Friday : April 28, 2006
John sat at the kitchen table, eyeing his mother over the newspaper. Their morning ritual of shared coffee, daily news, and silence hadn't changed much in the last thirteen years. He checked his watch and ran his eyes over the printed words again but he wasn't really reading them.
He'd spent most of the night wide awake, turning over his new situation in his head. He'd never been the dating type. There had always been too much to do, too much to think about. John still wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to insist on dating Margaret Hale for real. But he knew in his bones it was the right thing to do, and when she'd said yes—
John shifted a little in his seat. It was stupid, but there was no denying the elated disbelief that washed over him. Their first date was a disaster but there were plenty more to figure out what the hell he felt about her. And why the idea of dating her made him so damn nervous and happy all at once.
He glanced up at his mother one last time and braced himself. There was no way around this next conversation but John had always believed the quickest way out of Hell was to walk straight through it. He took a slow breath, lowered the paper, and waited until his mother looked up.
"Well?"
"I'm dating Margaret Hale."
The tiniest quiver of her forehead and a slight stiffening of her posture were the only indications she'd heard him. John leaned his chair back. His mother blinked once and slowly lowered her portion of the paper to the table, folding her lean hands on top.
"Since when?"
"Yesterday."
Hannah raised her eyebrows, not bothering to hide her skeptical surprise. "I wasn't aware she was all that fond of you."
"She's not." John admitted. "But I asked, and she agreed."
His mother let out a derisive sound and picked up her coffee. John didn't bother to hide the satisfied smirk spreading over his face. He leaned his chair further back, balancing precariously on the two back legs, enjoying himself in spite of his mother's glowering silence. He hadn't expected anything less than disapproval from her.
Whether she admitted it or not, Hannah Thornton always had her own plans and opinions when it came to her children, especially John. He was civil about it, but he made it his habit to poke holes in them since he was a teenager. John's grin widened a little. Margaret Hale was probably the biggest damn curveball to those plans in quite some time. Hannah set her cup down with a firm crack and met his eyes.
"I don't approve."
"Figured you wouldn't."
"But?"
"But you know I don't care about your approval, mother, and I never have. I like her."
"She doesn't even like you."
"Maybe," John chuckled. "She must like something or she would've said no."
"She's barely eighteen, John, and you're twenty-six. Or did that just slip your mind?"
"I know how old she is."
"Well?"
He shrugged, "I don't really give a shit."
"What will people say when—"
"Gossip is a waste of your time and mine."
"They'll rip you both a new skin, mark my words."
"I don't care what your friends think, mother. You shouldn't either. If they've got a problem with me, they can tell me themselves."
"What do you expect me to tell people?"
"The truth." John replied. "I like her and we're dating."
"You could have your pick of the women in this town."
"I know," He let the front legs of the chair fall with a thump. "I picked one."
"That girl isn't worth your notice."
"She has a name, mother," He stood and shot back the rest of his coffee. "Use it."
"What about Anne?"
"What about her?"
"Last year, you two—"
"Mother," John interrupted. "Stop."
His mother knew how he felt about Anne Latimer and John didn't want to waste any more time on his stupid mistakes, especially not his dumb-ass behavior at the Latimer's New Year's Eve party last year. At least this year he had an excuse not to go.
"Why her?" Hannah demanded.
He set his cup aside and absently roughed his hair. He'd asked himself the same damn question dozens of times last night.
"Because," John said, each word slow and deliberate. "We've got something. Maybe it's just attraction. Maybe not. But I want to know what it is and I'll be damned if I let it pass me by." He dug his keys from his pocket and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "You'll get used to it."
"Do I have a choice?" His mother pegged him with a dry scathing look.
"No. This is what I want."
"You're always wanting things you shouldn't."
"According to you," John challenged. "I like her."
"So you keep saying," She sighed and stood, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "I suppose I could learn to like her for your sake."
"How generous of you," he said flatly.
His mother scowled at him, and John grinned. After a moment, she turned, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen, "Do you have her phone number?"
"I do," he answered carefully. "Why?"
"If you're going to…keep company with this girl—"
"Margaret."
"—then I'd like to speak with her."
John folded his arms and frowned a little. He'd known his mother would want to chat with Margaret once she found out, but it still made him a little uneasy. What if Margaret changed her mind? John shook the thought away. She was a firecracker of a woman and wasn't easily intimidated. After all, she dealt with his stubborn ass on a weekly basis, didn't she? Still, part of John wanted to say no, for Margaret's sake, which surprised him a little. The other part of him wanted to be there just to watch her go toe to toe with Hannah Thornton.
"Well?"
