Meet Cute

the time on the street

"The Universe is not punishing you or blessing you, the Universe is responding to the vibrational attitude that you are emitting."

If this idea is correct, Arthur is pretty sure he must have been emitting some seriously positive attitude, in order for the Universe to decide that his path should cross with Arabella's so many times. Unfortunately, the Universe didn't decide to bless him with the communication skills to convey how amazing he thinks it is that they've met by accident so often. Nor to ask for her number.

In fact, he voices this to Joe (in a slightly less lame, self deprecating way) in the hopes that he'll ask Rebecca - his girlfriend and a friend of Arabella's - to pass on Arabella's number. Joe nods and tells him "sure", but the fact that a week passes with no further response makes Arthur think it's not going to happen.

Okay so maybe he visited Starbucks a couple more times than usual and perhaps he chose to get the bus to school even when his Dad offered him a lift. But he can't get this far with a girl - a girl like Arabella, no less - and just forget about her.

Of course, a lot of people might consider it strange that his head perks up and he looks around, hopeful, every time the door opens during his shift at the music store. Regardless, it pays off when on a rainy Sunday afternoon, in walks Rebecca.

She heads straight to the pop section, browsing the CDs with a contented smile. She hasn't even glanced in Arthur's direction. He immediately stands up from his seat, then sits back down again. Deciding that if it's meant to be, Rebecca will be happening to buy something.

Miracle upon miracles, her manicured nails land on the new Taylor Swift album and she picks it up, reading the back of the cd sleeve. Then, she shrugs and heads towards Arthur behind the till.

As she fishes in her purse for the correct change, she suddenly startles. "Wait, you're on Joe's hockey team, right? I knew it!"

Arthur nods and sort of chuckles nervously. This isn't even the girl he wants to impress and he's pathetic.

"Actually, you know Arabella, don't you?" he starts. "I kind of know her and I was, well, I was wondering if you could give me her number. I forgot to ask her for it the other day."

Rebecca purses her lips, as though deep in thought. "I'm not sure I should be handing out her number to people I scarcely know... but I actually just bumped into her going into the bank just down the road. We chatted for a bit but she was in a hurry."

"Do you think she'll still be there?" Arthur asks, jumping up from his seat.

"Probably, if you're quick."

Quick is exactly what he is, finishing the transaction then heading towards the door. He glances to the clock on the wall; the manager won't be here for at least an hour, nobody will notice if the store is shut for five minutes. He flips the 'open' sign to 'closed' and snatches the keys from the lanyard round his neck.

Rebecca leaves, wishing him luck and giggling to herself. Arthur fumbles with locking the door and then he's off, speed walking in the direction of the bank.

When he spots her a little way ahead of him, Arthur mentally praises his past self for always shovelling the snow on his elderly neighbour's drive each winter and agreeing to get Arabella those coffees when she was too scared to get up on the plane and covering for his co-worker when they call up with a hangover. Whatever good deed has meant fate or the Universe has placed Arabella a few feet ahead of him on this sidewalk, he praises himself for it.

Arabella can hear footsteps behind her, fast and heavy and rapidly approaching. She increases her pace, wishing she'd put her cash in her purse and her purse in her backpack before she left the bank.

Suddenly a hand is on my her arm and she's whipping round and without even registering her elbow is clashing against their face.

"Ow!" Arthur yelps, recoiling back and lifting his hands to his face. "What the hell?"

"Oh my God!" Arabella exclaims, realisation setting in.

Slowly Arthur moves his hands away from his face, revealing a stark red mark high on his left cheekbone. It's stinging, plus there's a dull underlying ache that suggests it's going to blossom into a bruise.

"I'm so sorry," she says, but the sincerity is lost as she dissolves into a fit of giggles.

Ridiculously, Arthur joins in and soon they're both laughing hysterically, still standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither notice the odd looks they receive from passers-by; they're too busy staring at each other.

"Note to self: never take you by surprise again," Arthur says.

Arabella smiles. "Yeah, apologies. But what were you doing anyway?"

Oh no. This is the tough part. Arthur hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. "I, uh, I wanted to speak to you."

"Why?" Arabella crosses her arms.

For some reason, her natural defensiveness edges back into her voice. If anything, it should be the other way round; she punched him in the face.

"I wanted to get your number," Arthur replies, but it's not enough.

At this, he's pretty sure Arabella's smile drops. "Oh, you just wanted my number? Okay."

This is awful, Arthur can tell, so he takes a deep breath and just lets himself speak.

"Yeah, but no. I mean, of course I want your number, but I want more than that, too. Shit, I'm not good at this. What I'm trying to say is... what I want to tell you is that when we met on the plane I thought you were beautiful and terrifying, and I was disappointed when you left. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd let something great slip through my fingers. But then I kept seeing you - on the bus and in Starbucks and at the hockey match. You were everywhere; it had to mean something, right? You wouldn't get out of my head or my life and I didn't want you to."

He pauses, chest rising and falling heavily with his ragged breaths. Arabella's face is an unreadable mask: mouth slightly parted and dark brown eyes wide and set intently on him. Arthur knows he should stop; think his words through; give her a chance to reply, but now he's started he can't stop. It's as though the dam has broken and suddenly everything he's wanted to say is all pouring out at once. The words are tumbling from his mouth, so fast his brain can barely keep up.

"I suck at this kind of thing and you give off way too many mixed signals, but I think you like me. I mean, I sure hope you have some kind of feelings towards me because if not this is going to be embarrassing as hell. Plus, I like you." He halters for a second, raking a hand through his mess of dark blond curls and gritting his teeth as he tries to put into the correct words. "Okay, Arabella, it's like - it's like we met and suddenly all the love songs were about you."

Finally, Arthur finishes. All the time he's been speaking his eyes have been flitting about nervously, too afraid to look at her in case he forgot everything. When he finally forces himself to shift his gaze to her direction, Arabella is staring at him.

Her eyes, such a dark brown that they could be mistaken for black, are shining. She's biting her lip; her hands are tugging on the ends of her long hair. Arthur holds his breath expectantly, for so long he feels as though he's about to pass out.

"Okay..." she says, quietly. But Arthur spots it - the corners of her lips are twitching into a smile. "Okay," she repeats, as though it's the only word in her vocabulary.

Arthur's heart is thumping erratically against his ribs when he says, "Arabella Pannone, I think it's time we stop meeting like this."

He smiles, the lopsided, dorky grin that Arthur doesn't realise has become a sort of trademark of his, and that's all it takes. Arabella grins, the kind of beaming expression that's effortlessly, unadulteratedly stunning.

Arabella looks at her feet then back to Arthur. "Arthur Morgenstern, I think you might be right."