Summer Love

"Turn down your music!" my mother shouts up the stairs, and I barely hear her over the sound of my record spinning on the player. "You'll go deaf!"

Scoffing, I roll off my bed, landing on my feet, and cross the small room to the turning mechanism. I just turn it off, leaving the needle on the record. I've been up here too long, anyway. After slipping on a pair of sandals and brushing out the wrinkles in my shorts, I push on my slightly open door and jump down the stairs, taking two at a time.

The warm air pushes against my skin, heavier downstairs than up, and I skip into the kitchen, where my mother is cutting fruit for a salad. Her hair is pulled into a messy pony tail, and her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, leaving her hands plenty of room to work. She wipes her hands on the apron tied around her waist and turns around to greet me. "I thought you were goin' 'ta hole up in your room again," she murmurs, smiling and pushing a strand of damp brown hair out of her eyes. 

"I thought I might explore the rest of the house for a change," I reply, kissing her cheek quickly before grabbing a strawberry and taking a bite. "Could it get any hotter?!"

"That's Georgia, for 'ya and get outta my salad!" she laughs, shooing me away as she resumes her work. "Be prepared, your father invited a coworker and his family to eat dinner with us tonight."

I shake my head, secretly dreading contact with strangers. "Okay," I answer, skeptically. "I'll be... prepared."

She chuckles as I march into the dining room, where I throw the door open to sit on the netted porch, warmed by the afternoon sun. I push the screen door open to sit on the rough stairs, staring off into the grassy fields surrounding our house. I bask in the sunlight a little, warming my semi-tanned skin, before standing up and quickly scampering back into the shady, semi-cool house.

I grab my sketch pad and pencil, saying, "I'm gonna go outside and draw for a while, m'kay?" My mother grunts a sound of approval, and I hear the mixer start. She's going all-out for this dinner guest. I shrug, leaving her to her business in the kitchen and step into the sunny afternoon once more. I skip to side of the house, where my old tree house sits up high in the apple tree, level with my bedroom window. 

Not trusting the well-worn latter rungs, I sit at the base of the tree, my back against the trunk. I balance my notebook on my knees, beginning to sketch a picture of me as a little girl playing in my tree house while current me sits below, looking thoughtful. 

I slip into my drawing mindset, becoming dormant to the world. As the light shifts over me, I hardly notice, until a shadow stands between me and the sun. "Excuse me," I murmur, assuming it's my father trying to get a giddy welcoming. "My light."

"Oh, right, sorry," an unfamiliar voice says, quickly sidling around my feet to stand on the other side of me. I look up, tucking a few loose locks of hair behind my ear. 

A boy with messy black hair shuffles his feet under my observing stare. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his uncomfortable smile reveals perfectly crooked teeth. He seems familiar, but I don't think I've met him before. I rack my mind as I smile back, hoping he deems my teeth just as adorable as his. "My bad," I mumble. "I thought you were my dad, he's always doing stuff like that."

"Like what? Trying to ruin your drawing?" the boys laughs, crouching beside me to look at my drawing. It's one of my better ones, I remind myself, happily. "That's very good," he agrees, chuckling. "If only I could draw like that."

"It just takes practice," I reply, grinning as I flip my notebook shut. I begin to push myself off the ground, and the stranger stands up, extending his hand to me. I grab his rough hand, and he helps pull me up.   Before letting go of my hand, he shakes it lightly and kisses the back of it. I feel the blush creeping on to my cheeks, and I can only hope it doesn't look like a sunburn.

"I'm Josiah," he says, dropping my hand softly.

"I'm Mariah," I answer, flattening my shorts and retying the strings. "It's lovely to meet you." I briefly toy with the idea of curtsying, but decide against it. 

"It is far lovelier to be meeting you, I'm sure," he smirks. 

I smile and feel the blush going a deeper shade of red. "Well, you'll never know, I guess," I murmur, slipping on the shoes I had discarded sometime during my drawing. He smiles, and I begin to walk back to the porch, and Josiah follows me.   On the porch, what I presume is, Josiah's father and mother are speaking with my own. My slender father is leaning against the railing, pushing his glasses up his nose, and  my mother is standing beside him, twisting one of her hand's fingers in her apron and the other's with my father's fingers.

Josiah's father has the same black hair with strands of grey hair on the sides, and his stomach pouches over the band of his pants as he sits in one of the two porch chairs. Josiah's mother occupies the other one. She is a small, birdlike creature with curly brown hair and thin arms, making her almost the complete opposite of my own mother. 

"Yup, that's my parents," Josiah sighs as I look over the scene. "Mr. and Mrs. Kellan, I guess you'll call them."

"I guess," I murmur, switching my gaze from his parents to him, only to find Josiah's eyes on me. I quickly look at the ground, and I hear Josiah clear his though. "Uh, shall we go inside?"

"Sure, that'd be great," he answers, wiping at his forehead. "I'm sure my brother is hanging around somewhere, bored out of his mind." 

"I'd love to meet him," I reply, beginning to walk to the house and hoping to impress Josiah with my willingness to play with his brother. This kid is really cute. I'll do pretty much anything to make him think the same. 

