He pointed at her empty glass. "Ready for another?"
"Nah, I think just water. You buying this round, farmboy?" she asked in a mock sultry tone, then bit at her lip a little to keep from giggling.
He barked with laughter and she couldn't help but join him. "I don't know. I don't actually have a job yet, you know," he teased back as he stood and grabbed their empty glasses. "But I guess I can get this one." He winked at her and then walked away.
She watched unabashedly, wishing that he'd chosen jeans instead of dark slacks, the dim lighting of the bar making it hard to see if his backside was as good looking as the rest of him. He had a brief but friendly looking conversation with the bartender before he returned with two waters, complete with ice and slices of lemon. It looked as though he was blushing again, and she wondered what the bartender had said to him. She bit back a laugh at the thought of it.
"Thanks," she said as he sat back down. She took a sip, and then a few long gulps, not realizing how parched she'd actually felt after all their talking. "Ahh."
"You're welcome." He slaked his thirst as well, and then set his glass back down. Then he waggled his eyebrows at her and said in a schmaltzy tone. "So, do you come here often?"
She couldn't help but laugh even as she shook her head at him. "Are you trying to put the moves on me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly and looking at him from underneath her eyelashes.
"Maybe?" He grinned briefly at her, and he seemed to appraise her with his warm, chocolate eyes in a way that was admiring and almost reverent instead of wandering lasciviously over her body like other men always did. "Can you blame me?"
Her breath caught, from that gaze and that grin and the hint of desire evident in his voice, and she wondered as she regarded him closely just what was so disarming about this farmer's son from Kansas, of all places. "You're a strange one."
"Am I?" That gorgeous smile reappeared across his face, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
It'd been years since she'd let her guard down this far. And, more surprising, it felt safer and more comfortable than anything she'd felt before. Of course, that in itself was scary...but in an exciting way. She wanted him to flirt. She wanted him to look. "Yeah, but I think I’ve got you figured out," she said, trying to keep her voice playful and even.
"Really?" His eyebrow went a little higher, and his grin was now a teasing challenge.
"Mm hmm." She nodded and gave him a measured look, a smile playing at her lips. He was only in town a few days, though. Maybe that was why it was easier, more comfortable—there was no threat of a relationship gone bad or getting hurt. And there hadn't been any talk of work.
"It didn't take you long." His voice almost seemed to have a slightly husky tone to it now.
Lois crossed her arms and rested them on the table in front of her, leaning towards him with a mischievous smirk on her face, and she pretended not to notice that his eyes had flitted—ever so briefly—to her cleavage and then away again. "Well, it's my business, looking beyond the external."
There was a charged silence between them. His smile was so genuine, his hair falling slightly over his brow, the way his eyes seemed to be looking straight into her soul from behind his glasses...everything about this man was stealing her breath and making her feel delightfully off-balance. But there wasn't a chance of anything beyond tonight, not given his likely potential for leaving and her track record when it came to men.
She cleared her throat and shook herself mentally. "Don't fall for me, farmboy."
"Too late," he said without missing a beat.
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and let out a self-conscious chuckle. She breathed in and out to slow her heart rate, and she tried to keep her voice breezy and cheerful as she fought against the urge to just fall with him. "You're leaving town in a few days."
"Maybe not. Maybe I'll get the job tomorrow and stick around."
"Maybe..." she echoed, just taking a moment to search his face, drink in the sight of him once more. He had such a gorgeous face and a gentle grace about him, and the way he made her feel...all butterflies and warmth. How did he do that? Is that what falling felt like? Was this what he was feeling too?
For long moments, she wasn't even sure what to say. They just stared at each other, the silence comfortable but for the emotionally charged and somewhat heated looks between them. Finally, he broke the invisible connection, ducking his head and his cheeks blushing, which was somehow undeniably sexy.
He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "So what about you?" he asked. "Ever travel outside of Metropolis?"
She sat back in her seat as well, still trying to gather her wits about her and catch her breath, and she had a sip of water before she began. "Well, back when I was younger, we had a few family trips over the years at different places around the US, and my father even splurged and took us to Paris one year." That'd been...their last good trip. But she didn't dwell on that thought because tonight was for happy thoughts. "Oh! There was the time I spent a semester as an exchange student in Ireland when I was in college. And, while I know we're not talking about work, I did travel to a few different places for work...even went all the way to the Congo before."
