The Magic of Twilight

Entered in The Page and Blackmore Short Story Competition 2007. Judged by Owen Marshall
An inconvenience leads to possibilities in love.
"A competent light romance tale which tends to become overly sentimental towards the end. "

Geneva tilted her head back so she could relish the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair as she pedalled. It was twilight, her favourite time of night and the beginning of a brand new year. An opportunity to build a bigger, brighter future. Starting with this bike ride. No more toffee pops on the couch while watching bad television.

Clunk. Oh no. Her legs weren't going anywhere. Geneva stopped and sure enough, there was the chain dangling on the footpath like a legless drunk. Nothing she could do but walk the bike home. There was a bit of traffic on the main road in suburbia as it was Friday night. She felt the “will-you-look-at-that-woman” looks but ignored them.

“Nice night for a walk ...with a bike!” The husky American voice startled her. Surburbian New Zealand was hardly a place for tourist attractions. She turned around and was taken aback to see a good-looking, thirty-something dark-haired man smiling at her.
“Hank” he said, offering his hand
“Geneva” she said, shaking it arkwardly.
“ I'm in town for a wedding.”
Her expression must have been “oh.”
“Not my wedding” he winked. “You wouldn't know if there was a decent bar round these parts would you?”
These parts? He may as well have been walking the streets with a horse.
“Well actually there is somewhere – about ten minutes from here. Kind of lame...” he smiled in amusement. “ Well, the beers okay.” she managed to smile.
“Care to show me the way?” he asked, eyebrows high, and his face on the brink of breaking into a smile. “I have a night off from my bestman duties. Tomorrow's the stag night. Thought I better sample some of this kiwi beer so I know what I'm doing.” She took one out-of-body look at herself decked in sweatpants, disrevelled hair from her helmet and shook her head. “I'm heading the opposite way. But it's easy to find – just walk straight down the next turn-off on the right for ten minutes.”
“Shame” he said “You sure know how to let a visitor from out of town down. Well then, if you don't want to come along tonight perhaps tomorrow night then, just as the party's getting warmed up?”
Geneva hesitated. She was so over the bar scene. Really she just wanted to slow down and enjoy the company of a good man with simple nights in. Crikey – she really was sounding the thirty-two years of age that she was. But then she looked at Hank, with his perfect American white teeth and his adorable yankee accent.
“Okay then” Geneva smiled “Tomorrow night it is.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “ See you then Geneva. 7pm. Don't be late!”

Geneva fingered through her wardrobe. What do you wear when you are going on a date with a hot American to a stag party of all things? She didn't want to be too slutty. So the mini skirts, even though they looked good on her, her legs being her stand-out feature – nope – it would just send the wrong message. Afterall, she really didn't fancy jumping out of a cake...So, something not so revealing...Perhaps the capri pants with the fitted blouse would be a good ensemble? On second thoughts, when she put it on it just seemed to scream boring office worker and no, you won't be getting a kiss from me tonight. She didn't want to look slutty but then she didn't want to appear fridgid either...Then, there it was – a classic shift dress with a bow detail at the waist - sexy and simple. Next the makeup. She didn't want to look like she'd been paid to attend the stag party, after all. So Geneva opted for the natural look. Minimal makeup but she danced her eyes up with eye-shadow and mascara. Next went lip-gloss on her lips. She smacked her lips together – not bad!

Geneva stood at the door of the local and suddenly clicked that this was obviously a huge wedding. Then Hank was handing her a glass of champagne “Thought it was going to be a little quieter than this?” She nodded. “ Tom tying the knot is a big deal to this lot – his whole footie team is over there, half his school here. Amazing he ever travelled to America and met yours truly huh.” She nodded as yes, she had wondered how Hank fitted in. “I'm the son of the host family Tom stayed with when he did a school exchange.” “We were like brothers” he added. “Speak of the devil...” and Tom wandered over. Blonde hair, blue eyes – he was the thinking girls jock fantasy. He reeked of push-ups, chin-ups, crunchies and no doubt had a rock-hard body. But he didn't take her fancy. “Tom, this is Geneva” Hank said “Hey” said Tom “So are you going to be Hank's date to my wedding?” Her look must have said it all. “Hmmm...” she said looking at Hank. “Tom!” Hank gave him a blokey slap “I was waiting til she'd had at least one drink before I asked her.” They all roared with laughter at that.
“So? “ said Hank “Even though we've known each other for a whole ten minutes all up – would you like to come to a wedding on Saturday? Please say yes, I'm a decent guy and quite desperate.”
“Sure” she smiled. There could be worse things to do on Saturday night than going to a wedding.
“Excellent!” He punched the air enthusiatically.

Clink. The wedding guests held their up their champagne flutes to the bride and groom. Hank had given a hilarious speech covering some of the experiences he and Tom had had in America. And of course there were references to Janine who Tom had met at highschool that no american girls had ever compared to. There were lots of awwwws when Hank said that, in his charming American way.

Geneva felt a hand on her shoulder. “I'm all yours now” Hank beamed. “My best man duties are over with – so – care to dance?” With that he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Geneva?” he said. Somehow she never got sick of hearing her name in his American accent. “Yes, Hank?” she smiled as they walked to the dance floor. “ I'm leaving in two days...” his voice trialed off. Of course! She'd gotten so caught up in this whirlwind romance that she'd forgotten that Hank didn't actually live here – that he'd actually be leaving soon She felt a lump in her throat. Ridiculous! She'd known him for a whole forty-eight hours. “Anyway” he said turning her head with his hand so she was forced to look directly into his eyes. “I was hoping you might like to join me for a day trip tomorrow. Just the two of us?” That took Geneva by surprise. “Sure, that would be great .” Hank smiled, picked up her hand and kissed it. As they danced closely to the sounds of the jazz band, Geneva could feel her heart pounding in her chest, just like the leading lady in a Mills and Boon novel.

Geneva and Hank went on a picnic where they spent hours drinking wine and talking. They had more in common than they perhaps originally thought – both book-worms who liked to go on long walks. Neither of them liked dogs. At the end of the day Hank looked at her, his eyes misting up a little. “Geneva” he said “Tomorrow my heart will be broken, when I fly back home. It has been the most amazing day...”
She smiled and wiped back a tear too. “I know” she sighed.
They agreed to keep in touch by email and phone calls. Geneva hoped to make it to America within the next six months. She needed time to save and to accrue some leave.

Hank dropped Geneva off at her house early that evening. He had an early flight the next day. They kissed by her front gate and hugged like the lovers they wanted to be. Then Geneva found herself inside her flat. Her bike, chain fixed, stood invitingly in the hallway. Ten minutes later she pedalled off into the twilight. But the magic of the twilight had gone. All she could think of was that Hank would be in the sky tomorrow heading further and further away from her as each second passed. She wiped away an escapee tear and pedalled faster, wondering how different she'd be feeling now if the chain had never come off her bike in the first place.