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“The Tardis,” she repeats, as though by saying the word again, everything will suddenly become clear to me.
Nope. Complete blank.
“Have you been living under a rock?” she asks, her eyebrows now so far up her forehead, they’re almost at her hairline.
“Clearly,” I reply, smiling a little.
She looks at me strangely for a second, and from what I can deduce, I think she’s trying to figure out whether I’m telling the truth or making fun of her.
I raise both hands. “I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she continues. “It’s from a British TV show. Dr. Who? You’ve really never heard of Dr. Who and the Tardis?”
I shake my head again. I don’t watch too much TV since I find it a colossal waste of time. I hardly ever watch anything from our own country, never mind someone else’s.
“Wow. Well, then I suppose my sentence makes no sense.”
I can tell she’s about to turn and leave, and I want to stop her. I want to tell her that I was an idiot last night and that, in fact, I have been an idiot since we first met. But I don’t know where to begin.
“Can you tell me about it?” I say instead. Maybe if I can get her to stay for more than a minute, I can figure out what it is I actually want to say.
The suspicious frown on her brow does not instill me with confidence. Nor does the beat of silence that hangs between us. Bree is trying to figure out if she should stay or go, and while I cannot influence her decision in any way, I’m hoping it’s the former.
“He’s a time traveler,” she says eventually.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I did not see that coming. Not that I know anything about the rather stunningly beautiful woman before me, but she certainly does not strike me as a sci-fi fan. Then again, what does a sci-fi fan really look like? It’s not like they walk around in their Comic-Con costumes every day of the year, right?
My mind goes somewhere it shouldn’t. Like what might she look like in a rather tight and short superhero outfit? I quickly dismiss the thought.
Geeze, man. You’re like a faucet. You’re either red hot or freezing cold!
“The Tardis is his time machine,” she continues. “On the outside, it looks like a phone booth. But not like the phone booths we have here. It’s a British phone booth.”
“And they’re different?” I’m frowning again, and then something magical happens.
A beautiful, light, and airy natural sound that seems to suit her perfectly emanates from her lips as she giggles, clearly amused at my bewilderment. I don’t care much about my bewilderment in this moment though, I’m far too busy being a little transfixed by her gentle laugh. My stomach churns and twists, just like it did that day when I smelled her wonderful aroma. I can smell it now while she’s barely three feet away. Between her soft scent and her gentle laughter, I feel a little lost.
“Of course, they’re different,” she continues as the laughter fades into a soft smile. “Our phone booths are horrible, transparent boxes. The Tardis is this wonderfully enclosed box. On the outside, it looks like one person might fit into it, but when the door opens, it’s absolutely humongous inside.”
Her reference is beginning to make more sense now, and I nod. “Ah, which is why my father’s barn is like the Tardis. It’s deceptively regular-looking from the outside.”
“You see,” she says with a grin, “you’re not as dense as you pretend to be.” With that, she turns on her heels and leaves the barn without looking back.
I find myself grinning at her light insult, and a calming stillness wraps around me. I might not have managed the apology, but in some kind of natural way, I think things got better. I mean, I made her laugh. That’s got to be a good thing, right?
