No Reason Not To

She has no reason to, but she dresses up cute tonight. Well, there’s no reason not to, either. She looks the final product over in the mirror. A little eccentric, but still cute.

Her short brown hair is pinned on one side with an oversized silver bow; her makeup is quick and fresh; her lips, though, are howling red like the fire engine. The snug black dress is accented at the waist with a silver belt and, to match her lips, two blazing legs smothered in red nylons slink from the frilly skirt into black high heels. She doesn’t care that the pumps will place her even higher above the already too few number of males just in her reach; she won’t be looking out for anyone but herself tonight.

Walking the sidewalk like a runway she gains confidence with each breath. The night is warm, no jacket needed. A pulsing beat sounds from the building ahead and her pace syncs. She gets in for free. It pays to know people.

The opening door blasts sound into her face like a hot wind.

“Hey Michelle,” she yells over the noise.

“Hey, girl! Daaaaang! Give me a squeeze!” Her much shorter friends always get her boobs right in the face when she hugs them. She’s never bothered to ask how they feel about that.

“Who’s on tonight?”

“Oh, just some of my FAVES!” Michelle is always exuberant. She rattles the band names off and stamps her friend’s hand. “Go in, I’ll text you!”

It’s better to text than talk anyway. Not in general, just when both eardrums aren’t being pounded so hard they revise the beat of the heart.

She can hardly understand a word the band sings, but their movement articulates loudly and their sound make grooves in the air. This is a great band. Her favorite thing to do here, though, isn’t to watch the band. The people. They always dress in a way that makes her feel free, like the world is a bigger place. They dance like sea creatures, or peruse the crowd like lions, or pulse like grasshoppers and sweat like construction workers. She sits and reads them like words.

--OMG check out this guy that just walked in!! u r gonna luv him!! <3 oh eff, he might be with another girl. But ur HOTter!!--

Oh Miss Chelle, she smiles. But one thing for sure, she’s right. ‘Luv’ him. Not just cute, tall. (Because why would she love anyone otherwise?) But not just cute and tall. Hot. Cool, smooth. She can read it. Especially on this one. Probably because he knows it. The cute ones always do, and they ruin it. They ruin the cuteness with coolness.

The girl he’s with, they must be together. She’s gorgeous, like he is. She’s tall, too. Yeah, she makes the assumptions just like every other tall person.

Her eyes follow him, and her, but mostly him. They don’t hold hands. They stand by the stage near the hall toward the bathroom. She suddenly needs to go to the bathroom.

--Way cute. No way he’s not taken--

--Steal him! lol no, jk! But stop sitting there and make yourself seen, girl! Don’t waste what God gave u!--

She puts her phone in her clutch and starts threading through the crowd to the little girl’s room. The body-lined trail is luckily aiming to pass right in front of the guy and his lady friend, enough squeezing room in front of the stage.

Usually oblivious to attention, now she can’t help but notice people turning, staring, most of them looking up to see her, some looking down to see if it’s all natural, some looking up and down for a full check out. This aint no library, she thinks in Michelle’s voice for a shot of rousing confidence. But all the attention makes her kind of nervous and she nearly turns to return to her safe sitting position. But how awkward that would be…

Heads above the rest, it couldn’t be avoided much longer. He sees her. He notices her when she’s hesitating and looking positively deerish. A nerd out of bookland like a fish out of water. A fish dressed like sushi, or at least that’s as awkward as she feels. Especially when he doesn’t look away but just keeps blinking slowly, his eyes nibbling a taste. This aint no party platter. Michelle’s voice makes her smile. Oh no, he thinks she’s smiling at him. Keep walking; you started it, you have to finish it.

She refocuses her attention on safe passage through the maze. The farther from the head and the higher the heel, her shoe selection requires proportionate concentration toward the floor. Before she realizes she has forgotten how she’s dressed, she looks up to confirm her path and there he is. She must pass the lady friend and then between him and the stage to get to the restroom.

His eyes are softer than a fresh loaf of bread, and warmer. She feels like the melting butter under his gaze. She keeps her head turned slightly in his direction, steadies her passage with her hand on the stage, and sees him look her down (he’s still taller, even with her heels) as she does her best to walk away in command of her senses.

