The contents of the bag in his hand jangled as he approached the door. He had a key but wasn't sure it was quite ready to use it. He hadn't been given it as such, more like he'd never returned it after she'd offered him and James sanctuary during a particularly heightened case. But then neither had she ever asked for it back. Robbie rang to the doorbell and leaned casually against the door frame as he waited.
Laura could see his familiar frame through the frosted glass. She was nervous. She meant for them to meet here to make it simpler but somehow it was now a whole lot worse, more intimate than a crowded pub or restaurant would have been. She took a deep breath and opened the door, smiled at the sight of his relaxed pose, hand in pocket. Her eyes bobbed down to the bag in his hand.
"That looks promising," she commented, stepping back to let him through, following as he headed for the kitchen.
The bag landed heavily on the kitchen table, a boyish grin on his face as he pulled out its contents starting with three bottles of wine, one of each colour.
"I thought I'd cover all bases," he explained, "I know you don't like rose much but our Lyn does and I'm expecting she won't be able to avoid descending at some point to check up on her old man," he chuckled.
Laura smiled awkwardly as she reached for the two bottles that needed to go in the fridge. It wasn't lost on Robbie.
"Now, the look you're giving me there," he said, nodding at her expression, "Is why we have these two," brandishing a bottle of her favourite gin and a decent whiskey."
She frowned, waiting for an explanation.
"I don't know much but I do know if you're going to be stuck with me then you're going to need a well stocked drinks cupboard to get you through the stupid things I say or, more likely, mean to say but don't."
That, combined with his boyish grin, had Laura laughing. She stepped forward to take them from him but he resisted, indicating she should carry on with the dinner whilst he found them a home in the sideboard. She shook her head at him as he disappeared in the living room briefly before turning back to the preparations. Picking up the kitchen knife she carried dicing the onion she'd started on before he arrived, then moved onto the tomatoes.
"Shall I open the red?" he asked on his return, looking more casual, his tie gone, his collar opened and sleeves rolled up.
"Good idea," she nodded, "Glasses are in the cupboard," indicating behind her.
He moved past, his body brushing against her back as he collected the corkscrew from the drawer. There was a comfortable silence as both focused on their respective tasks, the dull tap of the knife against the chopping board, the pop of the cork as it was released from the bottle.
Laura felt him move towards her, catching only a glimpse of the glass being set down next to her as she kept her focus on what she was doing. She paused to push away a strand of hair with the back of her hand, and it was then that she felt as his arm slipped around her waist and she was pulled back gently against his chest. She didn't resist but nor did she put down the knife, just stilled in his embrace and then closed her eyes as she felt his lips bury into her hair.
"Sorry," he ventured at last. "I've not done a brilliant job the last few days, putting this ahead of other things."
"It's ok," she offered, feeling herself tense slightly, not sure she was quite ready for the conversation.
"It's not," he countered, "But thanks for saying it."
She put the knife down and shifted so she could turn in his hold, looked at him, trying to decide what he wanted to hear, what she needed to say. It would be too easy just to reach up and press her lips to his, to feel him respond, to let them both believe everything was alright. Because it really was, deep down. She was past her anger at the gossip and the innuendo, careless words that hadn't been said with the intent to hurt, even inaction which she saw stemmed from self-doubt. But it was too important to let it all wash away, to not to say something. And so she reached up and placed her hand on his chest, his skin warm through his shirt, letting the other drift up to his cheek.
"I think maybe we've both been alone too long to go into this without our eyes open to what it might mean. After all..." she hesitated, still not quite sure if this was the right thing to say. "We're friends, Robbie. I don't want to play games."
He sighed, tilted his head into her hand. "Me neither. I want... Well, frankly, I want this," his voice quiet and considered.
"I know you do," she soothed, stroking the light stubble on his chin, "So do I."
She sighed as she leant back, bracing her against the counter to take in the sight of him better. This man she knew too well and yet at times felt like she barely knew at all.
"Maybe," she said after a while, "If it was just us, no bodies or murders to distract us, no nosy colleagues or well-meaning friends or even family to bother us..."
His face broke into a smile. "Now that's an idea. Just you and me riding off into the sunset." He brought his arms up around her to draw her in for a hug, resting his chin lightly on her head, a sigh of relief as she squeezed him back. "God, we'd be bored," he added.
