A/N: Thanks for waiting! Work and wedding planning is cray. I want to write but I am usually too tired or short on time. I also have a Sebastian Stan one shot in the works. Not sure how that happened, but it's happening. Thanks to the_last_unicorn for the "holy donut" in this chapter. :) You guys are the best! Enjoy!
The lamp on the nightstand casts a dim warm, yellow gold light through the room. It's half past three as I slide into bed. I grab my phone as I do, and dial Tom's number. I have been waiting for a text all night, and there's been nothing. I don't know whether to be seething angry, or legitimately concerned. Either way, I can't help but let my brain wander to him and Keegan in the lusty throws of passion. And it's not any healthier to imagine him, beaten and bloody in a ditch somewhere.
As soon as I dial his number, it barely rings before going straight to voicemail. His phone is either dead or off. I fight back panic. Where could he be? If he doesn't come home soon, I honestly don't know who to contact or where to go. I don't know any of his friends in London, save for Bentley, and I don't know his number. I'm not familiar with the area, and I don't even know where Keegan was staying. This whole thing is a complete mess.
I sink back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and then up over my head. In the cocoon of the covers, my mind races. I have loved two men in my life. Chase and Tom. And these men are so different, and the experience itself feels so different. I am beginning to wonder if I can trust my own instincts anymore. If I thought it was love with Chase, how can this be love as well? They are two entirely different entities. Maybe what I felt for Chase wasn't love. If what I feel for Tom isn't love, then I am certifiably insane. I am talking in circles. Testing, testing. Is this thing on?
I remember the first time I realized I was in love with Chase. We had been together for barely a month. I was like a ridiculous puppy, in love with the idea of love. He'd taken me to the restaurant for dinner, and then out to the pier for a walk. I remember being so impressed that he'd known everyone at the restaurant, and how he'd ordered everything for me. Thinking back now, it seems like a different life time. I was a different person.
"My family owns the whole lower third of down town, basically." Chase said, his big arm slung over my shoulders. We walked lazily down the pier. The same pier he'd later say I fell off of as a cover up to all my bruises, courtesy of his angry fists.
"It's amazing, Chase." I sighed. "You know, I've got this silly idea." I grinned and looked at him bashfully. He nodded, waiting for me to continue. "I want to open my own bakery. Maybe one day you could help me look into renting one of the spaces down town for it. It's something I've always wanted to do but, I just need some direction." I asked, feeling excited and full of possibility. At the time, Tiny Baker was just an idea. A tiny flame in my chest that just wouldn't go away.
"A bakery? But you can just bake from home." Chase laughed and tugged me closer. "Dad usually only rents to really established retailers, anyway, Charlotte. You could maybe help work the table at the bake sales during the festivals. Or, I could even talk to Dad about getting you a job at the bakery on the farm." He tilted, his eyes searching mine. I nodded, feeling totally discouraged by his response.
"Okay, yeah." I agreed. I remember thinking maybe he was right. Maybe it was a dumb dream. I'd let his comments sit there for some time, before I finally pushed them aside and decided to try for what I truly wanted. It had been then, and only then, that we'd started to really butt heads.
"Do you want to go out on the boat tomorrow? I'll take you all around the coast. It'll have to be after noon though because we're doing an interview with Baltimore magazine at 9:30." He said, his chest puffing out slightly.
"That's amazing, Chase. Your family is so successful." I said, stars practically beaming out of my eyes. Chase ran a hand through his short hair, false modesty cloaking the darker corners of his personality. I believed it. I ate it up.
"Well, not quite royalty, but we're pretty important around here. And rightly so. Dad says whoever I marry will marry into the best family on the east coast." Chase pulls me into his side and squeezes me, as if to hint at what's to come. His voice is boastful, like a little kid who just won a contest. At the time, I felt my heart leap. I'd never been around someone like Chase. He oozed authority, and arrogance. He knew who he was, and what he wanted. He also was always under the assumption that he deserved whatever he wanted. Looking back at it now, it just seems insane that I fell for it. Who talks like that? Who says things so blatantly egotistical and actually thinks they can get away with it?
