"Stephen..."
She wanted to joke, and say something clever like 'Of all the gin joints.' Instead, an unusually intense head rush, first, made her wince away from him, and then even take a small step back. The underside of her jaw and her neck flushed, tingling unpleasantly.
The man smiled - and it's like the last ten years never happened. He was dressed in a pale pink button-up, just as he used to fancy then. Its excellent cut emphasised his physique: he appeared a few stones heavier than before; his arms even more muscular; his torso simply triangular. The crew cut was new; he used to have his hair braided.
"Hi," she said and stumbled back, awkwardly trying to put more distance between them.
"How are you in Fleckney?" he asked. He looked her over amicably; and she immediately thought that she'd aged so poorly compared to him. "Are you just visiting– Careful!" he cried out, his hand flying up towards her.
Jackie started turning around, to see what was behind her, and to catch herself - and her tote smacked a person standing in the queue near her. She jerked, trying to compensate - and suddenly she landed on the floor, pain exploding in her tailbone and her right ankle.
Stephen shifted towards her, his hand still outstretched. People moved around, someone asked if she was OK. She was almost disoriented from her embarrassment. Even her ears were now ringing, and she pressed her hand to her forehead.
"I'm– I'm OK, I just–" she mumbled - and suddenly a pair of dark eyes was in front of her.
"Jackie. Are you alright?" the stranger asked tersely.
A strong warm hand wrapped around her forearm, picking her up.
"C'mon, let me help you," the same person said.
Jackie obeyed, still feeling out of sorts. When she rose, another pang shot through her ankle; and she hissed.
"I think she twisted–" Stephen started.
"I'll take care of it," the man, supporting her, said sharply. "We apologise for the inconvenience," he addressed the customers around him. "Please proceed to the counter to pick up your orders. Ice cream tends to melt at room temperature."
His deadpan joke was met with a few laughs from the people around them.
"Milly, please, offer everyone a discount voucher for their next visit," he commanded an employee who was hovering nearby.
The one called Milly nodded and dashed to the counter. Jackie stared at the side of his head. He had an unruly mane of dark waves, while the sides and the back were close-trimmed, matching his short beard, which was more of a 5 o'clock shadow.
"Alexander," she realised.
He turned and met her eyes. She didn't remember him being that tall back then - and that wide in the shoulders! He'd been such a dangly teen. He must have bulked up after she'd seen him last. The impassive expression was the same, though. She should've recognised the lacklustre blue irises.
"Could I take you to the back?" he asked. "I can check your ankle, I'm a certified first-aider."
"No, no, it's alright!" she exclaimed. "I twist it all the time, it's really nothing!"
She placed her weight on the foot - and she could see that she hadn't managed to hide her wince from him.
"Da!" A small boy popped up next to Stephen. "Our ice-cream's ready! Oh, what's up?"
Jackie tensed. The boy had Stephen's eyes and kinky hair.
"Give me a moment, Lee," Stephen said curtly, without looking at the little'un. "Jackie, let me take you to the surgery. It's your old injury, innit?"
He frowned now, when his gaze fell on the other man's fingers wrapped around Jackie's arm.
"It's quite alright, really," she repeated. "Maybe I should sit down," she said, anxiously looking around.
She was starting to panic. Stephen opened his mouth, clearly set on arguing; and she unconsciously leaned towards Alexander.
"You should," Alexander said.
She wasn't sure what he was trying to discern, studying her face so intently; but then he nodded - and picked her up bridal-style.
Jackie gasped. "Alexander! What are you– Put me down! I'm heavy!"
"Don't be ridiculous," he answered and started walking to the back of the parlour. "Your son is waiting for you, Mr. Bassey," he threw to Stephen over his shoulder. "I've got this."
Jackie tightened her grip around his neck and made sure not to catch a glimpse of Stephen's reaction.
They crossed the floor and stopped near one of the painted walls.
"Alexander, I think I should–"
"My key is under my apron," he interrupted her. "Pull it out by the lanyard."
She gawked at him - and then saw the strap around his neck. She carefully picked it up; not without her fingers brushing at his skin, though.
"Mummy, look!"
A girl of about five pointed at them with her finger. Jackie cringed and started fumbling with the card. He made a low noise in his throat.
"Oh my god, sorry! Am I choking you?!"
