Heart-shaped balloons.
This is my secret Valentine story for angiemagz. She sent this prompt:
Tom sees Sybil in a book shop and he is trying to pick her up, Sybil totally knows what he's trying to do and even though she finds him very handsome, she's gonna make him work for it.
I had a little bit of trouble making Sybil reluctant (I mean, who can resist Tom?), so she's not really making him work I'm afraid. But I hope you'll like it anyway angiemagz!
Thank you so much to Scarlet, who edited the story for me and pointed out some major logical holes in it (yeah, me and logic. We're not good friends)! You're the best Scarlet.
xxxxxx
Later, he recalls it is her hair that he notices first. Wild, dark curls all around a beautiful face, …and her eyes, … and her smile. He also notices very much that shapely body of hers, of course, dressed in fitting jeans and a light jacket over a simple white t-shirt that he is sure has never looked better on anyone. God, yes. He's suddenly reminded that he's a man and she's so gorgeous it takes his breath away.
It's Valentine's day and unusually warm and sunny. Almost spring feeling and he's standing in that little bookshop on HighStreet, not far from his flat and he has just picked up a book when she steps next to him towards the bookshelf. He looks up and in that split of a moment, it is enough for him to forget about the stupid book altogether and just watch her transfixed as she is obviously searching for something specific, her eyes moving over the titles quickly. He can't remember the last time he felt such an instant attraction to a complete stranger. It feels like an epiphany.
He's not sure she has even noticed that he is standing right next to her. He knows that he is staring, but he is unable to tear his eyes away, so he sees the little slouching of her shoulders when she realizes they don't have the book she's searching for. With a small sigh, she turns around abruptly and he suddenly finds himself face to face with her.
For a second their eyes lock, blue meets blue, before she drops her gaze. Dark lashes, pouty lips, perfect skin.
Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. If I were inclined to write poetry about a face, hers would be the one I would choose.
"Oh, you have it," she suddenly says. Her voice is warm with a slight huskiness and he feels another surge of electricity charge through his body.
What is happening here?
"What...?" He knows he must look utterly dumb, but he's unable to form a sentence.
She points to the book that he is still holding in his hands. "Seems like the only copy they have here."
Oh! Well that's a surprise. And she's talking to me! She's talking to me. Say something!
"I'm surprised there is one really," he finally says when he finds his voice again and his brain has registered what she is talking about. "Here," he holds the book out to her. "You can have it if you'd like."
"No, I couldn't possibly take it. You had it first!" she protests.
He gives a slight chuckle. "Actually, I have five copies at home."
She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Dear me, five? You must really like it!"
"Not really, but ..." he turns the book around in his hands and her eyes widen when she sees his picture on the back of it.
"You're Tom Branson?"
"Yes," he nods. "I'm afraid I am."
That makes her laugh, a wonderful warm and throaty sound that does weird things with his heart. "Afraid? Your book is on the list for my history class. That's amazing!"
"Don't call it amazing, before you've read it." He feels himself smile ruefully.
She laughs again. "Come on, I know Professor Carter. It must be good if he recommends it."
So she's a student. He suddenly becomes nervous. How old is she? He's 27. She's not only 18 or something like that?
Please let her not be 18!
"Professor Carter, eh?" He grins. "He's not entirely objective, I'm afraid. He was my dissertation advisor."
She shakes her head. "No, no. I can't believe that."
Her blue eyes twinkle and it affects him so much just to look at her. He doesn't want her to leave. He doesn't know what it is about this girl, except for the fact that she's so very beautiful, but he wants to get to know her better. He has no idea how to do it, though. He hasn't met someone like this in years. He has dated some, he even had a long term girlfriend not so long ago, but he met her through work, not in a bookshop.
How do I pick up a girl? You have to say something! What do I say? What do I say?
She takes the book from his hands. "Thank you," she says and smiles. He nervously clears his throat and desperately tries to prolong their conversation. "So what class is it that you have with Prof. Carter?"
Well... boring question, Tom. But better than nothing?
