X:
Anna smirked at Elsie and said, "So you're going out tonight?"
"No, I'm just taking the night off," Elsie replied a little too snappishly. "Are you sure you're all right to close up?"
Anna rolled her eyes. "I'll have to be," she said sarcastically. "Because I've not done it a thousand times before or anything." She added, "Are you going out with Mr. Carson?"
Elsie scowled and flicked a straw wrapper at the other woman. "I'm hoping to stay in my bed with a bottle of wine and a chocolate bar," she admitted.
"That'll probably make you feel worse," Anna advised. "You've been so sick the last few weeks – did they ever figure out what was wrong? All these appointments –"
Elsie smiled. "Yes," she said, "and there's not a lot to worry about. It's run its course."
"Well, that's good – you can get some rest now, I hope," Anna said. "Are you feeling better?"
"I am," Elsie fibbed gently. "Well, I should let you keep on…"
"If you happen to have a night out with Mr. Carson, I should hope you'd tell me all about it," Anna sighed. "God knows I can't pull to save my life lately."
Elsie shook her head and sighed. "Life isn't all about pulling and dating and things," she commented wryly. "Like I said, I intend to put my feet up with a bottle of wine and some chocolate."
"You should have a hot bath and some quality time with Mr. Carson, you repressed ninny," Anna said with a little giggle.
The idea of a hot bath made Elsie cringe; god knew taking a cold shower had been all she could manage for the last month. And what would Charles say, seeing her battle scars and her blistered, raw skin? It wasn't going to happen. Not at all. He'd not be seeing her naked for a long while yet.
"What did I say?" Anna asked, suddenly anxious. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Elsie assured her. "I'm just going to go home and have a quiet night in."
"You always have a quiet night in."
"Aye, because I'm old and a bit dodgy when it comes to going out," Elsie reminded her gently. "Have a good night, Anna – don't forget the paper warehouse is making a late delivery at seven with the napkins they left off the last truck."
"Yes, boss," Anna said, rolling her eyes.
Elsie got her scarf and cardigan, bundling up against the weather. It was late October and things were beginning to cool down a lot in the evenings. So she came prepared. The drive back to her flat was quick and quiet, for once, and she found herself puttering about in the kitchen, eventually making Moroccan baked eggs and some microwavable rice for dinner. She opened a bottle of wine and realized in the middle of drinking the first glass that she would have gone to Charles's house if she knew where he lived. She wanted to share her news with him, blow the whistle to say 'all clear', and she wanted to kiss him when he reacted with as much joy as she felt.
But she couldn't because she didn't have the courage. He'd texted earlier in the day, wishing her well at the doctor's, but he'd not followed it up. Maybe thinking she needed space?
She picked up her phone and eyed it for a long moment before she called him. "Hello," she said softly.
"Hello," he replied. "How did it go?"
She took a deep breath, then murmured, "My white blood cell count is lower than they'd like and I need to be careful about getting to hospital as soon as I so much as sniffle or cut myself, but the cancer is in remission."
"Oh, thank god for that," he breathed, laughing. "I've been over here going mad all day because I was terrified the news would be bad – and it's good, and I feel so much better… I can't imagine how you're feeling right now."
"I feel like I should be with you and not making baked eggs," she admitted quietly.
"Do you want me to come over?"
"No, I mean – you've got to be sick of being here," she said with a sigh. "And I don't know where you live."
"I'll send you the address so you can put it into Maps and get the directions," he said. "I've got to take Lady for her walk, but then I'll be in all night. You're more than welcome to come over."
"Do you want me to? Come over, I mean – I won't if you don't want me to, or if it's inconvenient or –"
"Els," he said gently, "there is nothing I'd like more than to see you tonight. Forget the eggs – get them out of the oven and I'll pick up something while I'm out with Lady. We'll open a bottle of wine and snuggle on the sofa."
"If you're going to the chippie, I prefer cod and very little vinegar," she commented. "And no peas. God, no peas."
He chuckled. "Fish and chips it is, then," Charles said in a sweet, rumbling tone. "I'll text you the address and see you in a bit."
Elsie set aside her partial glass of wine. "Oh, you can count on it, Mr. Carson," she purred softly.
She waited for his text to come through, and put the address into her sat nav app. And then she paused and looked at herself in the mirror. If she had to be honest, she wanted this to be special, a new beginning for them – the cancer was a non-issue and she only had to deal with the lingering side effects from the radiation. She didn't like the way she looked. So very many white hairs had come in in the last few weeks and she'd lost weight to the point her clothes didn't fit properly. She wanted to celebrate with Charles, to… well, throwing herself at him and fucking him seemed like such a vulgar thing to say she wanted, but she did want both… but she wasn't at all certain that he'd like what he would see. And she wasn't even wearing matching underthings.