"Nah, he's just like any other little guy out there," Josiah shrugs, chuckling. As we approach the porch, my mother's egg timer goes off, and she scurries off with  Mrs. Kellan at her side. "At least our mothers are getting along!" Josiah laughs, pulling the screen door open for me. 

"Hello, Daddy," I say, smiling as I wrap my arm around his neck. 

"Hello, Mariah," he replies, patting my hand. "This is Mr. Kellan. I see you've met Josiah, already." I nod, saying hello to Mr. Kellan.

"Well, I guess I'll change into better dinner clothes," I laugh, slipping my shoes off to feel the sun-warmed wood beneath my feet. 

"I'm gonna get a drink of water," Josiah murmurs, meeker around his father. This time, I open the door for Josiah and gesture to the kitchen. 

"My mom'll get you some water in there," I say, looking at his feet. "I'm gonna go change."

"You look great right now," he says, with obviously fabricated confidence. "Just sayin'," he blurts before scuttling into the kitchen. A stark blush forms on my cheeks and burns as I run up the stairs, grabbing the door frame as I swing into my room. 

I slide over the painted wood to my dresser in the back corner, rifling through the drawers until I find a pair of non-wrinkled shorts and a clean shirt. Before returning to the 'party', I glance in the mirror. 

My face is pink from sitting in the sun, and my hair is loosely tied into a pony tail. I take out the rubber band securing my hair and shake my hair out. It has retained some of it's natural curl, but it's obviously been in a ponytail all day, so I just put in a nicer one and leave, skipping down the stairs again.

Downstairs, Mrs. Kellan is putting a pasta salad on the table. "Oh, hello!" she says, startled. "You must be Mariah. I'm Mrs. Kellan." She smiles, quickly sprucing her hair, and scurrying into the kitchen again, not giving me time to introduce myself properly. 

I stand in the dining room, staring at the table for a minute before shuffling into the kitchen. "Do you need some help?" I ask, watching the two women flurry about the counters.

My mother pauses for a moment, just long enough to register what I said. "Oh, no, Honey, I think we have this under control," she responds, patting my shoulder. "Thanks for asking, though, Mariah."

"No problem," I murmur, whistling as I move back into the dining room. Josiah enters from the living room, where, I assume, his brother is playing or something. 

"Oh, hey," he says. "I was looking for you, I mean, not looking actively, but you know, wondering where you were or whatever, I just- I'm going to stop talking now before you get creeped out," he rambles, chuckling as he runs his hand through his messy black hair.

"Oh," I laugh, looking at the ground, unsure of what to say. "Well, I'm not surprised, there aren't many people here." I laugh, tucking my brown hair behind my ear. 

"Children, keep your shirts on!" my mother cries, bustling into the dining room with a pan of lasagna. "Dinner is here!"

I raise my eyebrow, taking the pan from her to put it on the center of the table. I stand behind a chair, watching as Mrs. Kellan takes up the spot across from me. I finally get to observe her up close. 

Her eyes are green and almond shaped, and they seem to know more than her forty-five years or so should know. My mother tromps back into the dining room with my father and Mr. Kellan following close behind. "Junior! Dinner!" Mr. Kellan shouts. My father jumps, he glasses slipping down his nose before settling into his place beside my mother. 

Suddenly the back door opens, and a small-ish boy rush into the room, squealing, "Oh boy, oh boy!"

"That's Ross!" Mrs. Kellan sighs, ruffling the little boy's brown hair. "The baby of the family!"

"I'm not a baby, Mom," he whines, scrunching up in his chair so her hand hangs in the air above him.

"Of course you aren't," she sighs, bring her hand back towards herself. My mother begins dishing out lasagna to the plates all around the table. As we begin devouring the pasta, I am sure to keep myself clean and my plate mostly full. I don't want Josiah to think I'm a slob or anything.

After an hour of semi-awkward chit-chat, my father pushes away from the table, saying, "I'm gonna take a smoke on the porch. Howard? Care to join me?"

"Sure, Buddy," he agrees, pushing himself away from the table. The mothers stand up as well, picking up dishes. 

"I'll help," I say, beginning to pick up my plate. 

"Oh, you silly thing, go enjoy yourself. We'll take care of this," Mrs. Kellan laughs, scuttling into the kitchen. My mother follows, bumping me with her hip playfully before disappearing. 

"Well, um," I start, stuffing my hands into my pockets only to take them out again. "I have some, uh, records upstairs, if you'd be interested in listening to them. I mean, by no means do you need to follow a strange girl up to her room to listen to weird music and talk, so don't-"

"I'd love to," he agrees, laughing as he ruffles his hair a little. I gesture to the stairs and begin to step towards them, with Josiah following me. I hear the unfamiliar creaks behind me as he steps in all the wrong places. "You must be really good at sneaking around," he chuckles, plopping down on my couch beside the record player while I step onto the cushions, using the as a step up to my shelf of records. I grab the empty case and my favorite Frank Sinatra record. 

"I guess you could say that," I murmur, adjusting the player and congratulating myself for cleaning my room earlier. As the blaring trumpets' noise begins to tinkle off the record and swirl around the room, I twirl into my spot on the opposite side of the couch. "Mostly I just chill out in here, though." I smile, in a (hopefully) sweet way. 

