Chapter One, Lust At First Sight

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I’m not sure that I do either but what a whimsical thought; to see a handsome suitor from across a crowded room and miraculously know that you are destined. Imagine seeing your lives flash before your eyes in the most romantic and powerful way after only a few coy glances. Oh, fresh and exciting love.

How beautiful it must be but honestly I’m not even sure I believe in love (which is easy to say coming from someone who has never been lucky enough to have it engulf any inch of her heart). Not love the way my favorite romance novels depict it anyways: this all encompassing, sexy, possessive, animalistic, desire-laced love. I know love like my parents’ (well, the kind they had before they both died). Not a fiery and lustful love but the kind of love that obligates you to come home to the same person every night. The kind of love that embraces a certain mundane familiarity, it seats you next to your love every evening with a good book and a glass of wine and tells you there isn’t a need to fill the silence with unnecessary noise. The kind of love that is consistent, predictable, and comfortable. 

Love At First Sight? I am a hopeless romantic in every sense of the word, but I find it hard to believe that such a fairytalesque passion could exist. I hope. I dream. I long for it, but the scepticism deep within me often overpowers my thirst for it. My theory is this: when we feel that scorching fervor drawing us towards a complete stranger, it isn’t their personality or their character that yanks our hearts to a halt, but rather their appearance. Their presence. Their scent. What else is there to cling to at first glance anyways? Admit it--we all gravitate towards the hot guys and the popular girls and everyone else just has to work a little bit harder to earn our attention. 

There almost seems to be some kind of universal understanding. One that tells us that cute guys are trustworthy and funny and great in bed, and the not-so-cute ones are desperate loners who probably live in their mother’s basement and would steal your panties if given the opportunity. Maybe that’s harsh but you know what I mean. When you walk into a party, perhaps your subconscious scans the room for potential victims, and automatically tunes out the duds. If your eyes lock in on one individual it is because the others are crap, not because he is…the one.

Next time your heart flutters when a mysterious mister walks by, know it’s likely just raging lust. There are so many hunks of muscle that could make you feel that way. Don’t quote me on that though, I’m no expert…Hell, I’m not even a little good at this stuff. I’m newly twenty-four years old and my first and last kiss was nearly two decades ago from a snotty-nosed second-grader who wanted to know what it felt like. It didn’t feel good. 

Pseudo suitors have come and gone over the years, I tried online dating but fell one d*ck pic short of a breakdown. I’m not the most feminine maiden, but surely there are some parts of me that are worth loving. I would like to think that with a little more effort I could be considered pretty, maybe if I wore my hair down and out of the sloppy bun it lives in, and I tried my hand at makeup…though I’ve always been told I have a pretty face. Even if it was my mother who told me this, I believe it to be true.

So in short, you must understand the confusion that met all of the tingly parts within me when I was almost forced to amend my views on love (love At First Sight, more specificlly). Something so closely resembling it trickled through me, it breathed into me hope and desire and intrigue. It was like the ground beneath me melted away and I was starting to fall...fall deeply into Like. 

It was a cool autumn night and my friend Eleanor invited me over for a quiet birthday dinner with just a few friends. I found out soon after arriving that it wasn’t so quiet and it wasn’t so small, but I guess she knew I wouldn’t come if she called it a party. My idea of an evening out on the town included ice cream, a movie, and a curfew of 11pm. 

I felt inferior sneaking over to the gift table to leave the hand-made clay vase and saw that her other friends clearly loved her so much more than I. There was a glass donation box overflowing with handwritten notes and $100 bills, one of the gifts had a bow larger than my head, and all of the others were at least twice the size of mine. So I tucked my petite, nicely-wrapped treasure at the very back of the table and hoped I would be half-way home before she had the chance to open it. For what it’s worth, mine also had an extremely heart-felt card, and I think that is worth more than all of the money that glared at me from the corner of the table!

Though, I would have preferred the cash.

“Don’t be mad.” Eleanor whispered as she snuck around me with her hands over her mouth, “I knew you wouldn’t come, and I really wanted you to come!” 

I could tell she was already a few drinks deep when a legitimate tear welled up and teased the corner of her eye. 

“I’m not mad, I totally would have still come!” 

No, I wouldn’t have.

Before she could respond something *someone caught my attention from over her shoulder. He was leaning over the kitchen island with both elbows down and a drink in one hand. He had spiraling curls grazing his forehead and the most intriguing blue-green eyes. 

“Mmm…who’s that?” I nodded his way, never breaking the stare.

“Him? I think his name’s Miko, or Milo…something like that,” She looked back at me, almost surprised I noticed him at all. “He wasn’t even invited, I guess he was Rich's ride.”