The mirror reflects the same sight she’d seen an hour ago, only with burning cheeks to match her lips. She doesn’t really have to use the toilet so she touches up her lips, dabs a finger of scent to her neck and behind one ear. Figuring she couldn’t do much about the rest, like it or not, she washes her hands for good measure and leaves.

She looks down and touches her hair as she steps into view of the coral reef crowd. She makes a glance where he should be. He’s gone. The lady friend is still there, cozy with another guy. Hmm, so she’s not with him. Her interest then opens as much as her curious eyes, searching the room for where he might be.

Knowing she can’t stand there and look at everyone from the front of the crowd, she picks a target: Michelle. Sure it’s back at the entrance, but it’s at the back. And she can ask for water for an excuse. He’s nowhere on the way back. But she only looks casually, so maybe he could have been.

Wait, what is she doing? Men don’t rule her attention like this. She’s the boss. She’s yelling at Michelle again.

“Gosh, he’s so cute! You’re right!”

“Emily, Honey, I’m always right!”

“Can I have a water?”

“Would you like a tall glass of water?” Michelle jokes and points behind the flustered, thirsty fish in high heels.

She turns. He is looking at her as though he can feel her, but talking to one of the previous band’s members. The musician looks to see what he’s looking at and Emily blushes. And turns around again to stare Michelle down with wide, accusing eyes. But Michelle just hands her a bottle of water with a radiant smile. Emily goes for a dollar out of her purse and Michelle pushes it away, shaking her head, and texting someone. Still smiling.

Taking a deep breath Emily braces herself to turn around again. She keeps her eyes fully concentrated on the bottle of water in her hands. She tries to twist the lid off. Nothing. She wipes her palm on her hip and tries again. No movement. Using her hip then as stabling support, she tries again, exerting her obvious uselessness. Not gonna happen. She sticks the bottle in the air in front of her and turns her head in Michelle’s direction, speaking with her face.

It says, “Do I gotta be freakin Wonder Woman to get a drink?”

Michelle’s shrug replies, “You are Wonder Woman, you Amazon.” And she smiles.

The bottle in Emily’s hand is snatched from its wimpy perch, and her head snaps back to the direction her body is facing. Superman already has the bottle open and returns it, and the cap, to both her hands.

“Hi,” he says.

“What?” She yells.

He leans in closer and the flame-o-meter gauge spikes inside her. “Hi,” he repeats and she can hear wide ocean waves above the thundering band.

He doesn’t lean back, so she brings the bottle of water between them. He moves a little.

“Thanks,” she says with a twitch of the bottle.

“What?” he yells. And leans close again.

She actually forgets what she said when she realizes she can smell his skin. Sunscreen. No cologne. Heaven smells like sunscreen.

“Um, the water, thanks. For opening it.” She stammers perfectly.

The band member comes and grabs his shoulder.

“Dude, you’re up,” he yells.

He somewhere between shrugs and nods and moves to be swallowed into the crowd. She lets out the air caught unaware in her lungs.

The present band finishes and Michelle brightens the lights slightly and plays another band’s album overhead, while this mystery man sets up his band. Emily hears Michelle’s voice more easily, even while her whole head echoes the throbbing in her ears.

“Ooooooh! What did he say?”

“’Hi.’”

“What! That’s it?”

“Well, and ‘what’. We couldn’t hear each other. He opened my water bottle and I said thanks.”

“So presh!”

“He’s playing. Do you know him?”

“No, seriously brand new. He must be opening for someone or making a break or something.”

“Let’s hear what Good Looking sounds like,” Emily smiles and winks and returns to her sitting area. Perfect view.

The overhead music stops and the lights focus on the man.

“What’s up, guys. We’re three dudes that mostly surf and take romantic walks on the beach at sunset—“

“Not with each other,” pipes in the cellist. A crowd member tosses a holler in the air and laughter ripples through the mass.

