AN : This idea popped in my head when I was trying to work on the next chapter for "After All We've Done." So naturally I started working on it instead.

The basic premise is this: what if Margaret had kissed John before New Year's Eve? There are loads of places it could have happened in my story "The Rhythm of Life".

Each chapter explores how this first kiss may have occurred. Let me know your favorite. Or suggest a scene you want to see.

Cheers.

PS. I promise I'm still working on "After All We've Done."

Knock First (From The Rhythm of Life: Chapter 2 | The Shower Scene )

Friday : March 10, 2006

Margaret grumbled to herself as she wandered down the thickly carpeted hallway Fanny had pointed out. She didn't want to be in the Thornton's house, having supper with these people who didn't like her and whom she didn't like. Her father would insist she come, too. She sighed. Her father rarely asked for anything and he wanted her to get on with the Thornton's. She and Fanny had nothing in common and Mrs Thornton was so stiff and severe, Margaret wondered if she got on with anyone but her children. And then there was John—Mr Thornton. He was something else entirely and Margaret couldn't put her finger on why he always riled her up so much. And she didn't feel like fighting with him tonight. It was shaping up to be a dull evening.

"Keep calm and carry on, Margaret Ann." She straightened her shoulders, pushed open the door to the washroom, and slammed it firmly behind her.

It took less than a second for her to realize the washroom was full of steam. She gaped in horror as a very surprised John Thornton stepped out of the shower at the very same moment. They stared at each other in shocked silence for far longer than was necessary or appropriate before Margaret stumbled backwards into the door, one hand pressed over her eyes.

"Bloody hell," she hissed, "I'm sorry." She turned, her shoulder bumping into the wall. She still had her eyes tightly closed as she fumbled for the doorknob.

"Miss Hale."

"I'm sorry, I'm going—" Her hand finally found the doorknob but it slipped with condensation and then refused to turn under her trembling fingers.

"Miss Hale, pass me a towel before you open the door."

Margaret opened her eyes and stared at the grain on the dark wooden door before carefully glancing over to her right where a large white towel sat neatly folded next to his razor. Her hand shook as she grabbed it and held it out behind her. His fingertips brushed hers when he took it.

Margaret frantically tried the knob again, her face flaming. Why wouldn't the door open?

"The doorknob sticks."

"What?" Margaret turned and flinched.

John stood with his black hair sticking out at all angles, the white towel firmly tucked around his waist, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"This isn't funny, John." Margaret spat and then pressed her hand over her mouth.

She hadn't meant to call him John. His lips quirked and he crossed his arms.

"Yes it is."

"You could lock the door, like a normal person."

"Or you could knock," He replied. "Like a normal person."

They stood there for another long minute, staring at each other, Margaret growing more flustered, and John looking more amused with each passing moment. Margaret shifted her shoulders, almost pinned to the spot by the intensity of his gaze.

"Just open the door." Margaret's voice shook a little and she raised her chin and added a firm 'please,' for good measure.

John shook his head, chuckling, and motioned with his hand, stepping closer.

"Move."

The small bathroom seemed to shrink further as he grabbed her shoulders and slipped around her towards the door. He leaned his shoulder into the paneled wood and turned the knob with a quick flick of his wrist. Margaret started forward just as he shifted backwards to get out of her way and bumped into her. He caught her wrist as she stumbled into the washstand, hitting her hip on the marble top.

"Careful."

"I'm fine," she steadied herself and rubbed her aching hip. Margaret glanced up and swallowed.

John was still looking at her with that same spark of amusement. But behind his laughing eyes was something else that caught hold of her and held her, making her stomach pitch and her lungs stop working. It was a look she saw sometimes when they were locked in the heat of an all out argument.

His eyes widened and Margaret realized she'd grabbed his arm.

"Margaret," he breathed.

But instead of letting go, she tightened her grip and pulled him closer as she raised herself on tiptoe.

It wasn't a very long kiss or a very good one. Margaret let out a sharp breath, and let go, as if his skin burned her. What in heavens name was she doing? She didn't even like John Thornton. And goodness knew he certainly didn't like her.

John stood rigid as a stone, mouth open in bewildered astonishment, his blue eyes blazing.

"Sorry," she cleared her throat and blushed. "I'll go. Right now."

But she didn't move and neither did he. When John leaned down and kissed her again, Margaret almost lost her balance. In one swift movement, John had circled her waist and lifted her on top of the washstand. Then he moved his hands to cradle her face, his touch firm but gentle.

This second kiss was much longer and much better than the first. Unfortunately it was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

"Just a minute," Margaret's voice refused to work properly, pitching and breaking.

"Maggie?" Her father's muffled voice asked. "Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Fine?" John rumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

"Hush." Margaret pressed a finger over his lips as her father moved down the hall.

John tugged her hand from his mouth, and Margaret stiffened. Would he kiss her again? Did she want him to?

"I'm sorry," she pulled her hand back and hastily slid off the washstand.

There was no excuse or explanation for her behavior. She wanted nothing more than to get as far away from him as possible before anything else happened. She started to open the door but John grabbed the top of the it before she could slip out.

"Mr Thornton, I—please—do excuse me—"

"Have dinner with me." He interrupted.

"That—that's why I'm here," Margaret trembled a little. "For dinner."

A small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth and he ran a hand through his hair, which was still wet and disheveled, "You know what I mean."

"I don't—I mean—I—no—you should put some clothes on," Margaret said firmly, blushing as his smile widened.

She ducked under his arm and shimmied through the door, heart pounding. Margaret managed to walk a few yards before she paused and leaned a hand against the wall, trying to force her breathing into something resembling normal.

What on earth was wrong with her? She rubbed her forehead and then scurried quickly around the corner, afraid John—Mr Thornton, would catch up to her. Of all the things that could've happened today, Margaret decided this was the worst.

Except for that second kiss. Her fingers drifted to her lips. That had been unexpected and utterly lovely.

"Miss Hale?" Mrs Thornton stood just outside the parlour. "Is everything alright?"

Margaret's mouth went dry and she stared at her, unable to force a reply. She frowned as the older woman's face paled and her whole posture stiffened. A throat cleared behind Margaret.

"Excuse me." John said.

Margaret had been standing half in the wider hallway between the parlour and a flight of stairs, and now John was right behind her, waiting for her to move so he could slip by. She stepped aside, raising her chin and daring him to laugh at her.

John was still wearing his towel and he winked at her as he passed.

Margaret could see Mrs Thornton analyzing the entire awkward exchange after her son disappeared up the stairs. Her sharp blue eyes snapped with displeasure as she informed Margaret that dinner was served. Margaret wasn't certain she could breath or think, let alone eat. She ought to have knocked first before barreling into the washroom, but it was too late now.

And she couldn't decide if it was rotten luck or the best thing that had happened since coming to Milton. It was certainly the best kiss she'd ever had. Margaret blushed and trailed after Mrs Thornton. Heaven knew what would happen now, and Margaret was equal parts excited and terrified.

"What have you done, Margaret Ann?"