Lois sat at her desk, leg jiggling impatiently as she watched the numbers on her computer’s clock tick closer to noon. The clock had been moving normally, or close to it, this morning. But now it seemed to have slowed to a crawl.
She had spent all morning working sources and doing some more background investigating, but mostly she was just killing time.
11:32. She was never going to make it through the last half hour. She shot a glance at Perry’s office and debated trying to sneak out a little early.
Her bags were packed and sitting by the front door of her apartment waiting for her. She had agonized over everything she packed, no idea what was appropriate attire for a small town corn festival. She had settled on a variety of jeans and leggings with cute tops and hoped they would look nice without standing out.
Pajamas had been her other concern while packing, since she was staying with Clark and not at a hotel. She was right back to her dilemma from the last night of his visit, when they had snuggled on her couch and watched the entire Lethal Weapon trilogy. She wanted to be comfortable, but attractive. She wanted him to want her…but she didn’t want to send the wrong message. Because although she was far beyond pretending this relationship was merely platonic, she wasn’t ready to jump into a physical relationship with him when she was still trying to figure out where this was going.
Clark seemed to understand this concern implicitly, and she recognized that his immediate mention of his guest rooms when he invited her to stay with him was an attempt to assure her that staying at his house didn’t mean sharing his bed.
Not that she expected or hoped for their visit to be entirely…chaste. The memory of their kiss was her favorite fodder for daydreams, and she was so ready to make more memories with him.
She shook her head to clear it. She didn’t need to go down that mental rabbit trail at work.
She cleaned out her top desk drawer, checked her email one more time, and washed her coffee mug.
11:47. Good enough.
She turned off her computer and stood, gathering her bags.
Cat looked up, brow furrowed. “Are you leaving?”
“I took a half day,” she said without offering any further information. She knew Cat would assume she had a doctor’s appointment, or something equally banal.
Cat raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”
“Monday,” Lois said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and digging out her car keys.
“Monday?” Cat clarified. “You’re taking a four day weekend? Where are you going?”
Lois looked over at her and shrugged, and then lost her battle to hide her emotions and let out a little laugh.
“Kansas,” she said with a grin as she turned to leave, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cat’s jaw drop. She didn’t even bother to try to stifle her smile as she headed for the elevators, leaving work behind without a second thought.
****
Lois watched out the window as the clouds parted, framing the colorblock tapestry of fields below. Her book lay abandoned in her lap, her mind too preoccupied with her destination to focus on reading.
After work, she had rushed home to change into something comfortable, settling on a pair of jeans and a cropped oatmeal sweater that buttoned up the front and had sleeves that came to her elbows and a scooped neckline that was enticing without being particularly revealing.
The flight was only about half full, and she was thankful to have a row to herself. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk with a stranger. The closer she got to Wichita, the more nervous she got. She was so excited to see Clark; beyond excited really. She was downright giddy. But visiting during the Corn Festival, which was apparently Smallville’s biggest annual event, meant being on display.
Clark had lived in Smallville his entire life, aside from the few years he had spent traveling. The town was full of people who knew him, everyone from colleagues to high school friends to preschool teachers to…his parents.
They were planning to have dinner with his parents at the farm on Saturday, and Lois could not remember ever being more nervous about meeting someone in her life. Which seemed preposterous when she looked back on the exclusive interview she had done with the President earlier in the year.
The pilot announced the beginning of their descent, and she felt a flutter of butterflies that had nothing to do with the altitude change.
The landing was smooth, and before she knew it, they were disembarking. Her work bag sat on the empty seat beside her holding her laptop and a few files in case she decided to do some more work on her investigation while Clark was at work tomorrow. She stood and slid her unread book into the bag, then filed out of her row, joining the other passengers on the trudge up the main aisle of the aircraft and through the tunnel to the gate.
She had insisted that Clark not bother with the gate, and just meet her at baggage claim, and he had eventually agreed, despite his initial protests. But as soon as she emerged from the tunnel, she was greeted by his wide warm smile, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She should have known his concession was false.
He shrugged and opened his arms to her, and she laughed and quickened her pace, dropping her bag at his feet, and throwing her arms around his neck. His arms circled her waist, and he lifted her off the ground in an enthusiastic hug. It wasn’t the same flying leap as the last time she had seen him, but it was reminiscent enough that her heart fluttered at the memory.
