That's how she feels now, standing outside his door and gazing back at the station wagon, wondering if she can just... escape. But, no. She's already brought her finger to the doorbell and he'll be along any second now. Adrian, Adrian, Adrian. He's making her head ache, because she can tell he's getting closer but she's got nothing to say. Her mind is a blank page, and he's stolen all the ink from her pen.
It's understandable, she guesses, not to want to say what she's come to say. It's embarrassing, although she knows he'd never make fun of something so serious (because he's the King), and while it's true... Well, she doesn't like being emotionally vulnerable. It's the scariest thing in the world to her, as a single person, to have anyone be able to get underneath your skin and then just irritate. She knows he would never do that on purpose, but he asks too many questions.
Footsteps, and the door is slowly opened. He gives her a very pained, troubled look.
She's horrified to find herself struggling with the temptation to tackle him. Really tackle him. Her rational mind is yelling at her to snap out of it but her mind's eye is fascinated at the idea of the two of them on the ground. He'd probably scream until her ears started to bleed...
This is part of the reason why she's so silent as she stands in front of him. ...Then again, he's not saying anything, either. It's just quiet, except for the sound of the wind that's blowing all manner of things into her eyes, and their breathing and the pounding of her heartbeat. All three rhythms blending into one tune -- Gust. Beat. Breathe. Gust. Beat. Breathe. She wonders if his heart is at the same speed, if there's something in her hair that's distracting him because he's certainly not looking at her face. No... just above. A little higher than her range of vision allows sight of.
"Hi, Sharona," he says, sounding distant as he stares at the space above her head.
"Hi, Adrian," she replies.
Another lengthy silence, and a realization slowly dawns on her. She still doesn't know what to say. What is she going to say? What, she ponders, is she going to say when he asks her why she's standing on his front step with "that look" on her face? How is she going to phrase this? There's no way she can lie herself out of this one, and no way she can say what she originally planned on because, dammit, the plotting won't work. How will they continue on with their lives, if he doesn't care? If he doesn't believe her? If he doesn't...
God, she's stupid.
"Would... would you like to come in?"
His eyes never leave that area above her forehead, but he stands back and watches her walk into the house without another word. He hasn't even taken his blazer off, she notices, and there's a water bottle on a coaster that's been partially consumed. He invites her to sit down. She accepts -- taking one side of the sofa while he takes the other. Symmetrics. Balance, and if she could she'd be right next to him at this very second. But he needs his little arrangements, he needs his own air and his own thoughts.
He attempts a smile -- Brave, she thinks -- but ends up killing it halfway through by turning for his water. Perfect angles; he tilts his hand and not his head, the clear liquid spilling into his mouth very gently. Again: tilt, swallow. The bottle hits the coaster once more, centered, and he brings himself back into the world.
"So," he says, and she can tell he's trying so hard to sound conversational, "Um... did you... you forget something?"
Secretly, she has been hoping he would avoid that question. She's been hoping that he might... but, no. He doesn't forget. Not with that astounding memory of his, or those telephoto lenses he calls eyes... So, what is she gonna say?
"Oh..." Brilliant. "Oh... I came to tell you something,"
"Oh." He takes a deep breath. "Ah."
And they turn away, each facing an opposite wall as they sit in discomfort. An opposite wall covered in pictures of Trudy. Sharona's seen most of them before -- smiling, laughing, she and Adrian holding each other close... But somehow, they don't seem as romantic as they once did. Now those shots are reminders of something she'll probably never have, and she vaguely wonders if it's a sin to be jealous of a dead woman.
"Are you always thinking about her?" she asks him, before she can stop herself, and for a second she's terrified he's getting angry and defensive --
He isn't.
If he's feeling anything, it's surprise and maybe a hint of wanting, but he's... he's not going to talk about that. He turns to face her, away from the images of his late wife that hang delicately on the wall, and watches what he can of her. She's still facing away, and he's been granted a view of the back of her head -- otherwise, he's certain he'd get distracted by her eyes.
He opens up his mouth to answer, and he really doesn't know what he should say to that... but, but as he's trying to think about it, he notices something prodtruding from a mass of curls at the back and top of her head. The thing he thought he was seeing before: a leaf. In her hair. Oh, God, he thinks, and it must have blown in on her walk up to the front step... There's a leaf in her hair -- it becomes his duty to immediately remove the thing and put it where it belongs...
The funny thing is, once he sees the leaf, he doesn't even remember that she asked him a question. The only thing occupying his mind is... is the removal of that trespassing piece of plant life. After all, she's incapable of reaching around to grab it if she doesn't know where it is. So, he scoots over, stealthily, closer and closer and closer until he's pretty sure his stomach's going to explode if he continues. They're inches away, all of a sudden, and as he starts estimating the distance between their knees and shoulders and everything else, he shakes his head.
Leaf. Leaf... He has to get rid of that leaf.
She's saying his name again, but she's stubborn enough not to turn around until the very last second. He knows this for a fact, and puts his trust in her... her personality, completely, as he reaches up with a handkerchieffed hand to grab the leaf from her head and be done with it. But she turns around a second too soon.
She's three inches too close and he's forgetting to breathe, tips of their noses touching lightly and he can't think. He's having a meltdown, and her lips are so close and so pink and the air she's blowing into his face is warm. His arm is still behind her head -- it went with her, when she twisted -- and... and he doesn't know what to do.
Sharona... her eyebrows raise slightly, causing his entire thought process to short-circuit, and she looks so decisive up close. The very picture of resolve and self control -- which she always has been, to him -- and in that absolutely certain tone of voice she uses sometimes, she says:
"Adrian... I came to tell you that I wasn't being sarcastic." only she cracks a bit at the end and turns a little red.
Oh, my God.
He hasn't kissed anyone -- or been kissed, for that matter -- in the longest time, but when her lips are suddenly pressed against his and her arm is... is around his neck, he remembers. He remembers everything that comes with this sort of thing. The excitement, the... the emotion. Even though this is almost what she calls a... a brother-and-sister kiss (length of contact being the only exception), the feelings are the same.
He loves Sharona Fleming, and she's kissing him.
When she finally lets him go, when he finally finds himself able to breathe again, he remembers the germs and nearly starts hyperventilating... but she has a wipe ready for him before he can say a word.