She decided to sleep nude that night.
There was a certain comfortable pleasure to be had from the entire body feeling the silken touch of zillion-count-thread sheets. The way – when you moved a foot here and an arm there to unoccupied spaces – the coolness felt against the warm skin, much like flipping the pillow over to feel the fresh side on the cheek, the neck, the shoulder.
She hadn't showered; her perfume had fuelled the fire that was Pete Graham's kiss, and she hoped it would provide a little kindling for a dream, as well.
How long they had been on the couch, hands in each others hair, his fingers firmly on her cheeks, their lips and tongues in a world of their own. Miranda hadn't realized how much, until the surge that ran through her body the instant his open mouth touched hers, until his tongue flicked against her bottom lip, hadn't realized how badly she wanted him.
She had ended up on top of him, buttocks in his lap, gripping tightly to the collar of his shirt, fingers dancing along his shoulders and his chest. He groaned, and she captured his mouth even harder. She was warm, very, very warm.
Pete's lips left hers, gently, they found their way from her cheek to her neck. They brushed her ear. A shiver went down her spine, and she thought she might suffocate from the heat.
Somehow they toppled backwards and then he was on top of her, making out like kids in high school. It was perfect.
There was an unspoken agreement that they would stay on top of the clothes (not tonight, not yet, soon, but not yet), but she itched to break this. She tried to please herself by sliding her fingers under his collar, holding the back of his neck, hoping the top button on his shirt would miraculously unfasten itself so she could lick his collarbones.
Minutes passed. The credits on the movie began to roll. Their kissing began to slow; less like teenagers, more like slated lovers. At long last, he pulled his mouth away from hers for the last time, placed a soft, sweet kiss on her forehead. He still had one leg between hers, the other foot planted on the floor, so as not to crush her.
Miranda opened her eyes, slowly, her fingers playing with his hair. He was biting his lip at her. "Hey," she whispered.
"Hey," he whispered back. He kissed her forehead again. "You alright?"
"Yes." He had to move off her or she wouldn't be able to help herself…
As if he'd read her mind, he delicately pushed himself off her, sat up, offered her a hand. She accepted and he pulled her upright beside him. He put an arm around her again, kissed her cheek. "I can't stop kissing you," he spoke low into her ear.
They had managed to stop embracing each other long enough to say some quiet good-nights, nothing awkward, just a couple secret smiles and soft kisses more. It didn't feel like a situation that shouldn't have happened – it felt like something had happened that they had been waiting far too long for, and they were just so pleased that they were satisfied with this small bit.
Goodness knows, there would certainly be more to come – much more.
"I'm sorry, Miranda."
An image of Pete, one hand on the glass door of the police station, appeared in her dream that night. It was right after Sheriff Bob Ryan burned to death, and she was creeping around the room.
As soon as Pete opened the door – busting the lock, because he couldn't leave her in there any longer – she collapsed into his arms, and he half-carried her outside, sat her on the concrete, where she cried, their arms around each other.
It was then that she'd understood just how much Pete cared for her, and much he suffered when she was in the institution. He had been in shock when he had found out what she had – reportedly – done to her late husband, but made the decision to be her doctor while she was a patient. He couldn't have someone else mucking about and not caring for her properly. He'd admitted before that he wanted to pull a "fuck the authority" move, throw her in his car, drive away. Anywhere. It hurt him to see her on the other side of the pills, of the therapy, of the fences – he loved her.
After Sheriff Ryan died, all the facts were revealed, but the DA let the case drop. They cited that no one would believe it. Someone had mentioned reopening the case one day, but Miranda had argued against it – no point; no one would believe it, as they had admitted. Nor did she want to be forced to rethink every little detail. It would all be in vain, anyway, as all the bad guys were dead.
She was happy to be moving on and starting a new life.
She was very happy that Pete was going to properly in this one.
Pete called her the following day – a proper gentleman – to ensure that all was well. He was obviously pleased that she was happy.
"Well, look, I've got to get going; I just wanted to check in with you. I'll see you at work tomorrow, kay?"
"Of course. See you later, Pete."
"See you, 'Randa."
She was very happy indeed.
When she arrived at work the next morning, she nearly started glowing seeing Pete's car parked in the lot. She felt badly about it, but she didn't remember being this happy with Doug. A twinge of guilt hit her. Why hadn't she felt that way? She'd loved him so much. But, she recalled, hadn't had so much in common besides work. Maybe they had fallen in love and married for status. Doug had never been a romantic man, never affectionate, never a surprise up his sleeve.
Well, that's it, then, she thought, parking and retrieving her purse from the passenger seat, Pete is just a more charming character. He doesn't keep secrets – haha – and he's a lot more sensitive. Maybe he's more my type. No two people are the same, and you can't expect to like everyone the same way.
She flashed her perfect smile at the receptionist, who was already on the phone with a Complainer, as they were referred to. The girl returned the smile and hit a button somewhere on her desk to unlock the door for Miranda, who hurried through it and made the way to her office.
Her work day began.
Counselling sessions with patients, a quick coffee break, catching up on a small mountain of paperwork, and it was already lunchtime. The day seemed to be flying by. The sun was shining in brightly through her office window.
Pete was in the lunchroom when she got there, telling rude jokes to a couple of the nurses, one mid-twenties, one middle-aged. He caught Miranda's eye as she walked to the refrigerator, winked, and continued his joke. She smiled, rummaged through for some foodstuffs she kept in there.
Grabbing yogurt and a spoon, she sat down beside one of the nurses, a young girl with the very old-fashioned name of Esther. Miranda quite liked the girl, who was known for always have a smile and a sunny attitude ready.
The girls giggled as the joke ended. "How filthy!" they gasped.
"How are you?" Pete leaned over and planted a kiss on Miranda's cheek, completely unabashed.
Esther gasped; the older woman smirked, as if to say, "It's about time!" She had been around long enough to notice Pete's puppy love for Miranda. She slapped one hand on Esther's knee, then turned back to her lunch.
Miranda caught Esther's eye. She winked at the girl. There would be much gossiping later; the two weren't friends outside of work, but they did tend to turn into chortling little schoolgirls on weekdays.
"I'm good, thank you. Did you get your stove fixed yet?" She spooned some yogurt into her mouth.
Pete licked his lips. "Nah. I'm not much worried about it. Listen, what are you doing for dinner tonight?"
She cocked her head to one side, thinking. "Probably eating here. I'm way behind on a report. I'm making progress, but not enough yet."
"Mmm, well you let me know when you've got an evening free. I have a fantastic new recipe for you to try." He stood, and only then did Miranda notice he had no empty containers, no paper wrappers in front of him on the table – nothing to signify he'd eaten recently. "See you," he smiled around the room and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Miranda could hardly wait. A little shiver ran through her.
The sun shone in brightly through the lunchroom window.