A Sky Without Zeppelins: Chapter Two
Aug. 11th, 2008 11:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberfocus
Chapter Two
“Good morning, Dr. Smith,” says the receptionist the next morning as he exits the elevator, “I have some notes for you from Mr. Lumin.”
“Good morning. Thank you,” his eyes alight on the newly recovered name plate on her desk, “Ms. Noble.” Underneath it says office administrator. He files that away in his brain, making sure he’ll remember to use that instead of secretary or receptionist if he ever uses her title out loud. He has a feeling it might matter.
She rolls her eyes at him. “Donna, please,” she tells him. “Don’t care much for Ms. Noble. It’s what my mum goes by even though she’s been married forty years. Find it pretentious.”
“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll call you Donna if you call me Jonathon.”
She balks. “Not sure that’s appropriate protocol,” she says looking up at the camera pointing to her desk on the wall above. “Eyes and ears, you know. How about I call you Doc?” she asks. He blanches. “Obviously not,” she says reading his reaction.
“How about just calling me Doctor John?” he asks.
“Like the auto repair place? No,” she tells him decisively.
“Auto repair?”
“That’s right; you’re from the back of beyond.”
“Cardiff is not the back of beyond,” he protests.
“May as well be. And how come you sound Scottish and not Welsh, anyway?” she asks him.
The question seems to stump him. He searches his memories trying to discover an answer, but even as he does the thought moves away from him, hiding behind a dark place in his mind. He figures out the easiest answer and says, “I lived in Cardiff for a while, but I’m not from there.” It has the ring of truth, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t quite. He hides the frustration from her and says, “So, Doctor John is an auto clinic?”
“It’s where I take my car. They have them all over the place. It’s a subsidiary of Illuminate, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. Well, how about just calling me the Doctor?” he asks her and a faint tickle in the back of his mind tries to prod forward a memory. He pushes it away.
Okay,” she says. “Doctor is a bit less formal than Dr. Smith without breaking rules and regs.” She rolls her eyes at the camera again and then hands him the notes and with a firm shooing gesture, dismisses him from her office space.
He heads to his own office slightly bemused by his experience with the take charge, slightly sassy secretary. He’s not quite sure what to think of her. She seems a nice enough woman, if a bit bossy and he’s just a tiny bit jealous of her gorgeous ginger hair.
He settles in his office and soon is lost in the “notes” Donna had given him. Fifteen pages later he realizes just what a brilliant man he’s working for as Mr. Lumin lays out applications for his own inventions he hadn’t even dreamed of when he’d first created them. It isn’t often he meets a man with such sheer marketing genius.
He sets about marking up design schematics and barely hears the phone buzz. He ignores it until Donna pops her head into his door and says, “If you don’t want to answer your phone just hit four and it reroutes the call to my desk. I’ll deal with it. But don’t just ignore it. That’s annoying.” He nods and punches the 4 and she disappears to answer it.
A few minutes later she’s back and handing him a message. “I’m popping out to Lombardi’s for lunch. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?” she asks him.
He glances quickly at the message then shoves it in a drawer. It’s from the insurance company that insured the lorry with his belongings in it asking him to file a claim within thirty days.
“Sure, bring me back whatever the lunch special is,” he says.
“You sure?” she asks him.
“I’m not picky about food,” he says digging in his wallet and handing her a tenner.
“Okay,” she says with a bit of a surprised tone in her voice and he hopes he’s not taking his life in his hands by ordering the special. “Sheila from the temp pool’s covering my desk while I’m gone. Try not to need anything. She’s a bit of an airhead when it comes to finding files. Sweet, though, and types 80 wpm and is good on the phones so they keep her around. I’ll be back in about forty minutes.”
“All right,” he says. She’s away then and he returns to his work, looking up in surprise at what seems like just a few minutes later when she deposits a take away box, a bottle of juice, and his change on his desk. “Thank you,” he tells her.
“You’re welcome. Can’t chat,” she says, “Mr. Balke asked Sheila for a file while I was gone and I’ve got a fire to put out.”
“Not a real one, I hope,” he says with a grin.
She snorts. “No, she’s not that bad.” Under her breath she mumbles, “I hope.” She’s gone again and he looks at his watch and realizes the full forty minutes have passed. It’s odd, that. He’s sure he used to have a much better time sense than that, but lately it’s been going by so quickly, it seems.
