"If anyone asks, I'm on a lead."
Samantha watches me pack up my things with envy. My bony fingers are still shaking, a shocking new reaction to joy that I've only recently experienced. By the silent pleased look she's giving me, it's not my imagination.
This is unlike me. I don't behave like this.
I shut down my computer, and open my drawer, lifting my purse.
"So, you're definitely not doing the story on him, right?"
"Right."
She enters the office further. "I'm only asking because I got that call from the officer this morning, who said he'd uncovered some information that he thought would be of interest us."
"Right, what was it? A police report?" I place the strap on my shoulder. "I've already seen it. And the coroner's report."
"He said this information wasn't included in the initial police report. He also said the officers that were on the scene are no longer cops."
I slow down by the door, deafening alarms going off. I turn on her. "Who are they?"
"They both went into high ranking military positions—instantly. One is overseas. They're making six figures a year."
I stare at her, letting that sink in. I'm smart enough to know how two cops were granted impressive new careers with next to no experience. "They were paid off..."
"Do you think so?"
"It makes sense." I rack through my brain, searching for some miraculous explanation. "His father was a senator, also an actor. Aidan probably had connections that he used to keep it as hushed as possible."
"But to retract things from a police report?"
"We don't know what's on it, Samantha."
"And you don't want to find out?"
"That is for him to reveal to me. I'm not going to sneak behind his back and try to get it on my own. I have to trust him."
"You know there is something fishy here, Jo. I know you know that. You are choosing to ignore it."
I look at her sternly, showing her that I'm in no mood to continue this conversation. "You don't know him, Samantha."
"I'll tell them not to send it then," she says, and I sense her judgment. She has been my friend for years. She must know how difficult it has been for me to put aside my questions, my natural instinct to investigate. I pass by her, exiting my office space without another word.
I want to erase what she said. I want to erase the itch in me that yearns to know the answers to all the questions that are just now at my fingertips. Somehow, I get myself to the elevators, and as soon as the doors are closed and I'm free of the burden of my work, I sigh, letting out the tension she created.
She's used to my immersive tendencies. She's used to my eagerness to understand everything.
She doesn't know what happened to me when I was burrowed into that manor with him.
To her, he's a man surrounded by danger who is secretive and unreliable. To her, Aidan could be a murderer.
She doesn't understand that there is no way on earth that is possible.
Aidan is a good man, and he's taken a huge step to be with me here.
So, I must take my own, seemingly impossible leap...trusting him.
By the time the elevator doors part, I've managed to rid myself of any unease, allowing myself to feel the full force of his inspired return.
And when I see him, seated in the massive lobby of chairs, his leather bag between his legs on the floor, looking incredibly uncomfortable around the usual chaos of the city, and by the overwhelming amount of businesses in this building, my heart re-starts itself. I walk toward him, noticing his leg is bouncing reflexively, his anxiety showing through.
He stands when he catches me approaching, smiling softly. Unlike before, where I allowed my euphoria to implode and project all around us, I feel unreasonably shy. Maybe it's because he clearly is nervous too.
The height of the reunion is over, and now, the real questions are present.
How do we do this?
Now that this is real, now at we are together, deciding to try and make this work, how do we start?
"Are you hungry?" I ask. He places his bag on his shoulder, adjusting the weight of it, with a thoughtful nod.
"I could eat."
"How do you feel about breakfast in the afternoon?"
His smile warms, as if he's glad it's not something conventional. That wouldn't suit us. "I'm into it."
I smile, wider and wider until I'm a complete idiot. "Good. I know a place nearby."
It's amusing in a pathetic kind of way how we falter in who steps first, shuffling longer than necessary, how my laugh becomes neurotic when I thank him for holding the door open for me.
He follows my lead, glancing at me often as we move into pedestrians, out in public together for really the first time. I could count the diner, but I didn't even know him then.
Now I know how uncomfortable he must actually be. And it only emphasizes the truth more.
The beautiful truth.
That a man who had believed his life to be past the point of repair has taken the first steps to freedom, to healing. In coming here, in coming to see me, he's declared he hasn't given up.