"I can see why," Josiah sighs, looking around. "It's nice in here."

"I like to think so," I agree, twirling my hair around my finger and humming the tune to 'The Lady is a Tramp'. I nod my head to the beat, and I can see Josiah drumming his fingers. 

I suddenly realize he's looking at me while I'm looking at him, so I quickly fix my gaze on my hand that is still sitting on my lap. "Care to dance?" he asks, standing up and extending his hand. "As friends, of course," he adds. 

I feel my lips crack into a lame smile, and my cheeks flush with colour, but I don't care anymore. This boy is asking me to dance with him!

I take his hand, standing up, and we begin a sort of childish flailing dance, with our hands clasped together. I let out a laugh as he twirls me around the room, maneuvering around the furniture. I can see his slightly crooked teeth glimmering from his mouth in a smile of pure ecstasy while we end the song in the middle of a dip. I let out a squeal, and he lets out a laugh. I pretend to hit him, getting ready to sit down again. 

"Another one?" he asks, offering his hand again. "Just one won't hurt, will it?" I stand up again, this time with "Witchcraft" blaring. I wrap my arms around his neck, and his hands go on my waist. 

My heartbeat speeds up as I lay my head on his shoulder, hearing his own heartbeat. Our hips are touching, and I can feel he has pens stuffed in his deep pockets. There's probably a notebook somewhere in there, too. 

I hear him sigh a sigh of contentment, and I twist my fingers in the strands of hair at the base of his neck. 

Alright, I'm not exactly playing 'hard-to-get' with this boy, but, hopefully, my sudden brashness will pay off, and he'll ask for my number or some-.

Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by Josiah's face coming closer and closer to my own, and, then, suddenly, we're kissing, gently, in the middle of my room with good old Frankie playing. This is a first kiss almost too cool for words, but I can't think of anything besides the way his lips feel on mine. 

It's like I've aged down, and, suddenly, my knees are weak, and I'm depending on Josiah to hold me up. As the song comes to a close, so does the kiss. 

"He was right," Josiah smirks. "Fingers in one's hair makes it almost impossible to think of anything else."

"I'm glad it worked, then," I laugh, thankful for the music to distract from my bright red face. 

We faintly hear Josiah's mother yelling for him, and I let my arms drop. "I guess this is good-bye," I murmur, looking at my feet. 

"Good-bye for now," Josiah replies, winking and quickly pecking another kiss onto my cheek. "I'll be back in no time at all, my love."

The Drive

The headlights lazily drift by, flashing over my face, pressed against the window. We've been driving for hours, and I really don't know where my brother is taking me, but I really don't care.

It's better than being at home, doing nothing but surfing the internet for pictures and movies to look into. He's probably taking me to his house, to spend the long weekend with him and his friends, but it's a mystery.

A mystery I'll solve in due time.

But, right now, I'm happy just listening to his favorite radio station, with the occasional humming or singing emitting from his lips filling the empty space hanging just outside the music pouring from the speakers. 

As the car barrels through the dark, I feel safe.

I feel right.

I feel like me.

The Chance Love of George and Jackie: The Winter Saga

If I've ever been described as "extraordinary", there was quite the pause between "extra" and "ordinary".

I've got a plain face, plain hair, plain clothes. I'm too tall, my arms are gawky, and I don't know how to hold myself so I don't look awkward.

I work in a boring office building, grey floors, grey walls, and smudged windows are the key elements. However, while the building is dismal and sad, the people within it are not, excluding me, of course.

I have a cubicle right smack dab in the middle of the floor, surrounded by vibrant people. Gina, just to my left, wears bright red lipstick everyday, laughing whenever she feels like it. She laughs just for the fun of it.

Abigail, to my right, dresses less gaudy, but she has a personality that fills the room. It even overpowers Gina's rambunctious laughter during the work day. 

Across the aisle, is Jeremy, and he's almost as exciting as Gina. Jeremy is the stereotypical gay man, though. Laughs like a woman, waves his hands, and loves to touch when having a conversation. 

But I get the pleasure of staring right at George, for his cubicle is located right in front of my face. We have chit-chat on a daily basis, but I'm not much of a talker. Neither is George, evidently, because we exchange the usual greetings and then settle into our various accounting programs.

He looks haphazardly put together everyday, but it also has an air of upkeep about it. His glasses slip down his nose when he concentrates on his work, and, frankly, it's adorable.

"Are you ready for the party tonight, Jackie?" Gina asks in her generally annoying voice, popping her head over my cubicle wall.

"I guess," I murmur, glancing at her briefly before flicking my eyes back to my computer screen.

"You're going, right?"

"Maybe, if I can get a cab," I lie through my teeth. I'm not going.

She nods, accepting my lies, before turning her head slightly. "And you, George?" she asks. "Are you going?"

"Hmm, what?" he responds, looking up.

"Are you going?" Gina repeats herself. "To the party tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know," he says, nervously. "Are you going, Jackie?"

"Me? Maybe," I answer.

