This is my own absolute favourite chapter so far. I wrote it roughly ready already before chapter 4, even if have edited since to fit with things I had come up with in between and added new ideas. I'm so happy it's finally time to share it (hurray!) and I hope you will like it as much as I do (sorry for not being more modest but I'm just in love with Molly and CJ in this situation). Much appreciated if you let me know what you think :)

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Chapter 12: A nicer kind of lunch

When I wake up the following morning, I feel rested but first I'm confused about where I am. Then I register the by now familiar, expensive furniture and drapers framing the tall windows letting the morning light in. I have slept on Charles' couch. I feel a bit embarrassed. Clearly, we crossed a line between employer and employee yesterday when I told him everything about my past. One which normally is not crossed, but it was a very special day. I'm just not sure how to deal with it today. He is nowhere to be seen yet, so I just remain where I am for a while and let my mind drift.

I really liked talking to him yesterday. He felt like a friend, one I could trust and one that could understand. It suddenly strikes me we did not talk about Smurf, were he fits into all this. Truth is, he does not really. Smurf was a peripheral friend of Jonah's who I had met on some occasions during the university years. About one and a half year after Jonah's death, we met in a bar when Bella had forced me to come out with her one evening instead of just shutting myself up in my room. I did not know him well but generally liked him and he seemed to like talking to me. I had not even thought about dating up till then. My feelings for Jonah were still so strong and the baggage I carried seemed too heavy to tell any twenty-ish prospective boyfriend about. For all I cared I could stay a "widow" for the rest of my life. But he was nice, he was kind, he already knew about Jonah, so nothing had to be explained. He did not seem to demand anything from me, just showed me that he liked to hang out. So, we did, more and more frequently. After one evening out with friends when I maybe had a drink or two too much, we ended up in the backyard of the Indian take away, first snogging, moving on to a shag. I'm not sure I really wanted it, but I did not say no. I did not feel any butterflies in my stomach, no tension or expectation. I just felt numb as always, but it was still quite nice in a way to be wanted and everyone around me said I had to move on at some point. So, I tried. Since then it has just slowly and steadily rolled on and now a year has passed since that drunken Friday night.

I know he wants us to move together, have a place of our own but I have said that then I'm not able to put anything away for the café so we have to wait. For now, he has grumpily accepted it, but I know that is not the true reason why I do not want to. The true reason is that I like him, but I do not love him. Or, at least I used to like him, I'm not always as sure now – but I do not know if it would be any different with someone else. I just do not think I have it in me anymore, I think that part of me was lost with Jonah, the part that would feel deep love and actual excitement about a man. I suddenly have a flash from yesterday in the graveyard, the masculine scent of Charles and his strong arms around me and it sends a surge through my abdomen. The body is a silly vessel, sometimes reacting to things in a way it should not – and I repress it and am determined to forget. Charles is my employer, nothing more, nothing less. It is probably for the better if I try to keep my distance. I also need to make up my mind about Smurf and me, but not today, not right now.

After a while, I hear Charles crutches coming down the stairs, and him too, naturally. I sit up on the couch and he takes a seat in one of the armchairs. Good, I like that we have some distance between us.

"Hi, there" he smiles. "Did you sleep well?"

Surprisingly, I did.

"Hi… I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For this, me sleeping on your couch. For spilling my life history to you yesterday and crying a river of tears."

"I don't mind. Are you feeling better today?"

"I do. The worst day of the year is over, now I'll be quite fine until next year. No more outbursts to be expected." I give up a small laughter, but it feels hollow.

"It's okay, you don't have to be cheerful. That was some heavy stuff – but you can talk to me about it anytime, you know."

He is the best. I did not know, but now I do. I nod, then something strikes me.

"Yesterday, in the car, before we went to the graveyard I interrupted you. You were about to tell me what the doctors said. Did you have good news?"

He burst into a pleased grin. I'm not sure if it is because of what he has to share, or if it is because I remembered, or both.

"Yes, the doctor, physiotherapist and psychologist all agree I'm making very good progress. If it continues like this, I will be able to walk without crutches in a month or two and probably return to service in six. Apparently, they also think I'm making progress with regards to my nut so I'm coming closer to being mentally fit as well, even if I must continue with both therapy and medication for the foreseeable future. I will most likely not have to request medical discharge."

"This is amazing news, we should celebrate! I'm so proud of you!"

