Dedicated to Nat as a special birthday treat. Happy 21st!!


The doorbell rings at 7pm sharp. She has come to expect no less from him; he is nothing if not punctual. When she opens it, her insides seem to jump up into her rib cage before plummeting to the depths of her stomach; in his hand is a tool kit, and a pale, grey-marl t-shirt stretches snugly over him before tucking into his belted jeans. It is such a delicious image that she is forced to swallow hard to wet her suddenly dry mouth. Without realising it, she has engineered her very own living, breathing version of every woman's workman fantasy, and her mind turns the subject over and over like the pages of a Mills and Boon novel.

"I've come to check your plumbing," he winks. "That's what I'm supposed to say, isn't it?" he teases, and she splutters madly and reddens in an instant.

"Er," she blinks, as her mind struggles to find anything to say, let alone find the words to invite him through to the kitchen and show him what the problem is.

He suddenly realises just how flushed she is, and how intently she is staring at the top of his chest and, for a moment, there is every chance he might throw caution to the wind, bundle her inside the door and pin her against the nearest hard surface. The way she is breathing, the way there is a slight tremble in her posture, the way her tongue keeps running over her lips, he is suddenly convinced like never before that everything he hopes she might feel, she actually does. She raises her eyes, slowly, and they just stare for some indefinite yet defining moment. He is ready to will himself either to speak or to act, when she breaks the silence.

"I, um, I guess you should come in."

"I suppose I should," he sighs. "I…I hope this isn't being too presumptuous, but I thought I might shower and change when I'm done," he adds, holding up a carrier bag she'd failed to notice. "I didn't think I'd better sit and eat dinner in my DIY clothes."

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling; she thinks she wouldn't mind if he did…at all.

"Of course," she nods, understanding. "I can sort you out some towels and things and get dinner started while you do that."

He returns the smile and leads into the kitchen as she closes the door behind them.

--

He has been working on the machine little short of ten minutes and already she is frustrated beyond belief; not for the fact that he hasn't located the source of the problem yet, but at the fact that he's now moved to try and turn the water off under her sink units and, as a result, he's flat on his back, a light sheen of perspiration across his forehead, his slightly sweaty t-shirt pulled tight and riding up his stomach as he wriggles about trying to find what he needs.

The sight is so distracting that she almost doesn't hear him as he asks her to step to one side so he can shuffle back out again.

"Ruth, I said I need to get back up."

"Oh. Oh!" She steps back suddenly, almost tripping over one of the cats in the process, and Harry laughs at her lightly.

"You were watching me," he observes, softly, and with no small measure of pride.

"I was just making sure you didn't cause trouble," she manages to mumble, and is thankful she even managed that much of an excuse.

For once, he lets it pass. Tonight, he is finally confident that things might finally be heading in the right direction, and he knows that when the moment is right, he will take the chance to find out for sure.

"I think the hose might be blocked, or the filter. Normally just soap powder and fluff. I've shut the water off so I'll have a look. Have you got any old towels just in case?"

"Er, I should have. Hold on."

She dashes upstairs and he rolls his eyes at the almightily clattering and muffled swearing he can hear as she roots around in the airing cupboard; how she can make such a drama of it, he's not sure, but if anyone can, it's her. He smiles to himself as the racket stops and is replaced by fast thudding as she evidently runs back down the stairs and into the kitchen. She skids in, and he is waiting for her with a cocked eyebrow of amusement.

"It wasn't a race, Ruth," he laughs, and takes delight in her soft blush.

She doesn't really know what to reply to that; her over eagerness to please has been with her since childhood, but he seems to bring it out in her more than most.

"Well the sooner it's done the sooner we can get you out of those sweaty clothes." Her eyes widen in panic as she hears what it is she has just said to him and an almighty blush makes her cheeks burn.

"I hadn't thought about it like that," he murmurs, and she can't decide if he is toying with her or not. There is a definite twinkle in his eye as he reaches over and tugs the towels from her grasp but he doesn't say anything further and by the time she has gathered herself enough to speak again he has turned and headed back to the washing machine.

--

"All done," he says, proudly, as he wipes his hands on one of the old towels and walks over to where she is standing chopping vegetables.

She pauses and risks a glance at him, but almost immediately regrets it as she now has the close up version of a slightly sweaty and dishevelled Harry. "Thank you," she mumbles, eventually, unable to think clearly when he is standing so close to her.

"No problem; you need to help me now, though." He waits until he has her full attention before he carries on. "I'd quite like to get out of my sweaty clothes..." he trails off and her breath catches in her throat as the knife clatters against the chopping board. He draws the delicious tension of the moment out a fraction longer before putting an end to his teasing and asking where her bathroom is.

"Oh, erm, follow me." There is relief in her voice but he is also able to read the disappointment in her eyes and it strengthens his convictions about their feelings for each other.

"You can use these towels," she stutters, as they enter the bathroom and she thrusts a white, fluffy pile at him, keen to get back to the kitchen as soon as possible. She doesn't think she can function sanely while he's looking that unkempt and while she's in the knowledge that he's imminently about to remove that sweaty t-shirt and those jeans.

"Thanks," he smiles. "How long have I got until dinner?"

"Fifteen, twenty?"

"Perfect."

--

Dinner is a quiet affair, the conversation gentle and light; silences between them no longer need to be filled like they once used to and, in a stark contrast to the awkwardness of their tentative drinks of a few short months ago, neither ever struggles to find a topic they'll enjoy. Tonight, perhaps, is quieter than usual. He is thinking about whether or not he should broach the subject of their ever closer relationship, whilst she silently dwells on just how much she is exposing herself to vulnerability by letting her guard down as much as she has been.

"Want to know something funny?" he asks, out of nowhere. He is seemingly ready to test the waters, but is unusually indirect about it. "Last night, you automatically swapped your onion for my tomato. You didn't even ask this time."

She looks at him, confused. "Sorry, um, I-I don't get the joke."

"I didn't mean funny-haha, I meant funny-interesting."

"Oh, er?"

He senses he is digging himself a hole with his round about way of trying to point out how close they've become without any conscious effort, but now that he's started down this route, it seems silly to stop. Besides, he knows she won't let it rest until he tells her now.

"It's what couples do, Ruth. Little quirks like that, knowing each other so well they don't even need to ask."

She falls silent, fiddling with her ring as she gazes into her empty coffee cup.

"I suppose," he ventures, "I was thinking we'd progressed without even realising."

She is still silent, then, "Harry…" It is desperate, pleading for him not to continue. She pleads all the more because she knows he will press on.

"Ruth, am I still only sitting here as a friend; was that just a favour for a friend or for…for something more?"

She avoids the question all together, seeking distraction elsewhere.

"I, um, should…I have to…" She points vaguely in the direction of 2 unwashed plates and a mug.

"I'm sure they can wait," he says, pointedly. The look on her face tells him she doesn't think they can. "Ruth, please, we need to talk."

"No, I need to," she stands, and finishes her sentence through action, as she picks up their empty glasses and plates and carries them to the sink and runs the water.

An arm reaches around her and shuts the tap off, and the shock makes her drop the glass into the bowl, splashing everywhere. "Leave it."

She puts the other glass down on the side with the plates and mug, and tries to turn around, but he is still right behind her. He steps back graciously when he realises.


There's more, much more, to come so leave us a review and we'll get posting the next chapter! :-)