"She'll be a lucky girl." I laughed and shyly pushed my dark hair behind my ear. I'd been wearing a dress that I'd specifically picked out for that evening. We'd been seeing each other almost daily for a month, and things had been heating up quickly. I wore the dress because Chase had said he liked my legs, and it was a short sundress that barely skimmed past my thighs.
"She will." Chase grinned, the setting sun reflecting off his broad, handsome face. We reached the end of the pier and stayed arm in arm. Chase kissed my forehead. Now, I barely remember what it feels like to be touched by him and not be revolted, not be somewhat frightened by it. But again, at the time, I was blind. I was walking through the dark, and completely happy with it.
Chase turned to me, looking down at me with his serious eyes. His heavy brow was furrowed. I could feel the heat from the low sun, beating down on my back. I felt my stomach flip, felt nervousness rush through me. I felt thrilled and scared by my feelings for him. My feelings for the future.
"You could be that lucky girl, Charlotte. I don't want to rush things, but I feel like you and I are a good match. You want the same things as me—a family, roots, traditional stuff. I want to see where this could go." He said tilting his head toward me. I remember nodding. I remember I didn't say anything, because I was too nervous to say anything. I remember thinking "Why me? Why did he choose me?" I thought I was so lucky.
And then he kissed me. Strong, and confident, his tongue pushing against mine in what I thought passion was supposed to feel like. I wasn't stupid back then. I was just naïve. And when he pulled me to him, his arms crushing tight around me, the sun still beating hard against my shoulders, I thought it was love. Maybe it was.
****
The moment I knew I was in love with Tom...well perhaps I knew I was in love with him long, long before I actually admitted it to myself. Long before the night outside the cottage, when he threw Keegan's engagement ring into the bay. In fact, I know the exact moment when my feelings changed. When the hurt and the fear from my marriage to Chase falling apart, seemed to fade into the background. When I was almost sure that I could feel my heart pumping again in my chest, of it's own free will. It wasn't like the time with Chase. It was an entirely different feeling. An entirely different experience.
About a year and a half after we'd met, Tom had been away for two months for work. It was Valentine's Day, and I was at my apartment, eating take out Chinese and watching Netflix, aka a regular Saturday night. I was exhausted. Tiny Baker was struggling, both in Los Angeles and in Maryland. I'd barely been making ends meet in Los Angeles, which meant the storefront in Maryland was getting no extra funding. My dreams of selling desserts and cashing in on the West Coast were floundering. I was drowning my sorrows in MSG and soy sauce.
My phone rang, and when I saw it was him, I groaned.
"Shouldn't you be serenading your girlfriend? Or whisking her away to some romantic dinner complete with chocolates, stuffed bears and dancing fat babies or something?" I asked, trying to hide the fact that I was stuffing half an egg roll in my mouth.
"Fat babies?"
"Cupids."
"Ah." He laughed and the sound of his voice made my stomach flip. He has this strange way of making me homesick, even if I'm sitting in my own apartment.
"Well?" I chewed and then waited.
"What are you eating?" He asked, avoiding my question. I rolled my eyes and tucked my feet under me on the couch. I looked up, pausing the episode of Fawlty Towers, I'd been watching. It was his favorite show, and he'd gotten me hooked on it.
"An egg roll."
"Save me some." He laughed.
"Sure. Come over and get it." I sighed heavily. I missed him. I missed his silly, stupid cute face. Two months away was a long time, and even longer when I knew the next time I would see him would probably be only for a brief few hours. He was always busy.
"Are you by yourself?" He asked, his voice serious. I frowned, looking around.
"Yes. What a creepy question, TW." I jumped then, as a loud knock rang through the apartment. I heard Tom laughing softly on the other end of the line, and I froze on the sofa. "Someone just knocked on my door. Now I'm thoroughly creeped out." I said, grabbing a pillow and clutching it against my chest as if a few inches of fluff were going to save me.
"Answer the door, you sausage." Tom groaned. I frowned and stood up, walking carefully over to the door.
"Why?"
"Just do it." He sighed and then the call went dead. So I figured, either whoever was on the other side of my door had just somehow killed him as well or... I opened the door quickly.