He pulls the white box stamped with the golden Lombardi’s logo towards him and opens it. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs, identifying it as some kind of vindaloo, possibly chicken. It smells wonderful and he digs in, grateful a moment later for the bottle of juice. The food’s a bit hotter than what he’s used to, but it’s still quite good.
He finishes his lunch with his mind still half on the adjustments Mr. Lumin has asked for in the design schematics and goes eagerly back to work the moment he’s done. Its three hours later when Donna pokes her head into his office again and says, “I’m going for a coffee up on seven. Sheila’s back on reception. Want anything?”
“A large mocha with a triple shot,” he says. He digs in his desk drawer and tosses her his cafeteria pass key when he finds it. With that his coffee can automatically be charged to his account. “Put yours on there, too,” he tells her. She catches it mid-air and smiles before heading out.
He wonders at his sudden need for coffee these last few days since joining Illuminate. He clearly remembers always being a tea lover, but the really good company espresso machine in the cafeteria has quickly won him over. Maybe this type of 9 to 5 job simply requires a bigger jolt than tea has ever given him in his at home laboratories of the past.
He hopes it doesn’t make him too hyper. Maybe he should have just stuck with two shots. He doesn’t want to be bouncing off the walls when he sees Rose later that night at Temmel’s. He realizes he’s managed to get through half the day without thinking about the pretty woman he’s met twice now and wonders how on Earth he ever managed it. He’d thought about her for most of the previous evening and woken up thinking about her this morning, too.
He’s not quite sure why her smile keeps flashing in his mind and though he continually tells himself he’s simply going to Temmel’s to shop for furniture he knows it’s a lie. Yes, he needs furniture, there’s not doubt about that. But he’s got a ridiculously strong interest in the saleswoman and he knows it. It's just possible furniture isn't the only need he has to fill in his life right now.
If he’s not careful, he’ll make an utter fool out of himself. The pretty woman can have her pick of men. Handsome, virile men a lot closer to her in age. Not some ancient–ancient? Where’d that come from? He wasn’t that old. Thirty-four was young! He put the gap between them at twelve or thirteen years, given she was close to graduating university. A big gap, but certainly not insurmountable. And he was definitely not ancient.
It would be just his luck for her not to mind his age, but to have her type turn out to be some forty-year-old big bruiser from Manchester who was fond of leather or some much younger, muscled blond kid from the sculling team. What would she want with an older, geeky yet still manly gentleman like himself? He frowned. Still, he is a doctor, he is highly intelligent, he is well-placed in the corporate world in a field she happens to be studying and he certainly has enough money to be comfortable. And he has really great hair. That has to count for something in her eyes, doesn’t it? And why does he care? It’s not like he has any intention of asking her out on a date.
“Oi, space man!” A hand waves in front of his face and he jerks.
“Space man?” he asks blinking up at the unexpected sight of Donna. She deposits his mocha and his cafeteria pass key on his desk.
“Well, that’s about how far away you looked, outer space,” she tells him. “A girl likes a bit of acknowledgment when she does a bloke a favor, you know.”
“Thank you,” he says his mind still a million miles away.
Donna snorts and walks away. He picks up the drink, takes a sip and smiles. Just how he likes it. He hopes Donna isn’t actually annoyed with him. He quite likes the woman. He just wonders why her calling him space man feels so familiar. He shakes it off, blaming déjà vu and returns to his work.
Rose Tyler is not watching the clock. Neither is she continually sneaking glances at her wrist watch. She is not waiting for any particular customer to show up, or calculating how long past the end of the regular 9 to 5 workday it’ll be before said particular customer that she’s not waiting to see will show up. She is not including time for gathering belongings and putting papers in a briefcase, nor for punching out and leaving the building, nor for the walking time necessary to reach Temmel’s. She’s not adding in extra time in case he wants to grab a bite to eat at one of the local restaurants before heading up. She most certainly is not waiting impatiently to see Dr. Smith again.
It is also important to note that she did not take extra time that morning to dress in red, a color that many people have told her she looks particularly attractive in, that it is indeed her best color. The fact that the color of her blouse ended up being red is simply because it was closest to hand in the closet. And the fact that she’s done her hair up in a fancy French twist instead of a messy ponytail has everything to do with her being bored and needing a change of style and nothing to do with trying to look a bit older and a touch more elegant.
