We Could Get By

xii.

"Mister T, I been thinkin’,” she began, snaking her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. Nellie felt the slight expansion of his ribs, a half-sigh that almost offended her.

“Hm.” He leafed aloofly through the letters in his hand. That seemed to be his ready-made response to any time she had “been thinkin’.” Did she need another problem, another Lovely-Idea-Nellie-But-No? Of course she didn't. Yet she plodded bravely on.

Nellie pressed a gentle kiss to the angle of his jaw and nuzzled her face into his hair. He always smelled nice, probably to keep the metallic tang of blood from sticking to his sleeves. She felt him weaken just barely in her arms, the tension melting from his muscles. “I been thinkin’ that we oughtta go ‘way some place. Jus’ you ‘n me.”

“What about the lad?” Sweeney kept his tone flat, though Nellie could not help but notice the slight tilt of his head against hers.

“He’s got friends, don’t he? He can stay with one of ‘em- we don’t get no time to ourselves, love.” She kissed the spot behind his ear, and he scrunched his shoulders up and shrugged her off. Nellie frowned deeply and folded her arms across her chest. So close.

“C’mon, now, dearie, don'tcha think it’d be nice?”

“‘Nice’. Where would we go?” He had wandered a few steps away and taken to standing in front of one of his bookcases, and Nellie leapt at the opportunity to position herself behind him once again. She slid her hands up onto his shoulders with the finesse of an expert, pleased with the slow creep towards progress at last.

“Oh, anywhere. There's some cute lil towns further up the coast- nice ones what are all romantic.” Nellie began the cautious motions of a massage, kneading the muscle of his shoulders with the heels of her hands, like dough. The road to cracking him wide open once and for all was a long, arduous journey, but Nellie had never been one to shy away from a bit of work.

They worked hard- not as hard as they'd had to on Fleet Street, maybe, to keep an entire two businesses afloat, but they still put in the effort. Or rather, Nellie put in the effort, and Sweeney helped when he could be bothered. The building had been around for a good, long while before she and Sweeney had inhabited it. When they first set about fixing it up, there were more repairs to be done than either party cared for; but in the end, it had become a quaint little place she could call her own. She had been the one to suggest their names in gold-leaf lettering across the front window of the shop: Mrs. Lovett’s Meat Pie Emporium & Sweeney Todd’s Tonsorial Parlor. In the end, Mrs. Lovett’s Meat Pie Emporium ended up decorating the window, vibrant in the daylight, while Sweeney had settled for a swinging sign by the outside stairs that led up to his shop. She was, technically, Nellie Todd now, but she saw no point in shelling out the money to change the sign after they had already been established there for so long. It was not easy. It never had been easy for Nellie, and perhaps it never would be, but it was bearable now, at least.

“Romantic?” She could practically hear the quirk of his eyebrow when he spoke, though she could not glean from this whether he was excited or vaguely worried. ‘Excited’ did not seem to be a word that ought to be associated with her husband. 'Methodical', 'calculating', even enthusiastic in some rare cases where work was concerned, but not excited. ‘Willing’ or even ‘resigned’ would be enough to satisfy her, in this case.

“Romantic. There's so many lovely places what we ain't been to- an’ with the summer comin’ to a close, I jus’ think we oughtta get some time away before it gets so dreadful.”

Sweeney let his head loll forward, no doubt relishing in the massage despite his initial misgivings. “What about the shop?”

“We can afford to close up for a couple days, hm? We've got money comin’ in regular- much more ‘n we ever ‘ad in London.” The possibilities this trip afforded had been the source of many a daydream the past week or so, Sweeney himself firmly rooted in the center of all her fantasizing. They could spend hours lazing about, bathed in the pale oblongs of mid-morning splendor. He would take her hand in his as they strolled sweetly down the boardwalk. Perhaps he would smile at her over a glass of wine at supper in some nice restaurant. His kisses would trail little fires across her skin. He would open his heart’s door to her, but this time, he would not retreat to become a hermit again.