"I'll have her call you." He swiped up his hat and tugged it onto his head as he headed out the door.
"John,"
He turned, hand on the knob, and looked back.
"When do you plan to tell Fanny?"
John made a face and let out a long heavy breath. He hadn't thought much about telling his sister—or anyone else. But it had to happen, sooner rather than later.
"You ought to tell her yourself."
"Fan isn't stupid. She'll figure it out. Eventually."
His mother sighed. "Are you absolutely sure about this, John?"
He chuckled, "Don't keep dinner for me."
Bess threw herself into the wooden chair across from her friend in the library, her heart pounding, a wide grin splitting her face. "So? How'd it go?"
"Hello to you too, Bessie." Margaret didn't even look up from her studying, continuing to take neat precise notes. "How did what go?"
"Really, Marg? You think I'm here to chat about something other than you asking out John Thornton?"
"I did not ask him out—"
"But you kind of did," Bess interrupted. "So how'd it go?"
Margaret finally glanced up and huffed, "I'd rather not discuss it, thanks. I've got exams to study for—"
"Tough shit." Bess reached forward and plucked the pen out of Margaret's hand. "What did he say?"
"He said no."
"He—he what?" Bess's voice pitched high enough that several people glanced pointedly over at them. "Are you shitting me, Marg?"
"You know, I've never quite understood the appeal of that particular Americanism," Margaret blushed and glared at her. "It's quite simple. I asked him to be my pretend boyfriend and he said no."
"I don't believe it." Bess narrowed her eyes, "Marg—"
"I'm not lying—"
"But you aren't telling the whole truth." Bess pressed. She leaned forward, "What else did he say?"
"You've been talking to Jill Parkinson, haven't you?"
"Answer the question."
"If you already know, what's the point of asking?" Margaret reached across the table and yanked her pen from Bess's hand. "We're dating, alright?"
"We who? Who's dating—" As quickly as the words slipped out of her mouth, Bess's brain put the pieces together. "Oh."
"Keep your voice down—"
"Oh. My. God."
Margaret shushed her again, her scowl deepening. More people were starting to stare at them.
"You're dating John Thornton?" Bess squealed. "Like dating dating him?"
"Would you please shut up?"
"How the hell—"
"It was his idea, not mine. He didn't fancy lying to my family."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Bess started laughing, her words spilling out and tumbling over themselves. "You're really dating?
"Bessie, please—"
"As in he's actually your boyfriend now?"
"Sort of," Margaret continued fidgeting with her pen and notebook, her face an awkward shade of bright red. "We've only been on the one date."
"You've already gone on a date?"
Margaret rolled her eyes and nodded. "At the White Rose."
"You went on a date with John Thornton at the White Rose during dead week?" Bess gasped, still laughing. "Holy shit."
"Will you please stop shouting?" Margaret darted a glance around the room. "If I wanted my relationship status broadcasted to the entire planet I'd get a social media account."
"God, I love being right." Bess slumped back in her chair and folded her arms contentedly. It was obvious to anyone with half an eyeball and two brain cells that John Thornton and Margaret Hale were into each other. Bess even had a long standing bet with Tucker Williams on which of the two would kiss the other one first. Williams said Master but Bess had her money on Margaret. She might lose that bet now, though. She grinned, shaking her head. "When did you go out?"
"Yesterday after I talked with him."
"How was it?"
"Bloody awful," Margaret snapped. "He's belligerent, bossy, and impossible to manage."
"Sure. He's also your smoking hot boyfriend."
"Physical attractiveness doesn't negate personality flaws."
Bess snorted. "You're just mad because I totally called it."
"Don't get too attached to your own self importance," Margaret tossed back her hair with a superior tilt to her chin. "It's not what you think."
Bess raised her eyebrows, "What does that mean?"
"It means," Margaret glanced at the clock and began packing her things, "we only agreed to date long enough to attend the wedding and the gala. And then we'll break up."
"I'm sorry, what?" Bess scrambled out her seat and followed Margaret out of the library. "You've already planned to break up?"
"Yes. It's a business arrangement. You said it first, remember?"
"Yeah, back when you were going to fake date him, not actually date him. John agreed to this?"
Margaret shrugged.
"There's no way this is a business agreement," Bess chuckled. "Just you wait and see. You'll be all over that man in five weeks tops. Six if you're extra stubborn."
"I will not and I'd appreciate if you'd get your bloody head out of the gutter."
"Need I mention for the hundredth time that you're hot for him?"
"And should I mention for the hundredth time I'm not interested in John like that, no matter what your Higgins-witchery tells you?" Margaret shouldered her way through the door, Bess on her heels.
