Just the Thought of You Ch. 01

"Oh, that is amazing," she said, half-moaning, already reaching for another piece.

He couldn't stop the grin this time. "I know. It's sort of like the best toasted cheese you ever had, minus the toast."

She covered her mouth with her hand as she chewed, shamelessly eyeing the last piece.

"If I'd known you were so easy to please, I'd have tried luring you with cheese from the beginning" he said carelessly, scooping some houmous onto his plate with a wedge of warm pita.

What was he doing? Later, said the internal voice. Just enjoy the food for now. No point spoiling a good meal. He could broach the subject when they were done eating.

She dipped her bread into the taramousalata and took a tentative bite. Her face brightened. He wondered if he should tell her it was made from fish eggs, and found himself fighting that grin again. The truth was, watching her discover the new tastes and flavours was an absorbing and unexpected pleasure.

"Mm," she said, "This one is nice too."

"I'd still like to know why no one has ever introduced you to this before."

She tipped her head to the side, as if trying to decide how to answer him. "Honestly? I couldn't really...afford it." Her chin rose almost imperceptibly, that damned pride of hers showing a little.

"What do you mean? It's not very expensive."

"I know," she said, blushing ever so slightly. "We didn't have much for eating out, growing up." The chin again, before she lowered her eyes to where her fingers worried at an edge of the tablecloth overlay.

So she'd been both sheltered and poor. Perhaps it accounted for her lack of demanding. Her lack of expectation from him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the waiter descending on them with steaming plates of freshly grilled sea bass. Wide-eyed, she watched how he pulled away the crispy flesh with his fork. She followed suit, slowly at first, then with growing confidence.

"This is delicious," she said between mouthfuls.

"You should taste it when it's fresh from the sea."

"In Greece, you mean?"

He nodded.

"You've been there, then?" Her fork stilled, waiting on his answer.

He shrugged. "Not for years. I went on a gap-year during university. Island-hopping, that sort of thing."

Had he imagined it, or had he seen a spark light up in her eyes? If he had, it was quickly hidden, and she turned her attention back to the fish.

"I was with some friends at first, but they got bored after a while, and I went on by myself."

"Weren't you lonely?"

He thought back. He shook his head. "No, not really." He took another bite, feeling her eyes on him, carefully scrutinising. She wasn't making any attempt to hide her interest now.

And so he found himself telling her all about Greece. Picking up the ferries from island to island. Finding his food in the markets and the local tavernas. Fresh olives and pistachios and lemon trees. The tickle of the half-feral cats winding their way around his ankles under the tables, begging for scraps. About how the blue of the sky and sea was so vivid that he'd finally come to understand why Greeks painted everything with such brilliant colours. And discovering the nasty sort of headache you could get from drinking too much of the local retsina wine.

She listened intently, asking questions, drawing him on. Drawing him further into his memories than he had ever been before. Bringing up to the surface the wild sense of joy he'd felt that summer. The warm Mediterranean winds on his face as he rode the ferries. The sheer freedom of staying in one village as long as he felt lit it before moving on to the next. Moving with the sea breezes, almost.

"You liked being free. To do what you wanted, when you wanted to." She stated it. Didn't ask it as a question. She sat back, nodding to herself.

The waiter hovered, waiting to take their plates. Jarod blinked, sitting back in his seat. How long had they been sitting here, talking? Stephanie swirled the remnants of wine in the bottom of her glass. The smile he'd seen in her face while he told her of his travels was gone. The crease between her eyebrows was there, along with a troubled look. She let out a deep sigh, her eyelids flickering before her gaze rose to meet his.

"You invited me to lunch to break things off, didn't you."

Her words hit him like a sick punch to the gut. He tilted his head back, no response forming on his tongue. Say something, Jarod. Anything, damn it!

But it was too late. The wounded look in her eyes told him that much.

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

I nodded, my mouth tightening into a thin line, pain burning through my chest. So I'd been right. I'd known all along it would be this. So why did it still hurt so badly? I knew it was coming, but it still felt like he'd torn my heart right out and left it on the floor to bleed out.

"No, okay, it's not like that," he protested, pressing his hands down on the table.

"Oh, so you mean that's not what this was?" I said, gesturing to the room around us.