He has hope, and because of that, I do too.
The display windows of the small hole in the wall café are still painted festively with Christmas drawings, the edges of the windows dusted with white swirls meant to be snow. The décor inside is just as cheerful, which with the crowded tables and lack of space, cozies the room considerably. A woman greets us, and tells us there is room at the counter, only two benches. She leads us through the people, who have to inch their chairs closer to the tables to accommodate people in the aisles.
As we wait for a woman to grab her child blocking the way, Aidan's hand slips into mine behind my back, simply to touch me. I flush, affected by the innocent touch. When the aisle is clear and the woman is apologizing, he lets go, and we finally reach the high top chairs.
"Your server will be right with you."
"Thank you," Aidan says when I'm seated. My back is literally touching another person. I notice he will have to do the same thing, and grimace.
"Is this okay? The food is really good."
He nods, removing his coat. My eyes instantly zone in on the v-cut of his sweater, which reveals a small portion of his chest. It's enough to torment me. His long, lean body is perfectly tailored in his clothing, clothing that is casual, but studious enough to show he has money—quite a bit of it.
His legs are long enough that he sits with more grace than I did, and because we are in such proximity to strangers, he turns his back to the man beside him, and forks his legs with my own. I'm glad I wore pants today, or this move would be rather taboo in a room full of screaming children.
I lift the menus the hostess left us, and hand one to him.
"What's good here?" he asks, scanning the front page.
"Everything."
"What do you get?"
"Um," I glance over the menu, "pancakes, fruit, some eggs, some bacon, sausage...orange juice." He's listening to me speak, nearly laughing, I'm sure of it, and my face heats up as if the sun were beating down on me. "I mean, I usually have leftovers...of course."
"I like your appetite."
"Liar."
"I'm serious," he presses. "I love that about you."
I catch onto the important word in that sentence, and let the infamous 'L' word jolt my heart into warped speed. "Yeah?"
He nods, his skin golden, and glowing in the warm light of the establishment. Not wishing to give away how desperate I've been to feel him, see him this week I've been on my own, I focus on the menu until the waitress arrives again, despite knowing that he's pouring over my every movement.
Aidan orders St. Nicks breakfast, which has a bit of everything, listening as I relay my own intricate order. She pours us both coffee, leaning between us to fill our mugs. The woman against my back taps on me, needing her coat that's on the spine of my chair, and as I reach for it, I hear Aidan politely hail the waitress to bring cream and sugar for my coffee, which effectively stuns me right into silence.
I turn back to him, pulling on the sleeves of my sweater awkwardly. It's a little thing—him remembering how I make my coffee—but it's nevertheless another moment to tack onto the many, many moments Aidan has surprised me.
"What made you come here? What made you change your mind?" I have to ask.
The man bumping into his back doesn't seem to faze him, or the incessant Christmas tunes blaring from the ancient jukebox in the corner of the room. He stops my fidgeting by taking my hand, nudging my fingers to slacken so he can hold them.
Wow, I'm worse than I thought. My chest is physically hurting.
His smile is miniscule, a ghostly hint of remembrance. "I realized memorizing you wasn't enough."
I don't think he really understands how forceful, how weighty his words carry. For a man who has trouble opening up, when he does—it's glorious. It's intimate. Regretting this venue when the waitress interrupts us to offer me my coffee elements, I'm forced to retract my hand so she can deposit the items.
I'm pouring creamer into the fragrant liquid caffeine when Aidan speaks, asking a question with an answer more difficult than he can possibly imagine.
"How did your boss take it?"
I glance up from the coffee, giving away so much with the pause I take to answer. I'm going to lie to him. I refuse to make it a habit, but this is one reaction I'm sure he'll not mind remaining in the dark of.
"There's always so much going on in the world. He understood."
"Did you tell him about us?"
"No, he guessed by my adamancy."
With a nod, he deems that enough for him. His eyes distractedly follow the flighty waiters behind the counter. The kitchen is a congestion of people and noises that make indoor voices hard to hear.