She laughed into his chest, "So incredibly bored," she confirmed.
With dinner over, their plates stacked neatly in the dishwasher wiped clean of the rich Italian pasta dish she'd made, they retreated to the living room. Topping up their wine glasses as he rummaged for a record, she sat at one end of the sofa, back against the armrest, her feet tucked under one of the cushions to keep her bare feet warm. The acoustic melodies of a long forgotten jazz trio drifted from the small sound system in the corner as Robbie took the spot at the other end of the sofa. She took in the sight of him, the exhaustion of the week etched onto his face, the preoccupation of a case not quite completed. She'd added to those lines, just as he'd added to hers.
"Sorry, Robbie," she ventured softly. He looked over, a tiny crease in his forehead, unclear what she meant. "I didn't mean what I said, you know, by the pub. I overreacted."
He reached out a hand and snuck it under the cushion, captured her foot lightly in his hand and pulled it onto his lap and began to rub it gently.
"Laura, it's fine," he said, reassuringly. "I never thought you did. Can you ever imagine us being friends if I thought like that, eh? You'd have hung me out to dry years ago."
He focused his efforts on her instep, massaging it with his thumb, so small in his hand. "You're allowed to get upset, you know, be angry, shout and scream against the world."
She closed her eyes at his touch, soothed by it and tried to let his words do the same. "You're not the only one who has doubts," she explained quietly, "The confident Hobson you see isn't the only one there is."
"I know," came his whispered words back to her, encouraging her to continue."
"And you joke about my sharp tongue, and you're right, but not like that, not so personal, so hurtful..." tailing off as his hands worked their magic. "I let others get into my head," came her final confession.
He reached for the other foot and gave it the same attention, letting her relax for a moment, giving himself time to decide what she needed to hear from him right now. He knew enough from raising a daughter what people assumed women could or couldn't do, and what they thought it meant if they did. Laura was exceptional, in his eyes at least. She somehow tolerated the patronising remarks and suggestions, batting them back with a wit and grace that escaped a number of her male counterparts. All his instinct told him she didn't need his help with this, not really. Someone to listen maybe, but not to comment . He certainly wouldn't have anything to add that hadn't already occurred to her.
Laura opened one eye, "Is that all you've got for me, Lewis? A foot rub? No great insights or grand pronouncements on the human condition?"
He rolled his eyes towards her, the sass in the voice had him smiling. "You need James for that," he quipped, "I can give him a call for you, if you like?" appreciating the chuckle he got in reply.
He lifted up her feet, scooted up towards her, and placed them on the sofa so that her knees were bent over him. She responded by taking his hands, letting their fingers twist together, his thumb stroking her palm, staring at them before lifting her eyes to catch him looking back at her.
"You smell of garlic," she commented.
He grinned, "That's your fault, that is."
"Gotta play the odds, Robbie. Know your opponent's weaknesses," her eyes twinkling.
"Mmm, so I'm an opponent now, am I?" he flirted back, leaning closer until their lips were just inches apart. "I had hoped we'd at least be on the same team by now."
She pulled her hands free of his and ran them up his arms, across his shoulders until they joined at the back of his neck, curled into his hair slightly.
"Are you sure about this? Us?" she asked, trying not to plead for the final piece of reassurance but needing it anyway.
"Very," he replied simply.
She sighed as he closed the distance between them, their lips gently coming together before they both gave into what had been missing for the last few days. A deep and passionate kiss that spoke of deep longing and absolutely relief. He grabbed at her waist, pulling her forward so he could wrap his arms tightly around her, comforted and aroused by her body pressing into his, her hand slipping under his collar to caress the soft skin to be found there. A hum of satisfaction reverberated through them as they were forced to break apart for air, grinning at one another as they saw their own desire reflecting back at them.
"Spare room?" he dared to ask cheekily.
"Better than that," Laura replied, her eyebrow half cocked as she leant closer to whisper in his ear, her fingers already unbuttoning his shirt, "The sofa."
Now, I know reading what happens next is not everyone's cup of tea but if you're curious, then you can find an M-rated chapter that fits between this and the next under the title 'Out from under clouded skies'. Otherwise, stay on less explicit ground and carry on here for chapter 23.