Quiet Tension

Together

Much to Simon's dismay, when the first day of the work week arrived, I didn't want to go in together.

"Ivy," he says, tapping a fork against his breakfast plate, "I'm offering to drive you and take you to lunch."

"And I'm grateful," I say, placing a hand on his arm. "But I would rather not randomly show up with you with what's obviously a poor hickey coverup on my neck."

"I'm still not sure why you covered that up," he says, pushing the collar of my uniform back just enough to see the too-green splotch on my neck. I may have gone overboard with the color corrector.

"You need to leave to get your own uniform on, mister," I say, holding him at arms' length while he grabs for me. "It's time for you to go so you're not late."

Sighing, he grabs his balaclava and steals a sip of my iced coffee, then cringing at the taste. I roll my eyes and hand him his phone and keys, and the bag of things he's accumulated at my place over the past few days.

"It's difficult being kept secret," Simon says, exaggerating the heave of his shoulders with his next sigh. "But I'll do it, for you."

I laugh. "You're not a secret," I say. "We're still on for lunch."

"That's just because you're using me for free food!" he exclaims, reaching for me again, which I oblige.

In his arms, I look up at him. "We'll make our official appearance as a couple tonight, at dinner with the team," I say, refrencing the group text that Soap sent out an hour ago. Now it's my turn to sigh. "Together."

Sensing my apprehension, he frowns, pressing a hand to my hair. "Listen, I know you probably don't want to spend so much time with them..."

I raise a hand to cut him off. "They're your friends, and it's my turn to make an effort. I'll go."

"Great!" he says, smiling and bending down to kiss me. He starts to get more handsy before I wriggle out of his arms.

"You're going to be late," I say, reaching up and tugging his mask on for him, and opening the door and shooing him out. "I'll see you soon. Dressed."

Simon adjusts his balaclava, using his hand to blow me a kiss through the fabric. "Until later, my secret lover!" he calls, so loudly that the point of his joke is immediately made redundant.

"Goodbye," I say, waving to him exaggeratedly, and then closing the door.

A little while later, I'm set up at work as Simon struts in, carrying a massive bouquet of flowers. I cross my fingers, and toes, for that matter, that those are for Flora. Nevermind where he found flowers in the brief ninety minutes that we were apart, or at this time on a weekday morning.

I turn quickly back to my desk, before I hear the unmistakable sound of his footsteps behind me. In the last few moments before he reaches my desk, I hope he is just coming to say hello before heading across the room to Flora, who I noticed started eyeing me when Simon came in the door.

"Please, please, please," I mutter to myself, typing more loudly on the keyboard to drown out the sound of the paper wrapped around the flowers.

"Ivy?" a deep, British, masculine, incredibly but unfortunately arousing voice comes from behind me.

Slowly, I turn, only to see the rest of the team, nevermind Flora, nevermind everyone, staring at us.

Bending down even more slowly than I turned, probably to prolong the moment, Simon extends the flowers to me. When I don't take them, he gently grabs my hands and places the bouquet in my grasp.