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~ Chapter 1 // Utterly Enchanted ~

I’m a hopeless romantic. Not many people even know that about me, but when I say hopeless, I mean it to the highest degree. For someone with such a tough shell, I wholeheartedly believe in the existence of a classic romance, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt so detached from everything, but mostly, love.

The weekends here consist of the same thing, without fail. I almost always end up at the bar across from my house, regardless of what I was doing or where I was prior in the evening. Being that I’m not a huge drinker, I sit back and observe people. I watch the tool bags that are wasted and trying to get laid, and I watch the 27 year old females who still think that life is a sorority, and I laugh at them.

I’m tired of women not being WOMEN, and men not being MEN. Sometimes I wish I lived back during the days when romance was alive. It was all just so simple. Love letters not only existed, but they were handwritten. Men took the time to court women. They were poetic in their phrasing. We were seen as beautiful…timeless.

There’s something to be said about a British boy; in my case, an entire book. Maybe it’s the way they carry themselves, so differently from anyone I’ve ever known in America. Maybe it’s the mannerisms, or how being a gentleman isn’t just a week long novelty…it just…is. It could be the accent that makes my knees weak. The accent, that is so ridiculously endearing; the boy could tell me how he’s a convicted felon, and I’d still be swooning over every word.

Absurd, I know.

I think I immediately associate it with a high level of intellect, education, and let’s face it, royalty. Maybe it’s the childhood stories imprinted from when we were little girls. The stories of how the princess found her prince, the magnificent castles, and the grassy fields that went on for miles.

As I got older and realized royalty actually did exist, and it was found nowhere near Brooklyn, NY, I became fascinated with every other place but where I called home. When I was 10 months old, at some time early in the middle of the night, my mother sat me in her lap in front of the television to watch the broadcast of Princess Diana’s wedding. She said to me, “See the princess? Look at how pretty her dress is. You’re gonna marry a prince one day just like she is.” Two years later, when Prince William was born, she apparently made me watch that too. From what I’m told, any time the Royal Family happened to be on TV, she made it a point to have me by her side.

I have no idea why my mom, a 25 year old woman from Brooklyn, was so captivated with that lifestyle…but then again…read the first part of this sentence and I guess the answer is there.

Either way, before I could even walk, I was being prepared to know everything about England and it’s rose. So it should come as no surprise, that over the course of 28 years, I’ve grown to be utterly enchanted by those damn British boys.

~ Chapter 2 // The Email~

My dog sat there with a persistent stare on her face, silently begging to be played with, almost as if her entire little world revolved around me; the beacon of fun. I stared back at her hopeful eyes, thinking to myself how sad it must be that her only sense of guidance is from a 28yr old female, who at that very moment, was thinking about how boring her life actually is. I decided to stay home from work that day, and while doing absolutely nothing but the occasional flipping through channels, and feeling bad for my 8 month old co-dependent dog, my cell phone rang. I remember that phone call like it was yesterday.

My best friend Lauren was on the other end babbling about a guy that just came in to her store…a band…Baltimore…recording an album…and a British accent. Shia was barking at someone walking by the house, so I could barely get my thoughts straight.

“Wait wait wait, go back. What happened? The guy was just there?”

“Yea, he just left. I was in the back room and came out to check on a customer, and he walked over to me and asked if I had a certain pair of jeans, and when I heard his accent, obviously I asked if he was from England,” she explained.

“Smart Lauren.”

“Shutup, you know 8 year olds that flirt better than I do, I didn’t know. Whatever. Anyway, so I asked him why the hell he was in Baltimore, and he told me that his brother is in this band back in England, and they’ve been here for like the last 3 weeks recording their album, and he came to visit.”

“Was he hot?” Naturally, the priorities are all about yours truly. I was single. I had to ask, and don’t kid yourself, you would have done the same thing.

“Um, yea. Jessica, I couldn’t even look at him. I was talking and every time our eyes met I looked away because I wanted to throw up.”

Maybe you didn’t expect that response, but I did. Lauren has always been dramatic, so it came as no surprise for me to laugh it off.

“Ha ha, he was THAT hot?”

“YES! I mean, he was cute, yea. I don’t know; there was something about him.”

See? Did you see that right there; that tiny little switch from exaggeration to realistic? Meet Lauren.

She went on in a panic, “Are you busy right now? Can you go online and see if you can find his brother’s band? We should totally hang out with them; I doubt they know any girls here.”

Thanks to her stalking his credit card receipt, she told me his name was Matthew Stokes, however, in typical Lauren fashion she managed to remember only partial information about who the band actually was. One word out of four, to be exact, because obviously she thinks I’m some miracle worker. This, of course, prompted me to fly over to my computer and go on a stealth research mission of my own.

In typical me fashion, I found the band. I guess I can work some magic every now and then.

