Martha turned to look at him, her pale blonde hair tapping gently at her face with the speed of the movement. Her bright blue eyes seemed to expel a mesmerising aura that locked him in her gaze. The blur of noise coming from the other punters acted as the background music, it was only his silk like voice that she could hear. It was only his voice that she wanted to hear. It brought warmth to her heart which was beating faster with every second. Her hand was gentle clasped by his. A soft thumb delicately stroked her skin. As he took a seat next to her, Martha felt his knee brush against hers. With every minute their intimacy was growing.
Martha's head felt like it was being held up by dream-like clouds that were floating around her. She knew it wasn't like her. Martha Costello knew that love wasn't a thing she'd ever been particularly accustomed to, well except for her love of the job. But, here she was in a fantasy. Yet, the thing was it wasn't actually a fantasy. She was sat hand in hand with the man she thought she might just love. And with that realisation, she didn't leave it up to him anymore. She leaned in and whispered those three words that meant the world to her, "I love you."
"Say it again."
She wasn't sure whether he was taking the piss or being romantic, but the wine had got to her head and she didn't care if she looked like a fool. "I love you, Clive Reader." With that she pulled her hand away from his and draped it onto his shoulder, then placing the other lightly on his neck. Her thumb emulated the movement that his had been making just moments before. Their eyes held one another's before Martha leaned into whisper, "I really do love you, Clive Reader." Her heart swelled at this concept that she could possibly feel like this, but, in fact, she'd been feeling this way for weeks.
With that realisation, Martha knew exactly what she wanted. Taking Clive by the hand as she had all those weeks earlier, Martha made her way out of the pub. The glorious rays of sunshine penetrated her skin, the warmth giving a glow to her cheeks. It wasn't often that the British weather was on side and this draw if luck made the barrister feel as if, just this once, her life was taking straight from the script of a film: she had the man and the weather - more than Bridget Jones ever got. The weather, having obviously gone to her head, gave her the sudden idea to walk home hand in hand with the man she loved. The notion having the unique duality of feeling both new and also ever so familiar made her almost giggle.
Their hands once more entwined, Martha leaned against Clive's arm. "It's quite funny, you and me." She causally added to the blissful silence.