He looks at me serious.

"You know that I wouldn't be here without you?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

I do not know why my heart beats so erratic when he says such things to me.

"I'm not. You have helped me get my head straight, I was in a really bad place the day you first walked in here. And the physical part, I know the physiotherapist has done a great job, but you spurred me on there, too. I'm sure it would have taken longer without you."

I can feel myself blushing. I know he is at least partly right, but I'm still not comfortable taking credit for his well-being. I have not done that much really, besides being here and annoying him. Then it dawns on me. When he is well he will not need me. In a couple of months, when he can walk and drive himself, he will not need me. I would not have thought it from the start, but now I know I will miss this job immensely – and not because of the salary. I keep the happy-face on but suddenly I feel drained and sad inside, but for different reasons than yesterday. Reasons that I cannot completely put my finger on. Instead of digging further into the feeling, I say;

"So, how do we celebrate?"

"Let's go out for lunch, to someplace nice. I'll make a reservation. My treat."

I nod. Then I realise my mum must be worried sick that I did not come home last night, of all nights. She might just as well think I have committed suicide.

"I must call mum!"

"Relax. I called her yesterday when you had fallen asleep. As your employer I have the number to your next of kin in case of emergency."

As my employer, right. That is what he is, full stop. But now we plan to go for lunch, I just have to make myself look decent again after a night on the couch.

"Thanks, that was really sweet of you."

Like everything he did yesterday.

"I might need to go home quickly, to change and have shower. I can hardly go to lunch someplace nice like this."

"We have bathrooms here, you know. And I'm sure my mum has some clothes you can borrow. You're about the same size."

I would like to say no, but then I would have to explain that I feel we are crossing yet another line here that we should not, and I have not told him that I think we have crossed a first. That would only make things even more complicated. Instead I agree to do as he suggests.

At least he does not show me to his bathroom. It would have felt far too intimate to be in the shower where he usually is naked, washing my hair with his products, leaving his scent on me. I push away the thought of him being naked at all. What is wrong with me today? I must be emotionally sensitised after yesterday. Luckily, he takes me to a guest bathroom and tells me he will leave a change for me outside the door. I take my time in the shower because I want to make sure that I do not have to hang around naked if it takes him time to find something I can put on. It will probably be some ghastly lady outfit, chosen so he can have a laugh at my expense for the rest of the day. If so, it's on me – I'm willing to take that after all he did for me yesterday. But I'm happily surprised. He has chosen a very elegant cream white silk blouse and a black pencil skirt. He has even managed to conjure up a pair of nice high heeled black shoes my size. Obviously, Mrs. James has great taste, or Charles has great taste selecting from her wardrobe. It is a mix of strict and feminine which I think is a pretty sexy, and the size is perfect. When I put it on I think I look a bit like Meghan Markle in Suits, especially as I have my long hair out in lose waves instead of my usual ponytail or knot. It is very different to the jeans and t-shirts he sees me in most of the time and I look quite beautiful, although not as striking as the Duchess of Sussex. The cream white fabric goes very well with my fair complexion and dark hair and even without makeup my green eyes seem to radiate. 'Too beautiful for a lunch with my employer', I hear the voice in my head saying to me. Oh, why can I just not stop thinking these things today and just go and have lunch like a normal person.

He waits for me seated on a chair in the entrance, right below the stairs. He looks up when he hears me giggle, coming down the stairs and for a second, I think his pupils widen, but it is hard to tell with the distance and the chocolate brown colour of his surrounding iris.

"What's funny?" he asks.

"With the risk of annoying you with my usual movie comparison, I feel like I'm in one of those American high school films where a couple are going to their prom and she comes down the stairs."

"And he just can't believe his eyes because she's so beautiful?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, but that's usually how it is, isn't it?" he smiles cocking his eyebrow.

I feel my cheeks flush. I'm not sure if he is just playing along or if he is giving me an indirect compliment.

He does not say anything more, he just has the widest grin on his face, seemingly very amused that he has managed to embarrass me a little.

"You don't look to shabby yourself." I manage to say anyway.

That is an understatement. He has added a navy-blue jacket to his regular tailor-made shirt and jeans outfit and dapper is the word that comes to my mind. Or simply marvelous.

I'm prepared to drive as usual, but when we open the front door, a cab is waiting for us. He sees the question in my eyes.

