Part 9

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They had barely finished their food when a figure appeared by their table. It was their host and boss, Vic. "Sorry to spoil your meal," he began his announcement, "but my wife's miniature poodle, Pixie, has gone missing. Would you help us look for her? She's a little white ball of fluff and prone to escaping from the house when she can."

"Of course," Donna answered for the table. "We'll look right away."

"Good," Vic enthused. "There's extra special ice cream treat for whoever finds her. I'll round up some more people." With that, he strode off to the next table of volunteers.

"Poor Pixie," Jenny crooned in sympathy. "I'll help."

"Are we doing this as a whole group, or are we splitting up?" John asked them. "We'd cover more ground as pairs."

"Then I'll have Jamie as my partner," Donna declared, making him blush.

"Oh no," Jenny worried. "That leaves me with him!" She half pointed at John. "Do I have to?"

"I'm nice," John protested. "Most of the time," he tacked on when Donna glared.

"And you are also a stranger to her," Donna reasoned. "Okay, you go with Jamie, Jenny, and I'll go with John."

"Yes!" Jenny slightly punched the air whilst Jamie tried to not look too pleased with himself being fought over.

"I'm not an ogre," John complained to Donna as they headed into the extended garden.

"Are you sure?" she teased, dodging a low-hanging branch. "Because if you were, that'd make me Princess Fiona."

"You want to be an ogre too?" he laughed. "At least you have the hair for it."

"Obviously, I'm talking about the beginning of the film," she argued, "you know, when she was still beautiful."

"She stayed beautiful to Shrek," he pointed out. "You're being fairy tale speciest."

"I am not," she hotly denied as the pathway they were following broke out from a load of bushes into an open glen. "Okay, maybe I am a bit. Sorry."

"You're forgiven." He smirked at her before taking in the pretty scene in front of them. "This is nice. How many people do you think Vic has searching for Mitzi?"

"Pixie," she corrected him. "Probably everyone. Why?"

He leaned closer to say, "Then they're bound to find her before we do. Might as well make the most of this piece of privacy while we can." He marched forward towards an enchanting summerhouse surrounded by pretty foliage.

"What about Jenny and Jamie?" she asked his back.

Over his shoulder, he dismissed her worries. "Probably enjoying an enormous bowl of ice cream as I speak."

"Probably," she agreed and followed in his wake. "It really is lovely here," she observed when they reached the tiny veranda attached to the wooden building.

"Do you think they take bookings for this as a holiday home?" he joked, aiming a broad smile at her.

It was hard for her to resist returning a similar happy grin. Donna took in his nonchalant stance as he leaned against the garden building. "But honestly, shouldn't we be looking for this dog?"

"Nah!" he answered. "There's plenty of people here in the garden to do that. We can hide for a while, take in the scenery, and have a rest from it all for a minute or two."

"Okay." She sat down on the step next to him, leaned against the summer house as well and contemplated his face. "Now we are pretending to be officially friends, there's one thing I'm dying to know."

"Ask away," he invited, gazing into the middle distance.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

His attention snapped to her. "No, I don't," he instantly denied.

"Are you actually going with that line? Seriously?" she scoffed. "You can barely say a nice word to me in front of other people, unless it involves cake."

"Ah. Well," he spluttered. "I see what you mean, since I've been a bit caustic."

"A bit?!"

"Alright, a lot," he agreed. "Thinking about it, it isn't you. It's me."

"It certainly is," she huffed. "You clearly don't like me very much, but I can cope with that more if I know why."

"The thing is," he slowly began, rubbing his neck in self-comfort as he spoke, "when my wife died, I had a couple of women come on strong to me, and I just wasn't interested in having any sort of relationship with them. In the end it was easier to be nasty to fend them off rather than nicely get them to leave me alone."

"I blame all those romantic books where the girl falls in love with a rich widower," she confided. "They encourage women to see such men as easy meat. If you'll pardon the expression." She smiled consolingly at him. "But that isn't me."

"I know, but it's become a habit, because…"

"Because?" she encouraged him to reveal. When his expression went sheepish, her eyes went abruptly wide. "Oh no, don't tell me I'm suddenly special. Please don't. I won't believe a word of it. In fact, I bet you couldn't say a compliment about me, right this second."

"What, right now?" he near squeaked.

"Go on," she dared. "Say the first thing that comes to mind."

Inevitably, his eyes lowered to her assets. "Well. You do have lovely breasts." Her breath hitched immediately, so he tacked on enthusiastically, "Truly, they are magnificent. They really are. Especially when you display them in a dress like that."

"Thanks," she cagily answered, crossing her arms. Why did every bloke have to have a thing about her breasts? "Has my personality got anything going for it? You know, since we're on a truth kick here."

"Erm. Yes," he acknowledged, nodding his head. "You're being nice to me when you needn't be, which shows your compassion."

"Oh, I love you," she chuckled, giving his knee a pat. "There's no need to look so appalled at me touching you," she chided, whipping her hand away. "That doesn't mean I seriously love you. It's a bit sarcastic with a smidgen of fondness."

He feigned relief to hide his disappointment. "Good to know, since… ditto."

Of course, she believed him. Not. "Can I ask while I think of it, when did you last hold Jamie's hand?"

It took him a moment to calculate when. "Let me see. He would have been about eight or nine. Certainly not as old as ten."

"Why did you stop?" she softly asked.

"Well… He got old enough not to," he reasoned. "Boys don't tend to want that sort of thing."

Wanting to press her point home, she pondered, "That's merely a cultural restriction. Would you still hold his hand if he was a girl?"

"Good question," he responded. "Erm. I suppose so. Yes. Do you hold Jenny's hand?"

"When she lets me or needs it, I do," she supplied. "Perhaps Jamie needs it every now and then too."

His thoughts immediately went to his son's recent mood swings. "Do you think so? I try to hug him when I can."

"I'm not saying you're a bad father," she consoled him when his expression dropped, "and it's definitely easier to show affection to sons when you're a mother, from what I've seen."

"And Jamie is missing out on all that," he guiltily added.

"It's not your fault," she soothed, placing a tender touch on his shoulder. "Jenny has had my dad and Gramps as male role models. I've not heard you mention anyone in your family."

"There's no one else left," he quietly admitted. "It's just me and Jamie."

"Then I'll help him, if you want me to," she offered, fixed by his gaze. "He's a lovely lad, and it'd be no hardship."

His gentle smile warmed her heart as he asked, "Does that offer extend to me? Would you help me learn to love again?"

"How do you want me to do that?" she wondered, but him easing forward already answered her question.

"Like this," he begged, meeting her in a sweet kiss. "Or this," he continued, placing another kiss upon her soft lips.

"You idiot," she tenderly chided as she returned another, longer kiss.

There was no need to talk after that for a few minutes, because they wrapped their arms around each other and continued the embrace, lovingly placing kisses and enjoying the sweet surrender.