Of course she really can’t help it if the trousers she’s wearing hug her curves in all the right places. That’s just how they fit. It’s not like she has anything to prove or that she’s trying to attract someone. She simply wants to feel pretty, put her best foot forward. Speaking of feet she also couldn’t stay away from the pretty red open-toed shoes that matched the lovely red blouse that was closest to hand in her closet that morning. She wouldn’t have wanted to clash after all, now would she? Especially at school that morning, let alone at work.
“Why don’t you take your dinner break, Rose?” suggests her floor manager Brendan. “It’s slow. I can handle it on my own.”
“I’m not hungry, Brendan,” she tells him.
“Still need a dinner break,” he informs her.
“I know that, just…” She trails off and looks at her watch.
“Labor rules, Rose,” he says and she sighs.
“Fine.”
She tromps down to the little café on the first floor and uses her company discount to buy a sandwich, a bag of baked crisps, and a carton of milk. She sits facing the front doors of the building and tells herself she is just people watching. People, after all, can be very interesting when you’re not selling them things. She absolutely is not craning her neck to the left and searching for warm brown eyes and a gentle smile that lights her up from the inside out.
“Rose?” she feels a hand on her shoulder at the same time the word is spoken from behind her and she spins about on the counter chair.
“Where’d you come from?” she asks in surprise as she looks up into the happy eyes of Dr. Smith.
“Was in the loo,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve got a booth back there. Care to join me?”
Rose tries not to jump hastily to her feet, slides gracefully off the stool instead and says, “Sure.” She gathers her food and follows him to the little booth where a waitress is just setting down his tray.
“Hi, Rose,” she says.
“Evening, Keisha,” Rose replies.
“Who’s your friend?” she asks.
Before Rose can reply, say that he’s a friendly customer and not really a friend, Dr. Smith says, “I’m Jonathon.” He shakes hands with the waitress.
“This is Keisha, my best friend,” Rose tells him. They exchange pleasantries and then Keisha returns to her job.
“So how long is your break?” Jonathon asks her.
Rose checks her watch. “I’ve got another 20 minutes for dinner,” she tells him. She picks up her turkey sandwich and takes a large bite. They don’t talk much after that, both of them concentrating on their food but every time Rose looks up to sneak a glance at him, she finds him studying her and then quickly looking away himself. She can’t help the warm glow that spreads through her chest at the feeling that maybe this man really is attracted to her.
She knows it’s ridiculous. He’s old enough to be…well, not her father if he were still alive, but maybe a younger uncle. Really, she’s just being friendly. He’s new in town, he likes her taste in clothes, they’ve bumped into each other and it’s been great conversation, but that’s all it is. That’s all it can be. She doesn’t have time going into the last eight weeks before graduation to be distracted.
He runs his fingers through his beautiful chestnut hair and she finds herself very distracted. She wants to do that, wants to do it badly, and… She reins herself in abruptly. No. This isn’t about that. This is about helping someone pick out furniture, garnering a fair commission out of it, and maybe making a friend in an industry that might be helpful in her future career. The fact that his lips are just begging to be snogged, were quite possibly made for snogging–. “Stop it,” she hisses.
“What?” he asks. The last of his sandwich is poised in front of his mouth and he looks confused.
“Sorry, I’ve had this stupid song running through my head all day and I thought it was finally gone and now it’s back again.” She sighs. “I hate when that happens.” She hopes he can’t tell that she’s lying, that she has a far more guilty thought that she was covering up.
Why this man had to come into her life now she doesn’t know. It is the worst possible timing. She has spent the last six years of her life refusing to be distracted by boys after that horrible experience with Jimmy Stone when she was fifteen. Three minutes in the back seat of his dad’s car, one very disappointing loss of virginity and a broken condom later, followed by three weeks of being scared to death she’d gotten pregnant while Jimmy kept bugging her to do it again even though she wanted nothing further to do with him, and being too scared to tell her mum anything, only to find out she wasn’t, had kept her on the straight and narrow ever since.
She’d even turned down gorgeous Mickey Smith’s hesitant advances a few years later, much to Keisha’s disgust at the time. Keisha was happy enough about it now since she’d been engaged to the man herself for the last six months and had a wedding coming up in three more. And none of the other men who’d gone after her had ever even tempted her.
