SS: Kismet PT III

7AM ON A SATURDAY MORNING:

I want to rewind time. My heart thrums painfully in my chest and I can feel my vision starting to slip traction on the matte object in front of me. I want to go back, I want to rewind, but I am stuck in the motion of this path my body is hurtling down. The ache in my chest now feels like a full on heart attack, I think I might be dying or maybe I just want this moment to end. I want to close my eyes and erase it all. I want this day to disappear, I want this moment to disintegrate, I wish I could go back and keep myself from leaving that damn party.


EARLIER THAT MORNING:
Logan was a charmer. He was tall enough for me to have to crane my neck slightly as I looked up toward his smiling face while we chatted outside of the party house. My friend had ditched me, my ride to the party had also ditched me, I was on my last leg of patience when I tripped out of the smokey house and found Logan standing in the shadows. So mysterious and intriguing, there was no question in my mind that I wanted to talk to him. I didn't really think twice when he asked if I was ready to leave and offered to give me a ride home. Rationalizing that I had pepper spray on me just in case eased my mind as he walked me toward his car.

"You live far?" he asked as he hopped off the curb toward a deserted alley way across the street. My alarm sensors went off in a spark of awareness. Alley way....dark...alone....crap.

"Not too far, just over the hill really." My voice only shook slightly, but I kept my cool together and moved slowly behind him beneath the dull glow of the street light. At the moment we were at the base of the famous Beverly Hills though by the looks of it you would never guess. There was a broken glass bottle hanging in the dry grassy gutter and as I crossed the street a random bum yelled, 'nice tush!' but I couldn't really tell if he was yelling it at me or the hunky leather jacket wearing man in front of me.

Logan flicked the butt of his cigarette in a pinwheel toward the dry gutter letting it land in a spray of ash and sparks before dying beside the abandoned broken glass. Beverly Hills is truly so very classy.

"You ok wearing a helmet?"

My first immediate response was, "huh?" thinking why I would need a helmet in a car but the thought died in my throat when I looked at his ride. No wonder he was wearing a leather jacket, he rode a matte black Harley Davidson. It looked like the stealth bike of an underground mafia member. Logan was anything but a mafia member. His long blonde hair and steely blue eyes projected surfer boy more than Italian mob wise guy.

"Yeah, I would like to if that's what I'm going to be riding home in...on," I said quickly trying really hard not to show that I had never before been on two wheel contraption of death and destruction.

Logan smiled heartily and moved toward me to hand me the helmet to which I just stared at. He took his cue and plopped it on my head before buckling the strange leather pieces beneath my chin. It felt like the ground was starting to rumble beneath my legs but I quickly realized it was just the thrumming power of the engine placed so dangerously close Logan's seat. I was terrified to say the least.

The look on Logan's face was absolutely priceless. "I promise you Grace, I will drive slow and make sure you are safe. Just make sure to hold on tight ok?"

My vision bobbed up and down but I wasn't quite sure I made my head move or if the helmet's weight had snapped the muscles in my neck making me jiggled my head in a nonsensical jello like fashion. He took it as a yes and practically pulled me on the bike behind him. He rattled off a few words of warning to which I understood not a single syllable of it. The one thing I did hear was, "HOLD ON TIGHT!" He grabbed hold of each of my hands and secured them around his waist.

Tight was an understatement, I had a death grip on his body that even a bucking rhino couldn't get out of. I felt every single breath he took, though I wasn't sure if it was  more exaggerated because of my death lock around his abdomen. He didn't mention any concerns, and by the face that ten minutes into the ride he was still sitting upright instead of fainting off the side of the bike was a good sign.

"HEY!" He yelled over his shoulder as we winded down the Sepulveda back road toward the Valley. "ARE YOU HUNGRY?"

Surprisingly I was. It was also almost 5 in the morning and I could feel the effects of hunger starting to dig into the pit of my stomach. "Yeah! I could eat." I was pretty confident he heard my chirp. The death bike pulled off the residential road and onto the main strip of Ventura Blvd. It looked like a ghost town.

The engine purred subtly at a stop light and Logan angled his neck to look over his shoulder at me. "You look pretty cute in that helmet." He smirked and I knew full well he was full of shit. I looked like  tiny bug with a head five sizes too large. If cute was what he wanted to call it though, I would take it.

"Thanks," I replied softly. "Where are you taking me?"

"To where every man wants to be when he is awake at 5 in the morning."