"Oh, man, I'm dying to know what kind of job you have that took you to the Congo!" His eyes were wide and she could almost feel his excitement.
"But we're not talking about work," she gave him a sly grin. "I guess you'll just have to try really hard to get that job so you can take me on a second date."
"Second date?" he croaked, his eyebrows shooting up. He recovered quickly. "That implies I get to take you on a first date, too."
"This is our first date," she countered.
"A few hours ago, you said it wasn't a date," he said softly, the barest hint of teasing in his voice.
"True, but...that was a couple hours ago. Doesn't it feel more like a date now than it did before?" she asked, somewhat hesitant.
"I guess it kinda feels like one, doesn't it? A really, really good one." He caught her gaze and stared for a moment, and she was surprised at how not uncomfortable the direct eye contact was, now and during their whole conversation.
"Maybe we could call it our almost-first date," she said, her voice a bit thready because he'd stolen her breath again.
"Okay," he agreed softly, and then he reached the short distance across the table and took her hand in his.
She pulled in a sharp breath, the sudden surge of electricity between them making her heart race faster than it had all night so far. She was a little surprised not to see actual sparks, and when she looked back into his eyes, she could tell he was feeling it too.
After a beat, she pulled her hand back away from his, needing to pause the intensity of it all. Her hands went to surround her water, the coolness of the glass helping to temper the sensations running wild throughout her body.
He smiled at her somewhat haltingly, as if he was working to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. Then he worked to pick the conversation back up. "So, you never really had the urge to travel? Didn't have a wanderlust like me, a need to find something?" he asked, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice.
"Well, it wasn't so much lack of the urge as it was...lack of time?" Her face scrunched as she thought about it for a moment. "Actually, it was more the fact that I was on a mission, eager to prove myself and show everyone that I could do what they said I couldn't. My...uh, field of work is definitely a male-dominated one, so I had to work twice as hard."
"So you showed them," he said softly, smiling, more than a hint of pride in his voice...this from a man she'd only just met who somehow made her feel like she was important and valued for how hard she'd worked. He didn't even know what she'd done or how she'd done it. Heck, he didn't even know what she did for work. He just...believed her.
"Yeah, I did." She blushed at his praise. "I've got three prestigious awards to my name already," she said, but then winced ever so slightly at how immodest that sounded.
But he didn't seem to think so. "Wow, and you might have that fourth one coming! And, you're only...what...twenty....five? Twenty-six? Actually, never mind, it's not polite to ask a woman her age..."
She giggled, half with relief and half from the bit of self-consciousness that had crept in. "I think in this case, it's a compliment, farmboy. Twenty-six. And...yeah...I guess that is pretty impressive when you stop to think about it."
"It's more than pretty impressive! It's...you're like a force of nature. A tornado."
She scrunched her nose. "Leaving a path of destruction in my wake?" It kind of felt like that sometimes.
"No! No, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." His hand was on hers again, not quite as electric this time, but definitely warm and oh so comforting. "Maybe it's because I'm from Kansas, right in tornado alley, but tornadoes demand respect and attention. They're strong and unyielding. And sometimes..." He dipped his head to catch her eye. "They come in without warning and sweep you off your feet." His large hand squeezed hers and she was speechless.
"That's...I...wow," she said, still unable to find the words.
"You're stunningly brilliant and breathtakingly beautiful." His voice was almost a whisper, rough and low.
A half-laugh, half-gasp escaped her, and it was a long, long moment before she could speak, and she found herself needing to diffuse and deflect a little. She didn't know what to do with so much...of that, so much of him and his mesmerizing and disarming and captivating self.
"And you..." she said finally, "have a way with words. You should be a writer."
His answering chuckle sounded magical, and she dared to imagine a narrative in which she'd get to hear it regularly. Her heart ached at the thought that maybe it wasn't meant to be, but she pushed the thought aside in favor of enjoying what was left of the night.
They talked for at least another hour, maybe more. He'd wanted to know more about her passion, her ambition, so they'd danced ever closer to the topics they'd agreed not to discuss. She'd alluded to chasing and falling short of her parents' expectations...or rather, their lack of expectations and appreciation for her talents and efforts, how her father had wanted a son and a doctor and her mother hadn't bothered to care. And he'd held her hand again. Told her that she hadn't deserved that, and had somehow known exactly what to say to make her feel better.