"You!" I grabbed Tom by the front of his jacket, yanking him into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. Tom laughed, pulling me into a rough, sloppy hug. My chin bumped against his shoulder, and he lifted me off the ground for a moment.
"It is I!" He laughed, squeezing tighter. "What a prankster I am." He said with a groan into my ear, shaking me slightly.
"Ugh, easy, I'm full of noodles." I laughed and waited for him to set me down. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." I knocked him on the shoulder. He shrugged and then pulled his coat off, throwing it over the back of the sofa. He walked into the kitchen, and I followed him. He made himself right at home, and I leaned back against the stove and watched as he opened my fridge.
"Darling, where is your Valentine's date?" He asked, sticking his head into the fridge. He pulled out a beer a moment later. I reached for it, grabbing the bottle opener on the counter and pulling the lid off for him.
"He's in the bottom of the well in the basement of my creepy, butterfly filled house. He's putting the lotion on his skin, as we speak." I watched Tom as he took a long pull of beer, his eyes widened as he listened to me speak.
"That's really special, Charles." He nodded after a moment, leaning back against the fridge. I nodded and grabbed the bottle from him, taking a drink as well.
"Where is your Valentine's date?" I threw back at him, tilting my head. I'd talked to him quite a few times in the last few weeks, and he'd always avoided my questions about Keegan. Perhaps they were going through a rough patch, though any time spent with Keegan was, in my opinion, a rough patch.
"She's teaching a class." He said, taking another drink. "How about those egg rolls?" He asked, looking around the kitchen for my dinner. I sighed and tried to hide my smile as I led him out of the kitchen, toward my romantic dinner for one. Tom laughed, and then jumped over the back of my sofa, landing with a soft thud.
"Charlie! Fawlty Towers and take away?! You do love me, on this ultimate day of love for all the lovers in the lovely loving world." He dug right into my lo mein, and I plopped down next to him, yanking the chopsticks from his hands before he could get more than a mouthful.
"Why are you here, Harrison? Don't you have some other poor, lonely, single woman to annoy on Valentine's Day?" I asked. Tom blinked a few times and then took the chopsticks back. I let him have them, not giving up much of a fight.
"My plane just got in. I didn't want to go home to my lonely apartment. So I thought, who else would be alone, lonely, and all by their lonesome self on Valentine's Day? And then...poof! Your lovely face popped into my head. Like a little beacon of light." He grinned, a horrible cheesy smile, sticking his chin out and then laughing rather loudly. He was being annoying on purpose. I reached over, socking him in the side.
"You're terrible. What if I'd had a date? Or someone over? Just showing up at my door like that." I shook my head in mock anger. Tom nodded, and stared forward at the frozen television screen, not speaking for a moment.
"Well, I suppose it would have been very awkward. And not very good anyway, if you were willing to answer your phone so quickly." He looked back at me, and raised an eyebrow. I laughed and picked up the container of Szechuan green beans.
"I guess you have a point." I mumbled. Tom laughed, kicked his shoes off and made himself right at home.
"Darling, I know you could have had a date. I know very well that you could have had a date. But a man can dream, can't he? So I took the chance, and I rode my white horse over here, and I held my breath and I hoped that you were here, alone and waiting for me, with Chinese food and the telly." He smiled and then leaned back, eating more noodles. I pressed my lips together, tried not to smile and failed miserably.
"You're terrible. Why do I call you my friend?" I shook my head. He held out the container, and we switched boxes. He started shoveling green beans into his mouth like he'd gone without food for days.
"Because I'm adorable. And because I'm tall and can reach things on high shelves for you. And because I got you this—" He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a slip of paper. I took it, unfolding it.
"A...receipt for a candy bar and a magazine?" I raised an eyebrow, scanning the paper. "A chocolate bar and...a Playboy—"
"What?! No it was not!" Tom cackled and grabbed the receipt from my hand as I laughed. He looked at it for a second, as if he had to double check, and then shook his head, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a different paper.
"Whoops." He shrugged and handed me the other paper. I laughed and took it from him. I scanned the paper and then shrugged.
"What is this?" I asked. It was a phone number. "One of the many numbers you get on a daily basis?" Tom snorted.