"Cabs are pretty sketch around here," he tells Gina, "I don't know if I'll be able to get one."

"Where do you two live, in the boondocks?" she cries, laughing that rambunctious laugh.

"Just north of 42nd," George murmurs, staring at his computer's screen. 

"Really?" I ask, astounded. "Me, too."

"There! You try to get a cab together, they always stop for the pretty girls anyway, Jackie," Gina jokes. "So, George, you've got a guaranteed ride!" She grins before ducking back behind her wall. 

"I guess," he murmurs, looking at me. "You want to share a cab with silly old me?"

I smile, nodding. "Only if you'll have me," I agree.

He chuckles, resuming his work. I do the same.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

As usual, George and I are the last ones to leave. Although, to be fair, everyone else skipped out early to prepare for the evening's festivities. At six o'clock, I stand up, gathering my bag and winter coat. "You leaving?" George asks, glancing over the felt wall.

"Yes," I reply, "I've got a party to prepare for, after all."

"Of course, yes," he says, nodding. After a moment, he stands up as well. "Shall I walk you home? Presuming you do walk, that is."

"That would be lovely," I accept, going around Gina's cubicle to wait at the vacant one beside George's. "I don't plan on staying late at the party tonight, if you wanted to ride back together."

"I didn't either," he agrees, buttoning his grey coat. "Ready?"

"Whenever you are," I smile, buttoning my purple pea coat. We walk side by side down the hallway in silence. 'This is going to be one helluva night,' I think, shaking my head slightly.

Outside, I reach into my messenger bag and grab my scarf, wrapping it tightly around my neck. "It's quite chilly, isn't it?" he asks, watching my swaddle my neck. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"Quite," I reply, stopping on the corner, waiting for the light to change. His cheeks have flushed, although I am unsure if it is because he is cold or if he is embarrassed. 

"No snow, though," he points out, glancing at me only to find me looking at him. I quickly shift my gaze to the pavement in front of me.

"It's quite disappointing," I add, wishing my coat had pockets as well.

"You like the snow, then?" he inquires, looking at me again while adjusting his glasses. The light changes, and we resume our trek to our homes.

"I love walking in it at night," I reply, feeling quite silly for divulging such a childish aspect of myself. "It's peaceful. Romantic. Not like, 'let's make out' romantic. More like Anne of Green Gables romantic. If you know what I mean."

He chuckles, watching me flex my fingers in an effort to keep them warm. "I think snow would be very bad for your hands," he jokes, taking his large, slender hand out of his pocket and extending it towards mine. "Care for a warming hand?"

'Calm down, Jackie, this is nothing. He just wants to save your fingers from hypothermia,' I calm myself, nodding. His hand envelopes mine, easily, warming my frozen fingers.

"Thanks," I murmur, liking the way it feels to have his hand touching mine. "I don't know that they would have lasted much longer," I laugh, looking at the grey, overcast sky.

We make silly chit-chat about our favorite kinds of weather for the next few blocks, only to wind up in front of my apartment far to soon. "Well," I sigh. "This is me."

"We will meet here at, oh, eight o'clock?" he asks, observing the terrible building I live in. "That should give you plenty of time to get ready, right?"

I nod, "Yes, it should. Thanks for walking me home, George."

"No problem, Jackie," he murmurs, waving as he walks away. "See you in an hour or so!"

I nod, waving, before entering my stale smelling apartment building. The dimly lit hallways creak beneath my feet, casting an eerie atmosphere about me, but I barely notice.

I'm actually excited for tonight.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I've picked out a sleek red dress cut just above my knees, playful but not slutty.

Before running out the door, I check my hair one more time. It's still curled perfectly. 'How long can that stay?' I think, chuckling. Quickly, I throw on a coating of lip gloss and grab a black coat, with pockets this time. 

I lock my door from the outside and then proceed down the dingy hallway to the bustling street of New York City. George is standing idly by the stairs, smiling when I open the door. He offers his hand to assist me down the steps.

I grasp it, remembering how I slipped at the bottom of the stairs earlier this morning. "Thank you," I murmur, slipping my hands into my pockets.

"You look lovely," George says, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. 

"You clean up well, yourself," I joke, softly hitting his arm. 

"Aw, shucks," he laughs, stepping closer to the curb. He whistles loudly, summoning a taxi. As the yellow car stops moving completely, he pulls open the door. "Ladies first," he says. 

I nod, smiling and climbing into the backseat. George slides in next to me, spewing the address to some restaurant the office has booked. He leans back, looking out the window.

"Excited for Christmas?" he asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yes, I'm probably just going to stay in the city, though," I answer. "Do you have any plans?"

"Oh, you know, just sit at home and do nothing," he chuckles.

"Want to spend Christmas together?"

"Coffee?" 

"Sounds great," I smile, watching the bright lights of the city whip past my window. Soon, the taxi slows to a stop in front of a Boys and Girls Club. "Strange place for them to host a party, don't you think?"

"More space, less people, though," he points out. I suppose that makes sense. I nod, making a revelation noise.

Before I can reach for my purse, George whips out his wallet and pays the cabbie. "I'll get it on the way home," I tel him.

"Nonsense," he replies. "I got this!"

