Fated by an Owl

Of course I’m stuck here with him. Of all the people at this stupid wedding, it’s him. Rain pounds on the tin roof above, echoing through the dark expanse of the barn. Faint illumination from the string lights outside filter in through the dusty single-pane windows, leaving most of the barn clad in deep shadows of blue and grey.

He’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, suit jacket peeled away from his shirt, damp with rain. The peach rose in his lapel has all but wilted down to nothing, looking nearly as sad and forlorn as he. His hair, which at the beginning of the day had been groomed to perfection, has now fallen to a slight curl that rests atop his forehead. His brows cast a shadow over his eyes, hiding them from view, but I don’t need to see them to feel their steely grey gaze upon me. They’ve been on me all night.

I cross my arms and tilt my chin up in an effort to maintain some level of dignity. My dress is completely soaked, clinging to my body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something to offend you?” He asks, scuffing the toe of his brown leather shoe on the concrete floor.

Yes. “No.”

A dimple emerges on his left cheek. “I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

“You’ve known me for four days, James.”

“You have a tell,” he says, taking a cautious step forward.

I glare at him, and he halts. “I do not have a tell.”

His head tilts to the side, the way it does when his curiosity is piqued by a peculiar abstract painting. “It’s your mouth.” He pauses for effect. I can’t help but draw my tongue across my bottom lip, knowing he’s watching. “When you’re lying you purse your lips, ever so slightly. Your cheeks suck in and your lips pucker. But you don’t look away. No. You maintain eye contact, daring the other person to question you. I doubt many do. It’s an act of rebellion.”

My face warms under his scrutiny. He’s right. His earnest and thorough study of the idiosyncrasies of my anatomy, down to the slightest movement of my lips, has divulged much more than a simple lying tell. To know my lips so well just from looking, I wonder how much more he would discover if—

I shake my head and turn away, focusing on my breath in an attempt to slow the sudden rapid beat of my pulse.

“Whatever it is I’ve done, Anna. Please, tell me, if only so I don’t repeat it.” His voice is closer now. He’s taken advantage of having my back turned. I can feel how close he is by the spark between us, growing stronger and warmer the closer he gets. My body is drawn to him, lured by him… But my body is a traitor to the logical part of my mind, the part clinging to the image of another woman in his arms mere hours ago.

Turning quickly, I take a step towards him, the stride of a predator about to strike its prey. He shrinks back, and a clap of thunder lights up his eyes for the briefest moment, betraying the vulnerability deep within. I swallow, both the knot in the back of my throat, and my pride. “You don’t want to repeat the same mistake with me? Or with Cassandra?”

The mood shifts, his head drooping to his chest. “You saw that.”

“Everyone saw it.”

“I didn’t ask for her to kiss me.”

“People don’t generally ask to be kissed.”

“I do.”

“You haven’t with—" I cut myself off before I say something I regret.

The pause between us is nearly as weighted as the humidity of the August evening, more electric than the storm that had barely held back long enough for photographs and first dances. It’s more palpable than the close, damp smell of the barn that cocoons us from the rest of the world.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.” His voice is low, nearly a whisper.

I can’t help the smile that inches its way onto my face. “For someone who knows my lips so well when they lie, you’re awfully daft at knowing what it is they truly want.”

He chuckles. “I am a man, after all. We can be quite daft at times.”

“I’m glad you’re man enough to admit that.”

He regards me for a moment. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He smirks. “Another lie.”

I bite my lip, cursing it.

He takes another cautious step towards me. “Cassandra is an old acquaintance. We were close once, but… no longer. A kiss like that would have meant something to me once, but now… it means nothing.”

I could hardly imagine a kiss like that meaning nothing. The way her curvaceous body had wrapped around him, how his hands had found their way to the small of her back, the curls of her blonde hair swaying. She’d kissed him in all the ways I’d wanted him to kiss me, at all the opportunities we’d wasted.

He didn’t kiss me four days ago, when mere hours after meeting we had found each other alone in the coat closet, both of us needing a reprieve from the blaring music, where we’d shared an hours long conversation void of any meandering small talk. He didn’t kiss me three nights ago when we’d abandoned the rest of the wedding party at the pub downtown in favour of an art gallery, where we’d snuck into a closed exhibition and I’d first made note of his quiet intensity, of the curious tilt of his head, of the way electricity seemed to jump between our bodies. And he didn’t kiss me two nights ago after the stagette when I was so drunk I could barely stand. That was probably for the best.

But he did kiss her last night. When he should have been kissing me.

“I should go,” I say, my voice husky. It would be better to leave now, before I make more of a fool of myself. The cold rain would do me good, snap me out of the spell he puts me under.

He shakes his head. “If you want to be alone, I’ll go. If you want me to walk out of this barn, get on a plane tomorrow, fly to the other side of the country, and never see you again, then I will…” He pauses, hesitating, weighing his words. “Do you want me to leave?”

A pressure forms behind my eyes and my throat constricts. “Yes.”

James exhales slowly, then gives a subtle nod of his head. “Another lie.”

He turns to leave, and inside I’m screaming for him to turn around, to come back, to stay, but no words come out; they die, strangled in my throat with the pride I thought I’d swallowed.

A barn owl swoops down out of nowhere, screeching, talons bared. James stumbles backwards, crashing into me. I scream in surprise and terror as I fall backwards. James grabs me and twists as we fall, landing on a pile of straw with me on his chest.

I gasp, barely registering what happened. James’ breathing is rapid, and I can feel the strong beat of his heart beneath my hand resting upon him. The bird settles into a higher roost, leaving us to the relative silence of the rain pelting on the tin above us. Then it’s just him, and me, and the pounding of our hearts and the breath caught in our throats. The logical side of my brain can no longer remember why I was angry, why I wanted him to leave, why I was afraid to let him close… and all that’s left is my heart, telling me not to waste one more chance to have his lips upon mine.

“Kiss me,” I whisper.

He obliges.

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