"It's a number for someone I worked with recently. They want you to give them a call." He kept eating my green beans, being ridiculously vague and smug. I groaned and threw the slip of paper at him.
"What are you talking about?" I scoffed. He chuckled and picked up the paper, which had landed on his chest.
"You sent me those almond bars, remember?" His eyes widened, waiting. I nodded.
"Toffee almond shortbread." I muttered. "It was ridiculously expensive to overnight it, too." He smiled.
"Right, well, I was eating them on set one day. And I was passing them around, and being rather... generous and kind hearted, as I'm want to be." He paused for effect, and I rolled my eyes. "And my director wanted to know where I got them from. He said they were amazing." Tom leaned back on the couch, his eyes watching me.
It took me a second, but then I remembered the movie Tom had been working on for the last few months. It was a huge movie, and he had a decent part in it. The director was one of the biggest in industry. I blinked and then took the paper from him.
"Well that is very nice of him." I said softly, a bit starstruck that my toffee almond bars had been eaten by one of the most famous directors in the world.
"Indeed. And he wants you to call him. He's having a huge party for his wife's birthday in a few months. He wants Tiny Baker to do the desserts." Tom set down the container of food, and crossed his arms over his broad chest, smiling. I was in shock, to say the least. This was a very, very big deal.
"Holy donuts." I breathed softly.
"Holy donuts, indeed." He nudged me with his shoulder.
"That is...you have no idea how big this is." I looked at Tom, and into his warm, blue eyes. He looked so pleased for me, so happy and proud. I reached over, wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight, excited hug.
"You deserve this, Charlie." He said into my ear. I buried my face into his neck, smiling from ear to ear.
"Thank you. Thank you so much, you horrible, giant potato. Thank you." I mumbled, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. Tom laughed and pulled back to look at me.
"Darling, it was all you. I had nothing to do with it. It's all you." He said softly, his eyes searching mine. And that's when I'm pretty sure I stepped over the edge. Though is it falling when you're happy to do it?
****
I want so badly to fall asleep. My cocoon of covers is making my exhausted body feel heavy and boneless. If only my brain would shut up. How quickly can you go insane? Is it something that happens slowly, over time, or is it like bam! Hello! Insanity! I feel very close to fitting a lot of criteria for reasons why one should be put in a straight jacket.
Perhaps I should just get up. I hear pacing is good when you are waiting, as well. I press my face into the pillows, and then I hear the front door open and close. I freeze, holding my breath. He's home. I pull the comforter off my head and wait, listening to the still of the house. It takes a few seconds, but I hear Tom make his way upstairs. He's heavy footed, and slow, which is unlike him, and makes my heart race. Is this what it sounds like? Imminent doom? I should have prepared. I should have washed my face and worn real pants. Instead, I'm half dressed and I smell like cookies. It only takes a minute, but it seems like eternity as I wait for him to round the corner and walk into the room.
Tom knows how to enter a room, that's for sure. When he steps into the door frame, he instantly fills the space with his tall, lean form. He's still in his tux, though the jacket is long gone (it's sitting on the downstairs couch where I left it). His bow tie is untied, hanging loose around his neck, and the first few buttons on his white dress shirt are unbuttoned.
Tom stops at the door and looks at me, our eyes meeting in the dim glow of the lamplight. His face is half warm amber glow and half dark shadows. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I'm not sure if I've taken a breath since he's been home.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He says after a beat, leaning against the doorframe. I swallow, letting out a slow breath, and I sit up.
"Are you alright?" I whisper, my voice barely making it out of my throat. He nods and then walks forward, not speaking. He turns and sits down on the edge of the bed, his back to me. Oh god. Help me. He's going to break my heart, and I'm just going to sit back and let him. He's still as he sits, and then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. I watched the wide expanse of his back move and flatten, his shoulders spread out as he moves heavily.
I crawl forward on the bed and slide up behind him. I count to three, because I need to get myself together, and then I slide my hands up his warm, hard back. The muscles in his back tense and tighten, and he immediately responds to my touch. I sit up behind him, and then lean forward, putting my weight on him as I press my chest into his back, and wrap my arms around his shoulders and neck. I kiss the back of his neck, breathing in deep. He smells like Tom. Not like anyone else. He smells clean and sweet.
