Farraway Mist ?A Wattpad featured story?

Chapter 13: Awkward AF

George held out a slim hope that their rescue, which involved a tow truck and the local fire department, would somehow erase his horrible faux pas to Scout. The entire day, which was spent talking to EMTs, doctors, police, and trying, successfully, it turned out, to keep the news out of the papers, was agony of another sort for George as he watched Scout, huddled in blankets, checking to see how she behaved towards him after he'd revealed his monumental stupidity to her. He couldn't see any difference in her behavior towards him, and he hoped that things were okay between them. In the early evening, when the last of the strangers had left and they were finally alone, he was able to approach her and talk to her.

"So, that was quite a crazy day," he said, sitting next to her at the kitchen table.

She gave him a careful, measured smile, nodding, rising as he sat.

His heart broke a little to see the caution on her face.

Shit.

"I'd better get all these cups in the dishwasher," she said casually, motioning to the counter, which was littered with the remains of the day. "You Brits certainly do go through the tea." She began quickly and efficiently to load the dirty dishes.

"No, no," he protested. "I'll get Alfred or Sunil to do it before they go," he assured her. "You don't have to do that, you must be exhausted."

"I told the boys they could go home," Scout told him. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted them to stay." She blinked weary eyes at him. "I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I'm not even their boss, am I? They looked so worn out from all the excitement, you know?" She smiled at him, a beautiful thing.

She swayed as she stood at the counter, George could see. He rose and went to stand next to her. "I'll do this," he said firmly. "You're dropping on your feet, darling."

"Don't be ridiculous, George," Scout responded, continuing to load the dishwasher. "You're just as tired as I am. Look, I'm nearly finished already."

Together they made quick work of the few remaining dishes.

"Have you eaten anything?" George asked her gently.

She nodded. "I had a few 'biscuits', as you guys say," she responded. "I'm not that hungry, honestly. I think I just want a hot bath, and bed, you know?" She stepped away. "I'll just say goodnight now, then," she said formally.

"Oh, okay," he said, trying to hide his disappointment. "Goodnight, Scout, sleep well."

She nodded, and turned and left.

George stood where he was for a minute after she left. He could punch himself in the face for how idiotic he'd been. What, what in the world had made him think she was gay in the first place? He couldn't even remember. He thought back.

He remembered scrolling through the online applications, seeing her name, seeing the grainy, pixelated photograph, thinking it was of a man (first of all, who put their nickname on a CV?). Then, he remembered being shocked to his core when she stepped out of the car that first morning and he'd seen unequivocally that that she was a woman. At that point he'd been so sure she was gay.

Why?

Well, because she was, um, thin. Athletic. She wasn't wearing any make-up. And she hadn't been the way all women were with him.

And how was that?

You know. Flirty. Provocative. Available. Slightly slutty...

Fuck.

George, you utter wanker.

You complete and total knob.

Just because she didn't jump out of the car in a short skirt and act like a trollop, all tarted up, you assumed she was a lesbian?