We laugh as we climb out of the tiny car and cross the damp pavement to the glass doors into the gymnasium marked with balloons. George holds the door open as I shuffle in.

"Uhm, meet over there," I point at an archway into the main party rooms, "in, say, two, three hours?"

"Sounds like a plan," he agrees, nodding. We walk in, greeted by Gina's screaming laughter.

"George, Jackie! You made it!" she yells.

"Somebody's been drinking," I say under my breath.

George laughs.

I guess he heard me.

He laughed at it. Oh, God, He laughed at my joke. 

I proceed to blush profusely before making my way to the drinks table. I grab a bottle of something, it's a green bottle with no label. 'That's totally legit,' I think, twisting the cap off, using my coat as a buffer. I take a long drink.

The beer is bitter, almost sour, but I grimace and vow to drink the rest of it. 'No need to be wasteful,' I tell myself, taking another small sip.

I move away from the table of alcohol and stand idly in the corner, observing. Around the room, several round tables have been set up, and people I only know by sight have gathered around. Occasionally, I hear Gina laugh, presumably at the cutest intern's lame story.

Abigail sidles up beside me, holding a glass of water. "How are you, Jackie?" she asks, smiling warmly.

"Quite well, thank you," I reply, staring at the floor to avoid eye contact. "And yourself?"

"Very well," she laughs. "How was your ride with George?" She's trying to gauge if we're dating or not. Or if we're about to date.

"It was fine," I answer, awkwardly staring just past her shoulder. "A little awkward, but I've never really talked to him before, so that's understandable."

"Very understandable indeed," she chuckles. "I usually take the subway, which is like a taxi ride with someone you've never spoken to before, only instead of nice old George, you have the creepy homeless man trying to scam some change off of ya."

"I don't trust the subway," I joke. "Nah, I usually just walk wherever I need to go."

"You must not get out often, then."

"You got me there," I laugh, glancing at the ceiling.

Another woman wearing a green dress sidles up to Abigail's side. "Oh, Abby, have you met Frankie?" As Abigail shakes her head, she is led away, looking at me as if to say 'sorry, my friends are overbearing'.

Someone puts on music, fun music.

I smile, watching the people I work with.

'Where's George?' I ask myself, looking around. Not surprisingly, he is standing against the wall, cornered into a conversation with a fellow coworker. He wipes at his hair and pushes up his glasses, quite adorably. 

"Enjoying that beer?" a man who works on the floor above mine asks, looking at my dress.

I take a small sip, nodding. "It's quite good," I answer.

"I haven't seen many of the women with a beer in hand. They're drinking the fruity ones," he observes.

"Well, I'm one of a kind," I sigh. 'Lies. You are so ordinary, it's ridiculous, Jackie,' I think.

"Indeed you are," he agrees, holding at his arm. "I can take that coat off your hands, put it in coat check, you know."

"Where is the coat check?" I ask.

"Around the corner," he answers, pointing towards the second room where people are dancing. 

"I'll go in a bit, thank you," I assure him, holding my coat closer, trying to hint at him that I'm done with this conversation.

"Suit yourself," he sighs, sticking his hand towards me. "The name's Logan. You are?"

"Jackie," I answer, ignoring his outstretched hand and taking a gulp of beer. He drops his hand to his side, and I continue observing George and all his quirks. 

"So, Jackie, would you like to step out and get a breath of fresh air with me?" Logan asks.

I'm regretting wearing such a provocative dress now.

"No, thank you," I reply, politely.

For the first time, I look at Logan's face. He has chocolate brown eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. His skin is pasty, but that could just be the light, and he has slicked his hair down in an effort to create a retro style, but, frankly, it has failed.

"Alright," he says, leaning against the wall, stuffing his hand in his pocket.

I stand up straighter, "Well," I clear my throat, "I'm going over there now," I gesture towards George. Logan is giving me the creeps. "Lovely meeting you."

I swivel on my heel and scurry across the room, stopping briefly to make chit chat with Gina. Sidling up to George, I notice Logan has kept a safe distance, but, all the same, he is stealthily following me.

"How's your evening?" I ask George, watching Logan pretend to be interested in a conversation with a random coworker.

"Good, good," he answers, following my gaze. He swirls the ice in his glass of amber liquid. "Yours?"

"Has been rather uneventful, but that guy," I shrug my shoulder towards Logan, "is giving me the inexplicable creeps."

"Logan?"

"How did you know?"

"Because he's the creepiest person I've ever met," George replies, smiling. "Just chill over here for a while. Logan is intimidated by most other men. Hopefully, I'm one of those men."

For ten minutes, George and I chitchat mindlessly, at first, my only goal to stave off Logan, but, soon, I'm trying to learn more about George. I'm trying to indicate how cute he is to me.

I'm trying to get him to ask me out.

But then Logan has to decide George isn't that intimidating.

"George! I haven't seen you in a while, how've you been?" Logan asks in one breath.

"I'm doing fine," George responds, stepping closer to me. I'm far beyond just uncomfortable. 

Logan freaks me out.

Why? I have no idea.

My hands are sweating, my heart is pounding, it's like I'm a kid again, and the popular girls are trying to talk to me.

