"I'm a reporter, too," he said, his eyes crinkling. "Does that mean I can ask questions?"
"I guess so," she said, agog at what questions he might want to ask of her.
"You're not wearing a wedding ring."
"That's not a question."
He grinned at that. "The question was implied," he said. "Are you married, Lois?"
The solemnness of his delivery caused her heart to abandon its normal rhythm in favour of a helter-skelter dash to breathlessness. "No," she said. "No, I'm not married."
"Dating someone?"
"No."
A dazzling, no-holds-barred smile lit up Clark's face. "Oh, good," he said.
"Good?"
His smile retreated. His eyes dropped before bounding back to her face. He swallowed. His mouth opened. "Lois …"
"Yes?"
"Would you go out with me?" he asked. "On a date?"
Part 2
His question was hardly unexpected, although it had come sooner and more directly than Lois could have anticipated.
Certainly, her level of surprise wasn't great enough to prevent the discharge of her primed and practised rebuff that had left a destruction of wounded male egos in its wake.
But her customary response disintegrated, snagged in the deep pools of earnestness glimmering from behind Clark's glasses.
"You hardly know me," she said. It was lame. It was unconvincing. It wasn't worthy of Lois Lane. But it was the limit of her capacity to articulate.
His smile appeared for a second. "That's why I'm asking you out," he said. "I want to know more about you."
"Why?"
Clark slid one hand into his pants pocket and did a quick sweep of the room with his eyes. When they settled on her again, he said, "You do ask a lot of questions, Ms Lane."
"Don't you know why you asked me out within five minutes of meeting me?" she challenged, lifting her chin for emphasis.
He didn't flinch. "I know exactly why."
"But you don't want to tell me?"
"I'm not sure you would want to hear."
"Oh, but I do."
Clark puffed out a little breath from slightly rounded cheeks. "From the moment I saw you …"
Lois's heart stopped, started, skipped, flip-flopped, shimmied. "Uhm?" she prompted.
"… I couldn’t think about anything except how much I would like to go out with you."
Lois scanned his face, searching for duplicity, brashness, or flippancy.
She found sincerity. Hope. And more than a sprinkling of nervousness.
"I bet you say that to every woman you meet," she said.
Clark shook his head. "No," he said. "I've never done this before."
"You've never asked a woman out?"
"I've never asked a woman out within ten minutes of meeting her."
Lois had never said 'yes' to a man within ten minutes of meeting him. "There's no time," she said. "The wedding is tomorrow afternoon, and I leave on Sunday morning."
"Tomorrow morning," Clark said promptly. "Breakfast."
Lois had already allocated the hours prior to the wedding as the perfect opportunity to catch up on a month of sleep deprivation. Assuming, of course, that the hotel bed was reasonably flat and free of things that crawl.
Now, she had a choice.
Sleep …
Or a date with Clark Kent. Breakfast. Just him and her. Drowning in those eyes. Basking in that smile.
Except … she was Lois Lane. She didn't fall for balmy eyes. And she prided herself on being imperviousness to charm in all its many duplicitous expressions.
"I live in Metropolis," she said. "You live in Des Moines."
"We're both here now."
"Aren't there dozens of local women who would love to go out with you?"
"I don't know," Clark said. "I haven't asked them." His smile wavered with the cautious hesitancy of the newly risen sun. "I'm asking you. Please, Lois."
She had to admit she was tempted … which was exactly why she needed to stop this right now. "I don't date," she told him with crisp finality. "Ever."
Clark's head dropped in defeat. His hand lifted. His fingers slid through the hair above the side of his glasses. "OK," he said.
"I said -" The first of her ready supply of cutting remarks fizzled to nothing as his reply registered. She searched for an alternate end to her sentence, but gave up as latent exhaustion swelled like a wave, devouring the warm streams that had been revitalising her body since she'd first noticed Clark.
She shouldn't have come to Iowa. She should have sent a generous wedding gift and used the corruption story as her alibi.
"Can I get you something to eat?" Clark asked politely.
His tone accentuated their separateness, reducing them to two people who had met by chance, would spend a few short, meaningless minutes together, and would return to their different lives and quickly forget.
Except Lois wasn't sure Clark Kent would be easy to forget.
"Are you hungry?" Clark said, filling in the space left by her lack of reply.
"A little."
"Do you know anyone here? Other than Jane?"
"No."
"Would you like me to introduce you to some of her friends so you can eat with them?"
The last thing Lois wanted was to be thrust into a group of loud and giggly women, drunk on the frothy cocktail of romance, love, and weddings.