"Today we're not driving. Today we will have drinks for lunch".

He looks very pleased with himself announcing the surprise.

It is a fifteen minutes' drive. I try to relax in the backseat when I for once do not have to act chauffeur. It is just that he is sitting here in the back too and even though he is on the other end of the seat, with space between us, I somehow find it distracting. His legs are so very tall, taking up much of the space. His thighs look muscular in those tight jeans and I can really see that he has put on some healthy weight, there is definitely more substance to the thin man I first met. Like me, he is fresh out of the shower and here in the car I can feel his scent clearly, the same amazing scent I felt when I was close to him yesterday. Again, I ask myself; what's wrong with me today? I look out the window and force my mind to focus on Smurf. I wonder what he is doing right now. He is probably in a lecture, maybe he will go for a jog during lunch. I should go see him tonight, have a cozy evening just the two… Damn he smells so good! Not Smurf. My thoughts, or rather my senses have strayed again, towards Charles. Luckily, the cab stops in front of the restaurant now.

It is a very nice restaurant, the kind Smurf and I would never go to because it looks like one meal would cost what we spend on food for a week and that is confirmed when I look at the menu. Yet, it is cozy, not stiff at all and the head waiter greets us with a big smile and shows us to the table. Our waitress turns up almost immediately and asks if we want to start with something to drink.

"Definitely!" says Charles. "Can you please bring us a bottle of Pol Roger Brut Réserve?"

I have no idea what he just ordered but I'm sure it will be something nice.

We have a table by the window and we have view over a hotel across the street, which I know well.

"I used to work in that hotel. It was my first job ever."

I nod in the direction of the Holiday Inn hotel.

"Really?" he looks interested. "What did you do?"

"Nothing fancy, I was in housekeeping, cleaning rooms. Hard work for quite little money, but I was still in school so working there on weekends made a big difference to my wallet. Or, to the family's wallet I should say.

"I wish I had done something like that."

"What exactly? Clean sixteen rooms in eight hours and trying to fit in a lunch somewhere? You don't go around lazily with a feather duster, it's very heavy job making beds with those thick mattresses, making sure everything is spotless after all sorts of weird people having spent the night and a manager coming by when you're done to check you have not failed somehow. And then the piccolo who has carried a tiny suitcase gets all the tips only because the guests see him. The housekeeping staff was not allowed to fraternise with the guests, not that any guest would have wanted to with the ugly uniforms we had to wear."

"Fraternise with the guests?" he bursts into laughter.

"That's not my words, it's verbatim from the handbook." I laugh too, because it was indeed a very silly handbook, and very ugly uniforms. "My favourite guests were business men who hardly unpacked, the worst were weekend families and couples who ordered lots of room service that needed to be cleaned away. They were a nightmare."

"I get that it wasn't glamorous, but I would have liked to try a normal job with… average people, and I mean that in a good way. I never worked before joining the army. Growing up, I only met people like my parents and their kids, then I went to boarding school and later Cambridge and it was much of the same. And throughout, I was never expected to lift a finger except for managing my studies. At Sandhurst, it was a bit different but still quite homogenous. Then, when I started working, first at the regiment, later when I was deployed, there was this great mix of people and I think have never felt as at ease as when I was hanging with the privates even if there was always a certain distance because of the ranking, but it's also a special environment. Mostly males, a jargon of its own, a bit rough and not exactly a regular eight-to- five-job. Sometimes I think it would have been good to experience more of…normality."

"Yet, you have been dreading not being able to return to the army since you were injured…"

He smiles "Yes, that's contradictory, isn't it? But I guess that if I one day leave the army I would like it to be by my own choice. I'm not ready yet. I miss my section, miss the lads, I would still like to aim to be a major one day. Like I said, it's the place when I have felt most like myself… there and with y…"

"Then I…"

We spoke simultaneously during the last part of his sentence, so I cut him off and I did not get what he said.

"Sorry, go on."

"No, you say, it was nothing important."

I still wait for him a few seconds, but now he seems unwilling to repeat what he had intended to say, so I finish my sentence.

"Then I hope you will be able to return, I really do. That was all I wanted to say."

He smiles and fidgets with the napkin. The silence is not uncomfortable in anyway but, yet I feel a need to fill it.

