A/N: Sorry this took so long... it was one hard chapter to write. Anyway, I dedicate this to Deb. You're the best!
There is no breath left in her body after that statement. She can't believe he just said that, but she saw his lips forming the words and heard every sound vibration and she's probably going to need to inhale sometime soon but she doesn't care. She doesn't know what to think. He cannot have said that, just blurted it out in his hesitant voice whilst staring at her with his deep brown eyes. He's not supposed to say stuff like that, not ever, because it's not appropriate. Adrian is the King of Appropriate, he's not the type of person to...
He's giving her an inscrutable look, a Detective Look and while it doesn't match the voice it still makes her wonder. Lowered eyebrows and curiosity lacing every movement. She can place it. It's the expression he gets right before he asks the final question in a lighter, slightly less accusative tone. His head is tilted to one side, as though he's giving her face a careful examination.
"...What did you just say?" she asks finally.
He smiles, looking a little nervous but relatively pleased with himself. "I... I didn't say anything, Sharona."
"Yeah, you did. You said --"
"No... I didn't."
This isn't true, of course, and she's beginning to get aggravated as well as alarmed. He gets like this when he thinks he's done something wrong, or even stupid -- he lies. Especially when she asks him questions like this, and she wishes he could just tell her the truth for once. She wishes they could do things the easy way... Sometimes she's tempted to grab his shoulders and say that she'll lick his face if he doesn't tell her what he said.
Unfortunately, that would lead to her being fired (most likely), and she doesn't have the time right now, anyway. Right now she has to do some serious thinking.
He wishes he could kiss her. Well... well, there's really not much she can say to that, other than "Sometimes I want to kiss you, too." There's... it's... She doesn't know what it is, other than really weird. He's not supposed to want to kiss her. She's not supposed to want to kiss him. What about Trudy? What about his OCD? What about all the other stuff that's supposed to be standing between them? Shouldn't he be suffering the biggest culture shock of his life?
...Why doesn't she seem to care?
She doesn't know it, but she's put her menu down and is drumming pink fingernails on the tabletop very quickly. There's a woman sitting behind them who makes a comment on it but Sharona doesn't hear. She's too busy trying to think against the backdrop of popular songs and people talking too loud on their cell phones, trying to focus on anything but the person across from her.
The person who now has a firm grip on the hand that was tapping just a few seconds ago.
She looks at him, looks at their hands. He's straightened out her fingers and placed them strategically next to each other in a neat and orderly fashion, his thumb placed symmetrically along her knuckles and she's not exactly sure what's going on. She doesn't think he knows, either, because he looks so bewildered and helpless... the way he looks during a cleaning frenzy.
"You... You were tapping your fingernails," he says, trying to explain in a lowered tone that sounds as though he's attempting to convince himself. "It was... you know... annoying."
"Sorry," she replies, and she is in a way. She's sorry she was bothering him -- she doesn't know why her hands start moving when she's thinking too much -- but she's not sorry he stopped her.
His hand is warm.
This is where the Not Right Thoughts start, but she isn't thinking about that anymore. She's not thinking about that story Benjy told her where she was the repair-person and Adrian was the lunatic, she's not thinking about the spy journal her son has been keeping. No... She's not thinking at all. Just observing him in the exact way he's taught her to: carefully, when he's not paying attention. Then again, he's always paying attention.
Without letting go of her hand, he says "I... I'm not very hungry."
Without pulling away from him, she replies tentatively "...You wanna come over?" and it makes her think of Gail when she first started talking to boys. "You, uh, can see the living room now that it's finished."
He doesn't know why he said yes. Possibly the... the fact that she was asking so nicely; possibly that her invitation had been the one thing that finally convinced him she had fallen for his trick. She would never ask him over if she really thought he had said what he'd said... And it was a very stupid thing to say, especially in public where people could overhear and she would have witnesses -- but her eyes are so inviting and he lost his head. It definitely won't happen again.
At least, that's what he tells himself until she thows open her front door and he sees the walls.
Blue. Light blue. Sharona blue, and his eyes dart around for a minute as he takes everything in. It matches everything, it would match anything, and there's a dark purple afghan placed on the back of the sofa that compliments it perfectly. He takes a breath. She shuts the door and walks towards him with a questioning look on her face.
"Whaddaya think?"
"It's... it's great," he says hoarsely, and clears his throat.
She smiles, he returns the favor.
She's going into the kitchen for a Coke and asks him if he wants anything but he tells her he's fine, which isn't really acurate. He's kind of nervous... he hopes she believes him about not having said anything, because what he did say was so stupid and not thoughtful and... and while it may be true sometimes, it's not something he can just say. There's never anything he can just say.
"You sure I don't have anything you want?" she calls from the kitchen, and it sounds like she just opened the fridge.
"I'm sure..." he replies, and it's more of a question than an answer. She needs to change the way she phrases things...
There's a pop, a fizzy sound and before he knows it she's reappeared with a red can held firmly between her fingers. She takes a swig and makes a comment that has something to do with whether or not his blazer is new, but he doesn't notice because he's trying to... to tell whether or not she really believes him about what he didn't say to her. He lied about the moth and she figured him out. He's lied before that and she's figured him out. It doesn't make sense that now, of all times, she should start to believe him when he's telling one of the biggest lies of his life. Trudy said he should never hide how he feels, and combining that with the fact that he knows what Sharona might do to him it's amazing he had guts enough to smile and tell her she was wrong.
He should probably say something... Yeah. He should.
"Sharona?"
Not now! he thinks, but he can't exactly pull out unless he wants to spin another yarn, and while the thought is tempting, he's sick enough as it is. One more and he might pass out...
She raises an eyebrow and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing her legs like she usually does. Her eyes are gesturing him to join her, and he doesn't think he's... he's brave enough to reject such a thoughtful offer. After all, he hasn't been particularly... honest, and she sits there without knowing it at all.
He sits next to her, not exactly sure if he's for or against this little act of explanation.
"Sharona," he says again, trying to sound as in-control as possible. "Uhm... What would you... er... if I told you that I -- what would you say if I told you that I... uh... lied?"
So much for calm and collected.
He expects her to shout angrily or get sulky... and moody, but she doesn't. She just takes another sip of her sugary, sugary drink and says: "Again, hm?" and she obviously remembers the night with the fictional moth and the blanket and the pajama pants.
"Um... Yes." He swallows. "Today at... at the restaurant, when you asked what I said and I told you I didn't say anything...." as he continues to speak, the words blur together slightly and he sounds much more panicked than he'd like.
When will it be over? he asks himself.
She sighs. "Oh, don't worry about that,"
"...What?"
"I already know what you said," she says, and the sound of her voice and the look on her face makes him wonder if she accidentally inhaled some of her soda.
"You do?" he asks.
"Yeah, I do," and she still sounds a bit choked and breathless and nervous. "But don't worry about it, Adrian, because sometimes I wish I could kiss you, too."
Oh, God.