Glurk. Not so happy with how this twisted on me, but it's done, as promised. Never let me write off the cuff again; I always paint myself into a corner.

Happy Holidays to all my readers, friends, authors I adore.

2016 sucked, but Santa is on his way!

***

The days go by quickly. I’m surprised how easy it is to fit into the world with this man. I realize eventually that I’m treating it as an extended vacation, with no real intention to stay. The universe is teaching me something and when I’ve learned the lesson of the day I’ll be sent home. Except, what lesson? I wasn’t unhappy before. A little lonely, maybe, but who isn’t? And when it comes to falling in love with John, yeah, I could go there, but there’s a huge gulf between us in some ways.

He’s not from my time and it matters. He doesn’t get a zillion nuances or jokes. Doesn’t see why I get so worked up over slavery in the US or the non-existent women’s rights of this century. He’s casually racist in a way that has my jaw-dropping and considers himself a reasonable, kindly man because he’s against killing Indians for no good reason.

Yeah. I could educate him, but what’s the point? Everyone here’s the same. I’ve gone into the village, introduced as John’s cousin visiting, and found the same disconnect.

The sex is good up to a point, but he’s ashamed of what he is and what he wants from me, a tangled mess of conflicting desires. He won’t let me fuck him and seems to think if anyone bends over, ass up, it should be me.

Frustrating. But I like him, for all that. He’s accepted me with surprising calm and he’s good company through the long winter nights.

I ache, under-used muscles protesting the work I have to do, but I toughen up. I feel the cold less, my caffeine headache finally goes, thank the Lord, and I’m healthy and fit.

But I want to go home. I suggest he comes with me, or tries to, but he shakes his head firmly. He knows where he belongs and it isn’t there.

Then spring comes, the woods turn tender and green, and he meets someone else. I come across them in a glade, the most romantic setting imaginable, but there’s nothing sweet or loving about the rough, almost violent fucking I watch for a while before turning away.

I don’t tell him what I’ve seen, but the next day I take off, heading for the milestone. Doesn’t work. I stand there, tap my heels three times, scream at the sky, and kick the earth until a cloud of dust chokes me, but I’m still in the past.

It has to work. I can’t stay here. I think it through. I shifted times in the woods. Maybe the door moves? So where is it now? How do I intersect with it? I could walk for the rest of my life in circles or straight lines and never find it.

I stare around, desperate, tears damp on my face. So fucking sick of this. I want to go home. Then I see a shimmer of light, a twist of the air, a few yards away. Could it be that easy? But if I go through and get sent back again…

Won’t know until I try.

I take it at a run and emerge on Main Street, slamming into a complete stranger. He grabs me, steadies me and gives me a bewildered look. “Where did you come from?”

He’s cute, he’s clean, and I smell like a trashcan on steroids. I step back and flash him an awkward smile. “A long way from here. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

I cautiously step to the side. Still here. Bigger step. Still here. And it’s not spring, but Christmas judging by the snow and the decorations in every store. My apartment is still mine, my job’s safe, and I’m not a missing person.

I punch the air, whoop, and take off. If I’m leaving my soul mate behind, staring after me, mouth open, so be it. I want a hot shower, junk food, a coffee, oh God, a gallon of coffee, and that’s all I want.

But when I open the door a few days later and find him standing there, a quizzical smile on his face, a bottle of wine in his hand, and learn he tracked me down through a mutual friend, I don’t tell him to go away.

Hey, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.