"No, what I mean is..."

The rising hysteria in my chest came out as a sort of strangled half-laugh. "I may not be well travelled, Jarod. I might not be experienced in the world like you are. But I'm not a fool."

"Stephanie, listen to me." The look on his face was definitely one of pleading. If I didn't think I was imagining it, I'd have said he was genuinely in some pain as well. But how could that be, when he'd intended to end it...end us, all along.

I concentrated on folding the napkin from my lap into the neatest, tidiest triangle I could. Everything in me focused in on the sharp edge of white linen. Suddenly it was very important to fold it as perfectly as I could. It helped me breathe.

All his talk of freedom. At first I'd found myself sucked into the descriptions of his travels. The excitement of not caring about the outside world and just going where the whim would take you. But in the end I couldn't ignore it. Sitting across from me, forgetting to even eat his food, I'd seen a side of Jarod I'd only suspected existed. It was as if he'd lit up from inside. Never had I seen him so relaxed, so animated, as when he talked about being a free agent in the world. Unfettered, unattached, answerable to no one. Alone.

I could give him that. I wouldn't take it from him. No matter how much it was killing me inside, I wasn't about to stand in his way. He'd said it, hadn't he? That he hadn't had any girls for years. He preferred his own company. The pin-tidy interior of his flat was evidence enough of that. I'd just been fooling myself, thinking that I could compete with it. I had nothing.

"Take me back to work, please."

"But Steph, can you just let me explain?" He leaned forward, his hand sliding towards me. He evidently thought better of it and pulled it back.

"Jarod." I steeled myself, breathing deep to calm the shaking in my voice. "Take me back. Now."

Face like thunder, he swore something unrepeatable under his breath. With swift, jerky motions he pulled out his wallet, tossed some notes on the table and stood. Muttering an apology to the dumbfounded waiter, he beat me to the door.

How many times had we ridden in that car in awkward silence? At least this would be the last time, I told myself. Some comfort. No comfort at all, actually.

* * * * *

JAROD

His office door remained closed for the rest of the day. Even Angela hadn't come to bother him, despite the growing pile of files on his desk he knew she'd need for Richard.

How on earth was he going to fix this? From the moment Stephanie had levelled those accusing eyes at him across the remnants of their lunch, it was the only thing he could think about. How to fix it.

Why he suddenly needed to mend the very thing he'd deliberately set out to destroy, he couldn't yet explain to himself. Had he ever really intended to go through with it? Because the objective had most certainly been achieved. He was ashamed that she'd had to call him out. Embarrassed to have been so entirely transparent. The idea that she perhaps saw more than most crossed his mind. Did she know him that well, then? Had she known what the lunch was to be all along?

And there was the worst thing about it. Again, the irony snapped ruthlessly at his heels. Mocked him and his own naivete. At some point during that damned meal he'd made up his mind. Or changed it. Whichever. As he'd sat there, lost in the lively, dark curiosity of her eyes, the certainty that there was no escaping what he felt for her had settled on him like a warm blanket. Heavy and sure and encompassing. This wasn't about proving whether or not she was a decent conversationalist. It was him trying to fool himself. He was the fool.

And now he had to fix it. If it could be fixed.

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

I wiggled my toes. They seemed an awfully long way away, down the other end of the tub, propped either side of the pitted chrome tap. But that far-away fuzzy feeling probably had more to do with the third glass of white wine precariously balanced on the rim of the bath.

I hadn't allowed myself the luxury of tears. I'd known what I was getting myself in for. I'd managed to slip back into the office without making eye contact with the omnipresent Angela, and spent a number of half-hearted hours painstakingly organising and reorganising my email folders. I looked nowhere but my computer screen. Allowed no thoughts but the icons that blurred in front of my eyes. My chest was wound so tight I knew that if I let the tears start, there would be no stopping them.

Damn him for the bastard he was. Lunch. With a whole afternoon of fucking torture afterwards. Great planning. How on earth had I allowed myself to walk into that little trap, eyes wide open. Well, fuck him. I didn't need this. Didn't need to feel like everything inside me was being slowly winched out through a gaping hole in my chest.