“But sometimes we get together and sing, and that’s when our friends—“

“And our moms…”

“Call us ‘Charming’.” Some groupies cheer at the stating of the band name and the drums start the beat.

He sings and plays the guitar. He doesn’t look at his guitar at all, closes his eyes a lot, like a lot of musicians do, and sings like Amos Lee and Bryan Adams, but younger. Cleaner, like in the shower. The drums brush the air with a seductive lullaby and the cello pumps the air with passion. Emily feels her ears slip into a bubble bath. The sound transforms the joint.

Now the coral reef crowd sways in the current of musical tide. The people seem rooted through the floor, bodies and hair waving like branches in a breeze. Emily watches his mouth. That’s her favorite part of any guy. A mouth says more than words about a person.

--Mmmmmmm-- Michelle texts.

--haha agreed.--

Emily sips at her water and the words of the song tell a story about a girl whose footprints he follows in the sand. He likes the look of her walk and wonders why it was alone. He follows the trail, even when he fears for a while the waves washed it away, and finds her. An unabashed romantic. Jeez.

The applause continues as they begin their second song. It’s more upbeat and humorous, but still…charming. That’s just the word for them. For him. And charmers are always trouble, she tells herself. Never to be trusted, especially such talented, good looking ones.

Oh no, now she really does have to pee. She holds it a while, discouraged by the thought of nylons, but mother nature calls and must be answered. Don’t want her leaving any messages…

The third song begins and she moves again through the crowd, watching the ground for her safety. She walks slowly, her ears tugging, begging to stay. At the edge of the stage she looks up and he’s not looking at her (well duh, get over yourself, he only said ‘hi’), so she stands a moment to look at him from that view. (And opened your water bottle. And looked like he wanted to say more…)

The restroom receives her and she wiggles out of her nylons. The wiggling back in after she’s done is always so tedious and takes forever to get just right again. She washes her hands, reviews her face and teeth—no lipstick marks—and walks out again.

The next band is already setting up. Only three songs? And now he’s gone. Three beautiful, charming, simple melodies powerful enough to create life and she knows nothing else. And probably never will. Such is a night on the town.



Saturday, the next day, she decides to go to the temple. No reason not to. She dresses like a spring blossom and floats like a bird as she walks up the sidewalk toward the shimmering edifice. The sun warms her heart through her skin.

She serves as proxy to married persons already passed on so they have an opportunity to choose eternal marriage there where they are. She may not understand everything, but the peace is unmistakable inside the temple. She is happy. She desires to be married there herself. Someday.

After the hour of service pleasantly slips by, she requests to be escorted to the Celestial Room. In the center of the temple and near the top, it has a safe, close feeling. It shines brightly, reflecting the gladness inside her. The quiet is almost loud in her noise-drunk ears, hung over from the night before.

She stands near an occupied chair and leans against a wall, closing her eyes and relaxing her lips into a pensive smile. Life is good. It’s not perfect, but it’s good. It even gets better as time goes by, as she learns and experiences life. She has no reason not to be happy, so she soaks it in.

With a grateful exhale, like an amen after a prayer, she opens her eyes. He is there. Who? Who else? Prince ‘Charming’. Her neck picks her head up from its lean against the wall and her brow twists like a puzzle piece. He sees her. She looks immediately away. Then immediately back. He smiles and walks in her direction. Not happening. Seriously? No way.

He gets close enough to touch but doesn’t say anything. She can’t help but recognize the extreme difference between last night and this moment. Loud, silence. Dark, bright. Sparking passion at his closeness, now fearful nerves. So uncertain. So quiet.

“Hi,” he whispers. Emily smiles. She knows just what to say.

“What?” she winks and tilts her head.

He leans closer.

“Hi, I’m Ryan,” he whispers in her ear. She could smell clean laundry and faded cologne, and still the sunscreen. So close to Heaven in this room...

Did she forget her name?

“I’m Emily,” she remembers.

“Nice to meet you. Nice to see you here. Of all places.”

She nods. Same, ditto.

“Are you busy later?” he asks.

Never been asked out in the Celestial Room, that’s for sure, she muses. She shakes her head no.