Rose had been so careful to stay away from boys after Jimmy and then men. She didn’t want to ever get stuck in a life that had her dependant on a man like her mum had been when her dad had died. Living on a hairdresser’s salary was hard enough for one person, for an only child with a single mum it had been downright frightening at times, never knowing if there was going to be enough money each month for food and heat. Usually her mum had pulled it off without bumming money from Grandma Prentiss, but she’d spent more than one winter bundled in half a dozen layers at a time. It had been better since Rose had started working at sixteen and contributed the part of her income that hadn’t been earmarked for University fees. But it still hadn’t been easy. It still isn't easy. Just better.
And now, now this man, this admittedly gorgeous, older man comes along two months before graduation and she…she is not falling for him. She isn’t. That is not going to happen, not even a little bit. And if he runs his hands through his damn hair one more time she will not be held accountable for her actions if she grabs him by the front of his shirt, drags him across the table and kisses him until he loses the ability to think. Or she does.
The little alarm on her watch beeps and she says, “Time for me to get back on the floor. Meet me up in furniture when you’re ready.” She gathers up her garbage, disposes of it and flees before he can say anything back to her.
It is five minutes before she sees him making his way to her across the furniture department and then she is firmly back under control again. He walks right up to her and stops slightly inside what she considers to be her personal space. “Hello,” he says to her like he hadn’t just seen her five minutes ago.
“Hello,” she says back like he’s just any other customer. “How can I help you?”
“I need to furnish my entire flat,” he tells her even though he’s already told her this before.
“Where do you want to start?” she asks him.
His eyes meet hers and he says with a wicked smile on his face, “In the bedroom. I need a nice…big…bed.” He drags the last three words out slowly, ennunciating them quite clearly.
She pictures him in that bed, pictures herself next to him, sweaty and sated. She imagines this man is no Jimmy Stone, that he knows what he’s doing and that he’ll take his time, make sure that she is happy and comfortable and satisfied. She realizes that she’s losing this battle already, will completely lose it eventually to this man if this is indeed what he wants. She grins at him and her smile lights the room as she realizes she no longer cares if he wins it. "Well, then," she tells him, "Let's go try some out."
Ch. 3: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/116900.html
“Good morning, Dr. Smith,” says the receptionist the next morning as he exits the elevator, “I have some notes for you from Mr. Lumin.”
“Good morning. Thank you,” his eyes alight on the newly recovered name plate on her desk, “Ms. Noble.” Underneath it says office administrator. He files that away in his brain, making sure he’ll remember to use that instead of secretary or receptionist if he ever uses her title out loud. He has a feeling it might matter.
She rolls her eyes at him. “Donna, please,” she tells him. “Don’t care much for Ms. Noble. It’s what my mum goes by even though she’s been married forty years. Find it pretentious.”
“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll call you Donna if you call me Jonathon.”
She balks. “Not sure that’s appropriate protocol,” she says looking up at the camera pointing to her desk on the wall above. “Eyes and ears, you know. How about I call you Doc?” she asks. He blanches. “Obviously not,” she says reading his reaction.
“How about just calling me Doctor John?” he asks.
“Like the auto repair place? No,” she tells him decisively.
“Auto repair?”
“That’s right; you’re from the back of beyond.”
“Cardiff is not the back of beyond,” he protests.
“May as well be. And how come you sound Scottish and not Welsh, anyway?” she asks him.
The question seems to stump him. He searches his memories trying to discover an answer, but even as he does the thought moves away from him, hiding behind a dark place in his mind. He figures out the easiest answer and says, “I lived in Cardiff for a while, but I’m not from there.” It has the ring of truth, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t quite. He hides the frustration from her and says, “So, Doctor John is an auto clinic?”
“It’s where I take my car. They have them all over the place. It’s a subsidiary of Illuminate, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. Well, how about just calling me the Doctor?” he asks her and a faint tickle in the back of his mind tries to prod forward a memory. He pushes it away.
Okay,” she says. “Doctor is a bit less formal than Dr. Smith without breaking rules and regs.” She rolls her eyes at the camera again and then hands him the notes and with a firm shooing gesture, dismisses him from her office space.
He heads to his own office slightly bemused by his experience with the take charge, slightly sassy secretary. He’s not quite sure what to think of her. She seems a nice enough woman, if a bit bossy and he’s just a tiny bit jealous of her gorgeous ginger hair.
