This chapter was written just today, so I am sorry for any spelling or phrasing mistakes, but for some reason, I felt like publishing it right now! Have fun, write a review and...- have a merry Christmas!
Eila turned on the steps to the apartment house she lived in to face the man accompanying her.
„This was a great evening", she said.
The beginning of a smile played around the edges of his mouth.
„Agreed."
She bit her lip, then smiled, wondering if she should dare and do it again.
Eila had asked the fateful question before.
The first time the rainy evening when he had given her a ride home after he had delayed her long enough to make her miss the bus. When she had invited him in for a drink back then, he had declined politely, making her feel all foolish at first - only to apologize a second later to her that he hadn´t been man enough to ask her out before. After that, he had finally asked her out, almost formally, and she remembered accepting the invitation cheerfully.
She had asked him again, for the second time, after they had finally had been out together. He had taken her to a small and lovely seafood restaurant at a quarter of town she had never set a foot at before and they had spent a long entertaining evening. They had found plenty to talk about and had discovered that they had a lot in common beyond the reading.
When he had taken her home afterwards, she had asked him again, and he had again declined.
Still, he had looked somewhat embarassed doing so.
„You know, don´t get me wrong", he had told her, searching feverishly for the right words. „But..."
She had waited patiently for him to go on, never taking her eyes from his face.
„For some reason", he had said finally,"I think there´s some kind of order in which things should be done and I´d like to stick to it."
His had lifted his gaze and they locked eyes.
And after letting you wait so long to invite you out, I don´t want to screw things up. Will happen soon enough anyway.
Still trying to determine the exact colour of his eyes, she had mustered him for a moment. During her years as a journalist, mostly reporting back home from abroad, she had met a lot of people and seen a lot of faces. This one, with the neatly trimmed beard he had been wearing recently, the intriguing eyes and the boxer´s nose, the disarming smile and the deep frown it sometimes showed, was a good one. An honest one, too.
„I understand", she had answered quietly. Her words had made him look relieved.
THere she had been with a man who declining her offer to follow her up to her apartment, afraid he might ruin a great evening by probably misjudging whatever would happen if he followed her invitation.
„You´ll have time to meet for another dinner again next week ?" he had finally asked.
She had nodded.
„Whenever it suits you."
„Great", he had mumbled.
In the end, it had been her who had plucked up the courage to step forward and place a soft kiss on his cheek.
„Good night", she had said with a smile.
„Good night", he had mumbled, turning to leave.
So here they were again. Having remembered their former dates for a moment, she found that she was still looking at him and that she was still unsure if to ask the question again.
„You´re alright ?" he asked.
She nodded.
„Yeah. Just unsure about...the correct order of things."
He chuckled at her words, a low relaxed sound she really liked.
„You´re wondering if to ask that question again ?"
She frowned at his teasing, but smiled in the end.
„That was naughty."
„Sorry", he said, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture, grinning again. „You´re right."
„You know, it´s not that I am already tired of asking it", she went on, crossing her arms in front of her. „But I am not sure if I am willing to take a no as an answer again."
His grin broadened. She was obviously raising the stakes. He had found out quickly that she seemed to be very shy at first glance, but that impression had quickly turned out to be wrong.
„Well, there won´t be an answer at all if you don´t ask the question, so..."
„...it´s a dilemma", she finished the sentence. „I see."
This time, he simply grinned and kept silent.
She shook her head, smiling.
„Alright, Mister, you´re ready ?"
His grin broadened, but he didn´t answer.
"You want to come in for a coffee tonight ?" she asked, tilting her head.
It turned out that Eila lived at the top floor of the small and neat apartment house. A large living room opened in front of them when they entered the place. A small kitchen lay on the right, a door on the left lead probably to bed- and bathroom. There was a large sitting room suite right in front of a glass front, and there were a lot of tropical pot plants instead of too much furniture. He mused that the room was flooded with light during the day. With her beloved books everywhere, the place looked a little bit like a mixture of a library and a greenhouse at a first glance.
„What´s that ?" he asked, pointing at some boxes almost completely blocking their way in.
„Just ignore this stuff", she said. „They just haven´t made it down to the basement so far."
„Too heavy ?" he inquired.
She shook her head.
„No, I usually pack them in a way I can carry them myself...still, I had to realize that it´s tricky for me to hold balance gettin´ the stairs up and down and the elevator doesn´t go down to the basement, only to the first floor."
She had told him by now how it had happened that she had quitted on journalism and had taken the job as a librarian a while ago, after she had being injured and one of her best friends had been killed somewhere in Africa. As a consequence of a compound fracture of her leg, she still limped slightly. Walking larger distances on foot was a problem as well.
"Is that where that bruise came from ?" he asked, pointing at the bruise along her forearm.
She nodded.
"Yeah. After crashing into the stair railing once, I decided to leave it at that."
„Want me to take care of that for you ?" he asked.
She shook her head.
„No! I invited you for a drink, not to get my work done!"
„You know, it´s no problem..."
„Just sit !" she rather ordered than invited him, pointing at the couch. „I got better things to do than letting you lug around that stuff."