She'd taken to wearing sports bras because they didn't rub so badly, and she didn't care enough to wear nice knickers. Well…
She all but ran to her bedroom to change into nicer underthings and clean clothes that didn't reek of spices and the coffee shop. It took her a few minutes, and then she thought about putting makeup on – but she was already tired, so what did that matter at all?
She bit her lip and tried to remind herself gently that he'd seen the worst of her already and he'd not run screaming into the night. He'd held her hair back when she'd retched into the sink and he'd held her when she'd thought she might literally scratch off all her skin and make the itching stop. And he'd been at her side when she'd called the institution to speak to Becky, held her hand when she'd faltered. And he loved her. He loved her.
Charles Carson loved Elsie Hughes.
And she loved him so deeply that it terrified her. She'd not given his sort of proposal much thought, just an off-handed look over her memory of the scene once in a while, but…
Something inside her shifted, clicked into place. And the rest of it didn't matter. Not her mismatching undies or her overworked state… not her sister or her need to make sure everything was perfect as it could be for him.
None of that mattered. Because she couldn't live without him in her life ever again.
She got her shoes back on and grabbed her purse and her jacket. She couldn't have told anyone anything about her journey – just that she followed directions and turned when prompted by the sat nav. And she wound up on the street in front of a lovely rowhouse with navy blue shutters and front door. She recognized Charles's BMW and parked her little Mini behind it, hoping that it would be all right. And then she tried to breathe, to remember that everything would be all right.
She was startled by a knock on the window and looked up to see Charles smiling at her. She opened the door and got out of the car, nearly falling on the kerb. "Oh great," she muttered, "now I've gone and twisted my bloody ankle –"
"Here, let me help," he said gently. "That's better – steadier, anyway. Why are you wearing ridiculous heels?"
"Because I felt ridiculous," she sighed. The wee little dog sniffed her leg and wuffled at her, drawing Elsie's attention. "Oh, you must be Lady… hello, darling, aren't you precious?"
"We better go in or the chips will get cold," Charles said gently. "And I've got a lovely bottle of white burgundy on to chill. I hope that's all right –"
"Lovely," Elsie murmured. She could feel panic beginning to well up inside her, but she tried desperately to quell it. This was Charlie, her Charlie, and he wasn't going to hurt her or judge her. All she had to do was open her heart to him and let him in, let him hold her together as if she were broken bits of a puzzle. She followed Charles and Lady inside, where he stooped to let the little dog off her leash. "Charlie, I –"
"What, love?" he said, rising back up to his full height.
She bit her lip, then released it. "I want you to know that… that I love you very much."
"Well, I am glad to hear that," Charles said with a smile, "because I love you very much as well, Elsie."
"No, Charlie, you misunderstand me," she murmured. "I love you very much, and if you still want me, you can have me – because if you were to ask me to marry you right now, in this moment, I would not say no." The words came out as a hurried rush, tangled and tumbling together in her brogue, and she didn't know if he understood them or not.
He blinked and took a deep breath, tears shining in his eyes. "Elspeth Hughes… it would give me no end of honor and happiness to make you my wife," he said quietly.
"Yes," she breathed. "I would like that very much, Charlie."
He fairly beamed at her and her heart melted; all she could feel was love, deep and abiding love, for this gentle bear of a man. She launched herself into his arms, wanting to kiss him, to hold him, to show him how much she meant her words. Their kiss was gentle but insistent, until he pulled away and mumbled, "We don't want to eat cold chips."
She smiled. "No, we don't," she agreed.
"But after dinner, we definitely must finish this conversation," he added.
She didn't know what got into her, but the next words out of her mouth were a coy, "I was hoping for less dialogue and more action."
He just stood there, blinking, his jaw slack. "You want to… you want to make love? But you've been so ill and –"
"And I've gotten the all clear and I don't care about the rest," she said. "I want to touch you and love you and be loved by you like we're meant to be – as we want to be done the rest of our lives. Because I fully intend to be married to you for at least another thirty years, Charlie." She smiled a little and reached out to take one pouch of fish and chips from him. "And, well, I think we went about things a bit out of order, didn't we? Normal people make love before they get engaged and meet each other's families, don't they?"
"What is normal anyway?" he asked. "I think normal should be falling in love and being loved in return, hang the rest – and I don't care about the food now because I have this image of you naked in my bed and I can't stop it."
