The house had been cloaked in silence and grief for the past week. Dr. Thomas Blake had passed not a week earlier and since then, Lucien had been deep in brooding thoughts–the past creeping and curling into his subconscious, whispering about missed opportunities and regret. Jean, meanwhile, had taken to crying quietly, expelling her grief and the loss of a father-figure and a kind man.
They were two people who didn't know each other well at all, drowning in grief and tiptoeing around the other.
Lucien knew it needed to be put to an end. Jean's future with him and his household was unknown but for the time being, while she comforted him during his night terrors and took care of his house, he wanted to know her, to comfort her, to help her.
And so the solution presented itself during a routine visit to Mr. Lawrence's home for a check-up. A drive-in had opened down the road and was showing Australian-made films only in an attempt to drum up interest in the filming industry.
It was perfect.
He had asked her the moment he had stepped back into the kitchen, breathless and excited and a little desperate. Her ready and sure Yes had surprised him and he responded with a small, shy smile, twirling his hat in his hands nervously.
So they set out that night, the car ride between them painfully awkward and silent. They were, after all, essentially strangers. But Lucien was undeterred, firing question after question to which Jean was happy to answer, her own questions being asked in return.
Did you enjoy Edinburgh? What was it like–working for my father? How old were you when you left Ballarat? How long were you married? What's your favorite thing to eat? What's your favorite thing to cook?
On and on it went until they arrived at the drive-in, parking amongst a long row of Cadillacs and rumbling, rusty trucks. The screen was wide and they had a perfect view, fiddling with the radio dial to ensure the sound filtered in through the car clearly.
Lucien's stomach rumbled loudly and he laughed, shrugging. "My mother once told me it was a crime to watch a movie without a bowl of popcorn." He nodded to the concession stand across the lot. "Care to accompany me?"
She only rolled her eyes at him, muttering about men and their stomach, but got out of the car nonetheless and walked by his side, rubbing at her arms lightly as the cold chill of the night air hit her.
Lucien took notice for once and immediately shrugged out of his jacket, offering it to her with an exaggerated, gentlemanly bow. Jean hesitated for a moment. Taking his jacket felt so much like taking Christopher's jacket all those years ago, wearing it down the halls of the school and letting everyone see his claim on her.
But that was a very long time ago and Christopher was gone and Lucien was here and she was chilly. She took the coat with a small smile and found herself enveloped in the scent of him–woodsy and minty and him. She tried not to turn her nose into the collar of the coat and inhale too deeply. It was incredibly comforting.
For his part, Lucien tried to ignore how adorable she looked wrapped in his coat, swimming in the extra fabric. With a light hand on the small of her back, he guided her slight frame through the crowds before finally arriving at the concession stand.
"'Lo, mate. One large popcorn and," he trailed off, looking questioningly at Jean. She bit her lip and on impulse she blurted out, "And a chocolate bar. Please."
Lucien raised an eyebrow at her and nodded at the concession helper, watching as he scrambled to get the snacks together. He paid and gathered the popcorn in his arms, handing Jean the chocolate bar.
On the way back to the car, he asked, "Chocolate seems rather indulgent for you, Mrs. Beazley."
She glared at him, a playful smile etched on her lips. "This seems like an indulgent night, Dr. Blake."
He laughed–a soft, warm sound that Jean rather liked the sound of. There hadn't been enough laughter between them in the last week.
Lucien opened the door of his car for her, "I thought I told you to call me 'Lucien'?"
She got into the car and grinned. "And I thought I told you to call me 'Jean'?"
Another laugh and he shut her side of the door, walking around and getting in. The movie would start any minute now and there was a quiet, comfortable, soft intimacy to sitting here in the car with Jean.
Without asking, Jean reached over and plucked a handful of popcorn from his bucket, setting the kernels onto a napkin in her lap. Lucien watched in amused fascination as Jean very carefully broke off a corner of chocolate and placed a large kernel of salty, buttery popcorn on top and popped it into her mouth, eyes fluttering closed, a small moan of pleasure escaping her.
