Never Yours

Charlie's enterprise

Charlie's POV:

IT HAD been a long day and I was sitting at the kitchen counter in the back room when the ringing of the front doorbell sounded through the house, bouncing and echoing off the walls like some sort of deep, dark cave. I turned round on the chair to look at the clock's reading. 11:05am. He was late. We'd agreed (or rather I demanded) he come at eleven o'clock sharp. Not a minute past. Nor a minute before. Eleven o'clock, sharp. And he had completely disregarded that. Not bothering to open the door, I sat at the counter further, mulling over whether or not I'd made the right decision when I saw a figure moving swiftly across my back garden out of my peripheral vision. Immediately I knew it to be him.

"Lieutenant." I called out, tone flat and unbothered. His head whipped round and upon seeing me, he let out a sigh. Taking a few brisk steps forward, and stepping inside, he shook his head.

"Yeah?" Was all he said. Disappointment was written all over his face and I felt half bad for doubting him now.

"What? No singing?" I joked, trying to cheer him up but with no apparent avail.

"Look I'm really-" I held up a hand to silence him; stopping him mid sentence.

"No apologies needed, sweetheart." I mused. He shook his head again before flashing me a small, friendly smile. Turning round to plate up the lunch I'd prepared, he used this as his prime opportunity to take liberties.

"If- if you don't mind, I'm just gonna go take a shower. Freshen up a bit, you know?" He almost questioned. I whipped back round as quickly as I could manage.

"Uh, yeah, I do mind actually! I'm hungry and can't be bothered to wait for you to finish showering!" I stated. He held his hands up in defeat and removed his aviators, which only made him look that much more desirable. Gesturing to the sitting room (where the conservatory door was located), I gave him directions out into the garden and onto the patio, telling him that I'd be along briefly whilst I finished plating up lunch and carrying the wine.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, I wondered lazily into the garden, carrying the two plates of steak & salad. Maverick who'd previously been sitting in one of the rattan chairs round the table and fiddling with the velcro patches on his jacket, looked up at the sound of my footsteps approaching. I placed the plates onto the table along with the cutlery and sat down, tucking my chair in further underneath the big, square table.

"Well this is nice isn't it? See, I told you I was good at things." I smiled, taking a bite of my steak. It was cooked to perfection i had done a wonderful job at lunch despite my previous anticipation. Maverick, merely grinned back at me, knowingly. I shifted in my seat, suddenly conscious that I'd done something wrong.

"You are good at things, you're correct. But there's one thing you've forgotten this time." He grinned.

"Oh? And what's that?" I asked skeptically.

"The wine." He replied, amused. I swore under my breath (which he'd somehow managed to hear the nosy so and so!) and scraped my chair back, running into the kitchen in a desperate search for the vintage white wine bottle I'd saved specially for this occasion. "Where are you, where are you?" I muttered, circling the kitchen worktops, scanning every inch of free surface.

"Here." A voice said from behind me, making me jump out of my skin. I swore loudly, and turned round to see Maverick standing there leaning against the edge of the worktop, arms folded across his chest, aviators perching near perfectly atop of his messy jet black hair, a bemused grin plastering his face.

"What the hell. Was that. For?" I snapped, smacking his arm, and placing the other to my chest in attempts to steady my heart rate. He shrugged, clearly unbothered by this whole situation.