“Laur, I think this is them. It says they’re in Baltimore all month.”

I briefly scanned through their Myspace page, and tried looking at their photos.

“They’re actually really cute… they look younger though. Did he say how old he was?”

“We didn’t get into ages. How young? Does it say? Whatever, they can’t be THAT young, I still think you should send them an email.”

Their music started playing automatically, and I caught myself jamming out in my chair.

“Well, they sound awesome. Definitely the type of stuff we listen to.”

Lauren was still hung up on this, “Hot guys from England, all musicians, we have to hang out!”

I was still browsing through their pictures and trying to find who I would “hypothetically” be attracted to if they were to be standing in my living room. I mean, I like to be prepared.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. They may not even read it. What if the guy was lying? Or WORSE, he’s gonna see it and be like, ‘how did you even find me?’, and then we’re gonna look like psychopaths.”

I knew he wasn’t lying. I also knew they probably had no idea what to do in Baltimore and would jump on the opportunity. I was just stalling.

“Ha ha, come on, please?” Normally, she’d be the one to shy away from something like this, and seeing how she was all about it, I finally gave in.

“Alright, give me a few minutes to actually think about what to say, because he doesn’t know ME, he met YOU… I have to word it right.”

I heard a customer faintly in the background asking her for help, and she hurried off the phone with me, “YAY! THANK YOU!! BYE!”

From: Jessica†

Date: 21 Apr 2009, 21:11

Subject: your brother…

… or someone in the band’s brother… came into the levis store at the inner harbor today and talked to my friend lauren about you guys. he told her you were recording in fells point, and all that good stuff.

you should totally come hang at our pad before you leave to go back home! we have the SICKEST house in baltimore… its wicked nice. and a cute puppy too ;)

you boys are more than welcome to come hang. plus we could show you around baltimore, the good way!

we have a pool table, hot tub, beer on tap, guitar hero… bla bla bla, you get the idea.

if you wanna go out in baltimore one night before you leave, let us know and we’ll give you the tour.

get back to me when you can.

cheers!

jessica

I’m fully aware that I sounded as though I was a 15 year old hopped up on speed, but I was in a rush. Not to mention, I had to make sure to pinpoint the few key aspects of my house that would reel them in. It would become apparent not long after, that this email was only the beginning of what would soon be the biggest chance I’ve ever had to change my life.

~ Chapter 3 // “I’m Patrick”~

When I walked in from work, Lauren had obviously done everything in her power to make the house spotless, with the exception of re-painting it. The boys were just a few blocks away for most of the night, taking in some good Baltimore spirit at Camden Yards for an Orioles game. Matt texted me as they were hailing a cab from the stadium, and Lauren and I went flying through the house like two tornados armed for battle; Windex in one hand, Febreeze in the other. Granted, it was perfectly clean already, but I swear women will go out of their way to get their final touch on anything, or at the very least, die trying.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door, and as she bolted down the stairs to let our new friends in, I ran into the bathroom to do one last overlook. I listened through the crack as the muffled footsteps made their way up the staircase, waited a few more seconds, and then emerged from down the hallway. I’m sure it looked like the grand entrance on my behalf, like their stopping by was a pleasant surprise to my already “busy” evening. I laughed to myself as I thought about the ridiculous things females do when it comes to the opposite sex. As if I was doing anything else but waiting for these boys for the last few hours.

As my eyes darted past all three, I recognized Patrick immediately from the video, and it dawned on me that Kyle wasn’t with them. Waving an orange foam finger and bags of cotton candy, Matt introduced himself first, joking with me about our random messages from earlier that afternoon.

“Ha ha, you’re the one I’ve been emailing!” he exclaimed; his adorable British accent overpowering his words.

He was tall and lanky, with freckled porcelain skin; his arms covered in gorgeous black and white tattoos; strawberry blonde strands of hair sticking out the sides of his backwards hat; and a smile nothing short of contagious. I could see now why Lauren had me performing ninja tactics to locate him the day before.

“Hi, I’m Jack.”

I barely heard him, but I caught his shy smirk. He did a little rocking motion back on his heels when he said hello, and his obvious meekness was rather precious, actually. Thin framed with almost pixie-like features; Jack’s hair was louder than his voice. Shades of ginger with highlights of blonde, it was fantastically chopped and stylishly messy. There were bold, bright colors of ink decorating his skin as well; conflicting in a way with his introverted expressions. He was definitely the kind of guy that could get away with murder, just because he smiled.

Shia broke the slightly awkward air as she came barreling down the stairs to be a part of the action. She jumped up on our guests, obvious in her excitement to see new faces. I yelled at her to get down, but she blatantly ignored me and went leaping from one couch to the next. This was my dog’s way of celebrating the fact that she was out of the crate.