He settles in his office and soon is lost in the “notes” Donna had given him. Fifteen pages later he realizes just what a brilliant man he’s working for as Mr. Lumin lays out applications for his own inventions he hadn’t even dreamed of when he’d first created them. It isn’t often he meets a man with such sheer marketing genius.
He sets about marking up design schematics and barely hears the phone buzz. He ignores it until Donna pops her head into his door and says, “If you don’t want to answer your phone just hit four and it reroutes the call to my desk. I’ll deal with it. But don’t just ignore it. That’s annoying.” He nods and punches the 4 and she disappears to answer it.
A few minutes later she’s back and handing him a message. “I’m popping out to Lombardi’s for lunch. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?” she asks him.
He glances quickly at the message then shoves it in a drawer. It’s from the insurance company that insured the lorry with his belongings in it asking him to file a claim within thirty days.
“Sure, bring me back whatever the lunch special is,” he says.
“You sure?” she asks him.
“I’m not picky about food,” he says digging in his wallet and handing her a tenner.
“Okay,” she says with a bit of a surprised tone in her voice and he hopes he’s not taking his life in his hands by ordering the special. “Sheila from the temp pool’s covering my desk while I’m gone. Try not to need anything. She’s a bit of an airhead when it comes to finding files. Sweet, though, and types 80 wpm and is good on the phones so they keep her around. I’ll be back in about forty minutes.”
“All right,” he says. She’s away then and he returns to his work, looking up in surprise at what seems like just a few minutes later when she deposits a take away box, a bottle of juice, and his change on his desk. “Thank you,” he tells her.
“You’re welcome. Can’t chat,” she says, “Mr. Balke asked Sheila for a file while I was gone and I’ve got a fire to put out.”
“Not a real one, I hope,” he says with a grin.
She snorts. “No, she’s not that bad.” Under her breath she mumbles, “I hope.” She’s gone again and he looks at his watch and realizes the full forty minutes have passed. It’s odd, that. He’s sure he used to have a much better time sense than that, but lately it’s been going by so quickly, it seems.
He pulls the white box stamped with the golden Lombardi’s logo towards him and opens it. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs, identifying it as some kind of vindaloo, possibly chicken. It smells wonderful and he digs in, grateful a moment later for the bottle of juice. The food’s a bit hotter than what he’s used to, but it’s still quite good.
He finishes his lunch with his mind still half on the adjustments Mr. Lumin has asked for in the design schematics and goes eagerly back to work the moment he’s done. Its three hours later when Donna pokes her head into his office again and says, “I’m going for a coffee up on seven. Sheila’s back on reception. Want anything?”
“A large mocha with a triple shot,” he says. He digs in his desk drawer and tosses her his cafeteria pass key when he finds it. With that his coffee can automatically be charged to his account. “Put yours on there, too,” he tells her. She catches it mid-air and smiles before heading out.
He wonders at his sudden need for coffee these last few days since joining Illuminate. He clearly remembers always being a tea lover, but the really good company espresso machine in the cafeteria has quickly won him over. Maybe this type of 9 to 5 job simply requires a bigger jolt than tea has ever given him in his at home laboratories of the past.
He hopes it doesn’t make him too hyper. Maybe he should have just stuck with two shots. He doesn’t want to be bouncing off the walls when he sees Rose later that night at Temmel’s. He realizes he’s managed to get through half the day without thinking about the pretty woman he’s met twice now and wonders how on Earth he ever managed it. He’d thought about her for most of the previous evening and woken up thinking about her this morning, too.
He’s not quite sure why her smile keeps flashing in his mind and though he continually tells himself he’s simply going to Temmel’s to shop for furniture he knows it’s a lie. Yes, he needs furniture, there’s not doubt about that. But he’s got a ridiculously strong interest in the saleswoman and he knows it. It's just possible furniture isn't the only need he has to fill in his life right now.
If he’s not careful, he’ll make an utter fool out of himself. The pretty woman can have her pick of men. Handsome, virile men a lot closer to her in age. Not some ancient–ancient? Where’d that come from? He wasn’t that old. Thirty-four was young! He put the gap between them at twelve or thirteen years, given she was close to graduating university. A big gap, but certainly not insurmountable. And he was definitely not ancient.