"When I worked in the hotel, there was one guest, a woman, who stayed there several times. When she unpacked her toilet bag in the bathroom, she always had the full product line from Clinique. I don't expect you would know but it's like a whole kit of products; cleanser, facial water, moisturizer, lotion… all in different but matching colours. They were always standing there in a row on the bathroom shelf like a pastel coloured rainbow. I thought it was so beautiful. It was my dream then, that I one day would be able to afford the whole Clinique product assortment. Dreams were simple then."

"Is that still your dream?

"No, my dreams have changed since I was sixteen" I smile.

"What do you dream of now then?"

"Of having my own café – owning it and have it the way I want it, bake everything in it. And I guess I dream of finding love, like I had with Jonah. Or not exactly the same, but a kind that feels as good."

"You don't have that with Smurf?"

I had not intended to reveal that, but too late.

"No, it's not like that with him… It has always been second best, and maybe not even that – and he knows it, I think."

Our eyes are locked and somehow it is a loaded moment but to my relief we are interrupted by the return of the waitress bringing a bottle of champagne tucked in a wine cooler with ice. Apparently, this is what Pol Roger Brut Réserve is. Charles gives me a wicked smile.

"Now we are going to get you drunk, Ms. Dawes!"

"What? Why? I'm at work, remember?"

"And that is why you will do as your boss tells you. I have the feeling you need to get drunk, it will do you good. Relax, have some fun – I will too, if it makes you feel better about it."

He looks boyish as he hands me my first glass, and happy. The crease between his eyes is gone. I know it will be there again if he focuses on something, or if he is angry, but it is not the permanent feature it was when I first met him. I like this version of Charles James.

"A penny for your thoughts" he says.

"I just thought you look different from when I first met you. Healthier, happier, more at ease… less like a stuck-up twat."

"Oi! That was uncalled for! You're still the same though. Just as cheeky", he grins. "Thank god for that, my life was so boring before I hired you."

In one and the same sentence he gave me a compliment and reminded me he is my employer. Good. Good that we both remember that.

I love this lunch, I do not want it to end. The food is divine. The champagne and later the wine, are delicious. The company is great. I laugh so much that one occasion I have to dive for the ladies' room not to pee my pants. I knew he was funny, like a controlled sense of humour, but today he is hilarious – and it is not because I have had too much to drink. Maybe that is a contributing factor, but he is really funny too. And he is laughing so much, his once stern face completely transformed, his lovely chocolate eyes twinkling. The only time I feel serious, is when I'm on the loo and the thought passes through my head that I again wonder if we will stay friends when he does not need me anymore. When I'm not his companion.

When I get out to the table again, he has order two gigantic strawberry daiquiris, topped with grated white chocolate and with straws.

"Instead of desert" he explains with a satisfied grin, and I feel myself smiling again so my cheeks hurt.

We certainly stay there much longer than a regular lunch and we certainly have more to drink, but finally we jump into a cab again and head for home. Our separate homes that is (just to make it clear). He tells the taxi driver to stop by my house first.

"Are you sure? Will you make it into the house alone on the crutches? You're drunk after all."

"I'm not as drunk as you think I am. You just think so because you are drunk" he seems to think that he is hilarious, but I also have the uneasy feeling he is right. We have been drinking approximately the same amounts, but he can probably stand his drink much better than I can. When the cab stops I say:

"Here we are, the Dawes residence. I would invite you in to say hi to my family if we weren't drunk, but you're welcome some other time."

"I'm looking forward to that."

I almost believe him.

"Anyway, thanks for letting me take you to lunch today, Dawesy. I had a great time."

"So did I. Thanks for inviting me. You were right, I needed to get drunk, it was too long ago."

Because I always stay nearly sober to ensure Smurf stays on track.

Unexpectedly, he leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, just a light touch of his lips. The sudden closeness, his breath against my cheek and the heat from his body surprise me. The kiss on the cheek is intimate, dangerously close to my mouth and I get goosebumps. He does not miss the intended target though, saving us both from embarrassment. Yet, I feel like another invisible line has been crossed even if it is only in my mind.

I have changed my plans. Tomorrow, I will go and hang out with Smurf. This evening, I will just enjoy being tipsy after an extremely nice lunch, probably the nicest I ever had, and go to bed early. Maybe I will dream about Smurf. Maybe I'll dream about my café. Maybe I will dream about owning the full Clinique product assortment. I will definitely not dream about Charles James. Full stop.