Grounded

Chapter 8: Firelight

by Lynn Saunders


Sunday dawns bright and fresh, with a cloudless, cold-blue winter sky. Anna stretches luxuriously beneath the warm blankets as John snores softly against her pillow. She notes with satisfaction the tingle of her still-swollen lips, the faint ache low in her belly. She's endlessly happy that he found his way home with her yet again, that they seem to be in danger of making this a habit. Tomorrow her real life will intrude once more, and she wonders what will happen then. Will he give her a secret smile as she comes through the coffee shop door? Will they have only recently parted?

John has long eyelashes and a pleasing scruff of stubble across his cheeks and chin. His hands are large and warm, with elegant fingers that glide perfectly across her bare skin in the dark. She's thinking of all the pleasing ways she could wake him when her mobile blares from somewhere down the hall. Only bad news and work calls come this early, she knows. She gives a little sigh as she slips from the bed.

The floor is a maze of discarded clothing which she must navigate carefully. His shirt is still neatly draped over the back of the chair, and she snags it as she weaves her way past, cursing softly as she nearly trips over her skirt in the doorway.

The ringing has stopped and started again by the time she locates her mobile, and her brows furrow when she sees that it's Mary. She answers as pleasantly as possible, but the voice that greets her is not at all happy. Anna winces, assures Mary she'll come in to the office right away, and ends the call with a groan.

Only coffee can salvage the situation, and she's frowning into her favorite mug when he stumbles into the kitchen in his boxers and not much else. He looks just a bit startled, presumably from the sight of her seated at the kitchen counter wearing only his button-front Oxford, but he makes no comment just yet. He rumples his hair, and she can't help but smile then. His sleepy eyes grin back at her.

"Hello," he says, rather steadily considering what they were doing when they last spoke - quite a different sort of conversation indeed. He pads across the kitchen tile to kiss her sweetly, then leans against the small island for a moment with his arms folded across his chest. "Bad news?"

She sighs. "I've been assigned to help Mary with a presentation at a conference, and it's all very last-minute."

"Oh?"

"I need to rush into the office now, actually. I've no idea how long I'll be, and then we're off to London first thing tomorrow."

He gives an understanding nod, with more than a hint of disappointment. "I suppose your holiday is officially over, then?"

"Looks that way." She meets his eyes over the rim of her cup. "But I had quite the relaxing vacation."

He smiles at that. "Did you indeed?"

She stands, coffee cup in hand, and rises on tiptoe to kiss him. She can feel his eyes following her as she moves down the hall.

He chuckles. "If I'm to leave, I'll need my shirt, you know?"

She pauses in the bedroom doorway, taking a sip from her mug and briefly considering the time. "You'll have to come here and take it."

She doesn't have to tell him twice. Soon, she's sighing into his shoulder with the chill of the tile against her back and the heat of the shower spray falling all around. And just a bit later, when they are carefully polished and put together, they pause beneath the awning outside.

"Dinner tonight, then?" He still asks a bit uncertainly, as if she might say no.

"That would be lovely."

She straightens his collar, he kisses her softly, and they both smile as they go their separate ways for the day. But of course, nothing goes to plan. John is called upon to work the evening in William's stead. Anna gets snagged up in a conference call, remembers too late that both of her best suits are still at the cleaners, and finally leaves the office well past sundown. An unexpected band of thick snowfall has kept the pavement relatively empty of foot traffic despite the proximity to the holiday, but High Street almost glows with warmth. John is there, holding the door as the few remaining customers make their way out into the evening chill. He looks tired behind his smile, but his eyes warm when he sees her. It makes all the difference.

"Today has not gone as I'd hoped," she says apologetically.

"And here I thought we might finally make that dinner I've promised you."

She takes his hand, turning his wrist over and squinting at his watch. "We'll have to settle for another time, I'm afraid."

"Ah…" He flashes a mischievous grin. "Could I take you out for coffee, then?"

She laughs. "That sounds perfect."

He makes a big show of sweeping his arm to usher her inside the shop. "I know just the place."


John snugs Anna tight to his chest and presses his lips to her temple as the fire glows warm on the stone hearth. A fresh fir wreath hangs above the mantle, candles light each windowsill, and the coffee house smells of fresh gingerbread and woodsmoke. Outside, the storefronts of High Street are steeped in new snow.

He's in his shirtsleeves with his tie hanging loose, and she's been playing with his collar in the most distracting fashion. She settles in close against him and sips from their shared mug of cocoa. He huffs a contented sigh as she fits the flat of her palm to his cheek for a moment. When he closes his eyes, he tries to believe he's not dreamt the past week.

Tomorrow, her work will take her far away from him for some days, and her absence will leave him aimless and filled with longing, homesick for someone who doesn't quite belong to him yet. He presses his nose to her hair and breathes in. The firelight paints her collarbones in rolling golden shadows.

"What will I do while you're away?" He's whispered the words against her temple without stopping to remind himself that it's only really been a few days.

She raises an eyebrow. "You will miss me, then?"

He tries not to smile, but he fails miserably. "Anna, you are my most favourite distraction." He knows he's said the words with warmth and feeling, that he's far more serious than he'd meant to let on, and he finds he doesn't care.

Anna flushes and takes a sip of cocoa. "What will you do, then?"

"Work on the shop, I suppose. The front door needs painting, if we ever have a day dry enough for it." He brushes the hair from her forehead. "And the sign on the window could use reworking."

She eyes the peeling vinyl letters with a smirk. "What will it say?"

"And here I thought you might help me with that bit." He smiles up at her. "Maybe coffee, fresh pastries, open hearth?"

She giggles and sips their cocoa. "You're leaving out the best part."

"Which is?"

"Hot barista."

He stares at her for a beat and breaks into a smile. "I was hoping you might not want to advertise that part."

"Oh, I don't." She cups his cheek and kisses him lightly in the firelight. "I don't."

He grins and carefully moves their shared mug to the safety of the table, then pulls her close as the fire cracks and pops and a light snow continues to fall.

Outside, a small, grey-haired woman pauses at the shop window on her way home from High Street Chapel's evening service. The dancing firelight has caught her eye, but it's the unexpected tableau beyond the glass that keeps her lingering for just a moment. The tall barista must fancy his lovely customer after all. Margaret Bates smiles and sighs happily before walking on.


* For awesomegreentie, who also prompted the window lettering exchange.

* Beta thanks to giginutshell and terriejane.