"Still working in accounting?" Logan asks, looking at me as if I should laugh at his making fun of my profession.

"Yes, actually, Jackie works with me now, too," George points out. Logan burns red for a moment before shrugging it off.

"So, Jackie, would you like to ditch this place and go get a real drink somewhere else?" he asks, turning towards me. I pull my coat closer to me and take a swig of beer.

"No, thank you, Logan," I say, frankly.

"Aww, Little Darlin', just one little drink couldn't hurt, could it?" 

"No, thanks," I repeat myself, putting extra irritation into my voice, "Logan"

"Just one," he whines.

"Logan, she said no," George says, with a surprising amount of authority.

"Who are you to talk like that to me?" Logan demands, puffing up his chest.

"Well, for starters, her boyfriend," George smirks, winking at me. He wraps his arm around my waist, and I smile. It feels right.

"Oh, uhm," Logan searches for words, messing with his greasy hair. 

"Now, I suggest you move along before something happens," George orders, stroking my hand. 

'Is he playing up the 'boyfriend' act or is this...real?' I ask myself inside, hoping for the latter.

Logan harrumphs as he walks away, and George releases my waist. "Erm, sorry, but, uh, y'know, he wouldn't leave, and, well, he was bothering you, anyway, and uhm," George trails off, blushing.

"It's alright, George. I don't mind in the slightest," I wink, chugging the last of my beer. "Now, I've got more alcohol to drink," I tease as I walk away. 

I feel his eyes on me until I round the corner and put my coat in the coat check.

It feels glorious.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Exactly two and a half hours after we arrived, George and I meet at the large 'doorway' between the sparsely decorated gym and the main rooms specifically for group gatherings. "Did you-" George starts, but he is interrupted by Gina.

"Look up you guys!" she screams.

I tilt my neck up, expecting the worst, only to find a green plant hanging above us. 'Mistletoe? At a company party? What is this?' I ask myself.

George shrugs and leans in, kissing me quickly on the cheek. 

"The deed hath been done!" he exclaims, causing laughter from the people immediately surrounding us.

"Do it right, George," Gina laughs, clapping.

"Uhm," he stalls, looking at the ceiling.

"Yes, George, do it right," I encourage, winking.

His eyes widen for a moment before he smirks, leaning in and placing his lips gently on mine.

Inside, it's like I've grown wings and gone to Heaven. I'm melting. My heart beats faster, and I feel my face flush with color. 

But, too soon, George pulls away, and we stand idly for a moment. "Wow," Gina says, frankly. "That was happening."

"Indeed it was," George laughs, obviously embarrassed. I look at my feet for a moment.

"Well, goodnight, Gina and.. the rest," I say, loudly, waving.

"Goodnight to you all!" George exclaims, waving as well. We walk to the parking lot, closer than how we arrived. "Did you have a nice evening?" 

"I did," I tell him, buttoning my coat. "And you?"

He looks at me for a moment, and I see something in his eyes. Just a flicker, but I think I see something. "It was magnificent," he agrees, raising his hand limply in an effort to hail a taxi.

"You have to do it more like this," I laugh, putting my pinkies in my mouth and releasing a piercing whistle. Almost immediately, a yellow car pulls up, and George opens the door for me.

I climb in, not sitting as close the door as I had the first ride. As George settles beside me, our knees touching, I slip my heels off, freeing my blistered toes.

"Standing too much?" he chuckles, patting my knee.

"Don't make fun of my poor little feet!" I exclaim, pretending to hit him.

"Yo, where we going'?" the cabby asks, loudly.

"Oh, uhm," George looks at me briefly before spewing out his address. 

The cabby nods, ignoring us again. "Sorry," George apologizes, "I didn't know your address, and yeah."

"No problem, we only live two, three blocks apart from each other," I reply, shrugging.

"But what about your poor little feet?" he asks, cracking a smile, revealing his adorably crooked teeth.

"They'll live," I answer, hoping I'm speaking the truth.

"You sure?" he asks, dropping the joking. "I can give you a pair of shoes to walk in, if you want."

"That would be lovely," I agree, relieved I don't wave to walk home in four inch heels.

Soon, the taxi pulls up to George's apartment.

It's much better than mine.

"Thank you," George says, handing the cabby the fare. 

"I told you I was going to get it," I point out on the street while George punches in the code to get in his building.

"And I told you I was going to get it anyway," he reminds me, opening the door. "Care to step in for a moment?"

I smile, taking my stocking-ed feet off the freezing pavement and stepping onto a plush carpet. It is dark in the hallway, an unexpected feature in such a nice building. George beings unlocking the first door on the right, and I stand by the door to the outside. I realize George has my shoes.

'How on Earth did that happen?' I ask myself, scrunching my eyebrows together. 'Oh well, too late to figure it out now.'

Suddenly, George disappears, and I move to stand in the doorway. George has a disturbingly nice apartment with white carpets and expensive furniture. Soon, he appears, handing me a pair of dress shoes. "Thank you," I say, bending over to slip them on my feet.

"No problem," he chuckles, leaning on the door frame and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Thank you for sharing a cab with me."

