by Ellie White
It's hard to rein in my thoughts, especially when he combs his hair back away from his face with his fingers and looks up at me with his beautiful, blue eyes below his thick, black lashes.
"I just took a really exciting phone call,” he says with a grin. “We got it. We won Stephenson’s!”
“Are you serious?” I say, skipping into his embrace. I wrap my arms around his neck when he picks me up and twirls me around to celebrate.
He places me gently onto my feet but we stay in our embrace.
“We did it, Maggs! I knew we could,” he says to me in his deep voice.
I step back before I melt into a complete puddle. I have got to pull myself together.
“Let’s celebrate.” He holds out his arm for me and leads me along the riverside of London Bridge City, towards the pop-up food market set up in front of Potters Fields Park. The delicious smell of bratwurst, gyros and fresh donuts waft through the air, making my tummy rumble.
What is it about the smell of food that makes you suddenly ravenous?
It's an unseasonably mild night which adds to the romantic atmosphere. Couples are walking hand in hand, taking in the beautiful city lights, stopping every so often to take photos of the breath-taking views on the other side of the Thames. The skyscrapers in the city are all glowing, the tower of London bathed in golden light and Tower Bridge stealing the spotlight with her beauty.
After we collect our food from the vendors, we find a spot on a step with a beautiful view and lay out the towels so we can unpack the food. Jake had the idea of picking one thing from each food stall since we usually argue about what to order and, now that it's all spread out in front of us, it looks like it could feed an army, never mind just the two of us.
We've got pizza, gyros, paella and one of those spiral potatoes on a stick among other random dishes that Jake has assured me I'll like.
He pops the cork and pours champagne into our Sixth Street Advertising mugs before pulling me in for a selfie.
“For Instagram. Jude will be pleased with it. Plus, you look beautiful, as usual," he says, explaining the photo as he types something on his phone and making me blush in the same breath.
"Happy Valentine's Day,” he says as he raises his glass to cheers again.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Jake," I reply, touching my mug to his, unable to control the butterflies making a mess of my stomach. "It's certainly one to remember. I'm sorry you got swept up in my drama."
"It's kind of selfish but I'm glad your date was shit. I'd much rather be here with you than sitting on my own, watching Netflix all night."
"Come on. You're trying to tell me that you had no Valentine’s plans? No hot date?"
"Just what I told you. Netflix. On my own. I spend every Valentine's Day alone, I always have." It surprises me that someone like Jake, someone who craves company of any kind, would want to spend this day alone. "I thought about getting a pet but realised it's an awful idea."
"Me, too. The Valentine's Day thing, not the pet thing. I just thought that, this year, I would give it a go and look what happened."
"Well, like I said, I'm glad your date was shit. I would never have had the guts to ask you myself."
Jake and I always have fun whenever we hang out but, tonight, it feels so like much more. Something is different, something between us has changed. Maybe it's because we've both changed somewhat since we started working together: We are more comfortable in each other’s company, plus the atmosphere down by the river is very relaxed and romantic.
We've eaten so much so we lie down to watch the stars with full stomachs and a warm sensation brought on by the champagne.
"You're a woman with a plan, where do you see yourself in five years?" he asks me randomly as his fingers wind through mine and our hands rest on the floor between us.
"Working with you, I hope," I say honestly, turning my head to look at him.
"Other than work," he prompts, leaning on his side to look at me.
"I don't know. Last time I had a five-year plan, everything was ticked off. Uni, job, husband. Things didn’t go so well, though, so I stopped planning." I lean up and face him too. "Do you have a five-year plan?"
"I'm sure this will surprise you but yeah. Other than still working with you... I want to get married, have a couple of kids, move out of the city. Maybe closer to home."
"Jake Mills wants to get married and have kids?" I ask in disbelief. “Sorry, I just didn’t imagine you’d ever want that.”
"Yeah, I'm ready for a real relationship," he says, still holding my hand.
“I’m sure you’ll find it.”