“Your flight was okay?” he asked as he set her back down. Her arms were still around his neck, and his hands rested on her waist. Her short sweater was hiked up, revealing a strip of skin, and his thumbs stroked fiery trails just above the waistband of her jeans.
She nodded and stroked his cheek, then let both hands slide over his neck to his chest, lingering there. The laughter in his eyes morphed slowly into something more tender, and felt her breath catch in her throat. His gaze flicked to her mouth and then back to her eyes and she gave a tiny nod, her heart rate starting to pick up.
He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, and the world spun again. She had wondered, in the intervening weeks, if she had made that up. If her rose-colored glasses had painted the memory, making an admittedly fantastic kiss into something magical. But the world was definitely spinning.
He pulled back and smiled at her, and she knew she was gazing at him like a lovesick teenager. He lifted a hand from her waist and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let’s go get your luggage,” he said finally.
She nodded and stepped back, her heart stuttering when his hands fell from her waist. She bent and picked up her bag, slipping the strap over her shoulder and then stood and looked to him to lead the way to the baggage claim area. He was smiling at her, and she felt herself flush with the pleasure of it. His grin widened and she knew her emotions were written all over her face.
She rolled her eyes playfully and turned, looking for the signs for the baggage area. He fell in step beside her and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and squeezed back, her grin matching his.
They retrieved her luggage, a large suitcase that Clark carried to the parking lot without complaint after asking her whether she was really only planning to stay for the weekend and receiving yet another eye roll.
In the short term parking area, he led her to a black pickup truck, and swung her suitcase into the bed of the truck before opening the passenger side door for her.
She laughed as she climbed up into her seat, and he looked at her suspiciously.
“What?” he asked.
“How did I not know you drove a pickup truck? Of course you do.”
“Well, Lois, you can take the kid out of the farm, but…”
“You can’t take away his pickup truck?” she finished.
He laughed and closed her door, walking quickly around the truck and sliding in. He asked her about her day, and they fell into a comfortable conversation as he navigated through the maze of the airport and out onto the highway.
After a while, they turned off the highway onto a state route without a name and the view went from scrub grass and billboards to endless miles of crops broken by the occasional tidy farmhouse. They drove through two small towns, and Lois eyed them carefully, wondering how they compared to Smallville.
The conversation waned and she focused her attention fully on the view out her window. They passed yet another field, small green plants low to the ground in tidy rows. The corn was easy to recognize, but these had her baffled. They didn’t look like anything she had seen in city gardens or in the grocery store.
“Soybeans,” he said softly, and she realized he had been watching her. “We rotate them with the corn.”
She turned to look at him. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never spent much time thinking about what crops actually look like while they're in the ground. The straight rows. The symmetry. It’s soothing.”
He smiled at her affectionately, and she knew he was at least a little amused by her city girl naivete. “You should see it in the spring, when the winter wheat is ready for harvest. The sun hits the tassels, and it’s a sea of gold.”
“‘Amber waves of grain’?” she asked, and he nodded.
“America’s bread basket,” he said with a teasing grin. “You laugh, but take away Middle America and what have you got?”
“Art, music, theater,” she replied, teasing right back.
“Crime, drugs, poverty,” he countered, and she laughed.
“Is that really what you think of when you think of the city?” she asked.
“No,” he said softly. “Some of my favorite things are in the city.”
Her heart swelled in her chest, and she laid her hand palm up on the console in silent invitation. He reached over without hesitation and laced their fingers together.
“Tell me more about the corn festival,” she said.
“Oh, you are going to have the time of your life,” he said, mock seriously. “There is the Corn Queen Pageant, the Husk Off, the Corn-o-rama, the-”
“What in the world is a Corn-o-rama?” she asked, breaking into his reverie.
“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see. Words cannot do it justice.”
She looked at him skeptically, and he launched back into his description.
“There’s barbeque available for lunch and dinner and all the corn snacks your heart desires – popcorn, cream corn, corn on the cob….”
Soon they were following the signs to Smallville, turning off the state route and following a smaller road into town. She tried to be subtle about her curiosity, scanning the town square, where booths and displays were under construction, and the storefronts as they passed, but Clark laughed and squeezed her hand, and she knew he had read her expertly.
“Let’s get you settled, and then we’ll walk back to the square and have dinner at Maisie's,” he said. “We can walk around, and I’ll give you the tour tonight, before it turns into a madhouse tomorrow.”
