.
Will turned his attention from his scrutiny of my person to his phone screen and entered my contact information. "Alright, and your address, so that I can find your building again is…" he glanced up at the address plaque on the front of the building. "1813 Longbourn Street, flat number…" his voice trailed off questioningly, and he glanced in my direction again.
"That's not important. I'll meet you outside the building at six tomorrow," I replied, flatly.
The corner of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smile. "So, you trust me enough to give me your mobile number and to let me drive you home," he prodded in a teasing manner, "but not enough to tell me your flat number?"
"Dang skippy," I held my ground, refusing to back down from his stare.
"And why is that?" he narrowed his eyes, evidently having fun provoking me.
Two could play that game. "You mean, besides the fact that you coerced me into doing so?"
He tilted his head to one side and lowered an eyebrow in response.
"Because," I bit the corner of my lower lip and crooked my finger, inviting him to come closer. Will leaned in close enough so that I could whisper in his ear. I ignored the fact that he smelled wonderful, like sandalwood and spice. "Because," I repeated quietly, "I have a can of pepper spray in my purse, and I have full faith in my aim with said weapon."
He raised his head and rolled his eyes.
I laughed. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."
"I'm beginning to gather that," he muttered.
I opened the car door and stepped out of the vehicle before turning back to thank him. "Thanks again," I smiled.
"Tomorrow. Six o'clock," he reminded me, shooting a pointed look in my direction.
"See ya then." I raised my hand and gave him a small wave before I turned to enter the building.