I know that, as soon as Jake announces he wants a girlfriend, he'll have a mile long line of women behind him just waiting for their chance.
I just don't want to think about where that will leave me.
"If you ask me, this has turned out to be the greatest Valentine's Day I've ever had," he eventually says.
"You should have just asked me on a date in the first place then I could have avoided Mr Catfish in the East End." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying it because this isn't a real date.
Now I feel like an idiot.
"Not that I think this is a date. Don't worry. I don't think this – Ugh, god. I'm going to stop talking. I'll get us some drinks," I say awkwardly as I get up to go to the bar stall before he can even process what I'm saying.
I really hate myself sometimes. Why do I have to say stupid stuff?
I grab our fresh drinks, take a deep breath and hope to god that, by the time I get back to Jake, my cheeks have at least returned to their normal colour.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As the evening went on, the temperature dropped and (after a substantial amount of street drinking) we had the great idea to head to a bar on the Southbank. We dropped the bag back to the office, jumped on the tube to Waterloo and, after a couple of more drinks, Jake is slowly wearing me down on the idea of karaoke.
"Come on, Maggs," Jake pleads with me. "That was the deal. I won pool, you have to sing. Everyone is so drunk, they won't notice how bad we are. Plus, most of these people are tourists, they won't remember us when they return to their normal lives on Monday."
I answer with a groan.
"Jason Donovan and Kylie Minogue? Elton John and Kiki Dee?" he asks "No, ‘Summer Lovin’? I know you love the song and I know you know the words and it's a crowd pleaser."
He looks at me with a sparkle in his eye and my last remaining resolve melts away.
"Ugh, fine. Sign us up before I change my mind."
"I promise you'll enjoy yourself and, you said so yourself, you want to try new things. Just, this doesn't include dating a bunch of weirdos, just singing a song terribly off key with me."
Why does he make it sound so appealing?
He hands our request paper over to the boy running the karaoke (who can't be any older than 18) who informs us we're the next but one. Enough time to sink a glass of wine and maybe a sambuca shot for a bit of Dutch courage. I used to sing karaoke all the time - Philip loved it - so why am I terrified to get on that stage?
Jake orders our drinks and we cheers our shots: Down the hatch, it goes. The liquid warms my throat as the aniseed assaults my senses. I smile as Jake screws up his face.
"I don't know how that doesn't make you want to throw up," he says, wincing at the taste. "I am not having any more of those!"
The announcer calls our name from the stage so I quickly chug down my wine. This time, it's me who winces and tries not to vomit.
"Come on, Sandy," Jake says, grabbing my hand and lacing his fingers through mine, pulling me onto the stage as the boy hands me my microphone. It's too late to back out and, as the music starts, we start to sing.
Unsurprisingly, it's extremely fun. Once I get into it, that is. Jake was right, everyone is so drunk that they think we're the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of the Southbank and I don't hate it which, for an introvert like me, is a strange phenomenon. We dance together to
the rhythm of the cheesy music as the crowd cheer and sing along. Jake is loving the attention (as usual) but doesn't pay any attention to it, even the older lady in the front row who is undressing him with her eyes. I'm not even mad; I know how she feels. It's hard to tear my eyes away from him.
As we reach the end of the song, Jake spins me out, ready for the big finale. Suddenly, I can't feel the stage below my feet anymore and I fall to my extremely embarrassing death.
Okay, yes, that may be over dramatic but the searing pain in my right foot is certainly no joke.
"Shit, Maggie," Jake says as he jumps down to the floor next to me as I try my hardest not to cry. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
I don't speak for fear of bursting into tears. Instead, I settle for a shake of the head while pointing at my throbbing foot.
"Maggs? Can you stand?" he asks, looking an equal mix of concerned and guilty as hell as I shake my head once more.
I want the ground to swallow me whole. I'm so embarrassed that I almost don't hear the sounds of concern and smothered laughter from everyone that witnessed it. Almost.
"You can take her over there," the boy says, trying not to laugh in my face.
Christ. Why me?
