Note: Thank you all for the lovely reviews. Very encouraging. Here's my second chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it. Lots more to come if you do.
2. Let Me Get You a New Cup
Tom was still thinking about the beautiful Miss Crawley on his way to the university cafeteria the next day. He wrapped his red scarf tighter around his neck and rubbed his hands together. The snow crunched under his feet and his hot breath painted misty clouds into the winter air. All afternoon after his presentation he'd been thinking about the wondrous encounter in the classroom, of the electricity shared in mere moments of interlocking gazes. The young woman – and he was rather embarrassed to admit this even to himself – had even managed to work her way into his dreams. There she'd been, snow in her hair, like an angel...
He stepped into the warm building. People shuffling to and fro with books – the library was located next to the cafeteria - passed him by. He wiped his feet at the door and marched up to the self-service coffee machine. The steaming dark liquid poured into his paper cup and he quickly pressed the lid on it to conserve the heat. When he turned around, he collided with something, someone.
"Oh shit", a familiar voice shouted. Familiar only from having been replayed in his head for twenty-four hours. He looked up to see those magnetic blue eyes and they were even more beautiful than he had repainted them in his mind.
"I'm so sorry, shit, shit..." she rambled on while she knelt to wipe down her books, which had become soaked in Tom's coffee in the collision.
"You do love that word, don't you?" he said with a smirk.
"What? Oh, it's you! Mr Branson, right?" she replied and scrambled to her feet. He nodded.
"Yes, I fear I've developed quite the habit for swearing. I'm so clumsy sometimes. I'm really very sorry. Here, let me get you a new cup." She pushed her damp books into his hands – he had once more failed to gallantly pick them up for her - and reached for a new paper cup. Pressing close to get past him, he could smell her shampoo.
"Ouch!"
"Oh, I'm sorry! Did I step on your foot? Shit. Sorry. Didn't mean to say that anymore. You know what, why don't you sit down at that table over there and I'll get us two cups. Seems safer somehow", she suggested and gave him a dazzling smile. He nodded, feeling like a complete fool again – she did that to him for some reason - and sat down at a small table on the far side of the cafeteria. He placed her books on a spare chair and found himself nervously putting them in alphabetical order, when she appeared with two steaming cups of coffee.
"There you go. Again, I'm very sorry", she said and smiled.
"Don't worry about it. If it gets me a cup of coffee with you, I'd happily get scalded and stepped on again", he grinned. What? Where had that confidence come from? What did you do, eegit? Tom scolded himself.
But she didn't look appalled, just smiled a sweet smile and began "So, Mr Branson...".
"Tom, please", he interrupted.
"Alright, Tom then. I'm Sybil by the way." Sybil. It fit. Beautiful Sybil Crawley. "I enjoyed your lecture yesterday enormously. Very insightful."
Tom smiled. "Thank you. You raised some interesting points. About current and past events I think?"
"Yes. I am rather interested in the history of Ireland. Which is obviously why I took the course. But politics in general interest me a great deal. I'm quite fascinated by the suffragette movement at the moment. What glorious women they were", she exclaimed with a passion reminding him of her verbal attack on a fellow student the day before.
"I take it you're interested in women's rights?" he asked. This young woman was completely fascinating. A sharp mind on top of such beauty. Why had he never met such a woman back home?
"I guess I am. What about you? You're the one with the Political Science degree after all. I'm afraid I've never read your column, is it mostly about independence for Ireland?"
"That too. But I'm not all about these things. I recently wrote a piece about the discrepancies still existent between the rich and the poor. I mean, it's not like it used to be with gentlefolk and such but still..." his thoughts drifted off.
Her husky voice disrupted his train of thought. "It seems rather unlikely, a revolutionary cabbie." And she smirked at him so flirtatiously that he felt goose bumps running up and down his arms.
"I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary. Anyway, I'm not a cabbie anymore", he retorted with a grin. She had paid quite the attention to his presentation, hadn't she?
"You will be disappointed to hear that one of my ancestors was actually an Earl. Lord Whatshisname. Grantham or something I think. Or was it of Grantham?" She took one last swig from her cup and skilfully threw it into the bin behind Tom.
"Well, if that's the case, would you care for another cup of coffee, Lady Sybil?" he asked with a smirk.
"Certainly. Thank you, Branson", she teased and flashed him a smile that made his heart skip a beat.
"So what's it like having two older sisters? Your father must be terrified half the time", Tom asked. Two hours and two cups of coffee later, they were still sitting at their table, talking about anything and everything. Sybil had turned out to be an eager student of politics and he enjoyed giving her pointers. As they had drifted off to his life in Ireland and his family, Tom found himself wondering what use there was in forming a bond with the young woman opposite him. They came from different worlds. He would go back to his when his term as supply teacher ended in three short months. Already she had too much of a hold on him.
But still he could not stop talking to her. She had bewitched him. Her inquisitive mind, the flirtatious banter, her exquisite beauty. Everything drew him to her like a moth was drawn to the light.
"It's alright I guess. They can be rather bitchy sometimes. And they can't stand the sight of each other most of the time. I seem to always get caught in the middle. Mary, the eldest, she's in this constant on-again-off-again relationship with her boyfriend Matthew. And don't we know when it's off-again", she rolled her eyes dramatically. "Edith is nice enough. She's always been decent, at least to me. But I can't say I'm particularly sad to have moved out for uni."
She laughed. Another breathtaking feature, her clear, honest laugh. Tom's heart fluttered. Might be the coffee. Might be her.
"My parents are what you'd call rich folk? Not a life I wanted to be honest. I wouldn't even let them pay for uni. You'd be proud of me" and she gave him such a goofy wink that he burst out laughing.
From the sound of it, not a family who'd be particularly fond of their youngest dating an Irish journalist. Wait, what was he thinking here? Hadn't he just decided that it made no sense to pursue anything? Her being so perfect tended to make him forget that fact. What a future he could imagine with such a woman, it was downright impossible not to dream of it.
A loud ringing sound tore him from his daydreams. Sybil had already jumped to her feet and picked up her mobile. She walked a couple of steps, then turned around and returned to the table, looking disappointed. "Shit, I am so sorry but I have to go. I volunteer at the hospital three days a week."
"First Lady Sybil, now Nurse Crawley. Whatever am I going to call you?" he jested and succeeded when a short smile crossed her face.
"I really enjoyed our talk", she said while wrapping the colourful scarf around her neck. She pulled her dark curls out from underneath it and shook her head.
"Do it again some time?" Tom asked shyly.
"Of course!" she exclaimed and the happiness was apparent on her face.
"Wait, just... let me give you my number." She started rummaging through her bag. "Pen, pen, pen, pen..." She pulled out a ridiculously large, bright pink pen. "Don't judge me. It was given to me. I think. I hope." She grinned and started neatly writing her number on Tom's hand. "I know, it's very rom-com of me. But I don't have paper. And look, I even wrote on the back of your hand so it can't smudge."
Like he'd paid any attention to the actual writing. The way she was holding his hand steady with her free hand was of far more interest to him. His skin seemed to burn where they were touching. He couldn't believe his luck that this gorgeous woman wanted him to call her. To see him again. And even after he'd spoken, too. He smiled. Sybil put the pen back into her bag but held onto his hand for just a fraction of a second longer.
"I hope this is your real number", he joked nervously.
"Like I'd take any chances", she replied. "I really have to run, call me? Soon?"
At the door, she turned and gave him another smile. Her most beautiful smile yet.
