In my perfect Lie to Me world, what happens after 3.13 Killer App. A girl can dream.
He wasn't lying when he told Emily he didn't have an answer. But it was his lack of knowing that made him think he should do something. Because if he was never going to have an answer to what kept him from telling her, then he could stall until forever. And Cal Lightman wasn't the kind of man who waited patiently. He pushed. And prodded. Until he got what he wanted. And saying it out loud—admitting it to someone other than himself—made it all the more real.
So that must be why he's standing outside of her door right now. And he wills himself to knock. Before he puts any more thought into it.
"Bloody hell," he mutters, and rolls his eyes at how effeminate he feels right now for having waited this long, and for not taking action sooner, and because his palms are sweating. And he's never been the nervous type.
But then she opens the door, and though he's nervous, she always makes him feel—at ease. Comfortable. And loved.
"Cal," she says slowly and softly with a lopsided smirk on her lips. Because he's always up to something. Especially when he shows up at her doorstep well past dinner time.
She knows she can't question him. Otherwise, he won't tell her the reason he's here. He's like a teenager in that sense. Withholding information that he was about to share only because you asked before he could tell you.
So instead, she holds the door open wider and he walks inside.
As he's taking his coat off and hanging it by the door, Gillian walks to the kitchen. When he meets her there, she hands him a wine glass and takes a sip from her own. And now he can't help but look into her eyes and give her a lopsided grin, because he knows what she's doing. She's not going to ask. She learned that years ago. But that doesn't mean she can't try to speed up the process with alcohol.
He drinks half his glass in one sizeable gulp and then puts the glass on the counter. Then he plants both palms on her counter, arms perfectly straight, shoulders hunched, and scrutinizes her. But she used to it. So she looks him in the eye from the other side of the counter as she sips her wine. She's already on her second glass. She had her first with dinner. Because sometimes, whatever he's come to do or say is easier for her with alcohol too.
As she's in the middle of a sip though, he finds the courage to speak. But she doesn't know that courage is what has kept him from speaking for this long already.
"A few weeks ago…" he says with his hands flailing as he's talking, "when you said maybe I didn't try hard enough…" and he realizes he's not sure how he wants to finish the sentence. Great, he thinks, you've been standing here for five minutes and can't even form one coherent bloody sentence? But then he recovers with, "well, how serious were you?"
And even though he thinks he's pulled that off as a pretty casual question—or as casual as a question like that can be—she knows he's being serious. And senses that something substantial is about to happen. Especially because she knows exactly what he's talking about right away.
But she's not sure how to answer. Because they're never been serious about this. About them. Yes, they're always there for each other. But when it comes to anything beyond friendship, it's always ends as a joke. And she realizes that she doesn't want to joke anymore either. So she lifts her gaze that she had lowered to the counter top to give herself some time to think, and she looks him in the eye, and he doesn't need her to speak know her answer. An unspoken, "Completely serious," registers between them.
Now he has his confidence back. So he downs the rest of his wine, mostly for show, because he knows she'll smile and roll her eyes, and then he walks around the countertop to where she's standing.
Once he's standing right in front of her, he takes both her hands in his and says "because I was just thinking love, that we should go out to dinner tomorrow night. The kind of dinner where, I ring the doorbell around, let's say, 7pm? And I'm wearing a suit, and I've got flowers in my hand. Your favorite, of course."
"Oh, of course," she interjects amusedly.
But he's not nearly done yet.
"And when you open the door, I can barely breathe because your wearing this stunning dress, and I open the car door for you, and take you to a restaurant that has overpriced food and tiny portions, and—"
"And many chocolate dessert options," she chimes in with a smile. The one he knows so well on her that she reserves for times when she's thinking about the kind of sugar fantasies only a seven-year-old would dream of.
"Sure, sure, lots of chocolate, stop interrupting, I'm trying to ask you something important here," he says with a hint of exasperation in his tone.
And in the most serious voice she can muster for him, she replies, "Sorry, please continue."
"Right, overpriced food, tiny portions, chocolate desserts, and somewhere during the night I do something that surprises you, but makes you feel utterly blissful, and it's also the kind of night where I walk you to your door and wait for you to tell me what comes next, because I have no bloody clue." And when he's silent for a moment, she thinks he's finished.
So she raises an eyebrow and asks, "Done?"
"No, actually, almost though," and he pauses for a beat before he asks, "Gillian, will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
And she knows that by saying yes everything will change. But since she never thought either of them would break the holding pattern they were stuck in, she can't help but say, "yes."
And he leans in and kisses her on the cheek, then drops her hands as he pulls away and turns around towards her front door. When he's a few steps away he calls over his shoulder, "I'll be here at seven. And don't do that girly thing where I say seven, but you're not ready until seven-thirty."
She can barely stop herself from laughing out loud as she says, "Cal, I'm the punctual one, remember?"
And he grabs his coat from the hanger, puts it on, turns to her, and gives her his classic up-to-no-good Cal Lightman smile before he says, "Night love. See you tomorrow," and walks out the door.
Reviews make me feel like people are actually reading what I write :) * Hint Hint * I may write another chapter or two, not sure yet.