“K, I’ll talk to you downstairs whenever you’re done up here.” His eyes gather the features of her face before he leaves to sit by himself in quiet.

Well, so much for a peaceful, settled mind. Impossible with a heart racing in place. But she pretends to think of something other than him, closing her eyes to help the facade. Does it majorly jinx things to be asked on a first date in the Celestial Room of the temple? But stop. He didn’t even ask you out. Did he?

Her mind and heart wrestle without victor. She opens her eyes as her mental composure yields defeat and she walks out of the brilliant room. She changes into her spring dress and wanders through the front lobby, looking, and decides to wait outside for him. If he shows. If he doesn’t, she tells herself, she’ll just be enjoying the weather, reading her scriptures like any person would do.

He’s already there. He bounds from seated on a bench to standing at her side in four sweeping steps.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Would you like to join me for lunch?”

“Um, sure. No reason not to.” She smiles. “Should we both drive or…”

“Oh,” his thoughts must be excitedly stuck in the present fact that he’s speaking to last night’s water bottle wimp. “I can drive. Or we could walk wherever. Or I can drive. I already said that. But I can bring you back here when we’re done. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

She laughs. “Let’s walk.” She’s actually not normally impulsive toward physical effort, but she chose flats this morning. “Where to?”

He hmms. “Creamery on Ninth is closest.”

“Sounds perfect,” she says. “It’s a nice day.” She throws it out like a belated icebreaker. Very smooth.

He smiles. Very smooth.

“Let me just put my bag in my car, yeah?” she says and he follows.

They walk to the Creamery in company of bright and humorous, very natural conversation, gentle air and affectionate sunshine. Maybe even some butterflies. She knows at least she has them in her stomach.

He is tall and grand and mega hot, but he is, unlike she assumed, unaware of it. She observes that he just seems to want to absorb as much life as he can, and it beams from him in rays of simple joy. She mistook it for conceit. He is genuine. She says ‘stop it’ to her tumbling heart many times. If it starts in the heart, well then the head starts falling over the heels and life gets messy.

In line to order food, she’s grateful it takes the woman in front of them about ten entire minutes to order for her five children and husband, a group that isn’t hard to miss, spilling out of a booth in the dining area. Ryan and Emily nudge each other and watch the kids wrestle and reach over each other while the dad silently wishes for at least five more arms, or restraining harnesses.

She has a hard time deciding what she wants to order, that’s why. But it’s their turn now.

“What do you want,” Ryan asks. She looks at him with confessing eyes.

“I think I want a corn dog,” she says. “It just sounds good.”

“Okay, two corn dogs,” he says.

“You want one, too?”

“No, you will want two. You can’t eat just one. Or if for some reason you can, then I’ll eat it. What else do you want?”

Besides you?

“And garlic bread,” she admits and covers half her face with her hand.

“And garlic bread,” he says, smiling. “And I’ll have a cheeseburger with no pickles, and fries.”

“A drink for either of you?” the young man, probably a freshman, asks.

“Water,” she says without his prompting.

“Water for me, too,” he says. “We’ll come back for ice cream.”

She likes him.

They sit with a clear but discreet view of the family of seven.

“No pickles?” she says.

“I don’t like cucumbers. How could I like one that’s been fermented inside a jar of vinegar?” Completely logical.

“Ever tried a pickle, and not a sweet pickle, cuz those are sick.”

“Yes, I’ve tried every pickle there is, and I like none of them,” even the tone of his voice smiles.

They watch the family of seven try to share two large baskets of fries.

“How many kids in your family,” he asks.

“Six, I’m third.”

“Middle child. Yeah, you seem chill like a middle child.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, that’s a good thing. Very good.”

She smiles. He gets up to get their ready order. She knows it doesn’t take many muscles to carry two corndogs and a burger, but he sure looks good in that just-right white shirt and loosening tie.

“Your dogs and garlic bread, m’lady,” his mouth twists as he holds back certain teasing.

“I’ll get some ketchup,” she says.

“No!” He gets up again. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay, then get mustard, too.”