"Irish War of Independence," she answers with a raise of her eyebrow and an ever so slight nod to his book titled "The Irish War Of Independence". She seems amused and very rightly so. He could slap himself.
"Right. I should have figured as much," he says and feels heat on his face. "So you are a history major, then?"
Try to keep talking to her, don't let her just go!
"Actually I'm not, " she answers with a little laugh. "I'm an English major, but I'm writing my paper right now and since I'm interested in Irish history, I just thought I'd take the class to relax in between working on it."
Hallelujah! She's not a teen any more!
Somehow that makes him a little bit more comfortable. "Interesting choice of topic for relaxation I must say," he grins with a raised eyebrow. "What happened to going to the movies or pampering yourself at the spa?"
She blushes. "Yeah, I know. I am like that. I just love history, and books."
He finds it adorable. He finds everything about her adorable. The way she looks, the way she talks, the way she absently puts her hair behind her ears. "And I bet I'm going to like yours, too," she says with a little, challenging pert of her nose, that makes him desperately wanting to kiss her.
"Well, if you promise you're going purchase it, I can sign it if you'd like," he offers. "Otherwise we'll be in trouble."
"But you say it's crap." The corners of her beautiful mouth twitch and he knows she's just teasing him.
He still blushes a bit and looks down on his feet. "No, not crap exactly," he says, scratching is neck. "I would write it differently today, but that's probably what all writers say about their books. It's a bit dry, but the basic facts are okay, I guess."
"Well, I would be honoured," she says and searches in her bag for a pen. "Because I'm sure it's more interesting than you want to admit."
He takes the pen out of her hand and opens the book. "What's your name?" he asks.
"Sybil," she says. "Sybil Crawley. L. And Crawley with a C and EY at the end."
He writes something in it and then his signature and hands it back to her.
To Sybil Crawley,
Thank you for being so interested in the world and in history. You light up my day.
Tom Branson
"Well," she smiles. "I don't think that's something to thank me for, but thank you."
"Oh, it certainly is," Tom says. "You have no idea how refreshing it is to meet someone who is not bored of everything."
He so wants to ask her out. She's putting the pen back in her bag, when he has an idea.
"I forgot to write something. Can you give it back to me?"
She nods and he takes the book from her again.
P.S. Let me know if you like it. 0156-8944478
P.P.S. And yes. In case you wonder: That above was a not so subtle attempt to make you call me.
Sybil gasps and then laughs. "Oh," she says.
"I hope you're not offended," he says hastily. "I was just... I mean..."
"Yes?"
"Well, I thought ...," Just say it, idiot! He stumbles over his own words. "Would you like to go for a coffee with me? I could give you the short cut of the book. You wouldn't even have to read it any more, spare loads of time ..."
Please say yes! Please say yes! Please say yes!
She looks at him with a slight contemplative smile and his throat nervously goes dry. He's sure his hands are sweaty and although he knows he's completely irrational it feels as if his life depends on her answer right now.
"I'd love to, " she says and he is sure that he can hear a fanfare in the background.
XXXX
They don't talk about his book, of course. They talk about everything: her family, his family, their studies, their professors,his work, her dreams. One coffee turns into many and they're still talking. She's from Yorkshire and he's from Dublin. He tells her how he came to writing and that he's working as a journalist now, only then the book comes up again.
"You said you would write it differently today, " Sybil asks. "How would you write it?"
"I would write a novel, not a simple history book. But I wrote this right when I left uni and it was based on my thesis, so I was still a bit in a historian-mode. You could also call it arrogant, I guess."
Sybil grins. "Packing history into a story is not serious enough?"
"Yes," Tom nods. "But now I think it's the best way to do it, and it is done well not often enough."
"Oh, I agree," she says. "While I love to read them, I often think that it's a pity that so many historic novels take too much liberty with the historical facts."
He smiles. "In danger that I sound really full of myself, I know my history stuff about Ireland. Actually," he says with a laugh. "The much bigger question is, if I would be any good at writing a novel."
