Austentatious

My words were there, but I’d replaced them myself—inconclusive. The next page confirmed what I’d already suspected....

Miss Nicola James will be sensible and indulge in a little romance ... Not with a man, with a dress ...

The cheeky little cleavage excerpt a la Fairy Jane had disappeared just as stealthily as it had arrived. I flipped ahead to check the other entries—all fully intact—and then let the journal thump closed, quickly yanking the key out of the lock. The reverse transformation was no less awe-inspiring, and suddenly the stocky volume had once again turned slim, and I held the key in the palm of my hand.

Glancing casually in the direction of the counter, I made a snap decision: This key clearly belonged with the journal, so by rights, it was included in the original purchase price. I refused to run the risk of Shop Nazi–induced complications for an item that was justifiably mine. What if she insisted I demonstrate lock/key compatibility? I wasn’t willing to take that risk. So feeling very cloak and dagger, I slipped out of the shop without a word.

On the walk back to the car, it occurred to me that with the key removed, the excerpts had probably returned to the journal. Which made me wonder whether a new one had appeared in response to my latest rant.

Curious, I tipped open the cover and tried to subdue the pages as they riffled in the wind. Carefully turning past the controversial “pencil him in,” I saw that Fairy Jane had struck again. I reread the leftover words with mounting anxiety, feeling undeniably trapped.

10 On condition that you take the romance seriously.

Evidently Fairy Jane was not above a little quid pro quo, and as disturbing as that was, I didn’t want to think about it right now. I didn’t particularly care to think about the fact that my little plan—the Nic James Life Plan—was being systematically dismantled, and I was standing helplessly by, struggling to decide whether I even wanted to piece it back together. My world had gone topsy-turvy.

My favorite cupcake spot was nearby, tucked into a shiny silver Airstream trailer, and right now, I needed a fix—bad. Winking in the sunlight with a giant rotating cupcake on its roof, Hey Cupcake! was a city treasure. I stepped up to the window under the frosting-pink awning, closed my eyes, and inhaled the sweet scent of cake and frosting. Today I needed the Double Dose Whipper Snapper, with its injection of whipped cream, and of course, the requisite carton of milk.

Carrying my order to an umbrella-covered table just beyond the metallic glare of the trailer, I let myself be hypnotized by the sprinkle-topped jumbo replica on the roof, and for five solid minutes just let it be about the cupcake. At five minutes, two seconds, I simultaneously got a “Where are you?” text and remembered the meeting for which I was now horribly late.

Shit! I’d never missed a meeting—never even been late—and now all I could think was that I didn’t want to leave my happy cupcake place. I wanted to hide out inside the trailer and forget everything that had happened in the last seventy-two hours. I. Was. Not. Myself.

Time to regroup. First I needed to ground myself, because right now I was either floating or free-falling, it was difficult to tell. The answers I wanted—some of them at least—were in the journal, and it seemed like Cat Nelson’s entries might be the perfect place to find them. Depending on what I found, I might even want to roadtrip down to New Braunfels to quiz Mr. Nelson in person on what he knew about his sister’s experience with an honest- to-God Fairy Jane.

Pulling the journal out of my bag as covertly as possible, I tucked it under the table in front of me and glanced around to see if I had an audience. I didn’t—evidently no one went for cupcakes at one-thirty P.M. on a weekday. I turned the key and felt the weight of a hundred secrets on my lap—a couple of hefty pounds.

Riding high on a sugar rush, I flipped to the end, searching for Cat’s first entry. It appeared she was already a little sweet on Tyler Honeycutt.

Everywhere I turn, he’s holding a door or tipping his hat. Seeing his clean-shaven face smiling down at me underneath the brim of his Stetson, a shiver of excitement runs through me. He’s wearing me down, little by little—it makes me nervous to think about it.

The second entry covered the barbeque and dance held at the VFW hall and a corsage of yellow roses.

I don’t even pretend to know how you seem to “know” certain things—about me, about him—but I figure this is my life, and I need to make my own decisions. And I think Tyler is the man for me.

The next couple of entries came off as vaguely snide—much like my own entries—as if Cat was getting advice she wasn’t prepared to take. I could relate. It seemed as if Fairy Jane was fighting a losing battle. But something must have shifted the balance....

Then I found it.

Tyler’s older brother Jameson lost his leg today working on a combine. I’m doing my best to be useful in this time of tragedy and praying for the family, but I can’t help but consider how this all affects Tyler and me. I don’t imagine that Jameson can manage to run the ranch now, which means the job will fall to Tyler. We had big plans—plans to see the world, to have adventures, and now he’ll be tied to the ranch, and me with him if I agree to marry him. I’ve already said yes, and while, in most cases, I reserve the right to change my mind, I can’t decide what to do. I don’t want to jilt him, but I don’t want to be trapped here either. What can I do? What would you do?

A quick scan produced the relevant words: “don’t marry him.” And much as I felt for Tyler—not to mention Jameson—I had to side with Fairy Jane on this one. And judging by my brief conversation with Mr. Nelson, Cat had ultimately decided to do the same.

So she’d taken Fairy Jane’s advice and seemingly gone on to live a lovely life. Seemingly. I gulped down the rest of my milk, scoped out my surroundings—I still had my picnic table to myself—and kept reading.

I did it—I broke it off with Tyler. It was harder than I thought it would be. I guess I thought he’d understand since he’d had the same dreams I had, but he didn’t, not at all. He went on and on about family obligations and responsibility, and I understood that, I really did, but Fredericksburg was never going to be big enough for me. I’d been waiting for as long as I could remember to get out, and I just couldn’t stay. I kissed him good-bye and tasted my own salty tears. He didn’t shed a single one for me, and when I left, there was only anger and hurt in his eyes. I know I made the right decision, and I’m relieved to have, if not an actual person, then at least a voice on my side, so thank you... .

After that, Cat’s entries ran to her involvement with the USO, her training in the Army Nurse Corps and deployment to Normandy, France, and other adventures after the war. Her entries were a little spottier as time passed, and they never made mention of another man, which, of course, made me wonder: Had Tyler Honeycutt been her one true love? Had she traded her happily-ever-after for a chance to see the world? Had she had any regrets, held a grudge against Fairy Jane? Had she ever come back to Texas?

I snapped the journal shut and twisted out the key, conscious of a subtle, sucking sound as the secrets retreated back inside the journal.

Cat Nelson had clearly had a rewarding life, but what about love? I certainly didn’t want to stick to the Nic James Life Plan if it meant I’d spend the rest of my life as a Do-It-Yourself-er. As far as I was concerned, the matter was inconclusive.

And I supposed, in my brave new world, the next step was obvious: Tomorrow’s lunch hour would be spent on a roadtrip to New Braunfels. I’d track down Mr. Nelson and hope to get a few answers.