"There was no sharing involved," I giggle, looking at the ground. 'God, why is he so flawlessly adorable?' I demand myself . 'Meanwhile, I'm over here, staring at his feet like a bumbling fool.'

I look up to say a final goodnight, but I can't, for George is kissing me again, softly. His fingers are tilting my chin up, and I close my eyes, enjoying this moment thoroughly. After his lips release mine, I stand there, crossing one arm across my waist to grasp the other arm. 

"Well, thank you and goodnight," I say, blushing. 

"Goodnight, Jackie," he murmurs, winking.

For the second time that night, I melt due to this man. 

He is truly amazing.

I nod, walking towards the door.

"Jackie," George calls.

I turn, "Yes?

"See you in the morning."

"I'm expecting a walking partner," I laugh, jokingly. He laughs, as well, and I wave a little before stepping into the cold night.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next morning, I put the finishing touches on my make up and make sure my hair looks perfect.

I slip my work flats on, grabbing my messenger bag and slipping it over my coat. I open my door, turning to lock it.

And guess what.

As I turn,I see George, standing at the bottom of my steps, waiting.

I practically skip down the stairs, and, at the bottom, he wraps his hands around  my waist, spinning me around while throwing me into another kiss.

God, I'm in love with this man.

---New Years' Eve---

Sure, he's been walking me to work.

Sure, we've kissed a couple times. 

Sure, he makes me melt every time I look at him.

But, we're not going out or anything. 

So, I don't expect him to spend every waking moment with me. Even on New Years' Eve. 'He probably has something to do, anyway,' I think, walking into my apartment after work. 'And he didn't want to talk about it because I'd jump on New Years' and invite him over. That would be an awkward situation.'

I stop thinking about it while grab my phone and shuffle through my house, into my bedroom. I reach into my dresser, pulling out an over-sized but flattering tee-shirt and my favorite pair of jeans.

I reach around and unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor. Then, I slide into my jeans, not bothering to take off my tights. Leaving my bedroom, I slip my shirt over my head, making sure I'm decent before walking in front of a window. 

Now, I face my usual conundrum. What to do.

'It's 5:30, not too much time to do anything,' I think, not for the first time. On a whim, I go to my small bookshelf that holds up my television. My eyes glance over the titles, but I've read all of these a thousand times. Except for one.

I pull "The Help" off the shelf and settle onto the couch, falling into the magic that is the printed word. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

An hour later, I snap out of my trance due to hunger. I dog-ear the page, a terrible habit, before standing up and waltzing into the kitchen. Flipping open the cupboards, I grab a box of pasta, placing it on the counter before putting on a pot of water to boil.

I return to the living room and turn on the television, scrolling to the Swing Music channel. Dancing back to the kitchen, I get started on a simple cheese sauce by gathering the ingredients. 

After close to twenty minutes, I scoop my serving of macaroni and cheese into a bowl and put the rest in a plastic dish to save. I go back to the couch, preparing to watch the New Years' festivities. 

After only a minute, though, a knock comes at the door. A timid knock.

'Who is that?' I ask myself, standing up, turning down the T.V., and setting my bowl on the coffee table. I shuffle to the door, looking through the peephole.

There, George is standing, his hair is messy and hanging in his eyes. He breathes a puff of air out. He turns around, stepping down one stair. I throw open the door, saying, "George!" in a loud laugh.

"Oh, hey," he replies, turning around and smiling. "I didn't think you were home."

"Oh, no, I'm always here," I joke, opening the door wider, "Want to come in?" 

I turn around as George follows me in. 'Why didn't I clean tonight?' I berate myself, feeling embarrassed by my cluttered apartment. I sit on the couch, and George takes his place next to me. 

"Oh! Do you want some macaroni? I made it a bit ago, but we can heat it up," I inquire. 

"That would be lovely," he agrees, cracking that crooked smile I love. He follows me into the kitchen, where I pull a bowl out of the cupboard and hand it to him. He takes over, filling the bowl and putting it in the microwave. I jump onto the counter, while George leans against the counter across from me. "So, how's your New Years' Eve so far?"

"Oh, you know, boring," I answer. "Yours?"

"Pretty much the same," he chuckles. "So, I figured, worst case, you'd be at a party or somethin'."

"Pssh, me? At a party?" I ask, in a high-pitched voice. "Never!"

The microwave beeps, and George pulls his macaroni out. I grab a fork from a drawer under my legs and hand it to him before jumping off the counter and going back to the living room, where I sit with my back against the arm, my feet extending towards George's legs.

We settle down, watching old episodes of How I Met Your Mother, laughing and chit chatting until almost ten o'clock.

"Well," he says. "I wouldn't want to impose on you, so.." he trails off as he stands up.

"Aw, c'mon, George," I moan, smiling. "Another one is coming on!"

He smiles, but I stand up, anyway, accepting that our evening is coming to an end. I follow him to the door, where he wraps his scarf around his neck, tightly. He opens the door, and I grab onto it, leaning on it. "Alright," he sighs, stepping onto the stoop. "Well, goodnight, I suppose." He shrugs his shoulders and slaps his hands against his thighs.

