Her Melting Point

In for a Penny

"Alexander?!"

He stepped closer to her and studied her, a concerned frown on his face.

"Are you alright?" He carelessly dropped his bag onto the ground and bent down. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Jackie just couldn't wrap her mind around it - he was standing in front of her, alone, without a fit blonde attached to his arm!

"Jackie?"

She greedily noted all the little details about him. His hair was slightly wet around his face, curlier than usual on his temples. For once he wasn't wearing jeans, but some sort of soft black bottoms; a hoodie; and a quilted gilet.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Milly said you were sitting on the bus stop," he said. "Is it your migraine? You look like the last time. Your eyes are the same strange colour."

"Mi-Milly said I was here?!"

"In a way," he answered with an unreadable expression.

"What does it even mean?!" Jackie squawked.

He, of course, ignored her question; and she defeatedly agreed that, indeed, she had a headache. That wasn't even a lie.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?" he asked. "Can you get up?"

"I–" Jackie truly had no answer for him. "Where is Milly? Shouldn't you go to her?"

"She already left," he answered, straightening up. "I'm ordering a cab for myself. Could I give you a lift back to Fleckney?"

"But wasn't she– Wait, sorry, it's none of my business," Jackie muttered.

She gave it a thought. Now that the shock of finally having him so close had stepped back a tad, she remembered why she couldn't go back to Fleckney yet. She had nothing to wear to work on Monday.

"You know what, you go ahead," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I don't think it's going to be as bad as the last time. I'm just hungry. You see, I was going to Abernathy, there are a couple of shops I need to visit there. So, I'll call myself an Uber, and I'll be OK."

"Alright." He immediately backed off from her - but his intent gaze was still boring into her. "Should you eat before you go?"

Jackie reminded herself that she needed to say her p's and q's and let him go. Meanwhile, a small whinging voice in her head pointed out that she hadn't been that close to him in six weeks; and that if she wanted to pick up his - large, scorching, calloused - hand, she wouldn't even need to get up; and if she wanted a hug, she could just ask. Hadn't he said that she didn't need to stay away from him?

She realised she'd been blankly staring at him; and in a panicked attempt to hide it, she blurted out, "Would you like to join me?"

And at the same time, he said, "I'll be going then."

And of course, she cried out, "Oh sorry, you should! I won't hold you back!" while he answered, "I'd love to."

It took her three booming heartbeats, first, to snort and then to start snickering. It felt like she hadn't laughed since that morning - or least, not as full-heartedly.

"Do you know any good spots around here?" she asked.

He nodded and stretched his hand to her. His palm was as warm and comforting as she remembered.

***

The Cock & Hound looked like an illustration to an encyclopaedia article for an English pub - with its traditional flock wallpaper, wooden furniture, and a fireplace.