Lucien swallowed harshly, trying to block out the sound of her moan from his memory. He knew if he memorized that sound, his mind would wander with it late at night…
"Jean," he started. "That is truly one of the most revolting things I've ever seen you do."
Jean stared at him in mock outrage. "My son, Jack, used to eat his popcorn and chocolate like this all the time. He swore up and down it was the only way to do it and," she shrugged. "He was right."
She turned her attention back to her lap and created the popcorn-chocolate monstrosity once more before turning and offering it to Lucien. "Try it."
Without thinking, he leaned forward and took the concoction into his mouth, straight from her fingers. His lips brushed her fingers, ever so gently. Jean stiffened in her seat in shock. It had felt so natural to lean forward and simply wrap his lips around her fingers, as if he was born to do it.
But before he could apologize or explain, he was groaning in pleasure. The sweet chocolate and salty, buttery popcorn were marrying pleasantly in his mouth. He munched happily, tongue flicking out to catch the last bit of salt on his lip.
"Your boy may be a culinary mastermind, Jean. That was divine." He smiled softly to himself. "My father would have quite liked that, I think. He and my mother used to argue about which was the better snack: salty or sweet. This is the perfect combination."
Jean sat quietly, absorbing his words. It was the most he had shared about himself and his family and Jean felt honored that he was so comfortable with her to share.
Before she could say anything, the sounds of the movie starting filtered in through the radio and the lights in the lot dimmed. The movie was starting.
It was a perfect night, save for the noticeable rocking of the cars ahead of them. Apparently the drive-in was quite the romantic spot and the youngsters of the town seemed to be enjoying the anonymity that a darkened lot and an encapsulated car could offer.
Jean hoped Lucien couldn't see how red her cheeks were and how often her eyes flicked to those rocking cars. It had been so long since she had been touched by a man, how long it had been since she had had to muffle her cries of pleasure into her partner or the leather of a car seat as to not be caught.
For a brief, fleeting moment, she considered slipping her hand into Lucien's; considered sliding the few inches over the car bench and running her fingers over his thigh. She thought back to the feel of his lips on her fingers as he had taken the chocolate and popcorn and the jolt of electricity he had felt.
She hardly knew this man and yet…and yet it felt as if she had known him her entire life.
But the time for throwing caution to the wind–damn propriety to hell–was long gone. An attitude for a younger, less world-weary Jean.
And so she slid over on the car seat and continued diving her hand into his popcorn bucket, grinning mischievously as he mock-glared at her, pretending to slap her hand away. He leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, "Next time, get your own, Mrs. Beazley."
She stuck her tongue out at him, feeling light and free and childish for the first time in decades. He only laughed at her and turned back to the screen, still chortling.
The movie itself was perfectly fine: an adventure where the leading man was handsome and dashing and the leading lady demure and beautiful and the good guys defeated the bad and a happy ending was had for all.
Except, Jean never caught the ending. It seemed as if the rush of sugar and subsequent crash was overwhelming and between that and the late hour and the warmth loaned to her from Lucien's jacket, she found herself nodding off during the movie, head tilting and resting against Lucien's shoulder.
At the touch of Jean's head against his shoulder, Lucien looked down, smiling softly when he saw her dozing, flattered that she felt safe enough with him to sleep beside him.
War was still heavy on his hands and the horrors of his past seemed heavy on his shoulders, but here, with Jean's trust and teasing smile, he felt that weight leave him.
As the credits of the movie rolled, he brushed a stray curl from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.
"Jean?" he called out softly, shaking her awake.
Her bleary-eyed look morphed into one of mortification when she realized she had fallen asleep and Lucien laughed low in his throat. "C'mon, sleepyhead. Time to go home."
Jean pushed herself over to her side of the car and nodded, thinking of his choice of words. Home.
Yes, she and Lucien and that house at the top of the road was home. And she wouldn't have it any other way.