"A Tory East Ender, then?" Saffron asked Tony as they waited on their dinner orders at the corner pub near his flat. They were celebrating his being back in action after a month recuperating from an emergency appendectomy. She smirked in his general direction. "You'd do Maggie Thatcher proud, I suppose."
Tony frowned, unsure of where she was taking this train of thought. Next Stop: Violent Argument Street, Row City, he thought to himself.
"And what of it?" he shot back.
Saff's expression remained unchanged.
"Nothing," she replied quite innocently. "Just pointing it out, that's all."
But she was taking a little dig at him. She knew it and so did he.
Tony glowered at her over his stout, taking a spiteful sip as he studied her face.
"Just 'cause I'm from where I'm from, I can't 'ave me own opinions?" Tony asked, his brown eyes shrouded, somewhat, by his thick, dark eyebrows which were now knitted together petulantly.
He looked mildly injured by her teasing, working overtime to avoid eye contact with her as he pretended to focus on the wooden pub table. As it did when he was excited, Tony's Cockney accent came out when he was angry or truly offended, too.
Immediately, Saffron knew she'd perhaps committed an unforced error.
"Makin' fun of me again, are you?" he muttered, and there was no humor in his tone.
"You make fun of me all the time!" Saffron shot back indignantly, knowing she had him on that point. Still, his hackles were raised and he was digging in his heels on the "Tory" snip, she could tell. And she wasn't in the mood for a squabble with him.
So what if he was a Tory? She'd learned, in the course of getting to know him while the two of them worked to clean up the old, abandoned tenement home near where he'd grown up, that Tony was a good, kind, honest, decent man. She was glad they'd become friends.
Best friends, in fact.
Or she hoped that was still the case, anyway.
Why did she always feel like she had to needle him over his politics? Why? He rarely brought up her being a committed Labour voter and when he did, it was usually to pay her some compliment for the work she did. Thinking of this, Saffron was a bit ashamed for goading Tony. They'd come to the pub to relax and enjoy themselves, not to argue or debate.
Let it go, she told herself.
Saff placed her hand over his where it rested on the table. Tony jerked at her touch. For a minute or so, they simply stared at one another. No words would come to either of them.
"I'm not making fun of you," Saffron told him quietly and seriously, finally able to speak. She felt ashamed for picking at him. He'd done nothing to bring it on. "Tony, I'm not."
Tony again tried avoiding her gaze, but Saffy's hazel eyes fixed on him. In the dim light of the pub, he looked so incredibly tender and handsome. She gently tightened her grip on his hand, loving the way it felt in hers. Her thumb stroked his knuckles. Touching him sent ripples of pleasure through her body.
"Promise?" Tony asked her. His brown eyes searched hers. But they still seemed to be laughing at her, something she found surprisingly charming. Saff smiled at him across the table. It took everything in her to get enough air into her lungs just then, she was so taken with him.
"Promise," she assured him breathlessly, offering the smile she reserved for those she was fondest of.
It was at that moment she realized how much she loved being in his company.
Yes, loved being with Tony.