Her Melting Point

Music to My Ears

A fortnight or so later...

"The vicar is the killer," Alexander stated.

"OK, firstly, yeah, he probably is," she said, snickering. "And secondly, how do you do that? That's the third time in a row."

His head was on her lap; and she was sure he'd had his eyes closed for the past half an hour. She'd been running her fingers through his hair just the way he fancied it, and it always seemed to put him into a sort of a trance: he was awake but completely motionless. She also suspected he only watched the series to indulge her; so his acuity astounded.

"A simple polynomial factorisation." His lashes fluttered open, and she met his lacklustre gaze. "Based on the screen time for each character," he continued. "And your emotional responses to the scenes."

"What?"

She gawked at him, and he pursed his lips. She'd learnt by now that it meant he thought he'd offended or upset her.

"What does that mean, Alexander? I'm curious. And it's brilliant by the way." She pushed her hand into his silky mane above his forehead. "This clever noggin of yours."

His expression relaxed.

"You sigh and hum, when you like a character; or if a scene is... touching." He stumbled over the last word. "In most cases it turns out to be the culprit. I assume it's by design."

Jackie snorted. "Do you mean to say the writers are playing me?"

He didn't answer - and she laughed harder.

"You're right. I'm simple that way." She shrugged. The gesture was new, she'd probably picked it up from him. "Especially if there's romance, or the character is close to my pupils in age."

"Or a parent," he added. "Especially a mother."

Jackie's hand haltered. That was a discussion she wasn't ready to start - especially considering that, while he had been climbing mountains in California, she'd renewed her contract with the fertility clinic. And of course she knew how unwise this head-in-the-sand approach was! But she needed more time!

She comforted herself that he surely was speaking statistically, simply taking stock of her reactions to the show, which he, apparently, had been observing - as opposed to empathising and guessing the underlying pattern of her emotions.

They went back to watching the telly; and indeed, the clergyman was the perpetrator.

"Should we watch something else?" Jackie asked. "What's the verdict on murder mysteries?"

"I like it that you like them," he gave her the response she'd already heard in regards to romcoms, costume dramas, and history documentaries.

"I want to find something we can both enjoy," she said stubbornly - definitely not for the first time either.

"I am enjoying it," he said. "Mostly you stroking me." 

He pushed his head towards her in a keen semblance to Tartufo. The cat was probably in his new overpriced two-story wooden house that Alexander had guilt-bought and spent three hours building in Jackie's study. The feline still hadn't bestowed the man with a direct interaction, which entertained Jackie to no end; but the present had been accepted.

"I can do it if I'm reading a book too," she said with a chuckle. "So you can listen to your podcasts and don't have to force yourself to watch the telly with me."

"I'm not forcing myself." He frowned slightly. "I'm OK with the changes in my routine if you're the reason."

Jackie grinned. "You say the sweetest things!"