Page 35 of The Muse
I pick myself up and creep back out of the area, pulling the screens back into place. Scott told me not to get dressed, but I need to shower, or wash, or do something to hide the emotion that’s threatening to have me in tears.
~
“Seffi?” Scott’s voice carries through to the bathroom, where I’m finishing checking there are no signs of the tears shed while I showered.
“In the bathroom,” I call back. I’m still in his robe, but I need to get out of here. The enormity of what’s in front of me is stifling, and I’m not sure I can hide my feelings from Scott if we stay here. The shower might have helped practically, but it did nothing to aid my dilemma. “Do you want to go and grab a coffee? Get some fresh air?”
Scott appears leaning on the door jamb. “Well, I’ve just had six miles of fresh air, but why not. I need a shower first, but it looks like you’ve already had one.”
“We’ll be here all morning if I join you; besides, I got all the wine off already.” I’m too raw and mixed up to be intimate right now.
“And that’s a bad thing because?”
“I thought we could get out of the apartment for a bit. We can’t spend all of the weekend in bed.” I push past him on the way back out to the bedroom.
“Okay. We’ll go out. But you need to grab some carbs to improve that mood.”
I bite my tongue at his comment. I’m being a bitch, but only because I know what’s coming.
Scott’s showered and changed by the time I’m dressed, but there’s an atmosphere between us. The easy-going and fun element is gone, and I’m already mourning for that short amount of happiness that was between us.
“Ready?” Scott grabs his glasses and then runs his hands through his damp hair. It’s hard to see him as the dishevelled journalist that I first met. Now, I see so much more. The artist, the son, the lover.
I walk up to him and look him in the eyes, my hands running up his back and into his hair at the nape of his neck. I kiss him with everything I am. The disappointment of my career, the hurt from his review, the guilt I’m carrying—it all amasses and pours out into our kiss, deepening with every second. He’s always been the one to instigate, but right now, I want to show him what he’s done to me. If not in words, then in action.
“Um, you said no to sex. You can’t kiss me like that and then expect me to walk out the door,” he complains.
“Yes, I can. Come on.” I take his hand and, with some effort, pull him after me.
We walk in silence for a few hundred yards, our hands loosely entwined, and I don’t give him the chance to let go as he weaves us through the side streets. We emerge near Borough Market, and he moves straight over to a vendor he clearly knows well.
“Coffee, I take it?” he eventually asks me.
“Please.”
He orders and we continue our aimless wander.
It’s a bright spring morning and London is alive with people out and about. A leisurely pace compared to the rush of business life; it feels like a day to appreciate what you have right on your doorstep.
“Can I ask you a question?” I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment.
“I suppose.” His brows draw together behind his glasses, and he looks like he’s leery of me all of a sudden. He’s got good instincts because he should be. “Fire away.”
“Where are we?”
“Um, Park Street, I think.”
“No, I mean us. Where are we?”
“Us?” His brows pop up in shock at the simple two-letter word.
“Yeah. What is this between us?”
“You want me to put a label on it?” He starts walking again, weaving past people and avoiding the direct response.
“Kind of. A lot of things have happened for me in a short space of time. I’m just trying to figure a few things out, and you’re one of them. I’m under no illusions, and you don’t owe me anything.”
“Slow down, Seffi. Has something happened?” He pulls me to a stop and out of the way of people, seemingly concerned. I guess I am acting a little irrationally.