Tom is still for only a moment, and then he looks back slighty, wrapping his hands around mine. He sits up straighter, and brings me with him. I rest my chin on the back of his shoulder, waiting. He needs to talk. He needs to say something or I'm going to fall to pieces. The only thing left of me will be crumbs.
"I'm so sorry, Charlie." His voice is like gravel, like he's been shouting or crying all night. I pull back, and I move off of his back, sitting back onto my heels.
"What happened?" I ask carefully.
Tom turns around to face me, and I can see his eyes are red and full of tears. I am torn between hugging him and smacking him. What has he done? What have they done? I'm not sure if I want to know. I feel sick. I swallow and try to focus on something in the room other than him. It is impossibly hard to speak your deepest, darkest nightmares. To say them out loud. So I don't. I just wait.
"I took her back to her hotel and she went crazy." He blinks and a tear slides down his face. I can't help myself. I am weak. I am the worst. I cannot watch this man cry. I reach forward, wiping it away from his cheek. Tom shakes his head slightly, as if trying to physically pull himself together. His eyes clear and he continues.
"She was screaming and crying and hitting me, and I kept trying to calm her down. People in nearby rooms started complaining because she was so loud. She was going to get kicked out of the hotel. I should have left. I should have just left her, but I felt...responsible in some way." He swipes a hand over his face and I sit back, my breath shallow. Tom continues. "She locked herself in the room, screaming and throwing things. It took hotel management two hours just to get into the room. Then I had to convince them to let her stay. She calmed down and passed out. And then I left." His shoulders slump and he folds forward, collapsing onto the bed.
Sweet puff pastries. I take a deep breath. I take another one. Is...that it? Not that it isn't terrible, and Keegan is a complete nutter but...
"You...you didn't kiss her or...you didn't..." I stutter dumbly. Tom frowns, looking up at me. He lifts his head and then sits up again. Realization passes through his eyes. He's seen the insanity that boiling just under the surface of my calm Charlie façade.
"What? No. Of course not. Charlie..." His voice fades off. I can't tell if he's hurt by my unspoken accusation, but I don't really care at the moment.
"Oh, for fucks sake." I breathe and then I lean forward, collapsing into his chest.
"You didn't think that..." He groans and shakes his head. "Charlie, I would never—"
"You kissed her before." I say quickly.
"She kissed me."
"Still."
"Still, nothing." He grabs me around the waist and we fall back onto the bed. I can't look at him. I feel relief wash over me, and I feel both light and heavy at the same time. I hide my face in his chest and he holds me against him.
"I'm sorry. My phone died. I couldn't call you to let you know what was going on. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me go. I felt I had to. Nothing happened between us though. Nothing was ever going to happen." He reaches down and lifts my chin, which takes considerable coaxing since I won't look at him. I feel tears sting my eyes, and I feel like the biggest ass in the world.
"Are you kidding me? I was freaking out the entire time you were gone. I was so sure that you'd...gotten in an accident or run away with a traveling band of underwear models or whoops! fell and landed on Keegan's open mouth—" I shove him hard in the chest and Tom catches my hands. He is most likely the one person in the world that I trust the most, and yet I almost just jumped over a cliff because of my own doubts.
"Charlie." He says my name with complete seriousness, and I force myself to look up. The way he's looking at me makes me want to curl into a ball.
"I thought she...got her talons in you." I laugh nervously and bite my lip. Tom frowns and leans down and places the softest, sweetest kiss on the corner of my mouth. He kisses the other side as well, and then he kisses the tip of my nose.
"Forgive me, for making you worry. There was no accident. There was hardly a car on the road. There was no traveling bands of knicker models. I'm pretty sure they don't exist anyway. And where Keegan is concerned, I have very, very steady footing around her." He swallows and then continues. "Charlie, you have no idea what it feels like..." He says softly, his hand running down my side, over my hip, and then back up. "To come home to you." He finishes and I squeeze my hands against his chest, making tiny bunches and fists in his shirt.