Sometimes I could picture her shouting, “I’m free! I’m free!”

Matt was laughing at her circus act, when she suddenly jumped up trying to get Patrick’s attention.

I couldn’t exactly blame her.

He was alluring.

Rest assured, I would have done the same thing if I could get away with it, having four legs and a tail.

“Whoa… ha ha, easy pooch”, he pushed her down, and while still petting her, reached out his other hand to finish the introductions. Catching his glance, I watched his mouth move.

“I’m Patrick.”

“Hi…I’m Jessica…did you just call her pooch?”

“Yea…pooch.” He gave me a look as if I should just know this, so I asked again just to be sure.

“Pooch?”

Choosing to make things even more complicated, he responded with, “Poochie.”

I pictured this going on for the next hour, so I simply smiled and began analyzing him in less than ten seconds.

Patrick was the epitome of physical contradiction. His hair was a light brown, and swept to the side in a very traditional style that I would never like on anyone else. On him, it was endearing. His eyes were the darkest shade of blue I’d ever seen, until they hit the right angle of light and were practically translucent. There were a pack of cigarettes in his front left pocket, clearly outlined by the jeans he seemed to have poured himself into, and every time he smiled, the expressions on his face were a combination of boyish charm, and I’ll beat you senseless if I have to.

This made me wonder about the jeans. How could he possibly get into a brawl in such tight pants?

The things I think of.

Nevertheless, I considered it tragic that I found him so attractive. Just the way he said his name left my insides twisting about.

I wanted to slap myself for being so drawn to him.

The way he spoke…it was driving me crazy. He said maybe a total of three sentences, and here I was planning our non-existent wedding in my head. I really needed to snap out of it.

“So…I guess I should give the grand tour?” No one else was saying anything at that point, so I figured I might as well break the ice.

With everyone in agreement, I was followed up the stairs, and Lauren looked at me as though I just saved the night.

One by one, their eyes lit up when they reached the top of the second floor and saw both rooms of our entertaining area.

We split in the middle and Lauren started talking about the rat-pack inspired pool table area, while I went on to mildly brag about our “rock n’ roll” themed room.

“I took all the pictures here…my favorite bands…you know…”

“She’s amazing at photography!” Lauren chimed in from a few feet away.

“Wow, this picture is incredible,” Patrick noted, picking up my personal favorite from the bunch.

“You took this?” His eyes darted back and forth between the frame in his hand and my stupid grin.

“Heh, yea…and thank you. I love that picture. That show meant so much to me.”

I was silently rejoicing over the fact that I was able to get this boy’s attention so easily.

Lauren walked back over with Jack and Matt, and I had a sudden urge to move this party into my bedroom.

“Ooh ooh! Come see my room!”

With three guys in a line behind me, the excitement in my voice left me sounding as if I was running a bordello, and they just struck gold. I quickly adjusted my tone, and walked them over to the doorway. There’s a weird fascination that I have with my bedroom. The slightly gothic décor mixed with dark colors of red and black leave me in a mysterious mood on most days. I like seeing if other people feel the same.

“This is nice. I like how the bed is on an angle, you know? We don’t really do that back home.” It was the first time Jack opened his mouth since he walked in my house, and after my reply, I was afraid it would be his last.

“Wait…what? You don’t move your beds around in England? Ha ha, that’s crazy.” I probably gave him the strangest look possible, because he brought out that smirk we were first introduced to as he tried to defend what he originally said.

“No no…no you know what I mean, like, the rooms are much smaller by us so there’s not much we can do with the beds.”

I ended the brief conversation with a nod of my head, and escorted them back out into the other room.

Lauren started fluffing pillows and moving them around on our couches, waving everyone over as if it were story time with Ms. Wilson.

“Guys, sit, sit…do you want anything to drink? Eat? We have a ton of stuff…” her voice trailed off as she ran over to the counter. In the ten years I’ve known Lauren, she has always been the gracious host; constantly making sure everyone she comes in contact with feels comfortable and at home. She started opening up cabinets and drawers, pulling out bags of cookies, chips, candy, beer, etc. It was basically guy food heaven, and she knew this…hence her mini shopping trip hours prior for this very occasion.

At this point, given the smiles on their faces, I’m pretty sure they were falling in love with us…or the free beer.

They stayed until early morning. Complete strangers that didn’t know us from a hole in the wall… and 9 hours flew by until 7am when they finally hailed a cab to get back to their hotel. We walked down the steps and out my front door, doing the typical goodbye dance of hugs and lingering. Patrick was last to enter the cab, and as we pulled apart, I felt his hand slowly trace along my side and end at my lower back. There was a tingle in my spine from his touch that caught me off guard, but left me smiling.

While subtle, it said a mouthful.

Quite possibly about 9 hours worth.