"I'm calling bullshit."
"Call it whatever you like, but you're wrong, Bessie Higgins. And I'm going to prove it to you."
"Prove it to me?" Bess asked incredulously. "How? By dating the guy?"
"Exactly."
"You know, Marg, when I said I wanted my own private RomCom I was mostly joking."
Margaret stopped her purposeful march towards the bus stop and whirled around. "What the bloody hell does that even mean?"
"If you think dating John Thornton is going to somehow prove you're not hot for him, you're an idiot." Bess grinned as her friend threw her a dirty look and started walking again. "What are you, like, a gold medalist in mental gymnastics?"
"Oh, shut up."
"You go right ahead and lie to yourself," Bess chuckled. "Remember how I said you two are ticking sex bomb?"
"Which is the stupidest analogy you've ever come up with—"
"You've just picked up the detonator." The bus pulled up and Margaret started forward. Bess grabbed her arm. "This whole thing is going to blow up in your face."
Margaret rolled her eyes "I'll be sure to notify you when it does."
The bus doors closed and Bess chuckled to herself. Self knowledge wasn't exactly one of Margaret's strongest virtues. But Bess knew better than anyone that sometimes the only way to learn something is to fall flat on your ass. Lucky for Margaret, she'd yank John Thornton down with her.
Margaret grumbled to herself the entire bus ride to the Depot. She hadn't actually planned to see John after school like he'd asked—no, demanded—the day before, but she decided his overbearing company was far more preferable at the moment than her best friend's self-righteous crowing. Margaret couldn't fathom why John wanted to talk again so soon but something about his tone and cocky attitude niggled her. Besides they still hadn't formed a plan for Edith's wedding so it wouldn't be a complete waste of her time.
The Depot was an old manufacturing building which had been gutted and remodeled into a shipping center with offices at the front, on the first and second floor, with a loading bay and truck lot at the back. Margaret bypassed the front area where Williams usually tended to local customers, slipped down the hall, and headed straight for John's office.
She shoved at the door. It swung forward, thudding against the doorstop in the wall, "You know, just because you're my boyfriend now doesn't mean I'm going to come running every time you—"
The torrent of frustrated words caught in her throat as Margaret looked up. John stood behind his desk, mid conversation with Tucker Williams and Nicholas Higgins. All three men stared at her for a terrible silent moment.
Then Williams glanced at John with a grunt, "Boyfriend?"
"Out," John snapped and pointed at the door. "We'll finish this later, Williams. Higgins, you keep Groucher out of my bay for at least a month then maybe I won't fire his drunk ass."
The two truckers shrugged and headed for the door, exchanging looks as they passed Margaret. Nicholas shook his head, a wry smile cracking his weathered face and Williams winked at her. Margaret held her ground, her face and neck suddenly hot and itchy. She flinched a little as she locked eyes with John, his face thunderous.
"Do you ever knock?" He demanded, as soon as they were alone. "Or do they just skip basic etiquette in England?"
Margaret returned his scowl, "I knock—"
"Not in my experience, you don't."
"Excuse me? What are you—"
"A certain dinner at my house ring a bell?"
Margaret felt her face flame, "Are you still tossed about that stupid shower? That was weeks ago and I—
"—Waltzed right in."
"It was an accident, for which I've apologised—"
"Clearly you didn't learn any manners from the experience."
"I don't recall you being terribly put out by it," Margaret retorted, stepping closer.
"You sure your memory's accurate?"
"I remember everything—"
"Oh really?" John's lips twitched, the scowl on his face turning mischievous. "Everything?"
Margaret's cheeks burned at the traitorous memory playing through her head. She hadn't intended to interrupt him at the moment he stepped out of his shower, but she seemed to have rotten luck when it came to this man. Her eyes involuntary flicked over him, and she coughed, her hands suddenly sweaty and her mouth going dry.
John's grin widened a little. "Maybe you do remember everything—"
"If you don't tell me why the bloody hell I'm here, then you can take your overinflated opinion of yourself, and—"
"I told my mother."
"You—told her?" Margaret's stomach clenched the second the words left her mouth. He'd told his mother about them. "Oh bloody hell," Margaret started pacing, biting at her thumb nail. She'd known his family would have to be told eventually but part of her hoped she'd have time to find her own feet before having to navigate that chaotic mess. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to tell your mother now?"
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
"No, I—I don't know." Margaret snapped. "The least you could've done is ask me first."
"Why?"
"Because," she stalked over and jobbed a finger into his chest, "I'm your girlfriend, that's why—"
"His what?"
Margaret and John both jumped a little as Fanny Thornton barreled through the not quite closed door.