In the end, she'd all but told him she was a journalist without saying as much and actually revealing it. But what moved her the most, affected her more than almost anything else had all night...she hadn't scared him off, not in the slightest.
He was impressed, not intimidated.
Inspired, not threatened.
In fact, she was sure all of it had only made him more interested. And the feeling was undeniably mutual. Everything he'd said and done, the way he touched her with his words and somehow made holding hands feel so magical and inviting...she wanted more of it, all of it...and she wanted it for far longer than one night.
It was much later when Lois realized how much more the bar had emptied out when their combined laughter sounded off the walls and ceiling far louder than she expected, and it startled them, leaving them slightly embarrassed, until they dissolved again into much quieter giggling.
"Ohh, I haven't laughed so hard since..." She racked her brain as she clutched her arm around her aching stomach. "Ever. I don't think I've ever laughed this hard. Or smiled this much," she said, a bit breathless still.
He was still recovering from their laughing fit too, but he was staring at her again with those intense, smoldering eyes. It felt like an eternity, the most amazing eternity in which her breath kept catching and her heart was skittering all throughout her chest, before he tried to speak. He opened his mouth slightly but seemed to second guess himself.
"You can say it," she told him softly. He'd been catching himself half the night, trying to be polite, find a balance, not overstep. But they'd both stepped far past whatever boundary had been there at the beginning of the evening, and she wondered now what was causing his hesitation. She wanted him to say things now. She wanted to hear it all.
"I think I've found what I was looking for," he said, a husky edge to his voice, his eyes not leaving hers.
Her breath caught for the hundredth time that night, the sudden swoop in her stomach at his words making her whole body tingle. Her voice was barely a whisper. "But what if you don't get the job tomorrow?"
"What if I do?"
"It's not that simple."
"What's not?"
Dating me, she thought. Tonight was magical. Wonderful. Tonight felt like forever. And that was terrifying. Terrifying that she might not get it, that it might not be real. And even more terrifying if it was.
"What if...what if you get the job, and we go on our seco—first date, and what if it's not the same as tonight? What if the...magic isn't there?"
"It doesn't feel that way to me...can't you feel it?"
"But what if the only reason it worked tonight is because of what we left out or because you might not be here next week? What if it's too good to be true?"
"What if it's not? Can you...do you think..." He ran a hand roughly through his hair, clearly trying to find the right words, and he took a deep breath before he continued. "What if it was fate?"
"Fate?" Her voice cracked a bit. Did she even believe that strongly in fate? If someone had asked her yesterday, she'd have told them to take a flying leap. But everything about tonight...everything about him... maybe it had to be fate.
"Yeah...fate." His voice was low and thready. "I mean...what are the odds of tonight having happened?" He let his words hang in the air while he searched for his next. "I've never...connected with anyone like I have with you. It almost seems unreal—I want to keep pinching myself to see if I'm dreaming."
"Me too," she breathed.
The silence stretched between them again, a mix of hope and anxiousness and uncertainty. He looked deep in thought, not looking at her directly. Then, finally, he met her gaze again with that intense look that promised so much more than tonight if only she'd let herself take a leap of faith.
"We could..." he started tentatively, "leave it up to fate...sort of. I mean, more like trust? I can sense you're the type to guard your trust carefully, and you've only just met me. So what if...you meet me here tomorrow after work. Six o'clock? I'll tell you about my interview. No names tonight, no numbers. I'll have to trust that you'll be here. You'll have to trust that I'll be here. We'll see how it goes?"
"I...can't...I mean, I have to know, have to prepare for all the possible outcomes because maybe you won't get the job, and then what'll I do?" There was a lump building in her throat, and the thought of her highest hopes being dashed clenched at her heart, making her chest tight and tears threaten at the back of her eyes.
"Hey," he said softly, taking her hand in both of his. "We can figure it out. There are lots of jobs in Metropolis."
She shook her head, even as she took comfort in his grasp. "I don't want you to settle. This is your career. That matters too, just as much as mine."
"I know. And I won't. There are still more options for me...I didn't spend my years since college working my way to the top of my field like you did. If I don't get my dream job...well, there's no saying I won't get there eventually."
"Are you sure? It still sounds an awful lot like settling to me." It was too much to hope for, wasn't it? She didn't want him to settle. Not because of her.
He shook his head, quietly and confidently. "I wouldn't settle after searching this long."