Lois smiled, certain their definitions of “madhouse” were worlds apart.
Then finally, after their enthusiastic reunion at the airport and the hour drive to Smallville, they were pulling into his driveway, and she had her opportunity to see Clark in his natural habitat.
That turned out to be an absolutely adorable house just a few blocks north of the town square with a well manicured lawn and a neighbor lady who waved enthusiastically from her front porch. The house was two stories and painted a light sage green with white trim. A wide front porch, complete with a porch swing, stretched the length of the house, and looked so inviting, Lois couldn’t help but smile. It was like something out of a fairytale.
Clark said hello to his neighbor, retrieved her suitcase from the bed of the truck, and led her up the brick walkway to the front steps.
Inside, the house was tastefully decorated with mementos from his travels scattered over the walls and surfaces.
He carried her suitcase upstairs to the guest room at the top of the stairs, gesturing to the door that connected her room to the guest bathroom. A smaller guest room with bunk beds was on the other side of the bathroom, and Lois realized he kept a room for his godkids at his house, and her heart squeezed at the thought of it.
Across the hall, the door to his master suite hung open, and she could see his matching furniture and neatly made bed. She thought briefly of the last man she had dated before Dan, a man who – despite being in his late 20s and a lawyer – lived like a college student with castoff living room furniture and a mattress on the floor. The first, and only, time she had agreed to meet him at his place, she had been appalled.
Then she followed him back downstairs, and they walked through the living room and past his home office. She smiled at the computer on his desk, imagining him sitting there typing out message after message over the last five months.
She followed him into his kitchen, where his refrigerator was covered in art from Sophie and Caleb, and stuffed full of ingredients for actual meals, putting hers to shame. He opened a few cabinets, showing her where to find cups, plates, silverware, and anything else she might need.
“Make yourself at home,” he said. “Really. Poke around in all my drawers and cabinets. You know you're dying to.”
Her jaw dropped, and she feigned offense. “I would never!”
Clark laughed and reached for her, settling his hands on her waist. “You absolutely would.”
She couldn’t suppress her laughter any longer, and she gave in, laughing and sliding her hands up his chest, letting them rest on the back of his neck, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.
He gazed down at her and shook his head, the warmth in his eyes spreading through her, melting the last of her nerves. She lifted her chin, and tugged gently on his neck, and he needed no further enticement. His lips were on hers, and she hummed contently against his mouth. He tightened his grip on her waist, and she felt sparks where his hands brushed against her bare skin.
She pulled away finally, and he lifted a hand from her waist to cup her cheek. They were quiet for a moment, just gazing at each other.
“We should go,” he said. “Get you something to eat. It’s almost eight o’clock your time.”
She hesitated, not ready to leave his embrace, and then finally nodded and stepped back.
They strolled leisurely down the three blocks to the square, and turned right onto Main Street. Across the street, the square was quiet, decorations and festival booths partially set up, ready to be finished in the morning. The little shops were mostly dark, closed signs hanging on their doors, but Clark pointed out a couple of little boutiques, a bookstore, a barber shop, and the general store where he told her he had wasted all his allowance as a kid.
The old fashioned street lamps lining the square flickered on, giving the town an extra dose of old fashioned charm. The sound of children shouting drew her attention, and she looked across the square and saw a group of boys on bikes splitting up, each of them pedaling in separate directions, and she assumed they were headed to their homes.
They slowed in front of a cheerful diner, stepping past a couple of small cafe tables and a chalkboard with the daily specials to reach the front door. Clark opened and held it for her, and she smiled at him as she walked through. It was such a small thing, the way he held doors for her and carried her bags. A Kansas thing, she imagined. But it made her feel so good.
The diner was sparsely occupied with just a couple of tables in use. Clark led her to a booth, and they were greeted as soon as they were seated by a middle aged woman in a black apron with the diner’s logo stitched on the front.
“Clark!” she said. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. I guess you’ve been busy. I caught that last game against Burlington. That Peterson boy sure does have an arm on him.”
“That he does,” Clark said. “Now, if I can just get him to improve his aim.”
Maisie laughed and turned to Lois. “Hello there!”
“Maisie, this is my friend Lois,” Clark said. “She’s visiting for the Corn Festival.”
“Well, isn’t that wonderful! Have you been before, dear?”
