CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I met Louisa outside the second floor bathroom, both of us dry and in a change of fresh clothes.
Giggling nervously, she apologized. "My mum insists on serving you tea and the strawberry shortcake she baked last night."
"What did you say, Clark?" I muttered, distracted by the image before me. My eyes alive taking her all in.
She repeated herself. " Mum insists on tea and having you try her fresh strawberry shortcake."
Her voice filled the narrow hallway like a vacuum, undistinguishable to me as I continued to stare.
"Will?" she asked. "Are you ok?" I saw the look of concern on her face and still could not respond. I was only roused from my trance by the gentle touch of her hand on my forearm, an electric current pulsating through me.
"I am," I replied breathlessly. "You're stunning." There. I said it. I meant it.
"Wha…?" She didn't even manage to complete the word, omitting the "t". A range of emotions on her face played out before me. She looked at me first like I was raving mad, next in disbelief and then in utter confusion.
"Doubtful," she stated, looking over herself self- consciously and skeptical.
"Don't do that to yourself," I told her, bewitched by her presence. It was the second time I had told her this, the second time she had put herself down in front of me. I hated Running Man for programming her low opinion of herself.
She began to fret. Her eyebrows furrowed, complete with the appearance of a worry line. "Will, are you feeling sick?"
"No," I answered in a hushed voice, nodding my head. "You look perfect."
She mimicked me incredulously. "Perfect? In a sweatshirt and banded capris joggers?"
"Especially," I said smiling as I gazed at her. "Clark, how tall are you?"
"5'2"," she answered. "Why?"
I pursed my lips at the perfection that she was. My eyes danced marveling at her. The top of her head barely reaching my chin. She was petite in stature and frame, both delicate and soft, as compared to my own body, so much taller and broader as I towered over her. What was it she called herself in my dreams? One of the invisibles. She was definitely not invisible to me now, even in a gray crew sweatshirt embellished with a gold heart and black banded capris joggers. She certainly liked her hearts, didn't she, I thought.
Yet that wasn't entirely it. There was something else, something more.
She questioned me again. "Are you sure you aren't feeling sick? Should I run and get my mum?"
"Absolutely not, Clark," I whispered, leaning my forehead against hers.
Louisa began to giggle, drawing my eyes to her feet. "Don't tell me it's my slippers! Do you have a bee fetish?"
"I do now!" I howled laughing. Her bare feet encased in plush yellow and black striped bee slippers with protruding antennae and wings and an embroidered smiling face! Classic Clark!
"You're so naughty," she exclaimed in a whispering voice, her mischievous smile surging a rush of adrenaline in me.
"I know," I cried. I could not control my laughter.
"Shhhhhhhhhh," she said trying to quiet me. "My granddad's had a bad cold and is sleeping, and my mum will kill me if we wake my 5 year old nephew who's finally napping in the other room!"
"I'm sorry, Clark , I will be more mindful," I promised, trying to check my own laughter.
"Well, what is it then?" she insisted on knowing.
"Your hair," I confessed.
"My hair? But I let it dry naturally. It's all wavy and awful looking!" She looked at me incredulously and began to run her fingers through her hair doing a double take and asking, "You seriously like it this way?"
I was truthful. "I do, it's beautiful." She was a vision come true. Dream Clark on the beach that fateful evening, her hair curling from the moistness of the ocean air. Daydream Clark from the exhibit, her hair wavy and cascading over her shoulders. The only thing missing was a barrette to fasten one side from her ear. I made a mental note. I would have to buy her a stunning piece to wear once I returned to London. Something to fit her personality, something she would cherish. Five more weeks in London. I could not think of going another day without her.
"Pat HATES my hair like this! Tells me I look like a mousy rat!"
I was startled by her admission. Running Man was certainly opinionated and free with "running" his mouth, no matter the consequences and without any regard to Louisa's feelings. I had fallen out of "lust" with Alicia and yet it had taken me months upon months upon months to tell her how awful she truly was because I was still a gentleman. This guy? He was a rubbish boyfriend! I wanted to ask her if "Patrick" ever had anything nice to say but didn't. The answer was most likely no, and I wanted her to re-focus on me.
"I'm not Patrick," I reminded her. It was the first time I called Running Man by his given name, humanizing him for the sake of comparing the two of us without interjecting my own biased feelings towards him.
"I know," she cheerfully remarked, now beaming.
"Well, I think you look beautiful, Clark," I commented, grinning ear to ear . "Bee slippers, wavy hair and all!"
"Josie Clark is waiting for us, you know. I caution you not to get on her bad side," she jested.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Clark. Lead the way," I instructed.