The bath water was on the verge of tepid. Goosebumps were starting to form along my bare arms. I let my head fall back and contemplated how exactly I was going to manipulate my limbs into an upright position.

Something buzzed. I sighed heavily and sank deeper into the water, the bubbles engulfing me. Whatever it was buzzed again. Fuck. I rubbed the heel of my hand against my forehead.

"Just leave me alone!"

That's right. The buzzing. I sat up so quickly the wine glass nearly ended in a million pieces on the floor and a mini-tidal wave of bath water sloshed over me.

The phone he'd given me was sitting on the lid of the toilet. Right where I'd left it while strongly contemplating flushing the damned thing down. At least to drown it. But then I'd had the idea to run a bath, and switched to the idea of drowning myself in hot water and satsuma-scented bubbles instead.

I just stared at it. It lay, dark and shiny against the white plastic of the toilet seat. Like the disembodied head of some venomous snake. Okay, so may that was a little melodramatic.

I leaned out of the tub and grabbed it, belatedly remembering to dry my hands. I wiped some suds off the screen with my bath towel. Gathering a breath, I switched it on.

'Stephanie - just hear me out, please,' was the first text. I clicked over to the next little envelope icon.

'Let me explain. We need to talk.'

Explain? What was there to explain? I didn't think he could have been any clearer in his regard for me and what really drove him. What did he think he wanted from me that I could actually give him?

I let the phone drop onto the bathmat and slid back underneath the fragile cloud of bubbles. That's what I felt like. Like a tiny bubble. Surface stretched thin, crowded from every side. One little jostle and I'd be gone. Disappearing in a fine, iridescent mist.

The pain that had been twisting up so tightly in my chest released with a palpable ping. Unravelling in a rush, with a sob. The bubbles caught the tears, dissolving into nothing. Melting just like the hurt.

* * * * *

JAROD

Jarod pulled himself upright and dropped his feet over the side of the bed to the floor. God. He leaned his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. What a wretched night. He hadn't slept well at all. And, of course, the damned dreams were back. With a vengeance.

In his dream, he was running. Running flat out, breath burning, searing in his chest. It was the same dream, but different. She wasn't there, ahead of him. There was no flash of dark hair flying around corners just out of sight. It was just him. Running without knowing how to stop.

He reached over to the nightstand and checked his phone. Just as he had done, compulsively, ever since he sent the texts the night before. Still nothing.

Squinting at the clock only told him he didn't have time to crawl back under the covers and pretend it hadn't happened.

* * * * *

The hot water of the shower helped a little. Eased the ache in his muscles. It did nothing to help with the tight feeling in his chest. He leaned against the warm tiles, just letting the water run down his back and shoulders, wishing it could thaw whatever it was the felt frozen inside.

There was no ignoring his subconscious any longer. Any idiot could decode what that dream was really about. It had long ago ceased being about chasing her, or any other woman. It was all about him trying to escape. From reality. From the truth. From the gripping fear of feeling what he did right now.

It all spun together. That dark spark in her eyes. That utter openness to the part of himself he barely felt he could even glance at. She thought he thought her a fool? He shook his head at the very idea. Every one of her reactions to him was based on some unwavering instinct. There was a quickness to her assessment that put him to shame. She'd known. Known before he did. Maybe it wasn't a conscious knowing, but the surety she radiated when she was least aware of herself instructed him. Taught him the truth.

They just needed time. Time together to unravel what needed unravelling.

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

There really is nothing quite like the puffy-eyed frontal headache of a crying-jag hangover. It was that or the wine. Probably the wine.

I hauled at the strap of my handbag, pushing the front lobby elevator button again. I knew...I knew pushing it again didn't make the thing arrive any faster, but I was late. Thanks to the headache.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, relieved breath as the elevator finally dinged its welcome. I rushed in, completely focused on the button panel, barely noticing there was already a passenger. My finger froze on the button, and my eyes closed again. When I opened them, it was still Jarod standing there, hip leaning casually against the rail, a toasted bagel from the cafeteria in his hand.

"Hi," he said, his expression completely indecipherable, but his voice soft.