Rich: Eleanor’s on-again-off-again-on-again boyfriend turned wannabe rockstar-musician by night.

When I saw this Miko/Milo character so casually leaning against the island, something in me fluttered. It couldn’t be love at first sight because…you know, that doesn’t exist. Was it lust? He was good looking in a playfully sexy kind-of-a way, but nothing ragingly powerful. Whatever it was, I found myself drawn to him. I faked small talk with Eleanor for a few minutes but I think she could tell my mind was preoccupied, “Okay…clearly you don’t care.”

“Is he single?” I ignored her comment. 

“Girl. I have no idea. Go ask him!” She nudged with a smirk. 

I’ve never been bold or outgoing and I have NEVER walked up to a guy I liked and made small talk. I’ve always waited for them to come to me and…well,  they never do. If I’m expecting some fairytale type love to fall into my lap, I might be waiting for a while. So I decided, I would at least try to say hi…that’s innocent enough. There’s little room for rejection in a hi.

Oh so parched, I snuck over to the kitchen where he happened to be and grabbed a cup from the counter next to him. He was talking to Rich and I caught a glimpse of his dimple-laced smile. Oh my lanta. My heart has never leapt like that. I wanted to leap too…right on top of him! Ugh.

If I believed in that “past-life” manure I would have thought we knew each other in a past life. Maybe we were even married. He seemed like a family man. I could picture thanksgiving at my parent’s house. He would relax with the guys and their coveted football madness while I gossiped in the kitchen with my sisters about him. Or maybe we were just best friends whose souls were connected with a pure, unpartable love. 

I am normal guys, I promise. I have never in my life felt this, I’ve never been so drawn to a complete stranger. I found myself longing to know him…what was his name, what things did he enjoy, was he single? That was the most important question of all. It would be just my luck to fall in like with a married man. That’s a story for another day. 

I was now leaning against the counter a few feet from him with my arms crossed and my cup dangling at my lips. There was suddenly no other place I wanted to be, but I didn’t want to hover either. I guess he noticed my stolen glances because he looked my way and within seconds he was standing in front of me. I could feel my blood pressure rising. 

“What are you drinking, I’ll grab a refill for you?” 

Oh my word. I felt like a teenage fan-girl at a concert. In the ten minutes I spent admiring him he became this illustrious, untouchable, sexy, creature in my mind so it felt like I was talking to a celebrity. A subtly beautiful celebrity. A subtly beautiful celebrity I wanted to run my embarrassingly sweaty hands all over.

“Oh. Thank you, it’s just a diet coke I think.” I handed my cup over and perched my lips together in what I thought was a sexy smile, but it probably looked like I was biting myself.

“Coming right up.” He winked. 

I couldn’t tell if it were butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, or my ovaries dancing. Soon he was back and I can’t even remember what he said next. I thought about some advice my mom gave me shortly before she died. Even though her death was sudden I still feel like she knew it was coming because everyday after school she snuck in tidbits and nuggets of advice for life, almost like a parting gift. As a selfish fourteen year old, I didn’t find it strange at all, I was weirdly annoyed that she kept pulling me aside to talk. 

Anyways. She told me a story about a man she met on the city bus many, many years prior. She took the same bus to work every morning because she had to be at the bank she worked at by 7am. So everyday at 6:15am she boarded the bus whose stop was only a few blocks from her house. The stop right after hers introduced a kind, handsome man who sat two seats away from her. She wasn’t sure if he actually needed to ride the bus, or if he rode it just for her because she often caught him stealing glances her way. One especially chilly morning, in a gesture so pure, he brought her a warm cup of coffee and a smile. She was caught off guard, but she accepted it. You see, she had a plan. Her plan was to finish school, to find a good job, buy a house, and then meet a man…and in only that order. Because of this plan, she wouldn’t allow herself to see the kind, thoughtful, sexy man right in front of her--but still he greeted her with a warm smile and a piping hot cup of coffee every morning after that, and every morning after that she accepted it with a smile and little more. Soon she came to expect these daily cups of sunshine. One chilly Monday morning she assumed her usual position towards the middle of the bus, and when they got to his stop she waited to see her piping hot cup of joe walk her way. Instead, the doors closed and the bus pulled away. The next day again, no hot coffee and no handsome suitor. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and she really started to miss those daily cups of coffee…not because of the coffee really, but because of the kind man attached to them. It was many years before she would eventually meet my dad, and she admits she felt like she was settling because she thought that she was getting older and wanted to start a family before it was too late, so she met my father and succumbed to the clock ticking in her head. I know she loved my father (in a safe-and-comfortable kind of way), but I know she also never forgot about the kind man on the bus. She often wondered if he was the one that got away. So she always told my sisters and I to seize every opportunity, and to never turn away love, she said when you feel your heart flutter for him, to embrace it because not everyone can make your heart feel excited enough to flutter.

