Sunrise for Two

by Merlot Montana

  Chris was trying to coax Nicola into choosing her own outfit at a faster pace. He was tempted to say that he didn’t really think anyone would notice what she wore, but he thought that might slow things down further, and in the end he sat in silence in the front room with Jeff, a strategy that worked remarkably well, and they were out of the house only five minutes after the band was due to start. The bar was in the cluster of shops and restaurants between his house and Harry. Chris tended to spend all his free time in the safety of the rugby club, and he stepped into the noise and laughter and felt slightly out of his depth.

  Mismatched tables and battered sofas clustered round a central raised stage. Chris looked around at lean young couples in brightly coloured denims and men drinking oddly flavoured beers, until the sight of Harry made him catch his breath. She was sitting on the stage in a scruffy orange chair, the gentle waves of her hair cascading over her shoulders and her well cut blouse highlighting her sumptuous curves. A man with a mass of curly red hair was looming rather possessively over her and Julia was sitting on the arm of the chair holding a saxophone. The familiar figure of Mike looked somewhat out of place in the cluster of bohemian chic. He was standing next to the edge of the stage, leaning against her empty wheelchair.

  Jeff ordered them a round of drinks, and they sat down at a table and watched the drummer check his kit one final time. Chris couldn’t take his eyes off her, she was still deep in conversation with the man who was invading her personal space. He kept hoping that she would look around the room to see if she was there, and felt crushingly disappointed when she didn’t. “Aren’t you glad I asked her about her hobbies?” Nicola said triumphantly and he smiled at her as convincingly as he could, and felt an intense stab of jealously when she called Mike onto the stage and he rushed off to get her glass of water.

  The man with red hair took a step back and issued last minute instructions to his band mates, then he strode to the front of the stage and thanked the people in the bar for listening. Chris felt his discomfort deepen, the man was funny and self-deprecating and when he had finished his introductions and had encouraged them to keep on with their own conversations, he stood very close to Harry and she smiled at him as though they had shared a private joke. Chris knew that he would never be described as witty. He was serious and intense with a passionate love of medicine, and he wondered why he was embarrassing himself by crashing into her evening and her life.

  Of course her voice was lovely, smoky and smooth with a note of longing that made him want to lift her out of the orange monstrosity and tell her that she never need feel lonely again. He decided with a note of desperation that she wouldn’t be able to sing like that if she wasn’t feeling that same empty space that he felt. She held him transfixed, and all through Julia’s long awkward solos he tried to catch her eye and he glowered at Nicola whenever she tried to talk to him.

  There was a crowd wanting to talk to her at the end, he waited for a moment then stepped onto the stage and planted himself rather firmly in her field of vision. “Hello Harry,” he said, and felt ridiculously happy when she smiled up at him. The man with the explosion of red hair introduced himself as Rufus and made further conversation impossible. Reluctantly he said goodbye and joined his friends in the damp street outside.

  “Wow,” Jeff said finally, “I could have listened to her all night.” Chris nodded at him in unhappy silence, wondering how on earth he was going to get her attention. Nicola looked at the two men that she cared about and started to question the merit of her plan for them to spend more time with Harry. “I mean,” Jeff continued expansively, “it’s like there’s nothing she can’t do well.”

  “She can’t walk.” Nicola said, and then felt awful for the rest of the night.

  Chapter seven

  Chris left work on time the following day, he felt almost guilty leaving the ward at the same time as the trainees. He dropped his car at home and chose her a present and after a long period of hesitation, a box of chocolates. Then he followed the route he was starting to see in his dreams and knocked on her door. She was lying on her sofa eating an apple and Julia answered the door with the remote control in her hand. “Is this a bad time?” Julia shook her head and handed him a glass of wine.

  He sat down on the sofa and took a mouthful, he couldn't decide if he felt lightheaded because of her or because of the alcohol. “Don’t lean back just yet,” Harry said apologetically, “my glasses are behind you.”

  “Why don’t you just wear them Harry? The whole librarian look is a good one for you.”

  “Shut up.” Harry said mildly, and put on the dark rimmed frames.

  “I broke one of my contacts yesterday morning, so I’ve spent the past twenty four hours in soft focus,” Harry explained, and he felt his mood lighten.

  “Are you really short sighted?”

  “Astonishingly so,” she said comfortably, and settled back again the sofa.

  Julia returned to describing the various challenges of her day as a psychiatrist. A rather painful battle that she lost with a social worker, a very depressed patient that she was worried about and of course her ongoing feud with her weight. Chris found himself describing his own day, he was having fun, and he felt listened to. They had ordered pizza and he kept talking until Julia stood up and smiled at him. “I’m having an early night,” she said, and touched Harry on the arm.

  Chris waved her goodbye and felt the adrenaline rush when Harry smiled at him. “Hi,” he said softly.

  “Hi yourself,” she said and put down her piece of pizza.

  “Do you ever eat?”