"No other way to find out than to try it," she says and he suddenly wonders if they might sit here some day in the future and talk about how it all started.
You're getting way ahead of yourself here, Tom!
But she is so perfect.
Two hours of talking have not been able to lessen the enchantment. He feels like he met the girl of his dreams. He didn't know who the girl of his dreams was or that he even had one, but now that she is sitting across him at the tiny table in this café, he is sure he has found her.
Does she feel the same? At least some of it?
He is confident enough to believe she is also a bit attracted. She said yes to the coffee, right? And she smiles a lot at him, talking animatedly and with sparkling eyes.
It's getting late, they've been sitting here for hours. The waitress is already giving them annoyed glances. He is aware that they'll have to leave soon, but he doesn't want this to end.
"Oh my god, I completely forgot that it's bloody Valentine's day," she suddenly says and when he looks up, he sees a man standing at the cashier, paying for his coffee to go, balancing it in one hand, while holding a huge heart-shaped balloon and flowers in the other.
She wrinkles her nose in a comical grimace: "A heart-shaped balloon! Can you believe it? How corny is that?"
He laughs. "I take it, you don't have plans tonight then?" he asks and tries not to sound hopeful.
"Nope," she says. "Would I be sitting here with you right now, if I had to get myself in shape for a romantic evening?"
"You look completely "in shape" to me, so it wouldn't take you long to do that," he says. "But I'm glad you're here."
She smiles a bit bashfully. "Thank you. What about you? Are you single?"
"Yes. Completely unattached and sharing my flat with three other lads," he says. "And I would be a jerk if I had asked you to go for a coffee with me and gave you my number to call me, if I had a girlfriend."
She nods her head with a smirk. "I agree." Then she looks at the watch on her arm. "It reminds me though that I think it's time to go home now. We've been here for more than two hours."
He knows it has to end at some point, so he simply nods and waves for the waitress. He insists on paying, ignoring Sybil's protests. He points out to her, that she "made him rich today", since she bought a copy of his book. Sybil laughs at that and protests no more.
"Thank you," she says when the waitress has left. "I really had a great afternoon."
"Me, too," he says and he knows he must add something, ask her for her number or to see him again. She doesn't offer it, but she too seems reluctant to leave.
"Do you live nearby?" he asks instead and she nods. "Only a few blocks away in Langton Road, " she answers. That's on his way home, so he sees an opportunity to prolong their afternoon for a few more minutes and asks if he can walk her home.
They only make half the way, before a sudden downpour surprises them. When they arrive in Sybil's street, they're both soaking wet, but laughing and a bit breathless, because they ran the last couple of blocks.
They stop in front of Sybil's door. This is it, Tom thinks.
"Listen," he starts, wanting to ask for her number and if they can meet again, but she interrupts him.
"Oh my god, you're drenched!" she exclaims. It is true, but so is she, so he just shrugs. "It's okay, It's not that far to go. Just another 10 minutes. I'll warm up that way." Because in truth he's starting to shiver, the rain has cooled off the air immensely and it suddenly feels like February again.
"No way," Sybil decides. "You must come in. We'll find you something dry and you can at least wait until it is over."
XXXX
Her flat is not big, but certainly comfortable for a student. If he thinks about the holes he had to live in while he was still at uni ... her parents must be well off. He asks if she shares with someone, but she doesn't. She has shared with her sister Mary for a while, but she got her own apartment when she finished law school and is now living with her boyfriend in Islington. Not bad.
He tries not to appear too curious, but he does look at the photos she has everywhere, mostly family obviously. They look happy: a good looking mother, a distinguished looking father and three daughters all smiling broadly in the camera. She is the most beautiful of the three in his eyes, but they're all attractive.
"Would you like some tea?" she asks. "I'd give you a coffee, but we had so many already, I'm afraid we will be awake for the rest of the week if we continue with this."