Lois smiled immediately, imagining her past self vacationing at the Smallville Corn Festival. “No, this is my first time. I can’t wait. I hear it’s a good time.”
“Oh, you are in for a treat,” Maisie gushed. “There are games and music and all sorts of activities. And everyone in town shows up. Plus we’ll get lots of visitors – everybody comes home for the Corn Festival.”
“It sounds lovely,” Lois said. “I’ve heard rumors about a corn-o-rama, but Clark here won’t give me any clues as to what that might be.”
Clark burst out laughing, and Lois smiled at him. He reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb gently across her knuckles. She watched Maisie look back and forth between them and raise an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“Well, then I won’t spoil the surprise,” she said. “But speaking of the corn-o-rama, Clark, your mama was in here earlier. She said she’s not entering the cornbread bake off?”
Lois tried to stifle her laughter at the woman’s scandalized tone. Clearly not well enough, as Clark turned his attention to her, eyebrows raised.
“The cornbread bake off is serious business,” he said, face serious but eyes twinkling.
“Oh, of course,” she said quickly, overly apologetic. “I would never dare to suggest otherwise. I’m sure whole lives ride on the outcome.”
“You joke, but legend has it-”
“You leave that poor girl alone,” Maisie said, swatting at Clark with the menu.
Lois laughed and turned to Maisie. “Thank you! You see the truth – he seems like such a nice guy, but he lives to torture me. He only looks like Mr. Perfect.”
“Aw, you know Clark,” Maisie replied, handing them their menus. “What you see is what you get. You just give me a wave when you’re ready to order.”
She turned and headed toward a table full of diners ready who looked ready to leave, and Lois turned back to Clark.
“Is that true? What you see is what you get? I have wondered,” she said, the lightness in her voice covering a larger truth.
He opened his arms and grinned self-deprecatingly at her. “If I was making up lies to impress you, I’m sure I could have done better than this.”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “You’ve done a pretty thorough job of it.”
His grin widened into a true smile, and he reached for her hand across the table again, lacing their fingers together and stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said softly.
“Me too,” she said, heart aflutter at the look in his eyes, and the feel of his thumb against her sensitive skin.
They settled on their orders and gave them to Maisie, then fell into a comfortable conversation about their plans for the weekend.
“You probably want to sleep in tomorrow, but if you drop me off and pick me up at work, you can have my truck in case you want to go somewhere. I don’t want you to feel trapped while I’m gone.”
Lois narrowed her eyes playfully. “Is this some sort of farmboy trick? If I drive your truck, does that make us legally married in Kansas or something?”
Clark burst out laughing. “I don’t think so, but I’ll look into it.”
“If I pick you up, will you give me a tour?”
“Of the school?” he asked with a smile. “Of course. But don’t go getting your expectations too high. It’s just a tiny little rural high school. There’s not much to see.”
He was laughing, but she could feel a current of truth in this and his earlier comment about concocting a better lie to impress her. He was nervous, she realized. Whereas she had been thrilled to have him in her city – unable to squeeze in all the things she wanted to show him – he was worried that she would be disappointed in, or even judgmental about, his home. He had been worried from the beginning, she realized, when he couched his invitation in caveats – “I know this isn’t what you are used to….” “I know a corn festival isn’t your idea of fun….”
Her heart lurched for him. She had felt so vulnerable, so exposed, telling him how much she missed him, begging him to come visit. She hadn’t realized how vulnerable he had made himself in return, by asking her to come.
“I want to see everything that’s important to you,” she said softly. “All the things and people you love. When you tell me stories about the kids in your classroom or your players on the field, I want to be able to close my eyes and imagine it. When you talk about your friends, I want to be able to picture them, to hear their voices in my head. This isn’t an interview, Clark. I’m not here to compare Smallville to Metropolis. I just want to know you better.”
“How do you do that?” he asked softly, reaching his other hand across the table to join hers.
“Do what?” she asked, sighing as his fingers danced with hers, stroking gently.
“Know exactly what I’m thinking – what I’m feeling – without me saying a word? How do you know exactly what to say?”
Before she could respond, Maisie returned with their food, and they awkwardly untangled their hands and sat back, making room for the plates. Maisie assessed them with a knowing grin and a raised eyebrow, and Lois felt herself blush.