  “I usually eat more than this,” she said, slightly awkwardly, “it’s just rather difficult when you're around.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  She looked at him and arched an elegant eyebrow, “I'm not sure, I guess it depends on why you're coming to see me.”

  “Do you have any theories?”

  “None I'd care to share,” she said, feeling a flush deepen on her throat.

  “Shall I tell you why I’m here?”

  “Please.” she said softly.

  He took a deep breath and touched her hand. “Because I'm hugely attracted to you. I can't stop thinking about you, and being with you makes me happy.” Harry took a mouthful of wine. She had longed for this, longed for this dark handsome man to tell her that he cared for her, but she remembered the way he had reacted to her chair.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said finally.

  “Anything.”

  “Why didn't you tell your friends that I'm disabled?”

  He realised it was the first time that he heard her speak about her legs in such a formal way. He put down his glass and said quietly. “I've never known anyone socially who uses a wheelchair, I wasn't sure if you minded people knowing.”

  “It's hard to keep it a secret.” she said ruefully.

  “No I know, it’s just that I don't think of you in terms of your chair.”

  Harry took a deep breath and forced herself to say the words she dreaded. “Is that because you don't like it, my paralysis I mean?”

  “Of course not. It just doesn't seem a big part of who you are.”

  Harry looked at him in silence, and said finally. “It's a huge part Chris, I need you to understand that. It affects how people see me, my career, my social life, my holiday destinations, it affects everything.”

  He sat in silence, watching her graceful hands, the way she toyed with her now completely empty wine glass, the careful way she maintained her balance while she placed her glass on the table. He remembered the tension he had felt in her delicate torso when he had helped into his dining chair, and felt suddenly ashamed. He tried to imagine the constant grind of her physical limitations and the constraints of her paralysis. He thought about the challenge of meeting people and trying to form relationships with gravity weighing her down, always sitting in situations where people were standing over her.

  “Are you embarrassed by my chai
r?” she asked, unable to meet his eyes.

  For a moment he felt almost angry, to think that she could doubt him in this way, to think that she would even consider him capable of such superficial behaviour. Then he remembered her mother’s behaviour, and the fact that he had not told even his closest friends that she could not walk. “No I don’t feel embarrassed,” he said gently, “I just sometimes feel a bit out of my depth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well how should I describe your…” he cleared his throat and added clumsily, “your disability?”

  “Well not like that,” she said softly, “because then you really do sound embarrassed. I use all the obvious descriptions, paralysed, disabled, and if I’m feeling a bit political, wheelchair user.”

  “Don’t you feel limited by that?”

  “Chris I am paralysed, I do use a wheelchair, that does limit me. I’ve tried to accept that, what I need to understand is whether you can accept that.”

  “I can accept that.”

  She looked at him, her dark eyes still wary. “I really hope so,” she said softly.

  “Also,” he said tentatively, “I was wondering if we should talk about the fact that you’re part of the royalty.

  “Not royalty, that’s completely different, my mother is part of the nobility.”

  “Doesn’t that make you noble too?”

  “Well it’s a bit embarrassing really, mother has always been a bit vague about my bloodline, and it’s all a bit complicated and steeped in tradition.”

  “Sorry, I’m not very clear about those kinds of things, but I just thought you might want to talk about it.”

  Harry smiled ruefully at him, “I’m not really keen on either of the topics you’ve raised tonight, but in terms of our interaction I think my parentage is less important that the limitations of my paralysis.”

  “It doesn’t limit you when we’re alone on the sofa together.” He said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I think that’s when it might limit me the most.” She replied awkwardly and took a deep breath. Then she forced out the words that were almost too painful to say. “In fact it's where my limitations are really obvious.”

  “I can look after you if you let me,” he said, and cleared his throat again.

  “You're going to ask me a personal question aren't you?” she asked, and he watched the colour rise on the elegant bones of her face.

  “Is that ok?”

  “Well,” she took a breath and looked up at him. “this is not information I hand out easily, I guess it depends why you're asking.” He kissed her then, feeling his arousal harden as she opened her lovely mouth and kissed him back. “Well that does answer most of my questions,” she said unsteadily, “there's just one more really.”

  “Ask me anything Harry,” he said, smiling at the beautiful vulnerable woman who dominated his thoughts.

  “Does it matter?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked carefully. His gaze returned briefly to the way her nipples had hardened. He wanted to sink his mouth onto her glorious curves and he really really didn't want to upset her now.

  “Does it matter what I can feel between my legs and move below my waist?”

  “You mean in terms of my attraction to you?”

  “Yes.” she said very quietly, her big dark eyes holding his.

  Chris took a deep breath, and tried to frame his words. “No Harry it doesn’t matter to me, but somehow that isn’t what I’m trying to say. I will make sure it doesn’t matter to you too, and I know that I can make it wonderful for you, if you can trust me.” He smiled at her and hoped that she would smile back, but she did not, and the silence stretched rather uncomfortably between them.

  “I went out with a surgeon a couple of years ago” she volunteered finally. “He was very flattering, and very enthusiastic, until we had the conversation, the one you and I are skirting around.”

