Page 44 of Due South

I dump my things to the side of the desk and then drop into my wheelie chair, ready to do battle with this report again. Is it incredibly terrible of me to hope we don’t pull this off and don’t retain the contract? I never want to see this stupid thing again. Even the wordsmunicipal bondssend chills through my system. It’s a good thing they don’t tend to come up in conversation anywhere else but here.

When I look down at my desk, expecting to see the spreadsheets and best practice memos I’d left out last night, that’s not what’s there. Instead, there’s a pink Post-It on a manila folder, and I recognize the neat, slopey handwriting on it immediately.

Evans,

I wasn’t sure on the details of your brother’s service or the circumstances of his accident or anything else, but I thought these might be helpful. For him and your parents. But mostly for you.

~L

Flipping through the folder, there are pages upon neatly collated pages describing various programs and services available to veterans: housing, medical, mental health, substance abuse, physical therapy. There must be a hundred documents here, sorted by type of service, neatly clipped together and labeled with more pink Post-Its.

This must have taken Lucy hours. There’s no way she went home last night and especially not “in a few minutes” like she’d said she would. She stayed up and put this together for me. Because of a ten-minute conversation we had at a strip club I brought her to so she could eat chicken wings. I—

My sinuses have started to burn and my eyes start to water, not unlike after I’d sunk my teeth into a few of those wings. Lucy’s kindness has killed me. And perversely, made me pretty fucking angry. Not at her—no, never at Lucy—but at my family.

If a woman who I’ve only been casually friends with in an office setting for a few years and having, um, relations with for only a week can sacrifice hours upon hours of time she doesn’t have to do something like this for me, whereas the only thing my parents and my brother have done the past several years is take and take and make me feel guilty for not giving them more…that’s messed up.

My feelings are all jumbled up in my head, bouncing around in the cotton my skull feels as though it’s filled with, and I have a hard time getting them under control. This is what exhaustion will do to a person. Make them completely unable to respond to a gift—because that’s what this is, even if it doesn’t have a big fat bow on the top—in an appropriate way.

Thank you, dumbass. How about going to tell the best woman in the world thank you?

*

Lucy

“Luce?”

The weight of a warm hand and the gentle low voice make me feel as if I’m still dreaming. It’s a nice dream. One where Evans and I walked out of the office hand in hand, found a taqueria, and had dinner on our way back to his apartment. And when we got there, we made sangria which we took out onto his hypothetical balcony—because I don’t know if Evans has a balcony—and we sipped at it while we watched the sunset. After it had gotten reasonably dark, Evans had gestured for me to stand in front of him at the rail, and while we looked over his neighborhood, even all the way out to where we could see a tiny slice of sea, he pushed up the back of my dress, unzipped his trousers, and fucked me right there. Right in the open, right where anyone could see if they were paying attention, but what probably looked like to most people—if they were even paying attention—a couple snuggling on a balcony and watching the sunset. So much better than that.

And afterward, we’d walked back into his apartment, brushed our teeth over the same sink, and jostled for position when it was time to spit, bonked elbows while we flossed, and then crawled into bed together where he spooned me until I fell asleep. And now he’s waking me up, and maybe, if we have enough time, just maybe…

I roll over, but instead of finding a warm, naked, hopefully turned-on Evans, I meet the floor. By way of Evans. I think.

“Oof!”

Yep, that was Evans, and I’ve crushed him by falling on him after rolling off India’s couch. He’s broken my fall, but I’ve probably broken…all of him. He’s not a big guy and I’m not exactly petite, especially after all those chicken wings last night.

I scramble to get off of him, and we end up tangled in this awkward mass of clothes and blankets and limbs and pillows, and I feel lucky we don’t end up head-butting each other as we free ourselves.

“Oh my god, Evans, I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay? Did I break you?”

He’s sitting on the floor and instead of looking mad or in pain, he’s got this goofy smile on his face. “No, you didn’t break me. I was more surprised than anything, and if you hadn’t started flailing, it might’ve been nice. I’ve never had a woman literally fall for me before.”

His corny pun makes me smile, even as I shake my head and feel my cheeks heat. It would be nice if I could embarrass myself less. Or, at least, less often? Hopefully I didn’t say anything too revealing about the very domestic, romantic, and okay, sure, filthy scene I’d been dreaming about. Or if I did, he didn’t mind.

Even if we have to end this for real in a couple of days, surely hanging on to my fantasies isn’t against the rules?

But before I can get too flustered thinking about it, Evans lays a hand on mine and squeezes.

“I found the research you did for me on my desk. Thank you so much, Lucy. No one’s ever—” He clears his throat, and if the light weren’t so low, I’d believe those were tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, but surely not. “No one’s ever—”

He still can’t say it, and while I’d like to hear whatever it is, I don’t want him to be embarrassed. I know all too well what it feels like to cry in front of people when you don’t mean to.

“You’re welcome. I hope it’s helpful.”

He shakes his head and blinks too fast before taking a deep breath. “Even if nothing comes of this, even if they don’t use any of it…I’ll know you did it, and it’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time. So thank you.”

I’ve heard people talk about getting the warm fuzzies, and I’ve never understood what they meant, outside of like a super cute kitten video on YouTube or a baby in a funny hat. I’ve never had a man give me the warm fuzzies before—all their compliments have seemed seedy or disingenuous or backhanded or something I couldn’t quite figure out but made me uncomfortable nonetheless.

---