She bit her lip and held back a laugh. "Oh, Charlie, we're a couple of awful bumblers, aren't we? Let's eat and then the rest will happen…"
He surprised her by giving her a kiss, deep and slow, laving his tongue over her lower lip with gentle pressure. "Yes, dear," he murmured when they parted. "Dinner and then…"
"Then, you can have me," she whispered. "All of me."
His room was very masculine. The furniture was heavy, cherry-colored wood. The linens were navy blue and charcoal grey. The walls were lighter shades of grey and blue. And all she could think about was how hard she was going to have to work to get up onto the bed. She'd need a step-stool or a lift up.
Talk about awkward.
She toed off her shoes while they were kissing, smiling against his lips as he fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. "Charlie, stop," she whispered. "Let me." She unbuttoned herself and carefully peeled the blouse away from her touchy skin, wincing a little.
"Oh my god, Elsie," he choked out. "Stop – no, what –"
"No," she said, shaking her head as she tossed the blouse away from them. "It's fine, Charlie. I've been dealing with it – it's normal. It happens when you have focused radiotherapy. I'm not going to break if you touch me. I want you to touch me, Charlie."
He swallowed hard, watching her take off her bra, wincing when he saw her scar. "Does it… does it hurt?"
She nodded. "But I don't want you to think you can't touch me just because of that – there are so many places you can touch me, love."
He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as she shed her trousers and knickers. She knew she should have blushed at being so forward, but she didn't have it left in her to care. He wanted her, the whole her, and she needed him to see all of her for what she was. She knew she'd been successful when she came to a stop right in front of him and he croaked, "I love you – Els, I love you so much and I don't want to hurt you –"
"You won't," she promised, closing her eyes and leaning into him, feeling the softness of his shirt against her skin, the roughness of his woolen trousers scraping her knees. And then she felt him; his fingers, his hands, trailed from the backs of her knees all the way to the curve of her buttocks. It felt right, in a way that made her cold-shiver and made her body react to him far more primally than it had with her other lovers. It was a first step.
The next few steps in the dance were hazy, tangled together in knots; a frantic tearing at his clothes, groping, touching, kissing, whimpering and swearing, begging and pleading, gentle and rough and never enough. But when he kissed his way up her thigh, then buried his face in her, licking, sucking, nibbling, then all the other steps became so very clear to them both. It was a dance, exquisitely, privately theirs. No one else would ever know the way.
She bucked against him, cried for mercy, sobbed for the sheer pleasure of it as his hand came gently upon her belly to still her, to assure her that he was still there – though god knew as well as she did that no one could have done this for her but Charles. And then she saw stars: bright flashes of light in her vision as her body imploded in upon itself, waves of pleasure coiling and recoiling in her limbs. She knew she cried out, but what, she didn't know – her throat was scratchy as she came slowly back to dry land.
And he was just smirking at her like a cat what ate the cream out of sheer naughtiness.
"Oh my god," she drawled thickly, her voice catching. "Where do you – where do you hide that, Charles? Holy shit – you'd have women all over you from dawn till dusk –"
"I only want you," Charles said firmly, kissing his way up her torso, making her body sing as gooseflesh crept up on her skin. "I wanted to taste you and then there was a moment where I couldn't get enough of you – I'll never get enough of you, Elspeth." He kissed her deeply, careful not to put any pressure on her side or her breast. She tasted herself on his lips, his tongue, and she moaned, deepening the kiss, wanting so much more of him than she'd gotten already.
The last few steps were a tango, deeply passionate, bodies melding, ebbing, flowing together. His touch ignited a flame of desire that threatened to consume them both body and soul. His fingers tangled with hers, holding on for dear life as they thrust and parried, him moving deeper within her. He finished first, but to be fair, she'd already had a hell of a head start. But he did not stop just because he finished. He made absolutely certain that she had her climax, too, before he rolled away and tried to catch his breath.
They were both shaking and weak from the intensity of the workout, and from the overwhelming love and lust swirling in their systems. "I love you," she whispered, squeezing his hand.
"I… love you," he echoed shakily. "I haven't – not – I've not done that in a long time."
"Me, either," she murmured.
"I suppose now is a bad time to say I've got custard and biscotti in the cabinet if you want dessert."
She fell back into his pillows and laughed. "Only if I don't get to lick custard off you," she teased, rewarding him with a kiss. "I really do love you, Charlie."
"And I really love you more, Elsie," he whispered. "But don't tell anyone. They might try to sway you to the dark side."
"The dark side has biscuits," she chirped with a wicked smile.
"Oh, I'll show you biscuits, young lady," he scolded.
She discovered very quickly that he was not a man to back down from a challenge, and he really could not get enough of her. Nor she of him.