My stomach dropped toward my knees. "Excuse me?"

"To a Diner Grace, I'm taking you to a breakfast Diner. Relax, it's way to early in the day to take you home with me," he said with a smirk and a saucy wink. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to saucily wink, it was aggravating and also slightly encouraging. The big leather encased man was growing on me.

We stopped at one of my absolute favorite cafe's in Sherman Oaks The Crave Cafe. It was where I stopped for most of my secluded down time and much needed pile of strawberry crepes. Plus their coffee was spot on delicious and perfectly crammed with delicious sugary sweetness. He didn't even need to ask and he knew the best place in my stomping grounds. As he pulled in to a small section of parking just in front of the place I wondered allowed where he lived.

"Actually not to far from her. I'm just a little ways back up Sepulveda."

I didn't ask any further questions and he didn't offer any but that was a very telling sentence. Only those in houses lived on the far South side of Ventura, and usually only those with a good grip of cash could afford it. As annoying as it is to admit the idea of him having a good sense of financial responsibility intrigued me more, but it wasn't the money that I liked, it was the sense that he knew how to take care of himself. He knew how to live comfortably and responsibly. It's one of the main qualities I looked for in a man, the other one's are more based on detailed personality traits.

"You ever been here before?" Logan asked conversationally as we walked toward the deserted looking building.

"Yeah, I actually come here a lot to work on my writing and what not," I said trying my best to sound nonchalant. He didn't really respond he merely raised his eyebrows in intrigue as the overly peppy server behind the counter asked what he could get for us. It was 515, no normal person should be allowed to be that peppy at 515 on a Saturday morning.

Logan ordered several random plates saying we could just eat whatever felt good and I ordered a large caramel latte. The foam and caramel mix tasted like heaven as the velvety drink slipped over my tongue and into my empty stomach. I hummed my deep appreciation for the beverage as I settled more comfortable into the wide sofa Logan chose to sit on.

We talked for almost an hour and  half about everything and nothing. He seemed so well verse and intriguing. I truly didn't want the evening/ morning to end, but I had plans with a girlfriend of mine later that day and he had other obligations too.

"Thank you so much for breakfast," I said softly almost slightly embarrassed because he had just asked me for my number.

I should state ahead of time that when I become embarrassed and or a little shocked/giddy about a moment I tend to lose all simple functions of my motor skills. My lips can no longer form coherent words and my smile tends to twitch in it's angst ridden desire to stay wide and pleasing. It makes me come across as a total dweebie nerd that for the most part has cause a lot of trauma in the past, but I learn from my mistakes.

After Logan's smooth digit asking question I excused myself to the restroom to shake out the nerves and twitchy muscles that were jolting through my body a mile a minute. I needed air, I needed to breath, I need to calm the frack down! Logan said no worries as I rushed away in a panic of jitters calling out that he would meet me outside.

Once I was able to violently shake away my ridiculous tremors I shoved my consciousness into my best sex kitten projection and strutted my way toward the front of the cafe. Logan was no where to be seen so I assumed as anyone would that he had also taken a trip to the lavatory (as I like to call in in my head as it sounds so much better than the toilet) while he was waiting for me. In anticipation of riding on the beast of black metal I plucked the heavy helmet from the back of his bike and began the laborious process of shoving the giant plastic piece onto my significantly smaller head. I almost had it in place when I lost my footing on the curb plummeting the six inches to the hard paved street and lunging forward as my shoe connected jarring my ankle harshly to the side. With the helmet still only half on I couldn't quite see what I was doing but my arms jolted out in front of me to keep me from falling flat on my face.

What happened next I couldn't have changed even if I had wanted to, even if I had thoroughly had several minutes to think through the scene before my eyes there was no way around my completely disastrous actions. As I reached forward trying to catch my own fall without the slightest clue of my surroundings my forearms connected jarringly with harsh sun heated metal. Luckily what I connected with stopped my forward motion keeping me from falling forward, but unfortunately as I righted myself and ripped the helmet off of my head I realized what caught my fall.

Logan's beautiful black Harley lay tipped on its side half in the parking area and half on the side of the street. Traffic wasn't so heavy just yet, but there were cars on the road and in a moment of pure panic my body lost control and I started to hyperventilate. "Shit shit shit!!!" I rushed forward and tried to upright the bike but it was far too heavy for me to lift alone. I saw traffic rumbling down the street just a mile or so in the distance and the panic doubled into overdrive. My stomach seized in fear of what Logan's reaction would be. I had never in all my life done something so horribly wrong to someone I barely knew. He could very well be an angry person and one tiny scratch on his baby might send him over the edge. I didn't really had time to dwell though as I tried for the third time to lift his bike he strut out of the Cafe. I watched as his brilliant smile flipped down into a troubling frown.