John grimaced, "Shit."
"Why did Margaret just say she's your girlfriend, John Thornton?"
"Not now, Fan," he grabbed her elbow and steered her back towards the door, "I'll explain everything later—"
"Like hell you will," Fanny shrugged him off, flicking an expectant gaze between them. "Start talking or I'll just use my imagination."
"Margaret's my girlfriend."
Margaret squirmed a little. The words still sounded so—wrong.
Fanny gaped at her brother. "Oh. My. God."
Margaret swallowed an unexpected laugh when John swore again under his breath. She couldn't help it. His sister's barrage of "oh my Gods" and high pitched squeals made him look as flustered and angry as a wet cat. For once, Margaret almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
"Good Lord, Margaret Hale, why on earth did you say yes to this stick in the mud?" Fanny demanded, grabbing her hands and bouncing a little. "You know, he's about as romantic as a hedgehog and a bulldog."
"Fan," John growled. "You got your answer, now get out."
"See? Absolutely hopeless." She giggled. Then she stopped, her eyes widening, and let go of Margaret, "Oh my God, what about mama? She'll be furious with you—"
Her brother rolled his eyes, tossing his hat aside. Without another word, he grabbed Margaret's hand and tugged her gently after him out of his office. He slipped down the hall, into a side room, shutting and locking the door before his sister could follow them. The room was dark and cramped, smelling of old carpet, paper, cleaning supplies, and moth balls.
Margaret stifled a laugh while John fumbled about for the switch, swearing and kicking at the boxes stacked four high in haphazard piles. "Why are we in a closet?"
"Don't laugh," he growled.
"That's a bit rich coming from you," Margaret whispered back, suddenly enjoying herself. She'd never seen John Thornton thrown so off balance. It was delightful and—well, it made him more of a person somehow. "How long are we going to hide from your sister like grammar school kids?"
"I'm not hiding. I can't think when she gets going like that."
"And you didn't prepared for that conversation, did you?"
"Shut up." He shoved a stack of boxes aside, still looking for the light switch.
"So, what happened with your mother?" Margaret felt along the wall near her shoulder for the light. "Did her head explode?"
"Not exactly."
"But?"
"But—"
Muffled voices drifted past the door and he paused, shifting back towards her, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. When all was quiet again, Margaret swallowed, trying to move away, almost tripping backwards over a box.
"This is stupid, John," she moved towards the door. "Come on."
"My mother wants to talk to you."
Margaret stopped, her fingers on the lock, "About what?"
"Us."
"No."
"Margaret—"
"Absolutely not!" She hissed. "Why the bloody hell would I talk to her about us? There's barely an 'us', thank you—"
"Margaret—"
"I've already had tea with her once and that was more than enough. Just ask your sister. It was a bloody nightmare. You couldn't pay me to chat with that old dragon again—"
As soon as the words tumbled out, Margaret realised what she'd said. She gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth, stumbling over a box. John caught her around the middle as she fell, kicking up a cloud of dust. Margaret sneezed, and John let out a breath.
"Did you just call my mother a dragon?"
"Sorry, I—" Margaret's face blazed with heat. How did this man always manage to bring out the worse in her? She didn't want to answer but they'd agreed not to lie and there was no taking the words back. "Your mother's bloody terrifying. I don't like her."
"Fair enough," John pulled her to her feet. "She doesn't like you either."
"I know." Margaret managed to put several precious centimeters between them. "So what now?"
"First, we get out of this damn closet—"
"You brought us in here."
"—and second, we need to make a game plan. Now that Fanny knows about us, the whole damn city will know by morning."
"Brilliant," Margaret grimaced. "Is calling your mother part of that plan?"
"I'd appreciate it if you would." John unlocked the door and pulled it open. "It'll make my life a lot easier for the next six months. Yours too."
Margaret snorted, pushing past him into the hall. Dating this man was getting more complicated by the minute. "You better be right about this."
"I usually am."
"And I expect our next date to be bloody fantastic to make up for the hell I'm about to walk through for you, John Thornton."
"Define 'fantastic'."
"Suit and tie."
"For a second date? Hell no."
Margaret raised her eyebrows and pulled out her mobile, "I'm about to pay court to your mother. Suit and tie, Mr Thornton, if you please. My last exam is on Thursday."
He rolled his eyes, muttered a 'fine', and marched back to his office as if he hadn't been hiding from his sister in a storage closet.
AN: Let the shenanigans begin.
Full confession: this story is simple me trying to force J and M to date like normal people so we can all watch and eat popcorn. Like our own private RomCom. Hope you love it.
Cheers.