Fierce

Chapter 18

There was a light knocking at her front door and Georgie jumped in shock. She'd been so determined not to watch the clock that she completely lost track of time, and dinner was nowhere near being finished. She put her wine-glass down with a clatter and stood up nervously, only to fall over the stool next to her and go down hard, smacking her knee on the floor. Crapshitbugger. That was going to bruise. Cursing and limping she hobbled to the front door, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans.

Maybe she'd had a bit too much to drink? Just possibly- she was feeling slightly lightheaded when she swung the door open. She looked out and smiled. Lincoln was standing on her doorstep, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "What's up buttercup?"

"Nothing much," she said breezily. "Come on in – dinner's underway." Ish.

He wandered in and saw the state of the kitchen. "Excellent – can I help please?"

"No you definitely cannot. It's my turn – so take a seat and here's some red."

He reluctantly acquiesced and settled across the bench from where she worked. "Thank you. So what's on the menu tonight?"

"Lasagna and salad. Thought I'd keep it simple – no hope of comparison to yours," she played off the comment with a small laugh, but in truth she was actually nervous to cook for him. She hadn't cooked in a while, and not only was her repertoire was quite small, but his own proficiency was extremely intimidating to her. She just hoped that what she served him was something edible.

"Nonsense, it sounds delicious," his genial smile managed to relax her slightly. "But I'd be much happier if you'd let me help. I'll only do some chopping if you prefer - you can even give me the onions."

"...Well I do hate chopping onions."

Lincoln jumped up and began rolling his sleeves before she could change her mind. He expertly ran his thumb across the knife blade, and when he found it to be blunt, he said, "do you mind...?". He plucked the steel out of the knife block and began sharpening it with confident flicks of his wrist. The movement was smooth and fluid and completely hypnotic for something so routine; Georgie's lightheadedness returned.

When it was sharpened to his satisfaction, he sliced the onion with practiced ease – she tried not to ogle as the knife flew across the board. She must be drunk: this was turning her on. Georgie pushed the carrots she'd just finished peeling towards him wordlessly and watched in awe from the corner of her eye as they were diced perfectly. She'd have to get him to teach her that sometime. "Do you mind if I sharpen your other knives as well? I suspect they're all a bit blunt." His question broke her out of her musings.

"Feel free. Thank you," she added.

As he settled into the mindless motion, he glanced across at her surreptitiously. To be honest, he was surprised that she'd invited him here. And very nervous as he stood in front of her door. Although really, there was no possible way it could be worse than last time: get really drunk, have really drunk sex, then leave her a stupid line of stupid food before leaving without a goodbye - again.

Idiot.

That gesture couldn't have been more obvious about how he felt than if he wrote it in the sky; he may as well have come right out and said it.  But he couldn't help it. When he saw her on the bathroom floor - looking so sick and miserable- her vulnerability made him want to- to...

To what?

Care for her? Definitely. And the gesture he settled on was insignificant and pathetic in comparison to how desperate seeing her like that made him feel.

Lincoln soon realized that it was a mistake though- her lack of response was a clear indicator to him of how she felt. She hadn't said a single thing about it, so it must have made her uncomfortable. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Lincoln knew he had overstepped and unintentionally pushed too far, so he took a step back again and tried to keep things really simple. Unemotional. Cool and casual. 

But Tom had made it sound so easy... which was the biggest bum-steer he'd ever received in his whole life. It was the opposite of easy - and he hated it.

"What're you thinking?" she asked him.

"Oh. Um, is this a family recipe?" he blurted.

"Yeah, pretty much. Jaycob's mother, Mrs Wallace, makes it all the time. You remember him?"

"Of course. You guys grew up together?"

"Yeah, I've thought of him as family for as long as I can remember – though they moved away when I was 16."

"That sucks."

"We stayed in touch," she smiled. "And you? Did you grow up here?"

He sensed that she was uncomfortable with talk of her family, so he regaled her with stories from his childhood with Tanie the Terror, and the conversation remained easy throughout dinner.

When they had finished clearing the plates away and the benches were all wiped down, he turned to her and shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "Well, it's getting late. Thank you very much for tonight - the meal was delicious."

"You're leaving?"

"It's late..." he repeated.

"So why don't you stay over then?" she couldn't look at him as she said it. Damn it. Why did she feel shy all of a sudden? She was never bashful about this stuff! Casual sex felt good and she enjoyed it so there was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. Absolutely nothing. They were all consenting adults here.

She moved towards him carefully and he stilled when she finally raised her eyes to meet his. She was so close. If he moved his head two inches his lips would brush her cheekbone.

Her mouth tipped up in a tentative smile.

He moved two inches.

*

Georgie lay her heavy head on his chest, and looked up at him with drowsy eyes. "You don't have to go," she murmured, refusing to think about what she was saying.  "– plus, we've already had the worst possible morning after, so what's there to be weird about now?"

She felt his soft laughter reverberate through her body, and was soon asleep.

*

She was right though – there was nothing weird about the following morning. In fact it felt so easy to her that she wanted to throw up anyway. Georgie had been doing this so long that she'd forgotten how nice it was not to wake up to an empty house, not to eat breakfast alone, not to go through her morning routine in a still silence.

And the way he touched her. It was like he couldn't keep his hands away; but it was so affectionate. He was demonstrative in his care – it wasn't as if he was just initiating contact to get in her pants. Though admittedly she hardly minded that part at all.

When she was with him, she felt giddy to the point of silliness. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much; she had never felt so beautiful, so interesting, so special. He held her in such high regard- it was almost too much, really. He thought she was wonderful.

When she wasn't with him though, she put her head down and pulled the blinkers firmly into place. She hardly thought about any of it at all – totally ignoring any part of her that would think about him, about them, in a way she didn't want to. It was almost a skill: how adept she was as distracting herself from something she didn't want to acknowledge. She didn't even admit to herself that she was doing it.

But she'd seen him three times this week alone, and four times the last – and it was yet to get tiring to her. Lincoln would cook in her kitchen, and they would share morsels and wine and kisses – and Georgie knew she had never been so spoilt with food like this in her entire life. They educated each other on their music tastes, favourite books and movies, their favourite artists. He was fabulous company and she wanted very much to be able to call this man her friend. 

So somehow, miraculously, without Georgie even realising it, he had worked his way into her life.