maybe she was crazy. that definitely seemed like a plausible explanation; rebecca had always been pragmatic. right? well maybe fairly pragmatic, but pragmatic nonetheless. nothing seemed pragmatic about love at first sight. love at first sight so often ended in disaster; it had since the year fifteen- or sixteen-something when shakespeare wrote romeo & juliet. that was certainly not the future she envisioned for herself. and yet, from the moment she saw him – the moment he’d distracted her in the middle of a song – something had seemed so special about him. the look he gave her as she crooned cat stevens… well, she imagined that was probably the way romeo looked at juliet.
and even before she’d spoken to him, he’d given her crazy butterflies in her stomach – how could someone with that jawline not give you butterflies? – and the first time they made eye contact she felt a little lighter, in the best possible way. perhaps this was all proof of her definite lunacy (and at that conclusion, she made a mental note to definitely not tell her mother about any of these thoughts). but their first date had ended so well, with more butterflies and light feelings, and everything had just felt so easy with him. rebecca had been so eager to make another date with him, yet the short span of time between their meetings had already started to feel like too long. either she was nuts, or jack pearson absolutely had her under some kind of spell.
that was absolutely reaffirmed when she saw him walk in the door at the other end of the restaurant – a very small, local place, quiet and intimate. rebecca felt herself smile like an idiot as she raised a hand to get his attention and wave him over to the table. she stood to greet him, tucking a loose strand of brunette waves behind her ear. was it stupid to stand and greet your date? was that a thing the guy was supposed to do for the girl? she wasn’t up to date on the proper protocol, obviously. but no matter – she was already on her feet, and still smiling like a fool. and yet, all she could muster was a little one-word greeting, spoken in a mellifluous tone that could only be described as the verbal manifestation of all the butterflies she felt in her stomach: “hi.”