"Um...what the hell?"

My mouth opened and out spilled or torrent of rambling apologies and words that even I had a hard time understanding. Logan remained silent. He walked over toward me and lifted the bike out of my hands in one jerk of motion. Rushing over to the other side Logan inspected the outer surface looking for possible defects, scratches, or permanent damage. His pristine matte paint job looked like a scratched pock marked chalk board.

"I am so so sorry Logan. I really didn't mean to. I was trying to put the helmet on and I just tripped and fell over! I....I am really sorry."

He didn't say much, and I didn't really expect him to. He was being nice driving me home, and he was being overly nice buying me breakfast. I have to say I felt really bad right up until he yanked the helmet out of my hands and jammed it down on his own head. His leg lunged over the side of the bike and with a stomp of his foot the beast roared to life. I didn't actually expect him to be nice toward me after I just dumped his bike over into a pile of sharp and unforgiving rocks but I really didn't think he would be such a prick either.

He shook his head in my direction and I could swear I heard him say something, but he peeled away from the curb before I could really comprehend.

I stood there for several minutes before the shock wore off and the anger set in and I realized that he had just ditched me on the side of the road without a ride home. Thankfully I was only a few miles from my apartment complex. A walk would be perfect to work off not only my breakfast but also my anger.

I vowed then and there to never EVER go to another show with my friend Diamond again and matte Black motorcycles were strictly OFF LIMITS!

UPDATE: Three weeks later I remembered what Logan said, and I admit it is not appropriate to repeat. But I happened to see him about two weeks after the horrible incident and thankfully I was looking mighty fine if I must say so myself. Amazingly he approached me and apologized profusely. He said there was no damage to his precious bike and that he was hoping I could forgive him for being such a prick and ditching me. He asked me out to dinner.

Outwardly I thanked him for his apology and sweetly told him no, I was not interested. Inwardly I was jumping up and down in a fit of joy at my sweet delicious retribution. My 'no' gave him the distinct expression that I had just peed in his Cheery-O's. Not so cheery now are you mister ass hat! No thank you, I will not be going on a date with you, and you can thank Kismet for that one.

SS: Kismet PT 2

Sometimes I feel like the path is leading nowhere. I lift my head up to the sky and scream at Kismet, "this is not a road, it's not a path, I am standing in the middle of nowhere you dummy!" But Kismet doesn't listen, because truthfully who am I really in the grand scheme of things?

WTF is exactly what I am thinking as I stand in the middle of a crowded music venue that my friend talked me into going to after she listened to the horrible date story with mister greasy hair tight pants from the week before.

"You need to get out hun, and not just out with guys you need to just get out in the world. See things, meet different new people."

"I do meet new people," replied sarcastically. It's hard to take criticism on my crappy dates. Is it really my fault that the wide world of dating has brought me nothing but slimy turd mongers that don't understand the meaning of "gentleman."

"You meet ass monkeys, you need to go on a date with a real man. I know a few, I should totally set you up!"

Here is another thing Kismet likes to dangle in front of me. The option of meeting someone through someone, it always leaves the hope alive. You see opportunity strung on a precarious string before you and all you have to do is snag it! Ahhh too slow, try again!

I turn my head toward my friend and emphatically tell her no. She shakes her head in mock frustration but quickly focuses her attention back to the band rocking overly loud electric guitars on stage. I'm not completely sure why I feel so against blind date set ups over online dating, surely my friends can give me a way more honest run down of the person. They know them, they see them on a decently often basis. So what’s the big deal? Maybe it's that I don't want to run into them again if I don't actually hit it off, what if the random stranger is actually a total creep in a dating scenario? What if...what if....what if?

As much as I love how Kismet intervened in my life, I also totally completely hate it! With a massive passion. Once again I am forced to wait, wait for life to open that road that for the entirety of my life has been closed. I am forced to do this intricate dance step through the day to day, hopping, skipping, leaping. lunging, diving, walking, plummeting through this wild path life has apparently laid out for me. I don't think life intended to leave me stranded in the middle of an abandoned war field, but that's how I feel at the end of the show. My friend left me to go talk to the band but never returned. Just my luck. Being Irish does nothing to help my state of good fortune, I always seem to find the short stick.