"I'm too tired to be good company," she said.
"Have you eaten this evening?"
"No."
"Would you like to sit down and I'll bring you something? Or would you prefer to choose for yourself?"
The thought of sitting down was way more appealing than it should have been, considering she'd spent the day doing little else. "I'll get something for myself," Lois said wearily.
Clark accepted her brush-off with a taut nod. "Excuse me, Ms Lane," he said. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Des Moines."
He turned away, dejection rising from him like steam, twisting Lois's heart and releasing a droplet of regret. "I would love a cup of coffee," she called softly to his back.
He whirled around. "How do you have it?"
She doubted a wedding-eve party in Des Moines would be able to supply her usually rigid coffee preferences. "Low-fat milk, if they have it," she said. "No sugar."
"The coffee's out back." He removed his hand from his pocket and gestured to a vacant table squashed into a corner. "Would you like to meet there?"
Coffee. Food. Escape from the pandemonium of excited voices. A chance to sit down. It was too tempting to refuse. "Yes," she said. "Thank you."
Clark strode to corner, deposited his glass of punch on the table, and continued to the back room.
Lois moved to the food and surveyed the vast array. It could have been a picture on a billboard, extolling the abundance of country living.
She put enough items on her plate to appease her hunger, but her mind was elsewhere.
Who was Clark Kent?
What was it about him that had shaken her barricades with his presence, carved chunks from her resistance with every smile, and melted the icecaps of her heart with the heat smouldering in those striking brown eyes?
He'd asked her for a date. He'd been quietly persistent until she'd bluntly informed him that she didn't date.
He'd accepted her refusal.
But he hadn't abandoned her. Hadn't walked away in a fit of pique. Hadn't resorted to nastiness.
She should have been relieved.
But it wasn't relief she was feeling. Surprise, maybe. And perhaps even a few flakes of disappointment.
Clark was nowhere to be seen as Lois walked to the table where his glass awaited her. Was he going to bring her coffee and leave her alone? Or would he sit down?
She repeated the mantra that had been necessary in becoming a successful reporter - she didn't care a jot what anyone thought of her. She certainly didn't care what the Iowan locals were going to think if she sat out the evening like an aberrant misfit, the one dissenter in the midst of exultant wedding revellers.
But if she invited Clark to eat with her, his presence might deter any other grass-seed guys who thought that a woman eating alone was sufficient reason to inflict his presence upon her. When she and Clark had finished eating, enough time would have passed that Lois could ask him to call a cab, make an excuse of tiredness to Jane, and flee to the sanctuary of her hotel room.
Clark appeared at the door, carrying two large cups of coffee, and Lois's internal river of attraction leapt from dormancy and resumed pulsing through her veins. His shoulders were impossibly wide. The strip of shirt visible under his jacket hinted at a chest worthy of further exploration. He exuded … something … Something she could neither name nor deny.
He placed one cup on the table. Lois inhaled, closing her eyes as the aroma of fresh coffee massaged the knots of tension embedded in her muscles. When she opened her eyes, Clark was still there. Still standing. Still holding his cup.
Watching her.
"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable, Ms Lane," he said. "I shouldn't have asked you to go out with me."
"I thought we'd agreed that you would call me 'Lois'."
His jaw twitched. "Would you prefer that I leave you alone?"
"Have you eaten already?"
"Yes."
She needed to end this now. Because every moment with him lured her further away from the safety rail at the top of a very long, very steep, very slippery slide.
And Lois Lane never surrendered control to anyone.
But when she called on her well-drilled defences, she found them limp and lifeless, reduced to mush because Clark Kent was looking at her. And had brought her coffee. And had apologised for asking her out.
"OK," she said with brisk pragmatism. "If you get more food so I don't feel self-conscious about eating when you're not and if you stop calling me 'Ms Lane', you can share my table."
It was ungracious - rude even - particularly as his apology was still reverberating through her conscience.
Clark placed the second cup across from the first. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No. Thank you."
He walked away, giving her an opportunity to study him from behind.
Physically, he had it all.
Great body. Sure, she hadn't seen much, but her imagination had eagerly filled in a few gaps.
Movie star looks.
Sensational smile.
Natural charm.
In her experience, the presence of any one of those traits guaranteed that a little digging would unearth an inflated ego, an obnoxious personality, and a penchant for chronic dishonesty.
But Clark Kent …
… was different.
He turned from the food table, and Lois wrenched her attention back to the table. She picked up the cup and sipped.