The interruption killed their charged moment, and once Maisie moved on, they ate their meals and chatted casually, talking about her work and his football team. They lingered over dessert, sharing a piece of pie that Clark assured Lois in whispers was not as good as his mom’s.
Then they were walking back to his house in the warm glow of the street lamps, his arm around her shoulder. Lois leaned into him, trying to memorize every part of this, so she could call it back later.
It was nearly nine when they got back, but she shook her head at Clark’s offer to turn in early. Even operating on East Coast time, it was earlier than she normally went to bed, and she was far too excited to sleep.
He offered a movie instead, and she smiled immediately at the thought of curling up with him on the couch. They went upstairs to change, and when she came back down wearing plaid sleep shorts and a matching navy tank top, he was in the kitchen making tea, and she browsed his collection of movies.
“Pick whatever you want,” he said, coming out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea. He was wearing blue sweatpants and a gray t-shirt, sleeves tight over his biceps, and her pulse sped up when she saw him. Suddenly she didn’t care in the least what movie they watched.
She turned back to the movies and spotted The Paper, and pulled it out with a chuckle.
“Have you seen it?” Clark asked.
“Of course,” she said. “I was fully prepared to hate it, but I wound up loving it. I told Jimmy to watch it because the young photographer reminded me of him, and he didn’t speak to me for a week.”
Clark laughed and took the tape from her, sliding it into the VCR. They gravitated back to the couch, and he sat in one corner with his arm outstretched across the back of the couch. She smiled at him shyly, and went to him, curling up with her head on his shoulder and her knees in his lap.
He brought his free hand up to her knee and snuggled her closer, and she hummed appreciatively. She rested a hand on his thigh, and smiled at the shaky way he inhaled as she began drawing random designs with her fingertips.
They watched mostly in silence, laughing at the funny parts, though Lois couldn’t resist a few whispered asides about the parts she thought they got wrong depicting a newsroom in action.
At the climax of the movie — when Glenn Close skidded into the newsroom shouting, “Stop the presses!” — Clark leaned back and said, “That’s how I imagine you at work.”
Lois sat back, mouth agape. “You do not!”
“Oh yeah,” he said, the twinkle in his eye and the grin on his face sent a jolt of desire through her. “Running around terrorizing everyone to make sure you get the story exactly right. That is absolutely you.”
“It’s her fault the story is wrong!” Lois protested
Clark shrugged. “You can disregard that part. It’s just this scene that makes me think of you. Running in all wild eyed yelling ‘stop the presses!’”
“You know no one ever actually says that, right?” she countered. “It’s just in movies.”
“It is a movie, Lois,” he said, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “If your life was a movie, you would be the Glenn Close character.”
She shook her head, laughing, unable to think of a retort, but unwilling to concede. And then his gaze slid to her mouth, and her laughter died in her throat. His eyes flicked back to hers, and she leaned toward him in invitation. He smiled and then his lips were on hers, and her eyes were closed and she was sighing happily into his mouth. He was so gentle, so sweet. His hand slid across her cheek, holding her steady as his lips explored hers.
Eventually he pulled away and looked at her, and she smiled shyly and dropped her head back to his shoulder. He laughed softly and stroked her arm, and she wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her bashfulness or if he was just as overwhelmed as she was by the emotions brought on by their kiss.
They watched the rest of the movie and then carried their cups to the kitchen. Lois leaned against the counter, watching as Clark washed both mugs and set them in the dish strainer to dry overnight, and then they walked upstairs together. They lingered in the doorway to her room, and she leaned against the door jam, looking up at him.
“I have to leave for work at 6:50,” Clark told her. “I’ll make coffee when I get up.”
She nodded.
“You should be plenty warm with the quilt on your bed, but if you’re cold, there are more blankets in the closet.”
She nodded again.
“If you need anything, I’ll be right across the hall.”
She nodded again, and he laughed softly.
“Are you going to nod at everything I say?” he teased.
“Maybe,” she said with a smile.
“Can I kiss you goodnight?”
She nodded and laughed, and then his lips were on hers again and she was so happy she couldn’t think of anything else.
“Get some sleep,” he said softly when he finally pulled away. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She nodded again, and then stretched up and kissed him again. “Good night, Clark.”
“Good night, Lois,” he said, stroking her cheek one last time and then turning to cross the hallway.
She watched him go for just a second, a smile still lingering on her lips, and then she walked into her room and closed the door.