He places the condiments on the table and sits down. But he waits, arms elevated like a football running back, in case she needs anything else.

“Thank you, slave,” she responds. “That is all.”

He laughs out loud and unwraps his burger.

They watch as the first child starts to cry and another child is disciplined for causing the tears.

“How many in your family?” she asks him.

“Well, I’m the baby of ten, actually.”

Her eyes widen to the size of a corndog. “Ten,” she whistles.

“Yeah, my dad is eighty years old, can you believe that?”

“I can. That’s how my mom’s family is.”

And the parents in the booth try to calm two more crying, whining children when finally they give up and leave with dramatic displays of pleading for ice cream. No, they misbehaved. Their chance was lost, etc., etc.

“Been there,” he said. “That kid trying to kick the mom there, that was probably me. The spoiled baby. All my siblings would testify.”

They get ice cream. She orders rocky road as usual and he goes for bubble gum. Charming, baby boy.

The sun scooting across the sky pulls behind it speckled clouds. The two new friends don’t realize how the room darkens throughout their conversation until one hears a purr of thunder.

“Was that thunder?” he says, leaning back in his chair to look out the window.

“I didn’t hear—“

Lightning interrupts.

“Oh no, let’s go, quick!” he starts to clear the paper and trash and corndog sticks. “Before it rains.”

The moment they rush outside, the clouds liberate the captive drops. Titan drops attack the parched sidewalk and road. Summer rain. The smells swell into the humid air. They run, but then she slows to a walk and he turns around.

“There’s no use,” she yells over the pouring sound. “You’re already soaked!" She laughs. "Take it easy.” She runs both fingers under her eyes to test for mascara streaks. Clean.

“I’ll take it easy if you take my hand,” he practically sings the words as he returns to match her pace.

“I see no reason not to,” she says and slips a wet hand into his.

Despite the warm rain and air, she is shivering when they get back to the temple grounds.

“Oh, you’re cold!” his wet shirt clings to his shaped form. She can’t not notice. He stops and pulls her into his arms. They stand under a leafy maple.

“You’re so w-warm,” she stutters. She has her own arms clutched into her chest and the limbs absorb heat between their bodies. He continues to hold her, radiate that man-made heat, and breathe his steady breaths. It calms her nerves and dissolves her chills.

Slowly she slips her arms from in between them and pulls herself into a perfect hug. His chin rests lightly on her head that rests lightly on his chest. She hears dripping leaves in one ear and beating heart in the other. He leans his shoulders into the trunk of the tree and widens his stance.

“Comfy?” she asks, her cheek presses into his chest from her smile.

He squeezes her and nods. She feels his chin move up and down on top of her head.

“Can I call you?” he asks

“What would you like to call me,” she mentally smacks herself for trying to be clever. Why does she do that?

“A whole list of things,” he plays along. Nice. “Delightful, beautiful, and charming, too.”

“Charming?” she leans back into his arms and looks at his face. It’s so beautiful that she instinctively pulls her own hands to her face to wipe her fingers under her eyes again. Amazingly still clean. He smiles.

“Yes, charming. And adorable, cute, sexy, funny.”

“Whoa, okay-ay,” she laughs.

“Sorry. But it’s true. But I can keep it to myself.”

“You may call me. But you’ll need my number.”

He keeps holding on to her with one arm while the other reaches into his pocket for his phone. In seconds she’s in his phone. If only it were so easy to be in his life like that. That could be a fun time.

Phone back in the pocket, his arm resumes his latch at her waist. She puts her arms again around his middle. The rain stops and the sun peeks over to see what happened while he was gone. Emily imagines that this little rainstorm was in answer to one of the times she sang, “rain, rain, go away, come again another day.” That was perfectly fun.

“Emily,” he squeezes her. “I need to go.” His reluctance shows as she watches his eyes dart from one of hers to the other, to her lips and back around again. “But I’ll call you. I want to see you again.”

She has more than one thing to say and all the words tug like children for immediate attention.

“I see no reason why not,” comes out of her mouth first; lazy habit phrase.

He laughs out loud like popped balloon. She smiles. They walk hand in hand to her car.