The coffee was incredible.
Smooth. Creamy. Fresh. Perfect.
Lois took another mouthful as Clark slipped into the opposite chair. "How's the coffee?" he asked casually.
She eyed him with suspicion. "Is there a coffee machine in the back room?"
His gaze remained steady in hers. "No."
"It's the best coffee I've tasted in a long time," she said. "Where did you get it?"
"Just a place I know."
"They sell take-out coffee in real cups?"
"No. I poured it into these cups."
"Why?"
He squirmed a little, shooting her a plea for mercy that was stippled with a hint of amusement. "Isn't it obvious?"
"You didn't think I'd notice superb coffee?"
"I was hoping you'd enjoy it."
"But you didn't want me to know you'd gone to a lot of trouble to get great coffee?"
"It wasn't a lot of trouble."
"But you did it."
He placed his plate on the table. "There's a lot of food left," he said. "I hope everyone's going to be hungry later."
Apparently, the subject of her coffee was closed. "Was Jane expecting more people to come?" Lois asked.
"No," Clark replied, looking around. "I think she was expecting about this many."
"Maybe there was a miscommunication with the caterers."
"The caterers?"
"The company that provided the food."
"A company didn't cater. I think Shane's mom organised it. A lot of the local ladies contributed."
"Oh," Lois said, recognising this as a good opportunity to glean some background information on Clark Kent. "Did your mom bring something?"
"No," he said. "My folks live in Smallville, Kansas."
"Do you see them often?"
"Quite a bit."
"You fly over there? Or drive?"
"Fly, mostly."
"Any brothers and sisters?"
He dabbed his mouth with the napkin. "No," he said. "I'm an only child. How about you?"
"One sister. My parents are divorced. My family is spread out to all parts of the country. Deliberately so."
"I'm sorry."
Lois shrugged, pretending she didn’t care. "Is your family close?"
"Very close. My parents couldn't have children. I'm adopted."
"Oh," Lois said. "I … I'm not sure what to say."
"I don't usually divulge personal information so soon after meeting someone," Clark said. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Again."
"I don't usually tell people my parents are divorced." She picked up her glass and sniffed at the punch. "Do you think someone slipped alcohol in this?"
She hadn't been serious, but Clark replied with, "No. It's not alcoholic. I wouldn't give you alcohol without telling you."
Lois was pretty sure that what she was feeling couldn't be achieved with alcohol. If it could, half the world would be perpetually inebriated. She nibbled a little more of a sandwich, searching for a topic that might facilitate easy conversation. "How long have you known the happy couple?"
"I've known Jane for two years. She was already working at the paper when I came to Iowa. Shane started about a year ago."
"Where did you work before Des Moines?"
"I travelled after finishing school, doing some freelance work. This is my first real job."
"Were you there when they met?"
"I think so," Clark said. "Shane was introduced to all the staff the morning he started at the paper."
"When did you first realise they were interested in each other?"
"I think Shane was interested from the get-go, but I'm not sure marriage was in Jane's plans for her immediate future."
"Shane wore her down?"
"Yeah. I think it took longer than he was hoping, but they seem very happy together now."
"They say the course of true love never runs smoothly," Lois said.
"Do you believe that?"
"I don't believe in love," she said flatly.
"You don't think there can be a 'happily ever after'?"
"I think 'happily ever after' is nothing more than something to stick on the end of the story when the writer has realised that the readers are within one flowery line of gagging on the unrelenting sentimentality."
"I think love is beautiful," Clark said. "Shane is always smiling, and Jane -"
"Of course, he's smiling now," Lois cut in. "But what about in five years' time when they're trying to juggle a home, a couple of kids, and two jobs, and neither can remember why they ever wanted to be married in the first place?"
"Some marriages are like that," Clark conceded, "but I don't think it has to be that way."
"But that's the point," Lois insisted. "There are no guarantees of forever, and without forever, it's an ultimately futile exercise. Futile. Expensive. Painful. Depressing."
"I would gladly risk it all for a woman I loved."
Derision leaped up her throat. She swallowed. Her mouth went dry.
Because she believed him.
Lois believed that Clark believed his bold and foolish statement.
But as bold and as foolish as it was, it was also a bit … just a little bit …
Inspiring.
Endearing.
Her eyes dropped before his did. They fell to the table. And his hands.
He even had perfect hands.
Strong. Lean. Masculine.
Gentle.
She couldn't imagine those hands ever lifted in anger. Or cruelty.
She was being silly. How could she possibly discern the character of a man she'd known for less than an hour?