He laughs. "Tea is fine," he says and turns around to her. Suddenly he becomes aware, that she is drenched, too, and his eyes widen. She has taken off the jacket she was wearing, but the t-shirt underneath is completely soaked, too. If he had thought it was looking sexy on her before, it is nothing to what it is looking now, nearly transparent and clinging to her body, leaving little to the imagination. He drags his eyes away with an effort, but can't completely hide the little, sharp intake of breath, that accompanies his discovery.
She seems to notice it, too, now and a slight blush creeps up into her face. "I, um ... should change first," she says hastily and retreats into a room on the right, which must be her bedroom. When she reappears only a few minutes later, she is wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a grey tank-top, which is more decent, but it still looks so sexy on her, that he has to bite the insides of his cheeks for a second. He assumes she could wear a sack and he would still be totally infatuated by her.
She hands him a sweater that belongs to her sister's boyfriend obviously and tells him he can change into her room or the bathroom, wherever he wants, so he takes the sweater and also goes into her room. It is a strangely intimate feeling to be there and Tom feels a bit like an intruder, so he quickly takes off his shirt when she suddenly comes in, holding a towel in her hands.
"Oh," she says and flushes red. "I'm s-sorry." She has the towel in her hand, but she doesn't give it to him. Instead she's staring at his naked chest and Tom suddenly feels as if he's lost his capability of breathing. She takes a step closer and so does he and suddenly, completely out of nowhere they're kissing.
It starts a bit desperate, but they're quickly getting the hang of it and for Tom it quickly becomes the best kiss he has ever had. She feels so good! She tastes so good! She's melting in his embrace, her hands roaming over the skin on his back and she's giving those tiny, little moans, which turn him on no end.
One hand of him loses itself in her hair, while he puts the other around her waist to pull her further into him. She follows with such force, that they stumble backwards and inelegantly fall onto her bed. Sybil giggles against his mouth, but they're completely unwilling to give up any of the contact and swiftly resume what they are doing. Tom's hand finds it's way under her tank top, starting to stroke the skin of her back, while his lips trail from her mouth down to her neck.
Suddenly Sybil pushes him back gently. She sits up, crosses her arms and pulls her top over her head, while he is leaning back on his elbows, staring at her wide eyed and a bit dazed.
"Are you sure?" he asks, the arousal evident in his voice.
She smiles and unclasps her bra. "Yes."
XXXX
"Wow," she says later with a breathless laugh. "I certainly did not expect that to happen today."
He is lying next to her on his back, still breathing a bit harder than normal and with a big smile on his face. At her words, he turns around to look at her and pops his head on his elbow.
"Me neither," he says. "But what a wonderful, wonderful surprise." He smiles down on her and she sighs contently.
"I forgot how good it can be," she murmurs and pulls him down to her for another kiss. They kiss unhurriedly and tenderly. Tom's hands are on her face, stroking her cheeks softly and into her hair. Gradually their kiss becomes more heated and Tom's hands and lips begin to wander downwards.
"How many more?" does he ask after a while and raises his head from where he is kissing her breasts.
Sybil turns her head to look in her nightstand. "Just one," she says, regret in her voice. "We must savour it."
Tom's chuckle vibrates against her skin. "Well, I must go out and buy something anyway," he says.
"You must?"
He grins up to her, his blue eyes twinkling. "Of course, I must go and buy a bottle of champagne, a heart-shaped balloon and a card that will tell you all that is in my heart."
She smiles. "Ah, the balloon. You didn't forget. And all that is in your heart, eh? What might that be?"
He leans down and kisses the skin where her heart is. "So much indeed," he says and is only half joking. "I'm afraid though I won't be able to find a card that can express how I feel right this moment."
Their eyes lock and there's so much intensity between them, that Sybil has to look away. A slight blush creeps up her face, but she is smiling happily.
"Why don't you show me instead," she whispers. "And then later you can buy another box of condoms along with my balloon."
"I can do that." He starts kissing her skin again. "But first ..." he murmurs and kisses his way further down.
"Hmm," Sybil sighs. "Yes ... or better even, make that two boxes." Her voice gets breathless, when he reaches his destination and she closes her eyes. "Oh ... oh my god, this is the best bloody Valentine's Day ever!"