George apparently took the part about Scout's convalescence seriously. He let her move to one of the lounge chairs on the terrace in the afternoon, but that was it, and even then, it was only if she was bundled up against the capricious ocean chill.
"Jesus, George," Scout said, laughing as he piled yet another blanket on her, "I can't even move my legs anymore."
"Well, lucky for you moving your legs isn't necessary, then, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "I'm here, at your beck and call, so you don't have to move at all," he said with a firm nod, sitting down next to her.
"It's not even cold," she noted, looking around. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze this afternoon, and the flagstones radiated a comfortable warmth up onto their reclining bodies. The ocean was flat calm as far as the eye could see, possibly all the way to France. Jess and Bandit stretched out, enjoying the unusual temperatures, and Scout tried to unwrap herself a little so the sun could touch her pale arms and legs.
"Oh my god this feels amazing," she murmured. "Hard to believe two days ago I was in Connecticut, freezing my ass off."
"Oh? Was it cold back in Connecticut?" George asked, looking over at Scout, shading his eyes.
Scout nodded, eyes shut. "I lived on the coast, there, too, and it was pretty foggy. You had to go north or south to hit the sunny spots, the touristy spots? Only the locals where we live. Just a lot of horses and farms and old, old houses, you know?"
She finally huffed a breath of exasperation and kicked the blankets off, exposing her legs, which were still in her cotton pajamas. She rolled the legs up as far as she could, above her knees, and George saw with alarm that she had some very big bruises on her pale calves and thighs.
Scout sat up to see what he was looking at. "What?" she asked. "Not up to your standards?"
George gave her a look. "Some of those bruises look pretty painful, that's all," he said.
Scout looked at them and shrugged. "I bruise very easily, because I'm so pale," she said casually. "And I play pretty hard, so I guess I've gotten used to seeing them on myself." She lay back down, closing her eyes once more.
George continued to look at her legs, taking his time now that she was no longer watching him stare.
Some of the bruises looked like hand prints to George, they looked like her legs had been grabbed by someone.
He swallowed and looked away, lying down and closing his eyes.
It simply wasn't possible.
Was it?
And she was so slim, thin, even, she could be hurt, like really hurt, so easily. He turned his head, almost against his will, his eyes sliding over her slender, vulnerable form. Her head was balanced on her delicate neck, her collarbones clearly visible under the almost sheer material of her pajama top. He could almost count each rib down her side, and he could see the swell of her tiny breasts, the nipples pressing upward with every breath she took. The shirt had ridden up a little, and a strip of white midriff and the indentation of her navel showed between it and the waistband of the bottoms. George found himself watching to see if it moved as she breathed, and checking to see if he could tell whether or not she was wearing knickers.
He realized what he was doing and rolled his eyes, turning his head resolutely away from the pixie lying next to him with the ridiculous rolled up pajama bottoms, telling himself she didn't want him, she didn't like him, she didn't even like men, and to stop acting like a randy teenager, for Christ's sake.
Next to him, Scout fought the urge to roll her pajama bottoms down so she didn't look quite so idiotic, and told herself to just enjoy the feel of the sun. She had no reason to care what George Wilder thought about how she looked, for crying out loud. He was one of the most sought after men on the planet, who was still in love with his dead wife, who'd been one of the most sought after women on the planet, for fuck's sake, so stop acting ridiculous.
Eventually, though, like the day before, the fog and mist came rolling in, chasing them indoors, and George built a fire in the lounge.
"So, shall we order in?" George suggested, picking up the landline.
"You know, you don't have to entertain me," Scout said, tucking her legs under her. She felt awkward. He'd obviously been on his own for months before she showed up. "I just kind of invaded your life, and you haven't had a minute to yourself since I showed up yesterday, you know?" She gave him a frank look. "I mean, you thought you were hiring an archivist, a librarian, not bringing in a companion." She gestured around the house. "This house is huge. I didn't expect to be with you every minute of every day. I'm used to being by myself, honest."
George hung up the phone.
"Are you saying you want to be alone?" he asked. "I know I'm not the best company, and I can be very gruff--"
"No, nothing like that," she replied. "I'm just saying that I don't require you to be with me 24/7, that's all. I'm a big girl," she reassured him.
He looked at her, and finally nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. But, you're still technically at risk of concussion, according to the doctor, though," he continued. "So how about if I stick close, just for the next couple of days, and then we can get into a bit of a routine and you can get going on the library and I can get back into my music and that? Sound like a plan?" And he looked at her appealingly.
Scout smiled and nodded at him. "Sounds like a great plan. And thanks."
He nodded back at her and picked up the phone. "So how does Indian takeaway sound? There's a place in the village that does lovely curries."
Scout nodded happily, and they spent the evening in the lounge, eating spicy food, playing board games and laughing.