She inhaled sharply. His words...his words were about the job. But everything in from his eyes to posture to the way his thumb was smoothing over the back of her hand...
He meant her.
Her heart tensed, fearful at the thought of feelings so powerful and at the thought of leaving fate in the hands of something so tenuous as trust. What if he didn't show? She had every reason to believe that he would...but she'd never trusted someone so quickly and so implicitly before. Why hadn't they introduced themselves? If she had his name, she could look him up, find him again.
"What's your name?" she blurted out impulsively, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth, as if she were slamming the door in his face, denying everything he'd said and his attempt at an enchanting conclusion to the evening and the hope for fate to give them more.
She was about to apologize, take it back and—
"Farmboy." His voice was quiet and gentle, and his smile was soft, stretching across his face and making his warm, chocolate eyes crinkle ever so slightly.
She could so easily fall in love with that face. And she couldn't say no to it. "Okay." Her heart hung suspended in her chest, her eyes hopeful and searching his. "Okay," she said again, a bit louder this time, though she wasn't sure why.
His smile spread into a grin, the kind that lit up his whole face and the room around them too.
"How do we..." she started, unsure of their next move. "Do we just...say goodbye, then? What do we do?"
She was filled with inexplicable optimism and excitement; it didn't make any sense. She wanted him to have all the answers, and she wanted it to be tomorrow night already. Because all of sudden, she was flooded with hope. And she wanted desperately to cling to the gift he'd given her of this perfect night and a dream of the future.
This wasn't her. Trusting like this. It wasn't her at all. But maybe it could be.
And so they said goodnight. A hug that felt comforting and electrifying all at once. His lips on her cheek for a chaste goodbye that she could still feel the echo of tingling on her skin. His cautious whispers of hope in her ear. And then they walked out the door of the bar and parted ways.
She didn't even know if his hotel was the direction he was walking in, which seemed terribly poetic that it not be in the direction of her apartment a few blocks away. Or maybe it was unpoetic. Because if fate were involved, then by all rights, he should be walking with her right now, to her door, right? And she'd be inviting him up for coffee and seeing what happened...
But no, she didn't want that with him. Not like that. She wanted so much more. She wanted to see him again. And hear his voice and his laugh. And she wanted to hug him. And kiss him. And never let him go. Why hadn't she kissed him?
Oh God, what if she'd made the worst mistake of her life? She should have gotten his name, his number, anything! What if something happened and he couldn't make it? She'd seen Love Affair—what if he got hit by a car and couldn't meet her? How would she know? How would she ever find him?
She stopped walking, the pain in her chest too much to bear. She wanted to turn around and run after him, but she was scared to think she might turn and find him already gone.
She held her breath, her heart in her throat, and she turned slowly...
And he was there!
Standing in front of the bar as if he hadn't walked even a foot away, though she knew he had. Looking after her with hopeful eyes, his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks.
"Farmboy," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
And then they were both moving toward each other, her hands on his shoulders and his soft, warm hands cupping her face the second they were close enough. His lips captured hers in a searing, searching kiss, and she melted against him as she kissed him back. Explosions like fireworks scattered throughout her body, the embers sparkling as they fell. Then he was slowing, gentling his kisses until he managed to pull away. They stood, breathless, his hands sliding down to circle her waist, settling on the small of her back and her forehead resting against his.
When she'd caught most of her breath, she pulled back and said in a whisper, "I don't know if I can leave you like this." All the possible scenarios played out in her head. "What if you get hit by a car and break a leg and can't make it to meet me? Or I get kidnapped and can't make it? Anything could happen..." She laughed lightly, trying to temper her uncertainty and not sound as crazy as she felt.
His airy chuckle filled the space between them. "I promise I'll be careful crossing the street. And...do you make a habit of being kidnapped, generally? That's not an entirely likely thing to happen."
"You'd be surprised." She managed to smirk at him and laugh despite the anxiety still simmering under the surface. "But, seriously, what if...?"
"I'll send a note, call the bar, show up every night at 6pm until I see you." He placed a kiss on her forehead and then stepped back, as if needing to distance himself lest they start kissing again and never stop.
"No names?" she asked, hating the whimper that accompanied her voice.
He shook his head. "No names."
"You promise you'll be here? Six o'clock?"
"A thousand tornados couldn't keep me away."
Her laugh held a slight sob, but the tears that were starting were hopeful and she trusted him. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he said as he nodded.
