Free Do Anything by Wendy Owens

think. I’m actually flirting with this guy. And I think I’m pretty good at it.
    “After last night, I don’t blame you. I can’t get it off my mind.”
    There! He said it first. He is the first one to acknowledge the mind-blowing collision between us. The awkwardness of it going unsaid is now gone. I sigh a breath of relief.
    “Last night was …” I start, choosing my next word carefully, “nice."
    I smile at him, and he glances at me, furrowing his brow. “That was a lot fucking better than nice!” he exclaims, lifting his arm across the back of the seat of the truck. I use the opportunity to slide in close to him, allowing his heat to envelop me.
    I don’t recognize who the hell I am, but in that moment, this close to him, his scent surrounding me, I don’t care to recognize myself. I just want to see where this day takes me.
    “So Mr. Tour guide, what can I expect today?” I ask, resting my head on his shoulder. I feel his muscles stiffen beneath me for a moment, and then he relaxes. We pass the sign for Alton and I realize just how lost I’d been the day before.
    “I’m sure you know Austen’s home is a museum now …”
    “Yeah, I saw that in a brochure I picked up in London.”
    “I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but there isn’t a lot there. A small collection of her possessions and you can explore the house,” he explains.
    “Are you kidding? I get to walk the halls she walked.”
    “If you say so.” He laughs, and our eyes meet momentarily in the rearview mirror.
    A few seconds later we’re pulling into a parking spot across the street from our destination.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me? I rode around for an hour, and it was this close,” I grumble.
    Holden slips his arm down my back and around my waist, squeezing my hip. “Maybe next time you won’t be so stubborn and just ask for directions, or even better, for some company.”
    Before I can argue, he’s out of the truck and racing around to open my door. I could get used to this . I exit, and we approach the museum, where an older woman at a small desk in the entryway greets us. After exchanging pleasantries, she tells us to enjoy ourselves and let her know if we have any questions. Holden takes the lead, walking into the first room off to the right.
    Lining the wall with the windows are glass display cases. Holden is already standing at one, peering in. I approach his side and catch sight of the well cared for treasure. Inside are manuscript letters penned by Jane’s own hand.
    “Can I ask why you love her so much?” he inquires.
    I think about the question for a moment, “I guess because she was so brave. I wish I was brave.”
    “What? Are you kidding me?” He gasps, turning to face me. “You hopped on a plane and flew over here, by yourself, no plan, just an adventure in your mind. I’d say you’re probably one of the bravest women I’ve ever met.”
    He leaves me with his words, turning and walking into the next room. I’d never had anyone call me brave, and though his words seem sincere, I don’t think I can believe them about myself. I knew I was smart, and I am even willing to admit I’m attractive, but brave, that is a word I could never imagine using to describe myself.
    I hurry to catch up with Holden, the next room holding one of the most inspirational things I’d seen yet—her writing desk. “Can you imagine being a woman back then trying to get your work published?” I ask.
    “No, I guess not.”
    “I’m too scared to submit anything I write now, but I can only imagine what it must have been like for her.”
    “That makes no sense to me.” He stops and turns to look at me.
    “Well, it was a pretty sexist society.”
    “No,” he corrects. “Not her … you. Why on Earth would you be afraid? You’ve read more than most people do in a lifetime because of your job. You have a passion for the written word. You’re smart, and funny, so why would you ever be afraid?”
    “All of those