Love & Great Buildings

EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tom let out an exasperated sigh as he glanced at the clock on the wall. He couldn't seem to focus and it was driving him nearly out of his mind with frustration. He'd dropped more things that day than he had for as long as he could remember; books, his phone, his keys, just about anything his fingers touched. He'd gotten lost during conversations; Luke had told him off quite spectacularly when he'd done so during the phone conference that they'd planned for weeks. And, to add insult to injury, he'd had very nearly tripped over Bobby, who'd been demanding a walk since before Tom had been fully conscious; twice. It was utterly ridiculous. But no matter what he did or how hard he'd tried, his mind kept wandering back to his phone call with Rosie the night before.

It had been wonderful to just be able to talk with her again. To be able to share his thoughts with her and to be able to hear hers in return. To once again have a peek into the world as she saw it. It was something he'd spent so long convinced he'd never have again. Something he'd reluctantly surrendered due to his own massive stupidity and shortsightedness. These last two weeks had honestly been some of the best of his life. Just knowing that she was a part of his world again; that she wanted to be a part of it was so far beyond anything he'd dared to hope for.

Still the unease he'd felt when she'd causally mentioned her fallout with Jules refused to be shaken. He'd only met the tall redhead a handful of times and in all of those she'd been warm and openly friendly towards him. But that had been before he'd broken her friend's heart. And knowing just how close the two women were Tom could hardly blame Jules for hating him. He certainly would have. And knowing that because of him, even in such a roundabout way, they'd become estranged made the guilt he still carried that much harsher and harder to bear.

His kneejerk reaction had been to fix it. To jump right in without pausing to think if he had any right to do so. To do whatever he could to make it right. But the last time he'd gone off halfcocked in such a manner it had blown up quite spectacularly in his face. And, more importantly, he'd hurt Rosie. And badly. He couldn't do that again. He refused to.

Tom took a deep breath and ran his hand through his already disheveled hair. There was little he could do about what had happened, he knew that. They would fix it on their own and in their own time. His interfering would only serve to make things worse. And Rosie said that they're okay now, he told himself. Just let them fix it on their own. Let it go, Hiddleston. Just let it go.

He'd been pacing his living room nearly since he'd walked in the door half an hour previously. Bobby, sensing his master's nervous energy, had been uncharacteristically whiny and jumpy. After nearly tripping over him, again, Tom finally decided that enough was enough. He knew that if he didn't do something, and soon, he would surely lose what was left of his mind.

"Aw, buddy, I'm so sorry," he murmured, reaching down to scratch the spaniel on his head. Bobby looked at him, head cocked slightly to the side. "I've got you all out of sorts haven't I?" The spaniel barked once in answer and Tom chuckled to himself.

He stood quickly and headed for the side door where he kept Bobby's lead. He turned back noting with a hint of amusement that the spaniel had followed him on his quest, and held up the lead. "Walkies?"

Bobby barked and bounced excitedly which caused Tom to laugh aloud.

"I'll take that as a yes then."

—

It had taken nearly half an hour for the pair to head out into the unseasonably chilled April afternoon; Bobby bundled in his quilted vest and Tom in his reliable, and mercifully warm, black wool coat. Door locked firmly behind him, he led Bobby down the front stairs and out the gate heading towards the main road.