"I spent five years of my life...wasted five years of my life with Keegan. With Keegan and all her manipulation and anger and shallowness. And then tonight, it's as if it were all happening again. I was there, reliving my darkest fears of the past few years. And then I come home and it's...just you. You and your friendship and your sweetness, and..." He presses his forehead against mine. "And I'm not just talking about all those cookies in the kitchen." He gives me a small smile and I return it.
"I was stress baking." I say softly. He nods and kisses me again, this time deeper, breathing me in. I feel the way he wants me by the way he is kissing me. He's tired, and emotionally drained, but he still wants me. Tom nudges me onto my back, and comes down on top of me, his long legs intertwining with mine. I push my hands up to his face, touching his skin and then through his hair. I hold his head to me, kissing him fiercely. I have never wanted to claim someone as mine. To say they were my own thing, but there is something I feel when he is around. It makes it hard to think of him in any other way.
"I love your baking. It's delicious. You are delicious." He says into my neck as he pulls himself up onto all fours, hovering over me. His face is mere inches from me and I can see the different shades of blue in his eyes. I can see the tiny lines by his eyes, and his sandy blond eyelashes.
"You really are the worst thing that's ever happened to me." I whisper, wrapping my hands around his forearms. He smiles and nods.
"I know." He gets serious, licking his lips. "I'm sorry your night was ruined. Our night." He sits back, his knees straddling my hips, putting just a bit of weight on my thighs. I sit up on my elbows.
"It was nice up until she got there. At least I got to wear fancy clothes and bump elbows with celebrities." I shrug. Tom smiles.
"Oh, but I was so looking forward to unzipping you out of that dress." He moves back onto all fours, hovering over me like some sort of animal stalking it's prey. I wiggle underneath him, reaching up and unbuttoning the rest of the buttons on his dress shirt.
"I can put it back on for you." I grin as I open his shirt up, revealing the expanse of his chest. I run my hands over his chest and down his stomach. Tom's eyes close for a moment, and I feel his muscles tighten.
"No, we can just take off whatever you're wearing now. That'll do just fine." He sits up then, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. He pulls his shirt off quickly, and I watch as his shoulders rise and bunch as he moves. He throws his shirt to the side, and then reaches for me. I take his hands, and he practically yanks me off the bed.
I can't help but giggle as I stumble to my feet. He grabs my hips and we sway together as his mouth comes crashing down over mine. He pulls me around the bed and toward the other side. We come to a stop in front of the big, picture frame mirror by the side. He turns me, and I don't resist, until I'm standing facing the mirror with my back to him.
I look a mess. My hair is tousled and knotty around my shoulders. I'm wearing my loose, baggy tshirt, and my silly shorts. Tom stands behind me like some sort of English god, shirtless and still in his tuxedo trousers. We make eye contact in the mirror.
"Look at you, Charlie. You're so beautiful." He says simply. He has told me this before, many times, but it feels different when there is such intense, longing desire in his eyes. I feel like some heroine in a movie, my knees all weak, and my bosom heaving.
"You make me feel beautiful." I whisper, leaning back against him. Tom turns me around to face him, his hands skim down my back and over my hips, and then sink into my butt. He grabs two handfuls, groaning and nipping at my shoulder as he does.
"I'll make tonight up to you, I promise. I'll make it up to you ten fold." He slips his hands under my shirt, sliding them gently up my sides and over my ribs, and then cupping my breasts. He groans when he finds I'm not wearing a bra, my breasts soft and heavy in his hands.
"Will you?" I ask breathlessly. He steps closer, and I bump into the edge of the bed. We fall back onto the bed, and Tom covers me with his body as he pushes my shirt up, over my head and off. His skin is bare against mine, and I am reminded again and again what heaven must feel like. It is soft, it is sweet, it is like coming home, it is like ecstasy and everything good, and heart bursting and rather naughty that you've ever imagined, rolled up into one perfect, lovely, indescribable feeling. For me, it is Tom.
"Anything you want, Charlie. Anything." He promises.
Is this what it feels like to be desired? To be cherished and cared for? To give and to take in equal measures. Measures that cannot be measured. I am overwhelmed by him. I'm not naïve, not anymore. But somehow, being with him makes me feel as if it is all brand new. Brand new, exciting, but not scary.
And he makes good on his promise.