"Um, is it me, or are you embarrassed about something?" Scout asked a few hours later. They'd spent the evening talking, among other things, about how Scout had never gotten out of the childhood habit of reading out loud to herself before going to sleep. Will had laughed at her about this, trying unsuccessfully to shame her out of this habit, though Scout kept this tidbit to herself. George thought it was a charming thing to do.
George's behavior had been getting weirder and weirder to her. He'd been staring at the clock, looking at the door, and generally acting nervous and odd.
George rolled his eyes and bit his lip, staring at Scout.
"Okay, what?" she asked, laughing. "You're starting to scare me a little. You're not going to pull a shriveled up monkey's paw out of your pocket, are you, and tell me you made your third and final wish a while ago?"
George laughed hard at the joke, snarfing his wine, but finally shook his head. "No, no monkey's paw anywhere, I promise."
"So what?" Scout gave him a narrow-eyed look.
"Okay. Just don't get in a strop, okay?" George begged. "Do you know what that means?"
Scout huffed out a breath at him and crossed her arms. "Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how many English movies I've seen?
"Oh, and by the way?" she continued. "Knowing what that means is no guarantee that I won't do it, just so you know." She motioned for him to go on. "The fact that you have to ask doesn't bode well for you, Mr. Wilder."
"Fuck," he said softly, looking around the room, taking a deep breath. "Okay, look. Last night didn't go very well, I think you'd agree. Something really bad happened to you, you know?" He looked at her, nodding, encouraging her to nod along.
Scout looked at him suspiciously, but finally nodded with him, unable to see a reason not to.
"Good." George said, smiling. "Good. So, since last night was so, um, fraught, for both of us," he continued, "plus, the room originally intended for you no longer has a door, I think you'd agree that you, um, you, um, need a new room, right?" And again, he was nodding, wanting her to agree with him, which, again, after careful consideration, Scout did, brows furrowed with concentration. She had absolutely no idea where this was going.
"So, I thought it would be, erm, safer, that is to say, um, prudent, if you were to sleep in closer proximity to me for at least the near future, that's all," he concluded in a rush.
Scout wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.
"What?"
"You know, you should sleep closer. To me. That's all." George shrugged.
Scout shook her head.
"I'm not sure I understand."
"I'm not talking about anything improper," George said, sounding so English Scout had to hold back a laugh. "Here, come on, it's about bedtime, anyway, let's go upstairs, and I'll show you, okay? I'm shit at explanations, anyway."
So she followed him up the beautiful staircase, past her old room, where the old doorjamb had been completely torn out, but not yet replaced. They continued to his room and entered, crossing to what she'd assumed earlier was a closet. He opened the door, and Scout was surprised to find that it led to another, smaller bedroom. The bed had been freshly made up, and George opened the drawers, showing Scout that her things were already unpacked in the dresser.
He turned to her, his expression hopeful.
"Do you think you'd be comfortable sleeping here?" he asked. "I know I'd be rather close, especially with the door open, but I'd feel so much better if there were no closed doors between us after what happened last night, you know? And if you were close enough that I could hear you if you called for me, or that Jess and Bandit could reach you right away if you needed them?" He blinked at her and swallowed. "Do you think you'd be okay with this arrangement, Scout darling?"
Scout had to bite back tears. She just nodded, blinking rapidly, and finally just stepped forward, putting her arms around him, whispering, "Thank you," very softly in his ear before stepping back.
George smiled, pleased.
"Smashing," he said. "Well, let's get to bed, then, shall we?"
Scout nodded again, and George turned, going back to his own room.
"Good night, Scout," he called a few minutes later.
"Good night, George," she called back. "Um, is the light going to bother you? I was going to read for a bit?"
"Not at all," he replied.
"Okay, thanks."
A minute later George stuck his head in Scout's room.
"Could I join you, or is this reading aloud a private endeavor?" he asked with a grin.
"Really?" Scout smiled. "Like when I read to my nephews! Only you're not going to fall asleep and pee on me, I hope." She patted the bed next to her, and George came bounding over, with Jess and Bandit right behind him.
"I only wee on close family members, promise," he said with a grin as he settled in. "So what are we reading, then?"
"Well, you're in luck, because tonight I'm beginning my umpteenth re-reading of Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov, which is in my humble opinion the most sublime piece of prose ever written. Have you ever read it?" She looked over at George, who shook his head. "Oh, you're in for a treat, then. Ready?"
He nodded.
She read for about an hour, and finally closed the book.
George was utterly entranced by her voice. Her elocution, her diction, were bewitching, he could listen to her read forever.
He rose from the bed and looked at the dogs, but they showed no inclination to move.
"Let them stay," Scout said with a sleepy, enchanting smile, and he nodded at her.
He leaned in without thinking, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Scout," he said softly, for the second time that night, closing his eyes.
She, too, closed her eyes when she felt his lips on her skin.
"Good night, George," she said, equally softly.