It would be just his luck for her not to mind his age, but to have her type turn out to be some forty-year-old big bruiser from Manchester who was fond of leather or some much younger, muscled blond kid from the sculling team. What would she want with an older, geeky yet still manly gentleman like himself? He frowned. Still, he is a doctor, he is highly intelligent, he is well-placed in the corporate world in a field she happens to be studying and he certainly has enough money to be comfortable. And he has really great hair. That has to count for something in her eyes, doesn’t it? And why does he care? It’s not like he has any intention of asking her out on a date.
“Oi, space man!” A hand waves in front of his face and he jerks.
“Space man?” he asks blinking up at the unexpected sight of Donna. She deposits his mocha and his cafeteria pass key on his desk.
“Well, that’s about how far away you looked, outer space,” she tells him. “A girl likes a bit of acknowledgment when she does a bloke a favor, you know.”
“Thank you,” he says his mind still a million miles away.
Donna snorts and walks away. He picks up the drink, takes a sip and smiles. Just how he likes it. He hopes Donna isn’t actually annoyed with him. He quite likes the woman. He just wonders why her calling him space man feels so familiar. He shakes it off, blaming déjà vu and returns to his work.
Rose Tyler is not watching the clock. Neither is she continually sneaking glances at her wrist watch. She is not waiting for any particular customer to show up, or calculating how long past the end of the regular 9 to 5 workday it’ll be before said particular customer that she’s not waiting to see will show up. She is not including time for gathering belongings and putting papers in a briefcase, nor for punching out and leaving the building, nor for the walking time necessary to reach Temmel’s. She’s not adding in extra time in case he wants to grab a bite to eat at one of the local restaurants before heading up. She most certainly is not waiting impatiently to see Dr. Smith again.
It is also important to note that she did not take extra time that morning to dress in red, a color that many people have told her she looks particularly attractive in, that it is indeed her best color. The fact that the color of her blouse ended up being red is simply because it was closest to hand in the closet. And the fact that she’s done her hair up in a fancy French twist instead of a messy ponytail has everything to do with her being bored and needing a change of style and nothing to do with trying to look a bit older and a touch more elegant.
Of course she really can’t help it if the trousers she’s wearing hug her curves in all the right places. That’s just how they fit. It’s not like she has anything to prove or that she’s trying to attract someone. She simply wants to feel pretty, put her best foot forward. Speaking of feet she also couldn’t stay away from the pretty red open-toed shoes that matched the lovely red blouse that was closest to hand in her closet that morning. She wouldn’t have wanted to clash after all, now would she? Especially at school that morning, let alone at work.
“Why don’t you take your dinner break, Rose?” suggests her floor manager Brendan. “It’s slow. I can handle it on my own.”
“I’m not hungry, Brendan,” she tells him.
“Still need a dinner break,” he informs her.
“I know that, just…” She trails off and looks at her watch.
“Labor rules, Rose,” he says and she sighs.
“Fine.”
She tromps down to the little café on the first floor and uses her company discount to buy a sandwich, a bag of baked crisps, and a carton of milk. She sits facing the front doors of the building and tells herself she is just people watching. People, after all, can be very interesting when you’re not selling them things. She absolutely is not craning her neck to the left and searching for warm brown eyes and a gentle smile that lights her up from the inside out.
“Rose?” she feels a hand on her shoulder at the same time the word is spoken from behind her and she spins about on the counter chair.
“Where’d you come from?” she asks in surprise as she looks up into the happy eyes of Dr. Smith.
“Was in the loo,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve got a booth back there. Care to join me?”
Rose tries not to jump hastily to her feet, slides gracefully off the stool instead and says, “Sure.” She gathers her food and follows him to the little booth where a waitress is just setting down his tray.
“Hi, Rose,” she says.
“Evening, Keisha,” Rose replies.
“Who’s your friend?” she asks.
Before Rose can reply, say that he’s a friendly customer and not really a friend, Dr. Smith says, “I’m Jonathon.” He shakes hands with the waitress.
“This is Keisha, my best friend,” Rose tells him. They exchange pleasantries and then Keisha returns to her job.
“So how long is your break?” Jonathon asks her.
Rose checks her watch. “I’ve got another 20 minutes for dinner,” she tells him. She picks up her turkey sandwich and takes a large bite. They don’t talk much after that, both of them concentrating on their food but every time Rose looks up to sneak a glance at him, she finds him studying her and then quickly looking away himself. She can’t help the warm glow that spreads through her chest at the feeling that maybe this man really is attracted to her.
