I stumbled on the word collywobbles recently and just had to do something with it ;-) Hope you enjoy the result.
Despite her reputation for being too talkative, sometimes too forthcoming, Samantha Stewart could keep secrets. And she'd been keeping a big one for a long time. It wasn't one of the secrets that came along in the course of any of the investigations in which she'd been involved. It wasn't anything to do with the Official Secrets documents she'd signed as a part of those investigations. No, it was more personal and for her, more important.
Most of the time her secret was a happy one but occasionally it gave her a substantial case of the collywobbles, like right now for instance. She was seated at the table in the kitchen in the police station. Her boss, Christopher Foyle was moving about at the sink, pouring the water and making preparations for tea. He's insisted when he'd spied her in the hall and thought she looked a little pale. Thankfully he hadn't inquired about the cause of her lack of color.
She's been seated on the bench, reading. A noise at the end of the hall brought her head up in time to see Foyle exiting his office, shirt sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms. And what lovely forearms they were too. His hair was a bit mussed, curlier than he usually allowed. She had often wondered over the years how he managed to tame those curls. Some days they were quite insistent, as they were today. His tie was loosened but his white shirt was still crisp beneath his braces. How did he do that, she wondered. The sunlight shone through the window striking him at an angle that took years from his face and for a moment she imagined him as he must have been ten years prior. And oh, what a magnificent imagining it was too!
The man moved gracefully always but at times his motion brought to mind a dancer, a very elegant one. Today was one of those dancer days. As he turned the corner to disappear into Milner's office, Sam took a deep breath, fighting the flush of feelings that washed through her.
She'd acknowledged ages ago the fact that she wanted the man. His teasing and sly grins in the car, his moments as her instructor and patience, and yes, even his tolerance of her moments of being gauche had warmed her feelings for him early on. Those feelings had grown over time as she'd come to admire more of his qualities, such as his honesty and integrity, compassion, and protectiveness toward her. And that's when her admiration became a closely held secret; she was in love with the man. At first she'd considered her feelings to be a crush of sorts but even as she stepped out with others, her feelings for him never waned. Gosh, even when she and his own son were seeing one another, the thought remained in her mind that Andrew's father would be preferable.
Thinking these thoughts left her pale and that was the condition Foyle found her in a moment later. So now she sat at the table watching him, which wasn't helping her condition one bit. It was so very difficult to love someone so thoroughly and not be able to express those feelings, especially with him so close and so... desirable. The collywobbles were relentless as she watched his forearms manage the kettle or his deft movements from the sink to the hob. And the look of concern in his eyes as he turned to check on her was her undoing. It must've shown in her face because his concerned expression changed to something more intense, more alarmed, almost fearful. "Sam?"
"It...its alright, sir. Just..."
He cocked his head slightly to the side and his brow furrowed as he studied her. She could feel those delicious blue eyes probing, looking for a sign of what was troubling her and that made her even more unsettled. "Nnoooo... not alright. What's bothering you? Something is so don't deny it."
"I... well... its..." she looked around frantically, hoping someone would come in and interrupt but the hall appeared to be empty.
"What Sam? What is bothering you?" He stood closer now, almost next to her and she saw him lift his hand as if he might rest it on her shoulder. But he pulled it back. Why did he do that?
"I... well, I've got this secret and..."
He frowned. "Secret? What have you done now? Nothing too bad, I hope," he said in his quiet teasing manner.
"No... not bad, just... a secret. And sometimes it is a bit overwhelming."
"Yes, secrets can be," he agreed. "And this secret, you can't share it."
"Well no; then it wouldn't be a secret you know..."
"Right. Of course not." He still looked worried. "This um secret... it has to do with one of your friends?"
She smiled inwardly. The detective couldn't let it go; it was instinctual with him, she supposed. "Well, sort of. At least, I think he is a friend. I hope... but really, he's more than that. At least for me."
"Ah," he said as he leaned back slightly. "So another young man then... you've met him recently?"
She thought his smile weak. And it didn't reach his eyes. "Known him for some time actually. But my feelings have grown."
Just then Milner walked past the door as he moved down the hall. Foyle looked up. Sam saw his expression change and she knew immediately that he was thinking her someone was Paul Milner. She had to stifle the chuckle that threatened.
"Perhaps you should tell him then," Foyle suggested in a tone that to her ears sounded a little disheartened. Or was she simply hearing what she wanted to hear?
She stared at his crisp white shirt and then moved her gaze to the strong forearms that remained exposed. From there her eyes followed the trail up his arm back to the shirt and then his neck. From there it was only a short journey to his eyes. He was gazing back at her and for a moment, a very brief moment, she felt the connection before he broke it and looked away at the kettle. His mouth twitched and then flattened into a look of determination. What was he thinking to create such an expression?
He stepped away to pour the water, his movement not quite as graceful, dejected almost. It was in that small motion that she decided she could tell him, should tell him. "It isn't Milner," she blurted.
He turned in one swift action. "Nnooo?" Her heart leapt at the hope that seemed to return to his eyes.
"No. I do consider Paul a friend but... it isn't him."
His body seemed to relax fractionally. "But there is someone?"
"Yes, there is someone," she said as she stared at him levelly, hoping he might understand. But as she saw the wheels beginning to turn in his head, she knew he didn't. "I... I'm not sure how he feels about me though and I'm afraid to tell him, afraid he'll think I'm being silly... childish."
He handed her a cuppa and shook his head. "I can't imagine any man who wouldn't be honored that you have feelings for him." His eyes were dancing now with a light that wasn't being reflected from any light bulb. She found courage in those eyes.
"Really? Because... well you see... its... he's... a bit older and I'm afraid he'll think my admiration is misplaced," she said as she watched his face.
His eyebrows shot up and his head quirked. Then his forehead furrowed. "Older?"
She couldn't quite read his expression. He was surprised but there was something else there too. It made her nervous. "Yes.."
"Erm... I... " He cleared his throat. "I don't..."
"He's a very good man," she hurried to explain.
His brow furrowing again, he shook his head. "Nnot if he is taking advantage of your... youth. Just how much older?"
"Erm, well... I'm not certain; old enough to be mistaken for my father. But it doesn't matter."
"Certainly it does! You deserve someone to grow old with you. This man can't do that. He'd be a bore, set in his ways I'd wager."
"Well, he might be set in his ways somewhat but he isn't boring in the least. And there are no guarantees, are there? I mean, look at you. I'm sure you expected for you and Mrs. Foyle to grow old together but well..." she let her words dangle as she saw him go ashen at the mention of his late wife. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I... I am sorry."
"Nno, you're right; there are no guarantees. But I did marry expecting that, a long happy life together. Wwouldn't recommend marrying someone knowing it will be short lived."
"But I love him, you see; so very much. I think he is fascinating and... and well, just lovely. I don't know if we would want the same things; children for instance. But every time I see him, every time I think of him I get the collywobbles. I've never felt this way before."
Half of one his upside down smiles worked at his mouth, one side turning downward as his eyes danced with amusement. "Wull, I hope he recognizes your condition soon or you find the courage to tell him. Ccan't have you with the collywobbles all the time now, can we?"
"Oh no sir! Wouldn't be fair to everyone else. I'll find the courage."
He looked quite pleased with himself as he gave her a nod. "Wull, I hope so. Lucky man, I'd say." Then turning on his heel quickly, Foyle left the room. Sam watched him go with a smile of her own. "I hope he still feels lucky when I tell him," she whispered after him.