So as I stood in the middle of my friend’s loud and crowded kitchen, accepting a drink from a complete stranger, my heart fluttered. It had no reason to, but it did. So I embraced it. 

“It’s kind of noisy in here, do you want to talk outside?” He loudly whispered. I nodded. 

His hand gripped the small of my back and he led me gently through the front door. 

The front porch was very short and narrow but there was just enough room for us to sit hip-to-hip. With the door closed behind us everything suddenly felt so calm, and so peaceful. It was dark now, and the coolest breeze wrestled through our clothes. 

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” He wondered.

Here we go. Of course not! …well, maybe? I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

“I certainly do not,” he chuckled. “I just wondered if you did. You’ve been staring at me a lot.”

“Simmer down Mr. Hotshot. Offer me your jacket already, it’s freaking cold.” It really was cold, but I also just wanted to feel a piece of him against me. Without a word he slid it off of himself and laid it over my shoulders, it was still warm and it smelled like him. 

“So, how do you know Eleanor?” I asked.

“I don’t, really. I’m just here for moral support, my buddy Rich wants to patch things over with her. Really, I think he’s just here for the make-up sex.” He winked. 

I’ve never seen such a perfect wink, from such a perfect eye, attached to such a perfect man. 

Calm down, Avery. 

It felt like hours passed while we sat there on the cold concrete talking and laughing. He told me about his fluffy mut Wednesday, and about his job at the Marketing Firm downtown. He even worked in a few stories about how much he enjoyed working out and his goals for a six-pack that could shred through paper.

“So, what’s your name?” He asked. I felt like I had been here with him forever, so I almost forgot he didn’t know my name. “It’s Avery.” I smiled.

“Beautiful.” 

“My name?” I bashfully wondered.

“Yes, but I meant you. I really want to kiss you…but I’m not going to. I’m so intrigued by you, and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about me.” 

Oh my lanta. He’s perfect. 

“You’re gonna need this.” He so confidently smirks as he hands me a card with his number hand-written on the back of it.

Milo (future boyfriend)

Presumptive, but I don’t mind. Milo. I’ve never met anyone named Milo before but suddenly I love that name. I will name my son Milo. Milo. Milo the second, it’s a strong name. A sexy name. It’s his name. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He wondered.

“You’re a nosy guy, Milo.” I was trying not to sound too eager. Trying not to sound like a girl who’s never had a boyfriend, a girl who’s never kissed a man with a name as strong as Milo, “Do you have a girlfriend?” I really hoped the answer would be no. 

“You’re a Nosy Nelly, Miss Avery,” he snipped and quickly I regreted my snarky answer. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Before I realize it my feet are moving and I’m climbing into his car. 

Why am I climbing into his car? 

If he thinks I’m going to be an easy booty-call, he’s got another thing coming. Maybe. The ride was still for a few moments and the awkwardness in me felt the need to fill it with the first thing that came to mind. 

“You smell amazing.”

He smiled but kept his eyes glued to the road.

Ugh, I’m so weird.

**********

The road is becoming more and more narrow now. Trees that used to sway in the distance are now hugging our path on both sides. It doesn’t even feel like a road anymore really, more like a path trampled in the grass. Still we drive, further and further. There are no more street signs, no more lights. Further still we drive. Any rational damsel would realize she’s about to be brutally raped and murdered, and how? Because she so willingly climbed in the car with a complete stranger and gave him total control. Was I worried? No. I can’t explain why, but I wasn’t. It probably isn’t normal to fall so quickly into this web of infactuation, but here I am. And what a hypocrite it makes me. I remember borderline bullying Eleanor for going on a date with Rich after only texting him for two days prior. No matter how special she told me he was or how well she got to know him so quickly, I lectured her on how stupid she was being. I scolded her and told her there was no way she could feel anything for him so quickly, that she was just lusting…and hard. Yet, here I am. I am willing to be murdered by the mysteriously gorgeous man who commands the steering wheel with only three fingers. 

Finally the car rolls to a stop. It feels like we’ve been driving for hours but it’s probably only been twenty minutes. Through squinted eyes I tried to make out even just a single shape from the deafening darkness around us, with no luck. 

I’m honestly feeling a little more nervous now than I did before. “Where are we?”

“My second favorite place in the world,” he smiled. 

He climbs out of the car and quickly walks around to my side and swings the door open. His outstretched hand invites me out with him and he places my hand over his shoulder as he turns around and begins to walk, “Follow me.”

We walk for a few minutes over snapping twigs and unkempt grass until it can finally be seen in the distance. 

It is so beautiful. 

“Wow.”