  “The sex conversation?” he asked, as casually as he could.

  “Yes that one.” she said lightly.

  “Can you tell me more?” Chris asked quietly, and felt his chest tighten when she looked at him. “I know I've hurt you by being insensitive, but I do really want to get things right.”

  “John, that was his name, asked me about the level of my paralysis, and when I told him he stayed for a final glass of wine then just when I thought he was going to take me to bed, he left and never came back.” She closed her eyes then, unable to face his reaction.

  “Hey,” he said gently, “he's an idiot, I might be a bit tactless, but I'm not an idiot. Harry I was attracted to you when you didn't back down on the phone. The fact that you're gorgeous is a bonus.”

  “Thank you.” she paused and looked up at him. “Why did you look so horrified when you saw my chair?”

  Chris looked at her and ran his hand along her shapely legs. “Because I felt bad yelling at...” he stopped and took a deep breath.

  “Yelling at someone in a wheelchair?” she offered. He nodded, thoughtfully running his thumb over her delicate calves. “I can fight my battles just fine.”

  “I know that Harry, I’d just like to look after you occasionally.”

  “Thank you.” she said to his surprise and relief. “I might let you occasionally.” he kissed her again then and tenderly ran his hand over the curve of her breast. When he reached her nipples the soft moan made him long to rip open her shirt. He wanted to taste every curve and savour every sound of her response.

  “When I first got hurt I couldn't move or feel anything below my shoulders.” She paused, remembering the loneliness of her hospital bed, “I still remember when I got my hands back.” She added softly, wanting him to understand something of the battle she had fought to reach this place of being able to face the world. She placed her small hand on his, then jumped when her phone chimed. “Sorry,” she said quietly, I’m a bit nervous.

  “Would you like some more wine?”

  “Please,” she said gratefully, and closed her eyes, trying to steady her nerves. She knew that she needed to finish this conversation before she let him kiss her again, but it was so difficult when he tasted incredible and looked even better. She watched the muscles in his arms and said suddenly, “Would you take me to one of your rugby matches?”

  “Of course.” he said with a smile, “I’d love to.”

  “How would your friends feel about my wheelchair?”

  “My friends would think you were beautiful,” he said tenderly, “the only thing I worry about is that they would all try to get your attention at once.”

  “Men aren’t as interested in me as you seem to think.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that when I’ve seen how they all behave around you in the IT suite.”

  “Be reasonable, it’s the IT suite, anyone with breasts would get treated like that.”

  “Belinda has breasts.” He said with a grin.

  “Should I be worried?”

  He answered that by kissing her again, deep and hard. “You’re the only person I want to kiss. You’re the only person I want to take to bed.” She felt the knot of anxiety settle in her stomach again, and he felt the tension return to her delicate shoulders. “That was supposed to be a compliment.”

  “I know, I’m just not sure that you’d want to take me to bed more than once.”

  “So we’re back to that question.” Chris said softly. She closed her eyes again, wanting to curl up, wanting put on a box set.

  “It hurts to talk about.” She said simply. Chris took a deep breath and ran his hand along her lovely jaw.

  “I'm asking you because I want to understand you. I'm hoping that you're going to going to have a really good time in bed with me, and I want to know how to give you pleasure.”

  Harry smiled at him, “Okay this is the bit where I really trust you. I know I'm miles away from my wheelchair and you've got your hand on my breast, but talking about the sensation between my legs, well it's a very private th
ing for me.”

  “Shall I get your wheelchair?” he asked, suddenly conscious that he had pushed it back towards the kitchen as he sat down.

  “Would you mind?” she asked softly, and he shook his head and pushed it back to within her reach. She smiled her thanks and he took a deep breath and forced himself to slow down. Then he looked again at her intoxicating curves, he wanted to explore every inch from her head to her toes, he wanted to sink his mouth onto her nipples and massage the back of her neck and he was finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate when he was so close to peeling off her clothes.

  “I’m not very experienced,” she said awkwardly, “so this is not a conversation that I’ve had much practice at.”

  “Do you practice other conversations?” he couldn’t help asking.

  “All the time,” she said with a wry smile, “you threw me off balance by looking so horrified when you first saw my legs, but if you hadn’t knocked me off course, I could have treated you to my light comfortable patter about not being able to walk, but still being excellent at tennis, or swimming, or…” she paused feeling suddenly self-conscious, “Well you see the theme,” She said softly, “and usually people are kind and help me out, and we can all skate into safer territory with our nerves intact.”

  “It wasn’t your legs that horrified me.” He said softly, “I think your legs are lovely actually.”

  Harry went completely still and her dark eyes held his. “Nobody has ever commented on my legs.” She said finally, and he felt his throat drying out, he didn’t know what he would do if she asked him to leave now. “Do you really mean that? About my legs I mean?”

  “Yes of course I do, that night when you were wearing your dressing gown. It was an effort of will not to touch you more than I did.”