"It was...um...only after I arrived that I began to think I should have found a way to call before just showing up here. I mean, you may be busy. It is right after the holidays. Are you going to get in trouble for leaving?"
"No, I'm glad you came. I'll just call my mother, go see her in a few days."
"Here you go," the waitress hums, unloading a tray full of food, so much of it that it hardly fits on our counter space. We both look at it, intimidated. It's spice heaven. He smirks as I take a whiff, blissfully, appreciating the spread before us.
"So good," I say, softly, grabbing my silver wear.
I've a mouthful of eggs in my mouth when he speaks.
"You know, I'd like to meet your mother."
He says it in all nonchalance. Meanwhile, I'm struggling not to choke on my food. With a tough swallow, where light and spongy eggs suddenly taste like wheels to a tire, I look at him in all my horror. He smiles, and sticks a fork into a piece of ham.
"You don't want her to meet me?"
"It's not that." I wipe my mouth with a napkin, slowly, unable to find the right words. "I told you about her, a lot, when we were together."
"I know."
"So, you know how she is. I introduce her to you and there are a million questions, a million answers you'd have to give."
"So we make some up."
I stare at him, blinking. "For example? She'll ask who you are to me. She'll ask what I feel for you, what you feel for me."
He breathes in. "Yes, I see. That is a problem." I glare at how much he's enjoying this. To him it's a game. To me, it's inventory for battle. He frowns in thought. "We very well can't tell her what really happened."
"I'm not even sure I understand what really happened," I laugh, finding that most of it feels like a dream. Some parts seep into nightmare, but one I'd withstand to remain there a bit longer. I'd suffer through quite a bit to see him.
"I don't think it would be so challenging, Jo."
I set down my silver wear with a clang, chuckling darkly, folding my arms over my chest. "All right then. She asks how we met, what do you say?"
He laughs. "I say we met in a diner, and that you lured me to your table."
I gape, but remain planted firmly in my interrogation.
"And what about how long we've known each other?"
"A few weeks. We're still getting to know one another."
"What you do?"
"An inheritance gives me the luxury of an variety of careers. I'm recognized in photography."
My eyes slant, testily. "She asks you who you are to me, what do you say?"
"Someone falling in love with her daughter."
My face instantly falls in disbelief, exposing every single fragment, every nerve set off by the ease he said it in. His eyes swoop to his own plate, as I don't even think he meant to say it. It's nerve-wracking how quickly I jump from comforting playfulness to utter, deafening fear, every part of my body sounding in alarm.
However, unlike before, unlike every time I've heard Bradley say it, these alarms are more meters of emotion rather than warning signs. He's touched a deep, deep part of my core, and nudged it to wake. My own realizations this past week have been mine and mine alone.
To hear him confess the same—is breathtaking.
I glance back up to him, recovering my breath, feeling the blood has drained from my face.
"That's what I'd tell her...it would be what she wants to hear," he says in recovery, clearing his throat. His hair is tumbling over his forehead, shielding his eyes from my probing gaze. Despite the initial strike of unease, it's plain to me how different all of this is.
I want more. I want my heart to leap again.
"What else...would you say?" I whisper, scooting across the small bench, cozying between his muscular thighs. I'm close enough that he hears that whisper despite all the chaos around us.
He stares down at me, absorbing my question, realizing it for what it is.
Reaching up hesitantly, he shows me his own fears, his eyes widening slightly as they take in my face. His fingers are warm when they slide under my ear and around the nape of my throat. His thumb crosses over my cheek, admiringly.
"I'd say that I can't be without you."
I move into him, closing my eyes with a sigh. Another leap.
He tilts into my affection, humming softly.
"And that you've given me meaning."
God.
I clasp the back of his neck as well, inhaling deeply to accommodate all he's just given me.
My entire life, I've pushed this away.
I've spun out of control. I've run from good things. I've rejected anything with the slightest possibility of transforming into love.
And while I cannot seem to speak the words myself, I give him what I can.
My eyes, and then my lips. My touch.
I give him tenderness, and submission.
Because I am his.
A/N: I hope you all are enjoying this as much as I am writing it. <3