“Are you lost?” A voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn around to see hazel eyes, bushy black hair, and a perfectly crooked smile. It was the guitarist from the band I just spent the last 90 minutes heavily ignoring, but up close he appeared different. Maybe it was because it was out of context. I wasn’t staring at him like a prop on stage belting out a heavy metal tune to impress the ladies. Standing in front of me he was just a curious guy, slightly short in stature but still taller than me in flats. I smiled back because it was almost impossible not to.

“I’m not lost, just waiting for a friend of mine who I’m pretty sure abandoned me.”

He snorts in laughter though not in a way to embarrass me about being ditched, it was more in a camaraderie way like he understood my sudden issue of annoyance. “Is your friend the black haired girl with blue bangs?” I nodded at his obvious smirk of bewilderment. “Well I’m pretty sure your friend…uh…,”

“Diamond.”

“Yeah, your friend Diamond was getting cuddly with Dean,” who was the lead singer. Diamond always had a way of sinking her talons into the lead singers. It amazed me that she was so efficient at getting in with the band, and more often than not she got in with more than one member, but still they loved having her around. She wasn’t needy and annoying like most of the typical band groupies, she was impossibly cool and fun to be around. The girl always had perfect bangs and make-up, it drove me absolutely bonkers in a total ‘I love how hot my friend is,’ sort of way. “I’m pretty sure if you join us at the party she will be there,” the guitarist finished up.

“Thanks, it’s just… I don’t really have a ride to get there. She drove us here.” It would make sense that by him inviting me to the party that he was also offering me a ride, but it just seemed rude to imply it for him. I didn’t even know his name. “I’m Grace by the way.” Lame. I wanted to jump back into the pile of brush and thorn bushes Kismet had led me to earlier in the evening, cute guitarist guy was starting to make me nervous in a giddy irritating way.

“Grace, I’m Mav. I uh…figured that your friend drove, so I wouldn’t mind if you came with me. I promise I’m not trying to pick up on you or anything, I just wouldn’t want to leave a pretty girl behind without a way home.” Great line. I couldn’t help but commend him on it, but I did so silently with a sly smile and a subtle but hopefully not too noticeable bashful glance from beneath my eyelashes. I most definitely wanted to go, but I also didn’t want to leap at him with a TAKE ME NOW attitude. A really attractive man actually just called me pretty, AND he invited me to the cool kids party. I needed to be cool, I need to act like it was no big deal, I really needed to stop staring at his amazing gorgeous smile. It’s funny how context changes absolutely everything, I definitely didn’t find him attractive standing up on stage, but now standing before me and calling me pretty I can’t help but half swoon. Stupid girl issues, no swooning, that is not allowed!

“Mav? That’s an interesting name. Is it a nic-name?” Small talk, it’s the best route to take when having no clue who you’re actually talking to. I know nothing about this guy but the fact that he is attractive, plays a guitar in a band called “Lucky Strike”, and that his name is Mav. Really, Mav? What kind of name is that? It’s the kind of name only a punk rock musician would have that’s what kind of name it is.

“It’s actually short for Maverick. My parents had a bit of a crush on Top Gun, and by parents I mean my mother. I think she is absolutely positive that I am Tom Cruise reincarnate, which now that I think about it that’s creepy.” He mock shuddered at his own comment before turning his twinkling eyes back on me. He had the dark sweep of hair, though it was far too unruly and curly to be considered Maverick-ish. His eyes were a sharp shade of honey yellow and green mixing them into a melting pot of sexy, but his height might be confused for Tom Cruise though I wasn’t one to know I had never actually met the guy. “I really hate saying Maverick because people get all macho man around me about it, so it was either Mav, rick or Donald.”

“Donald?!” I asked incredulously completely blowing my cool girl attitude. He steered me out of the dingy bar walked out toward the back of an almost empty parking lot.

“That’s my middle name. Needless to say, Mav was the best option.” Another pearly white smile. He teeth were going to blind me if I saw them one more time.

“So Grace Parker,” Mav said as he climbed into the driver side of his beat up 1972 Chevelle. The floor was covered in crumpled papers, empty cigarette packs and loose bottle caps. “What’s your story. I know nothing about you yet I am letting you into my precious vehicle and taking you to an epic party. I need details woman.”