He didn't get to answer, because the same employee from before appeared near them, swiped her card; and the door opened. Alexander marched in, leaving the young woman behind. Jackie didn't fail to notice a disgruntled grimace on Milly's face.
His office was the second door down the corridor.
"The key," he said.
Jackie was still clutching the card in her hand. He bent down, seemingly without any effort; and she unlocked the door.
Her next protest got stuck in her throat, as she goggled at the surrounding decor. The office was as bare and utilitarian as they come. On the other hand, it looked like the inside of a spaceship: a standing transformer desk, a high tech swivel chair, two plastic Eames armchairs, a laptop on the desk, and a wall of filing cabinets. The only unnecessary thing in this spartan room was the vertical garden covering the wall facing the large roof window in the slanted ceiling above the desk.
"Oh wow," she breathed out. She realised he'd stopped and was now scrutinising her. She gave him an awkward shaky smile. "Shouldn't you put me down?"
He blinked, seemingly shaking off some sort of stupor; nodded again; and slowly lowered her into one of the Eameses.
"Can I take off your shoe?" he asked, going down on one knee in front of her.
"Please don't! I can do it!" She hastily bent down; and he rocked away, avoiding an impending headbutt from her. "Sorry! Sorry!" she blabbed, trying to push her bali ballet flat off her foot - and yelped in pain.
Her fingers firmly closed around hers.
"What a menace," he murmured, took her hand off, and started untying the lace.
His motions were nimble and gentle.
"Oh goodness me, I just realised, I didn't even say 'hi' to you, and–" She croaked and shut her gob, because he's just picked up her foot with both his hands.
The examination was thorough and unhurried, in his usual precise, detached manner. She suddenly remembered how he used to fill whiteboards with equations with the same focus and assurance.
"You really don't have to–" She wasn't sure why she sounded breathy. It must have been the shock of seeing Stephen and her fall. "It really is an old aggro, from my track & field days," she explained.
"Tibialis posterior tendinopathy," he stated, without stopping his efforts.
"Yeah. How did you know?" Jackie asked in surprise.
He set her foot on his knee, and his fingers pressed exactly into the affected area. She sucked air in.
"Here," he said and rubbed his thumb to the hollow next to the tendon.
The immediate relief was unexpected. Jackie stared at the heavy glossy locks of his hair - and then cleared her throat.
"I need to ice it," Jackie said. "Have you got any ice here?"
His fingers halted on her Achilles tendon - and he slowly lifted his face to her. She couldn't tell what emotion was dancing in his unusual eyes. It took her only a second to realise how daft her question had been.
"Oh right." She laughed embarrassed. "An ice cream shop! Duh!"
He watched her for a few seconds, and then pulled the second chair closer and settled her foot on it.
"I'll get you ice, and I've got compression tape," he said, rising. "But you might want to go to see Fenton and get a brace. I haven't touched your soleus - that would be inappropriate - but it appears tight."
She got momentarily distracted from his strange mention of 'inappropriateness' and exclaimed, "Is Alan practising? I remember him well! He came to Fleckney at the same time as me!"
"Two months prior to your arrival," he corrected her indifferently. "And yes, he's running a surgery together with Viola Holyoake." He took off his pristine apron, neatly folded it, and hung it over the back of the second Eames. "You should take off your sock. I'll get you ice."
He was back with a plastic tray that housed an ice pack, a small towel, a roll of sport tape, a bottle of painkillers, a glass of water, and a small glass bowl with a spoon sticking out of it. The ice cream was of the loveliest pastel green colour.
She refused painkillers, reminding him that she was ginger, so she usually took Naproxen rather than Ibuprofen. He hummed and pushed the ice cream bowl into her hands, knelt in front of her again, and started meticulously wrapping the ice pack in the towel.
"It's gelato al pistacchio." His normally coarse voice sounded lilting when he spoke Italian. "The recipe from Sicilia. Best variety, pistacchio di Bronte." He arranged the compress on her ankle and gave her a questioning look, clearly expecting her to react to the treat. "I don't know your current preferences. Gelato is a safe choice."
"No, no, that's brilliant! Thank you!"
She scooped a generous spoonful and stuck it in her mouth. Flavours bloomed - sweet, aromatic, captivating - coating her palate. Her eyes widened, and she exhaled sharply through her nose.
"Oh my," she whispered after swallowing. "This is... something else."
His palms lay onto the chair seat, next to her hips; and - his gaze on her lips - he started rising, moving closer and closer to her face.