While she was preparing the coffee, he took a closer look around. One corner of the room had been separated from the rest by a sparsely filled bookshelve and some plants. A large corner desk had been placed there.
There were a lot of pictures around, showing Eila with other people, most likely colleagues, once in light white clothes at some kind of desert area, once together with a dark skinned woman, dressed in colorful local clothing somewhere in Africa. There were more pictures, showing lonesome landscapes, but also people, common people, skid rows, chaotic looking alleys, poverty, soldiers.
„You took all these ?" he asked when she returned with the coffee, pointing in a wide gesture at the pictures around.
„Not all of them", she answered. „But the most. You know, sometimes, I face some kind of writer´s block when I am on the road. Taking pictures is helpful. I am not a professional at that, but looking at them later on, with some time to reflect on what I´ve seen..."
She shrugged and gestured to him to take a seat. She slipped into her usual spot on the sofa while he chose the armchair right next to it. She noticed in silent delight that his sturdy build filled it out completely while she usually felt like getting lost in it.
„I think I developed some kind of working style out of it", she finished quietly. „Are you takin´ pictures when you´re abroad ?
He shook his head.
„There´s usually no time", he answered.
„It´s a shame", she answered lightly. „The more you travel, the more memories get lost without something to remind you of what the trip has been like."
Toll Road managed to keep a straight face. He carried a lot of visible souvenirs with him wherever he went, every single one of them reliably reminding him of how the respective trip had been.
„This is a great place", he stated, changing topic.
„You should see it in daylight, then it´s even more impressive - well, when it´s cleaned up!"
He frowned, wondering how a librarian could afford a place like this.
„My aunt used to live here", she said as if she had been reading his thoughts. „She had no kids, so I inherited the place when she died."
„You´re still writing ?" he asked, looking at the corner with the desk.
She nodded.
„Yeah. I never really stopped. But I think, if I´ll not start to travel again, I´ll do."
„Why ? You could get acquainted with other topics, no ?"
She shrugged.
„I think so. But actually, at least so far, travelling and writing somehow belonged together for me. I am not sure if the one thing will still work without the other."
She took a sip of her coffee.
„So haven´t you thought about getting back into your old job ? I mean, there are a lot of countries out there which are interesting enough even without civil war..."
She smiled weakly and sighed.
„You´re right. But as long as I´ve still got problems walking..."
„Have you ever had a sports physician looking at that ?" he asked.
„No."
„Might be a good idea", he suggested. „For people in sports business, it´s quite important to recover fast and still completely. And there are sports physicians who´ve specialised in treating compound fractures like yours. There might not even be more surgery needed, possibly only some training."
She looked doubtful.
„Actually, I am scared that it´s simply too late to get it right again."
„Well, it´s worth a try, isn´t it ? Didn´t you tell me that you´d like to see the town of Macchu Picchu ? You´re gonna need both your legs to get up there."
„I thought you were fighting yourself", she said, nicely surprised by his try to encourage her. „Didn´t know you´re that good at coaching."
He shrugged.
„Well, let´s say I know some people who´ve been injured badly enough to end up as invalids, but made it back into business."
„Do you know such sports physicians ?"
He grinned.
„More than one."
„They´re good ?"
He laughed out.
„Well, they´re butchers, but they patch you up nicely."
She put her cup aside and pulled her legs up to the sofa to make herself comfortable. He mused that she had just changed automatically into her favourite reading position.
„Well, that sounds promising!"
They shared a laugh. Then his frown was back.
„You should really think about it. You´ll only get used to some kind of relieving posture, which will only lead to more problems in the future. You´re too young to just accept that."
She looked perplexed for a moment at that statement. He didn´t seem to notice.
„Admittedly, sometimes it´s rather a question of persistence than of the right treatment, but..."
„You´ve really given that a thought, haven´t you ?" she interrupted him.
Now it was his turn to look taken aback.
Eila chewed on her lower lip, trying to remember the last time it had felt like a guy had really given a thought to how to make her life easier instead of his own.
„I didn´t mean to interfere..."
„You didn´t", she assured him. „In fact, I should have thought about that earlier, shouldn´t I ? And I bet you have some experience with injuries, I mean..."
She abruptly stopped babbling.
„I just put you on the spot, didn´t I ?" he asked, his facial expression darkening.
„No", she answered, way too fast to tell the truth.
She sighed, realizing that he was seeing right through the lie.
„Alright, you did", she admitted. „But surely not by giving me advice."
His frown deepend, causing her to smile again.
„What the hell just happened ?" he inquired after a moment, looking confused, only to witness her for the first time breaking into a broad grin.
„This is what my analyst would call a typical intersexual communication breakdown", she answered, winking at him.
„Sounds like the guy knows what he´s talking about", he mused, still looking uncomfortable.
She shrugged.
„Well, for what I have to pay him, he hopefully does. And actually, he is a she."
She could tell from his body language that he was still not sure about how to get over the somewhat awkward moment. Suddenly quite sure of knowing what to do, she bent forward, putting her hand to his knee to avoid toppling over, and kissed him.
He was right, she mused. Some things surely were only a matter of persistence.
