Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

12: priorities, last meal, bucket list

A/n: Sorry for the delay, everyone. Life is crazy! I hope you're all enjoying this, and thank you for sticking around! Thanks for reading!

I feel like a teenager.  Giddy with the effects of Tom's lingering kiss.  I walk around his family room, trying to calm myself, trying to relax and talk myself out of running straight out the front door.  But it's the sort of thing where you're smiling, and you can't stop.  I look over his bookcases...mostly classic literature, serious looking tomes leatherbound in muted colors, but every once in awhile there's a brightly colored slender book.  Dr. Seuss. Shel Silverstein. Goodnight Moon.  I smile more, running my fingers over the spines of the books.

I hadn't meant to spend the day with them.  I'd decided to take a day away from the college.  All my free time was spent there lately—mostly in the studio, workshopping with students.  Sometimes Sam and I would play around with some of our own music, new and old.  He's more comfortable on a guitar, and I'm happier on the piano, so there are often some afternoons where we brainstorm and work together, feeding off each other's ideas.  Rachel would come by and hang out some times, cheering me on and working on sketches for new projects.  The energy in the room—the creative energy, was almost intoxicating at times.  Sitting in that sacred special, with two people I trusted most in the world.  It was more cleansing than any therapist, and journal entry.

Since Sam had a long day, and I needed some time to clear my head.  I started the day with Rachel—making her breakfast, and then sitting in the studio with her.  She'd been finishing throwing some clay—a mesmerizing thing to watch. Then I had decided to venture out, take a walk and soak in some sun and waves.  And there they had been.

Gemma was digging happily and carefree in the sand, Tom looked relaxed and content on the blanket.  Gemma had seen me almost immediately, and I couldn't just walk away, not that I had wanted to.  Her big, dark eyes lit up as she saw me walking toward them.  She'd immediately hopped up, taken my hand and yanked me down into the sand with her.

Then there was Tom.  A man so distracting, it's hard to focus on anything else when he's nearby. He's unassuming though.  He doesn't draw attention to himself, but it's impossible not to notice him.  In the sun, his golden brown hair shone in thick waves, his blue eyes more vivid than the cloudless sky.  He's all long, sinewy muscles—strong and lean with a light dusting of hair across his broad chest.  Whenever he picked up Gemma, or crawled around on the sand, I could see the way his abs contracted, the movement of the muscles in his back.

I can't remember the last time I felt so physically attracted to anyone, and it's almost frightening.  When he asked me to dinner, everything inside of me seemed to light on fire.  I heard my sister's voice in my head, telling me to stay away from him, but I couldn't say no.  I just couldn't.

He takes about twenty minutes putting Gemma to bed.  I can hear him helping her brush her teeth, then the low murmur of his voice as he reads her a story—once and then for a second time.  His voice gets softer and more muffled, until I'm sure she's drifted off to sleep- lulled by the comfort of his voice and his nearness. I can tell it is a special time for them—a ritual that he probably doesn't get to do as often as he'd like, and one that truly signifies being a parent.  Putting your child to bed, tucking them in, making sure they are safe for the night.

I stand up from the couch and go back into the kitchen, fiddling with my mug as the nerves inside of me start again.  It's like jumping beans, my stomach is a flurry. Like carbonation in a soda, a light, constant buzzing.  It's been awhile since I've been involved with anyone—romantic or otherwise, but this feels different.  This feels like more.