Jake being the handsome knight in shining armour picks me up off the floor - bridal style - and takes me to an empty table next to the front door.
"Can we get another drink for the lady, please?" he asks as the boy saunters back to the bar with zero urgency or compassion for my now twice-it's-normal-size foot. "For the pain," he adds for my benefit.
He's staring at me with his beautiful blue eyes and I do momentarily forget the pain as my mind moves to the butterflies in my stomach. I also mentally thank the pedicure gods that I had my toenails painted as he takes off my boot to look at my foot.
"Maggs, can you say something. Please?"
"I'm just really trying not to burst into tears, right now." And it's becoming harder and harder as the embarrassment really sets in.
"We were really good up there. Did you at least enjoy yourself?" he says, trying to cheer me up.
"I was enjoying myself until you threw me off the stage," I reply through a fit of laughter. "I can't believe you did that, who does that?!"
"I'm so sorry," he says, laughing as though he's been holding it in. "No, honestly, I am. Nervous laughter. It's a curse"
The boy drops off my drink and I don't hesitate to throw it back and hand him back the empty shot glass.
"Come on, we'll get a taxi and take you to A&E," he says, pulling me up with one hand and holding my shoe in the other.
"That's not necessary. It's fine, really." I refuse to waste anyone's time over a stupid karaoke injury. "On second thoughts, A&E sounds great," I quickly add as pain shoots up my leg when I try to bear weight on my poor foot.
He scoops me up in his arms again and carries me out of the bar. I am utterly mortified. That's it, we can never return. I’ll have to move to Lithuania where no-one knows me.
I'm enjoying having Jake carry me in a Whitney-and-her-Bodyguard kind of way. All I need is for Jake to realise he is madly in love with me and snog me to within an inch of my life. Unlike The Bodyguard, we live happily ever after in my imagination.
Oh, shut up, Maggie. That's the shots talking.
***
It's a long and painful wait to be seen by a nurse in A&E who takes my blood and vitals. 5 hours to be exact. 2 hours after that, the sun is coming up and I finally get an X-ray before being called in to see a doctor.
I sobered up halfway through my wait in the waiting room and so they gave me the good painkillers. Now, I'm exhausted. Maybe I’m still a little bit drunk and definitely high on morphine.
"It's just a fracture, no break. This is the crack in the bone," the doctor says, pointing at the X-ray as I squint and try to make out the weird shapes. Has anyone really thought about how weird bones are? "Should take a few weeks to heal. The nurse will get you a boot to wear so you can walk. For the next few days, I would suggest keeping your weight off as much as possible."
Christ, those pain killers are good stuff. I can barely feel my face, never mind my broken foot. I'm slightly concerned that the doctor sounds like he's underwater but, at the same time, I'm not concerned at all. I feel great.
I wonder if the doctor knows he has green eyes.
"I got it," I say, not entirely sure what it is that I've 'got'.
"I'll get you a script for some codeine, too, for the pain," he adds to me. "But don't take it for another few hours. Have some sleep first and, when you wake up, you can take it."
"Ugh, pain. Do you know what really hurts, Doctor? Pluto."
"Erm, what do you mean, Miss Jones?" he asks, confused.
"Pluto must be in so much pain. Imagine spending your entire life thinking you're a planet and then, one day, some jobsworth at the International Astronomical Union decides you're not. It's just rude. Pluto must be so sad," I say, ending on a sob as real tears fall down my face. "And then, what about us? The people who were raised in the nineties, a time where you would say 'My Very Easy Method Just Speeds Up Naming Planets'. Now, what am I supposed to do to remember what order they are in? 'My Very Easy Method Just Speeds Up Naming'. Naming what? It's ridiculous. Without the P for Pluto, it just doesn't make sense. It's. Rude!" I say, completing my rant.
The poor doctor is barely containing his laugh. Jake doesn't even try to hide his as he gently wipes away my tears with his jumper sleeve.