"I suppose," I agree, breathing the crisp air. He turns to go down the stairs, hesitates, and turns back towards me again.

"Hey, wanna go for a walk?" he asks.

"Oh! Sure!" I agree, smiling. "I just have to get my winter stuff on, and I'll be ready! Just, uh, come back in for a minute." George steps over the threshold one more time, closing the door behind him, while I rush off to my bedroom, where I put a long sleeved shirt on underneath my tee-shirt. I grab the coat I discarded on my bed earlier, and rush back to the door. I slip my feet into a pair of black Ugg-boots, buttoning my coat. I grab my pair of black leather gloves and my red scarf and beret. 

"Well, that was fast," George whistles, laughing. I laugh, pulling the door open once again. George leaps down the stairs, pulling on his thick, wool gloves. "Shall we?" he asks, holding out his hand. "It's icy, careful."

I grasp his outstretched hand, and we set off, turning towards the busier part of town. "How was work today?" I ask.

"Well, the usual," he chuckles, quickly shifting his eyes away from mine when I look at him. "Just accounting."

I breathe in the cold air, filling my lungs with the crisp gas. "Indeed," I sigh, "just accounting."

"Don't you like it?" he asks, looking at me.

"It's nice, but I don't want to do it forever," I admit, looking at the ground. "I'd like to be an author, but accounting is more stable."

"I'm sure you could be an author, Jackie," George says, squeezing my hand. As we walk, the sun sinks lower and lower on the horizon until it has dipped below, and we are walking in the blue light of night, periodically interrupted by yellow street lights and flashing neon signs. 

"Want to stop for coffee?" George asks, pointing at a small shop on the corner.

"If it's open," I agree, smiling. 'Is this a date, a real date?' I ask myself. 'We'll have to see.'

George pulls open the door, murmuring the usual, "Ladies first" before following suit. "What would you like?" he asks.

"An eggnog mocha, if they have it," I answer, observing the small shop. There is a young man in the corner, with whom I briefly make eye-contact before quickly looking away, but, otherwise, the room is empty. There are small booths with leather seats around the perimeter, made for two or three people maximum. 

"Alright," he chuckles. "Why don't you pick out a place to settle down?" 

I nod, smiling, as I turn towards the tables again. I know which one I'm going to pick. It's right by the window, so I can look out and watch the city while we hunker down for a steaming cup of coffee. I slide into the seat, pulling my gloves off and unwinding my scarf before unbuttoning my coat. I slip it off and watch as George orders the drinks. 

The bored barista nods, pretending to smile, while George rattles off the easy order. He reaches into his wallet and pays for it.

Even mine. This is a date. A bonafide date.

George scurries up to the table, sitting across from me. "It's almost twenty-twelve," he observes, looking at the clock on the wall. 

"Indeed it is," I agree, smiling. "Only forty-five more minutes."

We sit in a comfortable silence for a minute, me looking out the window, but I can feel George looking at me. I wish I had put my hair up. It looks drab down, slightly wavy and crazy.

"Hey, look," George says, pointing out the window. "Is that snow?"

I look closer through the glass pane. Indeed it is snowing. Little flakes of white shimmer down from the air, landing softly on the hard concrete. "Well, look at that," I sigh, hoping it will keep on through the night.

"I heard somewhere you like walking in the snow," he smirks, grinning to reveal his crooked teeth.

"I can't believe you held on to that," I chuckle, remembering the Christmas party we had attended weeks before.

"Who wouldn't hold onto such a beautiful girl's fantasy?" George asks, smiling softly and reaching across the table to grab my hand. I blush, looking at the place where our skin is now touching.

His fingers have calluses on them from typing on a keyboard for far too long, and mine have lighter versions of the same ones. The cashier steps up to our table, holding two paper cups with "Stu's Coffee" stamped on the side. "Here's your drinks," she says, quietly, setting an eggnog mocha in front of me. "Enjoy your evening. Happy New Year's."

With that, she walks away, plainly. George quickly sips his coffee, winking. "Shall we walk in the snow while it lasts?" he asks, already anticipating my answer as he puts his coat back on. I don't bother answering and just start reloading my outerwear.

At eleven thirty five, we walk out of the shop, into the snow. It flakes into George's hair, gleaming each time we pass under a street light. I can only hope mine looks as cute.

Soon, we're just chit-chatting as usual, inside I am fawning, and, I'm sure, he's completely calm. "It's almost midnight," he points out, looking at his watch. I grasp his wrist and bring it towards me. He is correct.

"Only two more minutes," I specify, looking at the stars, wondering what the new year will bring. "Twenty-Twelve, here we come."

George looks at me, his eyes soft, but he doesn't say anything, so I just ignore it and keep walking, adjusting my slouchy beret. After a moment, George stops, and I stop beside him. "Twenty seconds," he says, and I mentally start a countdown in my mind.

"Ten," he breathes, moving a step closer to me.

"Five," I continue.

Just as our countdown hits zero, George wraps his hands around my waist, pulling our hips together, and kisses me, lovingly harder than any other kiss I've had. 

And I love it.

I love him.

This is officially the best start to a New Year I've ever had.