Details; what exactly could I tell him that would make him smile in appreciation and interest? I wasn’t one of his typical girls I could guarantee that. We ran in very different crowds. If his tight black jeans  (though not overly tight to make a recent comparison. Trust me, my mind went there too.  Perfect tightness to non-tightness ratio on his pants.  Crap, Grace, stop staring at his pants!!) and low v-neck grungy band shirt weren’t enough of a clue, the huge plugs, eyebrow ring, sleeve of tattoos and perfectly distorted boots were. This perfectly smiling man named Mav was massively out of my league.

“Smoke?” He offered casually as he rolled down his driver side window snaking out of the parking lot at a rapid pace. Burnt rubber melted into the car’s interior atmosphere and I’m pretty sure the smile he wore was more because he loved the smell of his bad-assness. Burnt rubber equals I’m awesome in Mav’s world.

“Sure,” I replied easily. I would never consider myself a smoker, not socially considered one anyways. I never carried a pack with me, but I also never turned one down at a party. Maybe that made me a follower, I don’t know. I liked to consider myself a bit of a chameleon. I can fit into almost any situation, blending was a talent I grew very accustom to. The more I said yes, and went along with them on the outside the more I could keep the truth of me on the inside. I was a straight out geeky nerd, and no one would guess it from my outward appearance. I definitely didn’t belong in this hot guys car, or at least I didn’t feel like I did, but I acted as though smoking with him in a dingy black Chevelle was the most natural of occurrences in my life.

I wish I could tell you about a crazy wild party, and an even crazier adventure that I embarked on the minute I met Mister Mav, but to be honest it wasn’t what I was expecting. Not that it was bad, it just quickly became extremely uncomfortable. Once again, Kismet stepped in shifting around the occurrences of my life to line me up in the right direction. I walked into a packed house filled with cheap bear, heavy essence of weed, and more than enough cleavage and sights of G-strings to last me a lifetime. This wasn’t my scene, but I was stuck with Diamond until she was ready to leave.

Mav found her for me in the back of the house in a room with two other band members and some steady groupies that everyone seemed to know by name except for me. I was introduced, but there was no such thing as a hand shake. I received the cool head nod in offer of a silent hello to which I silently nodded back. I tried to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head, but the names and looks to these people boggled my mind. I should have known better, I was hanging with a girl named Diamond. I still am not totally sure if that’s her real name no matter how many times she swears it is.

Within 30 minutes of being inside the house I needed air and without meaning to I lost my only two hang outs buddies amongst the crowd. I stumbled out into the front yard gasping at the fresh LA smogginess with massive appreciation. Something about cheap bear and heavy weed made my head spin unpleasantly and I just desperately needed to get out.

“Gets kinda stuffy in there, you reckon?” A voice drawled from the depth of shadows beyond the porch light. I saw a sharp nose, deep set eyes, and a chiseled jaw light up for a moment in the reddish haze of a cigarette before the face disappeared back into the shadows.

“Yeah,” I replied in sigh of relief at being able to breathe again.

“Names Logan,” the voice offered stepping away from the darkness.

“Grace,” I replied back, reminding myself to close my slack jaw as my eyes connected with his sharp grey ones.

And it was that easy finding the next stepping stone in my pathway. You sure are funny Kismet, mysterious ways you do work. I like to think of my little life puzzle piece match maker as Yoda, because in my mind it just makes so much sense. “Lead you along by strings I will.” The little devil.

SS: Kismet PT I

I believe in life there are specific moments that change the whirlwind course of your future. They knock you straight off your path and onto a new road. Once the dust clears you see the spot light of a new route, a new location, a new destination, but none of this could have been possible without your previous steps. This one moment can shift your whole universe, but only if you are willing to accept it. My entire life changed the minute I met him, and once I saw his face I knew there was no going back to the way things were.

I know what you are thinking, I can hear the high pitch drone of your question even as these words spill out of my brain, “But Grace, this sounds like the typical beginning to the most typical love story in everyone’s mind-numbing typical life.” To this I say no and not because my life is unusual and extravagant in any way but because there is only one moment like this. Even if I knew the correct steps to replicate the moment I met him, the exact second our eyes connected, I would never get it right. This isn’t a typical love story, because I promise you there is nothing like this.