"It's plain rude. My grandma would tell me to write a letter." I annunciate for emphasis before promptly bursting into more tears. "Jake, give me your phone. I want to tweet Neil deGrasse Tyson."
"I know, it's extremely rude. We can talk about it when we get home, okay? But I can't let you use my Twitter to start beef with Neil deGrasse Tyson," Jake says as he cradles my distraught face against his chest, dabbing my eyes while simultaneously apologising to the doctor for this seemingly random outburst. "I am impressed you could say International Astronomical Union perfectly, though," he adds softly.
"Well, Miss Jones," the doctor says, clearing his throat from the laughter he is holding in. "Once the nurse brings you your boot, your boyfriend can take you home."
"He's not my boyfriend. He's my best friend, business partner, long standing pain in the arse. But he has a beautiful face and a smile that makes me go weak at the knees so I keep him around." I attempt to wink at Jake but my eyes don't cooperate and just close for a few seconds. “Don’t tell him I said this, doctor, but I have the biggest crush on him. It's his eyes, his beautiful, blue eyes. He just has to look at me and the world is a better place. And he's really kind, too. It's a shame he's way out of my league," I whisper loudly to the doctor as my eyes finally lose the battle and close completely.
"We can talk about that when we get home, too. And I think we'll go easy on the pain killers from now on. Right, Maggs?" I can hear Jake say as he softly kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair until I slowly fade into unconsciousness.
***
The next thing I'm aware of is my head banging against the door frame as Jake opens the door to my flat. Did I give him the key or did he take it out of my bag?
I don't care.
"Ow."
"Shit, sorry."
"S'okay," I mumble, my eyes still tightly closed.
He's much more careful as he manoeuvres through the sitting room towards the bedroom door. When he places me down on the bed that smells just like him, I suddenly realise this is not my flat. It's his.
"You brought me to your flat?" I ask as I groggily open one of my eyes. The bright light is blinding.
"Yeah, I thought it was easier to bring you here since I had my key and I know where everything is. Let me get you a T-shirt to wear and you can make yourself comfortable," he adds, turning off the big light and leaving the light on in the hallway until my eyes adjust.
I look to my side for the zip on my skirt through one squinted eye, the other still firmly closed.
&
nbsp; "Help me, please," I whimper after a few attempts before realising the zip is at the back.
The bed shifts as he sits down in front of me and brushes my hair out of my face. Just that one moment of contact results in goosebumps pricking over every inch of my body. He reaches around to slowly lower the zip on the back of my skirt as I drink in the sheer pleasure of his touch. Yes, I take this opportunity to inhale him like any other red-blooded woman would.
It's a crazy thought but I wish this were real. I wish he were undressing me for a different reason.
He starts to move off the bed when my arm gets stuck trying to pull my jumper over my head.
"You're going to have to help me get it off. And help me stand so I can get my skirt off."
He lets out a throaty laugh and I wonder how hilarious this looks to him.
He's a man with a reputation. Surely, he's helped a woman get undressed before. So why does he look so unsure?
He's gentle as he untangles my arm from my sleeve and easily pulls my jumper over my head. His fingers graze my side and my body responds with an embarrassing shiver and accompanying goose bumps.
His warm hand lingers for a moment on my bare skin, noticing my reaction for the first time, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly like he's trying not to react himself.
"Thank you," I say, barely above a whisper but not caring that I'm sat in front of Jake Mills in nothing but my unzipped skirt, a lacy bra which leaves nothing to the imagination and an attractive medical boot.
He clears his throat and pulls his T-shirt on over my head while I shove my arms through the holes. He then helps me to stand on one foot so I can wiggle out of my skirt.
"I've never put clothes on a woman before so this is all new for me." He laughs nervously.
"I meant thank you for everything. For always being there when I needed you on those shitty dates; for standing up for me when Cylvie was being a bitch; for making an effort to prove to me that we can work together and for showing me new things. For being my partner. You're one of the most important people in my life and I don't know how I managed to live so long without you, I'm scared that, one day, you'll wake up and meet someone and you won't want to hang around with us anymore."