She knows it’s ridiculous. He’s old enough to be…well, not her father if he were still alive, but maybe a younger uncle. Really, she’s just being friendly. He’s new in town, he likes her taste in clothes, they’ve bumped into each other and it’s been great conversation, but that’s all it is. That’s all it can be. She doesn’t have time going into the last eight weeks before graduation to be distracted.
He runs his fingers through his beautiful chestnut hair and she finds herself very distracted. She wants to do that, wants to do it badly, and… She reins herself in abruptly. No. This isn’t about that. This is about helping someone pick out furniture, garnering a fair commission out of it, and maybe making a friend in an industry that might be helpful in her future career. The fact that his lips are just begging to be snogged, were quite possibly made for snogging–. “Stop it,” she hisses.
“What?” he asks. The last of his sandwich is poised in front of his mouth and he looks confused.
“Sorry, I’ve had this stupid song running through my head all day and I thought it was finally gone and now it’s back again.” She sighs. “I hate when that happens.” She hopes he can’t tell that she’s lying, that she has a far more guilty thought that she was covering up.
Why this man had to come into her life now she doesn’t know. It is the worst possible timing. She has spent the last six years of her life refusing to be distracted by boys after that horrible experience with Jimmy Stone when she was fifteen. Three minutes in the back seat of his dad’s car, one very disappointing loss of virginity and a broken condom later, followed by three weeks of being scared to death she’d gotten pregnant while Jimmy kept bugging her to do it again even though she wanted nothing further to do with him, and being too scared to tell her mum anything, only to find out she wasn’t, had kept her on the straight and narrow ever since.
She’d even turned down gorgeous Mickey Smith’s hesitant advances a few years later, much to Keisha’s disgust at the time. Keisha was happy enough about it now since she’d been engaged to the man herself for the last six months and had a wedding coming up in three more. And none of the other men who’d gone after her had ever even tempted her.
Rose had been so careful to stay away from boys after Jimmy and then men. She didn’t want to ever get stuck in a life that had her dependant on a man like her mum had been when her dad had died. Living on a hairdresser’s salary was hard enough for one person, for an only child with a single mum it had been downright frightening at times, never knowing if there was going to be enough money each month for food and heat. Usually her mum had pulled it off without bumming money from Grandma Prentiss, but she’d spent more than one winter bundled in half a dozen layers at a time. It had been better since Rose had started working at sixteen and contributed the part of her income that hadn’t been earmarked for University fees. But it still hadn’t been easy. It still isn't easy. Just better.
And now, now this man, this admittedly gorgeous, older man comes along two months before graduation and she…she is not falling for him. She isn’t. That is not going to happen, not even a little bit. And if he runs his hands through his damn hair one more time she will not be held accountable for her actions if she grabs him by the front of his shirt, drags him across the table and kisses him until he loses the ability to think. Or she does.
The little alarm on her watch beeps and she says, “Time for me to get back on the floor. Meet me up in furniture when you’re ready.” She gathers up her garbage, disposes of it and flees before he can say anything back to her.
It is five minutes before she sees him making his way to her across the furniture department and then she is firmly back under control again. He walks right up to her and stops slightly inside what she considers to be her personal space. “Hello,” he says to her like he hadn’t just seen her five minutes ago.
“Hello,” she says back like he’s just any other customer. “How can I help you?”
“I need to furnish my entire flat,” he tells her even though he’s already told her this before.
“Where do you want to start?” she asks him.
His eyes meet hers and he says with a wicked smile on his face, “In the bedroom. I need a nice…big…bed.” He drags the last three words out slowly, ennunciating them quite clearly.
She pictures him in that bed, pictures herself next to him, sweaty and sated. She imagines this man is no Jimmy Stone, that he knows what he’s doing and that he’ll take his time, make sure that she is happy and comfortable and satisfied. She realizes that she’s losing this battle already, will completely lose it eventually to this man if this is indeed what he wants. She grins at him and her smile lights the room as she realizes she no longer cares if he wins it. "Well, then," she tells him, "Let's go try some out."
Ch. 3: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/116900.html
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Date: 2008-08-11 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-12 03:33 am (UTC)