Austentatious

assortment of novelty lights and that perfect ice cream scoop of moon. The Pendleton blanket I was curled beneath was sort of cramping my style, but you have to roll with the punches. That might as well be the motto of Friday night karaoke at Laura and Leslie’s, and yet, I had to admit the calendar’s latest quote had me a bit on edge. It read, “ ‘Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.’ Emma.” I couldn’t agree more: I’d never been big on surprises simply because you couldn’t plan on surprises. I did my best to just sit back and relax. Sean had been thrilled to come along with me tonight, and the girls took to him from the get-go—he even managed to snag Leslie’s approval.

“Tell me this,” she demanded of Sean, “are your intentions with regard to Nicola honorable?” With raised eyebrows she warned, “Consider your answer carefully.”

I missed his answer, but judging by the cacophony of laughter and Leslie’s “that’ll do, pig” attitude, it was spot-on. Hardly a surprise.

It seemed my fledging relationship was nearly perfect. And yet ... I had this odd feeling that something was off.

Sean was in his element, effortlessly charming and at the same time strategically self-deprecating. Listening to him work the patio, one could almost imagine that he understood these women’s frustration with men and that he empathized with their decision to switch teams. And then he’d offer up an encouraging wink, a boyish grin, or a playful lift of his brows, and it seemed—to me as a spectator—as if they froze a moment in frantic, ponderous thought, wondering if they’d made the right decision. It was like magic ... or momentary hypnosis ... just how far a dollop of charm could carry him.

It had definitely gone the distance with me. But as devil-may-care as he appeared, I got the impression that Sean hadn’t abandoned that original “now or never” mind-set and its associated urgency. He’d seemed anxious to tell me something earlier, but Leslie had shanghaied him the moment we’d crossed the fence line. I hadn’t had a moment alone with him since. With the whole weekend stretching empty ahead of us, he should have plenty of time. For lots of things.

It was during a pleasant little daydream that Leslie sidled up and perched herself onto the edge of my papasan. For anyone unfamiliar with papasan geometry, it’s a circular chair with spherical depth—no edge and no perch. Leslie started sliding immediately. And speaking as the girl at the bottom, it was a slippery slope indeed.

“He’s got a cute ass,” she informed me, gesturing with her margarita glass. A bit of the rim salt tumbled down to join the cupcake crumbs on my blanket.

Glad to have settled on a topic we could both agree on, I turned eagerly in his direction. My gaze fell first on the profile of his face, etched with shadow and light against a twilight sky. He turned at that moment, as if sensing our eyes on him, and sent a curiously amused smile back in our direction, toasting us with a longneck beer.

Leslie leaned in farther until she was hovering over me, precariously balanced on her hipbone. Avalanche conditions.

I’d psyched myself up for the papasan extrication—one fluid motion, up and out—when Tawny Brown, a rare talent in the backyard karaoke set, stepped up to the microphone.

“Okay, ladies. I know you’ve been waiting. Our token male of the evening, Mr. Sean MacInnes,” she swept her hand around him like he was a showcase on The Price Is Right, “is going to give us a little sample of what a man can do with our equipment.”

Wild and wolfish whistling ensued, and Sean took up the gauntlet, accepting the microphone from Tawny. I took the opportunity to extricate myself from the papasan.

“I’m gonna go warm up by the grill,” I told Leslie before scooting quickly away.

Selecting his song from the machine’s playlist, Sean turned back to his audience, the quirk of his lips hinting at unrepentant cockiness. Not really wishing to have this performance interrupted by a chat on what sort of havoc animal fats could wreak on a person’s system, I didn’t quite make it all the way to the grill, instead choosing a spot midway between the Ls.

When the music started, I didn’t recognize it, and Sean seemed to be reveling in his little mystery. His lips stayed quirked with the secret right up until, with a clear, bright voice, he launched into the jaunty, unfamiliar lyrics, singing of sailors and marines.

Now I was definitely baffled. But as Sean kept singing the lyrics he clearly had memorized, I kept thinking it was going to come to me. And then, just before the refrain, it did. South Pacific.

Leave it to Sean to come up with a song that playfully paired “dandy games” with “dames.” My hand fluttered to my mouth as I let my eyes stray from Sean to gauge the gals’ reactions. Mostly they seemed impressed. Whether with his voice or song choice, I couldn’t say.

And as he finished the last, rapid-fire verse with a flourish, down on one knee with his hands spread wide, the lesbian karaoke crowd went wild. Sean was an undeniable success.

“Not too shabby, mister,” Tawny praised with a good-natured wink, once she’d taken back the microphone. “Now if you could just get our karaoke virgin up here ...”

Sean’s eyes beelined to mine, and Tawny’s followed leisurely, confident in the failure of this casual challenge. It only took one lift of his brows and one single shake of my head for that idea to die a dismal death. Tawny was the first to accept it.

“Don’t sweat it, sweetie,” she told him. “It’s an impossible dream. Girl ain’t never gonna sing.” And with a good-natured tsking of her lips aimed in my direction, Tawny set her sights elsewhere. “So who’s up next? Seems Laura and Leslie have all the show tunes—who knew those girls were so gay?” I was off the hook, out of the spotlight, right where I wanted to be.

Free of the spotlight himself, Sean headed in my direction, his grin sliding over me as lovely as twilight.

“You a big fan of show tunes?” I couldn’t help but inquire.

“Big enough. And I know a little something about playing to the crowd.” Despite his wide grin, a touch of the defensive seeped into his voice.

“I’ve seen you in action,” I answered, conscious of a dual interpretation.

Dimpling adorably, he leaned in and lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. “Suppose we continue our evening somewhere else?”

My reaction time impressed even Sean, and within seconds we were back in the darkness on my side of the fence, whispering and giggling, wondering how soon we’d be missed. But as I was fumbling with the keys, babbling about my impressive collection of take-out menus, Sean clarified his original suggestion.

“I thought we’d go out, hit a few pubs, hear a few bands.”

I was still registering my misunderstanding when his words began tumbling out, over and around each other in helpless irritation. “I’d meant to tell you earlier—I’d hoped to get my flight pushed back, but I’ve exhausted all options, and I’m afraid I have to leave tomorrow.”

Wiry branches of live oak shifted above me in the wind, and I was conscious of a rushing in my ears. “Wha- aa-t?” It was all I could manage. I was having trouble processing every bit of it: the leaving, the fact that he was springing it on me in the manner of a pesky obligation, and rather critically, the tomorrow.

“I’m flying back to Scotland tomorrow. My flight’s been arranged for six months now at least, and despite —”

“Flying back to Scotland to ... visit? ” Surely this should have come up before now.

Sean looked slightly befuddled by this question. “I suppose you could say that, but—I thought you realized that I’m—the band—we’re an actual Scottish pub band—from Scotland. We flew over for South by Southwest.”

Scotland? ... Home of the mysterious, fantastical Loch Ness Monster. And, it seemed, my own fantasy as well.

Images from our Technicolor, whirlwind week flashed in my mind, a study in confusion. Had I known this deep down? Had Fairy Jane had me so distracted that I’d missed the warning signs—or deliberately ignored them? Surely he didn’t think he could just drop this bomb on me now—today—the day before tomorrow! “But ... you seem to know Austin as well as a local.”

“I’ve come for the festival several years running. And I Google.” This had him quirking an apologetic smile, and I felt the tiniest little flicker of anger licking at my insides.