Sitting in a crowded bar and listening to overly loud hipster folk music I stare across the small circular table at my date. His greasy blonde hair is slicked over to one side, his suit coat is commendable even if it’s a little short on the sleeves, his pants are abhorrent and should never be allowed to be worn outside of the house. From the neck up he is what most people would perceive as a stuck in the closest, never want to come out, hard core gamer nerd. He isn’t wearing the glasses to match this description, but the indentation lines on the bridge of his nose and his never ending squinting when it comes to ordering is a harsh give away. From the neck down to his waist I would say he has class and style. The coat may be a bit small, but it’s a classic vintage tweed coat. The heavy elbow patches fit in nicely with the light burnished brown tint, even the small blue flower sticking smartly in the front coat pocket completed the image of debonair. That’s where it stopped unfortunately. From the waist down he wore overly tight rusty colored jeans that clung to a man in a way that no pair of pants ever should. His skinny chicken legs made me fear for his sturdiness, one steady sweep of the legs and those bones would snap like a dried pine branch in the woods.

This man I shrewdly stare at is not the man that changes my life and I would hope you didn’t think mister rusty skinny jeans was. I did tell you that he changed my life, but I never said my life began with him. My eventful days started way before destiny decided to get up off her lazy ass and help me, though really the beginning would never be something I would ever complain about. Growing up I had a phenomenal family, many wonderful adventures, I was lucky as a kid, but you don’t need to hear about that. You probably want to hear more about him, but instead I need to first fill you in on the details leading up to that moment. I promise you the wait is worth it, at least that’s what I have been telling myself. The wait is worth it, though I disagree at the moment. The man across from me turns his attention away from the slinky blonde behind the bar to look back in my direction.

“Do you want another drink?” he yells over the squealing notes of the violin several feet behind me.

“Sure,” I reply casually. If I was going to enjoy myself I figured I should at least drink up as much as he was willing to buy.

The blonde man, or Zared as he called himself, slipped over to the bar engaging the cleavage enhanced bartender. I turned my thoughts toward other avenues. Unfortunately this happens a lot. I feel like most of my life is wild moments of rushing only to sit and wait for something to happen. I can’t tell you how much I hate this, how much I hate just waiting. So many outsiders have told me, “Just you wait Grace, the man of your dreams will come in and sweep you off your feet.” Those people are so full of bovine fecal material.

Zared comes back with an overly orange Old Fashion, too much simple syrup and not enough whiskey. It was free so I didn’t complain even though I knew for certain the bartender made his with a little more care and precision. Small annoyance to the overall picture.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked softly, almost too softly. I could have ignored him pretending I didn’t hear his simple sweet question, but I knew what he was really saying. ‘Do you want to get out of here, or am I wasting my time.’ He was most definitely wasting his time.

The date ended uneventfully. He tried to kiss me, but I turned my head and allowed him to graze my cheek in a slobbery mess of a kiss. “Um…thanks.” I said as sweetly as possible and then grabbed my keys and made a dash for it. Horrible right? Totally uneventful and boring. Nothing to look forward to, and nothing to get excited about, it was just another day. But then, like I told you everything changed. 

After a long string of uneventful nights, even worse mornings, a typical routine of work, play, sleep, and drunk, my life suddenly catapulted into over drive. The moment was so casual and normal that I almost missed it, but when I saw him I knew this wasn’t an average day. It was like a slow movie unraveling right before my eyes. 

The day was sunny and achingly beautiful, the weather couldn’t have been more pleasantly perfect, the wind whipped up around my ankles flipping the long dress I wore languidly back and forth across my legs, pure bliss. I was standing against the chain linked fence watching the little league game with mild interest when I saw him walking toward me. The sun glittered over his features making the soft chestnut of his hair shine like freshly polished cherry wood. Grassy green eyes smiled back at me and a solo dimple caught my attention as he walked straight up to me. I didn’t know him, didn’t know his name or who he was but his eyes told me differently, he knew me.

“I know that face, Grace Parker, isn’t it?”

They were simple words, easy words, a normal everyday sentence but from that moment on, my life changed in a way that I could never repeat even if I tried. You may try to prove me different, but I tell you this out of pure confidence. The sequence of events lining up to this one purely wonderful moment is completely wacky in the most ridiculous and unforeseen ways. I may not believe in the all-powerful almighty poking his nose into my life to guide me on a special journey, but I do believe there is a special path just begging us to stroll over. I believe it in the way I desperately want to believe in the idea of Santa Clause and the Easter bunny. It’s unforeseen magic is the beauty of it all. Maybe I didn’t cross paths with fate, maybe my version of kismet truly isn’t real, but as I stare into the grassy green eyes of my future partner in crime there is nothing else closer to the truth.