She watched his breath hitch as he turned to walk away. And then, finally, she turned as well and headed home, knowing that tomorrow would be the first time in forever she wouldn't be able to concentrate on work.
*****
The next morning, Lois rode the elevator up to the newsroom, trying her best to push aside thoughts of last night and the anticipation of tonight; she needed to if she had any hope of getting work done today. When she stepped off the elevators and onto the newsroom floor, she was greeted with a roar of applause and the sight of a newspaper banner strung across the center of the bullpen, each page of her multi-page spread making up the individual flags. Different colored balloons dotted the area surrounding her desk.
She smiled widely as she walked down the ramp to where everyone was gathered around. It felt really good to be celebrated, recognized for her hard work. She might not be particularly friendly with anyone but Perry and Jimmy, but people respected her and were impressed by her work, especially when it came to taking down a crime ring like this almost single-handedly. No one denied that she was the best, and they applauded her for it with gusto. No one wanted to hang out with Mad Dog Lane, but they sure as heck respected her.
Perry barked something about a ladies' luncheon at Buckingham Palace, making everyone scatter back to work, and the moment was over. But it was enough, more than enough. She knew she was appreciated—she still couldn't get that raise out of Perry, but she knew he would if he could.
She sat down at her desk, settling in to check her voicemails and other messages. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the newsroom. A man, wild-eyed and looking like he might have been living on the streets, was yelling her name and warning of an explosion...a package in his hands. The security guards were busy trying to drag him away, but she was listening to his words. Sabotage. Explosion. Space program. He was scared, that much was clear, and he managed to shove the package at her before security took him away.
Everyone was up and talking, speculating what this could have been about and if there had really been a bomb. Lois was back at her desk, investigating already. The haphazardly wrapped package had been full of scraps of every type of paper imaginable, scientific writing scrawled on all sides seeming to do with the space program's shuttle. She could barely understand anything else; she was going to need help on this from STAR Labs. And it seemed that time was of the essence, given that the space program was already facing delays, the launch window edging ever closer.
Lois hoped she could convince Perry to follow the ravings of an apparent mad scientist. There was something to this. She could feel it. She needed to ask him now.
She stormed into Perry's office without warning, and started talking. "Chief, I think there's a story here, and we should have this guy checked out. You know the crazy one from this morning? He was an engineer at F. Bradford—"
"Lois, can't you see I'm in the middle of something here?" He gestured at the other side of his desk, but she didn't take her eyes off Perry.
"Oh." She paused, still waiting for his answer. He could just send her off with a quick yes and then she'd be out of his hair.
"Lois Lane, Clark Kent," Perry made the introduction of some guy, the one who'd been sitting there, and she really didn't have time for—
She looked up and her heart stuck in her throat. She couldn't breathe, couldn't believe what she was seeing.
"My little tornado," came his barely audible whisper as he stood from the chair.
What was...how was this...? This was...impossible. Right? But...Perry was in the middle of... and her farmboy was supposed to...
"This is your interview?" she asked, her voice cracking as she struggled to keep her breathing under control.
He was standing. Just three feet away, his mouth hanging open as if all his words had fallen out before he'd had a chance to speak them. But he managed a nod.
"This is your dream job?" The thoughts and emotions were stirring, churning like a storm raging inside her.
Again he nodded, looking just as breathless as she felt. He reached out his hand, but not all the way, as if he wasn't sure he should offer to shake hers.
"You are a writer." Her voice was full of wonder and confusion and she wasn't even sure what to make of this. It was all too much. But...there he was.
Her fate, her farmboy, and maybe her future was just standing there...like he'd been hand delivered. And suddenly, he seemed to find himself again, and he offered up his hand to shake, confidently and with that 1000-watt smile.
"It's nice to meet you, Lois Lane." His voice was rich and velvety, just like last night. "I'm Clark Kent."
Wordlessly, she reached out to shake his hand, and the jolt was the same as last night, sending tingling bolts of something magical throughout her body. "It's nice to meet you too," she said, softly, almost automatically. She squeezed his hand a little before letting it go, only somewhat aware that Perry was flummoxed and had been trying to get their attention for some time.
Before Perry could rant or comment, she started toward the door. She gave the handsome stranger—Clark Kent—her farmboy a soft smile, pausing just before she passed him and put her hand on the small of his back, pressing gently as she raised to her toes, and whispered, "I hope your interview goes well."
The End