Feigning fascination with her food, Lois asked, "Have you been caught up in all the preparations for the big day tomorrow?"
"Not really. I collected a few of Shane's relations from the airport. Oh, and they asked me to do the reading tomorrow."
"What about Jane's relations? Do they live around here?"
"I don't know," Clark said. "Why do you ask?"
"Jane went to college in Metropolis. I wondered if she moved back here to be closer to her folks."
"She's never mentioned any family in Des Moines."
Lois looked around the room, skimming over the faces. "I can't see anyone with an obvious family resemblance to Jane."
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow when she walks down the aisle with her dad."
"You're not in the wedding party?" Lois asked.
"No. Shane has four brothers. The wedding party is full."
So, unless Clark had a date - which seemed unlikely - he would attend the wedding unaccompanied.
Perhaps she should suggest they sit together. Sitting together could not be misconstrued as a date. She had to be at the wedding, anyway. It wouldn't take up any extra time. And - for all his obsolete idealism and countrified values - he wasn't bad company.
"Clark?"
"Yes, Lois?"
"Would you -"
"Ladies and Gentlemen …"
The young man holding the microphone was so similar in features to Shane that he had to be one of the brothers. He announced - with much fanfare and gusto - that this was the opportunity for tales about the bride and groom that might be considered a little too risqué for the wedding tomorrow.
The crowd laughed. Clark smiled. Sweet liquid warmth oozed through Lois.
Shane's brother launched into the first story. Lois kept her head pointed in his direction, but before he'd reached the conclusion of his opening sentence, her eyes had returned to Clark.
He'd settled back in the chair. His hands were resting on the table.
His face was clean-shaven, without even a hint of shadow. The curve of his jaw made her wonder what it would feel like to draw her fingers down its ridge, to arrive at his chin, and then meander up to his mouth.
His head swung. His eyes collided with hers.
And held her there.
Captivated. Entranced.
The warmth turned to heat, burning and scorching as adrenaline-charged flames licked her body.
She felt alive - more alive than she'd ever felt when chasing a story.
She felt free. And joyous.
The maelstrom of those audacious new feelings couldn't be contained, and Lois felt herself smile.
Clark responded, loosening Lois's hold on the safety rail a few more degrees. A surge of panic gripped her. What was she doing?
She was -
She wasn't sure of anything anymore because Clark was watching her with steady brown eyes that diminished everything else to insignificance.
Lois slid her hand across the table, palm up. His hand inched forward. The tips of his fingers landed on the pads of hers.
From the centre of the room, the stories rambled on, punctuated with regular outbursts of laughter, but for Lois, there was only Clark and the overwhelming sense that she had finally found the place she had been searching for her entire life.
The stories gave way to music.
"Do you dance?" Clark asked.
"Only with you."
His smile billowed like a sail caught by the sun-kissed breeze. His fingers lifted from hers, and he stood, offering his hand.
Her hand fitted perfectly into his larger one. The tingly sensation of shared touch radiated through her palm and into her fingers.
They walked hand-in-hand to the floor and joined the other dancers.
They stopped and faced each other. Clark released a breath. Lois stepped forward as his arm rounded her body.
His hand on her back guided them into loose alignment. Her hand on his shoulder cupped the crest of muscle under his jacket.
They began to move.
Within a few bars, Lois had relaxed enough to rest her temple against Clark's chin and give herself over to the music. To the illusion that the past and the future had faded away and nothing existed except the present … and Clark, his gentle arms, the scent of his cologne, and the memory of his smile.
||~||
Clark felt as if he were floating.
He wasn't. He'd checked. Several times.
Dancing with Lois was better than flying.
The moment he'd first seen her was etched in his mind forever.
He'd glanced to the door where she had been standing, holding a suitcase.
His heart had soared. His breath had quivered. His mind had exploded with one truth.
That's her!
He'd watched as Jane had broken away from their little group and rushed over to the woman he'd recognised as having been an ethereal presence in every one of his dreams for the future.
He hadn't been able to stop himself from asking her out. It was too quick. Too early. Too hurried.
Too important to wait.
She'd refused him.
She'd tried to ease them through from the awkwardness he'd created, but he'd persisted, stopping only one step short of forcing her to declare that she didn't want to date him.
But now, she was dancing with him. She fit so seamlessly against him that it felt as if he'd been born to hold her.
Clark knew he'd been born to love her.
And he did.
From the moment he'd seen her, he'd loved her.
And his life would never be complete without her.