Struck dumb, I just stood there, staring, like an idiot. He looked...incredible. Of course he did. And of course I was going to bump into him. We worked in the same office, on the same bloody floor. Of course. But the shock of it buzzed through me. The space inside the elevator suddenly seemed too small, too warm. And he was staring at me and not looking away. I could feel my face burning. Cursing myself for the unexpected desire to burst into tears right in front of him.

I spun to face the door. Damn you, elevator, move quicker. I swallowed, biting the inside of my cheek in an attempt to steady myself. Damn it, I would not fall apart. Not right now.

The second the doors slid open I was gone, walking fast, my chest heaving in an attempt to hold my emotions in check. I could sense him striding along behind me, see him in my peripheral vision. The way he moved. The smooth, restrained power in his gait, sent me flying to the golden memory cages, desperate to fling all the doors wide.

After what felt like a million miles of corridor, I felt his presence disappear from behind me. I'd passed his office. He was gone.

Some of the girls gave me quizzical looks as I stormed to my desk. I could barely guess what I must look like, eyes puffy, hair flying. Frankly, I couldn't care less. I sank into my seat, overcome by a sudden and complete exhaustion.

Many deep breaths later, I opened my eyes. A post-it stared back at me from my screen.

'Check your email,' was all it said. But I'd know that slanted handwriting anywhere. I fought the urge to walk right back down the hall and out of the building. Why was he doing this to me? Why couldn't he just let things be?

* * * * *

JAROD

It was a little place he'd always wanted to visit. Tucked into the middle of Dartmoor, a village nestled between the rocky tors. If he wanted to get away from it all, with her, it was just the place. The cottage wasn't big, but it was secluded, self-catering, and nicely fitted. It would be comfortable, and he'd have her to himself without all the complicated nonsense of his apartment or hers.

He brushed the bagel crumbs from his desk into the wastebasket and checked his sent email again compulsively. Reviewed again what he'd written to her. He knew it was a risk to send it via work email. But it was obvious he couldn't just grab her and ask, and it wasn't the sort of thing you put in a text.

'Stephanie,

We need to talk about this. About us. I know what you think, but there is more to it. I want to spend more time with you. Alone. I've booked a place for the weekend. I have it from Friday, but if you can't take the day off, we could go down Saturday. Please come with me.

- Jarod'

He checked again that he'd put the links to the cottage website at the bottom. It was all there. Had he been too presumptuous, as always? Reading his email back, he winced a little at his own phrasing. He wasn't sure what was worse, sounding like he was begging, or the assumption that she'd just drop everything and go with him. He could only hope.

When she'd stepped into the lift, his stomach had taken a journey back to the basement without him. She'd held herself so stiffly, those soft curved lips of hers pressed tight. And when she looked up at him, there was no missing the look there. He'd seen it before, when she'd run away, and he'd ripped off those damned sunglasses. That look cut him like no knife could.

He vaguely registered the fact he'd spoken to her, but she'd just turned away from him. The doors were barely opening and she'd darted past him. He'd barely kept up with her, and had to resist everything in him that wanted to grab for her. Stop her. Make her speak to him. Make her see.

But it was done. He'd laid it out there for her to decide. The tightness was still there, deep in his chest, but along with it was a longing. A yearning for a yes from her. And for her smile.

* * * * *

'I'm sorry, Jarod. I can't.

- S'

Can't. Not 'won't'. Can't.

Jarod increased his pace as he headed towards an incline in the road. The burning in his muscles went some way towards blocking out the sensation he'd had in his gut ever since he'd opened her email.

Had he pushed her so far? Just the hint of breaking things off, and she went running? There was something about it he just couldn't puzzle out. Couldn't puzzle her out. Okay, so he'd acted like a prick the morning after they'd been together. And there was the lunch. But he didn't know how he could be any clearer with her. He wanted to work it out.

He turned his concentration to the feel of his feet hitting the unyielding solidity of the pavement. Lost in the rhythm he wasn't aware exactly when his thoughts drifted to the memory of her, straddling his lap, hair flung back, the satiny softness of her skin under his hands. Desire hit him like a fully-loaded truck and stopped him in his tracks, left him gasping. Hands braced on his knees, chest heaving, he waited for it to pass. But the flood of images just wouldn't let up. All he could do was break into a jog again, focus intently on the feel of his muscles straining and force it from his mind.