He's still sleeping when she wakes up, lying on his back, one arm resting on his chest and the other thrown out to the side. She rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow with the sole intention of watching him, the pure indulgence of it impossible to resist. She's aware that she can gaze at him freely whenever she wants to now and it's something she's found herself doing often in the last couple of months, stopping herself only when their colleagues are in the room. He doesn't seem to exercise the same control, but then he's been openly admiring her since the day he arrived, to a level that it would more likely be noticed if he were to suddenly stop. The difference now is that she feels herself blushing under the warmth of his gaze whereas she used to indulge him for a while before rolling her eyes and moving on with her day.
Her thoughts drift to the night before and she smiles to herself. She would have laughed had anyone told her a year ago that for weeks after he first kissed her until her knees almost buckled Dempsey would remain the perfect gentleman and that she would eventually be the one to question why they hadn't slept together. Moot point anyway, he's in her bed now and she'd be quite happy if he never left, another thing she would have laughed at had anyone suggested it.
She was attracted to him from day one, she thinks, or at the very least intrigued by him, but for a long time she refused to allow the idea to take up residence in her mind. Instead she tried desperately to convince herself it was a purely physical attraction, to remind herself that nothing good could come of sleeping with someone she has to work so closely with every day. Gradually she became aware of a jealousy that bubbled up within her whenever he flirted with other women, whenever he talked about potential dates. Along with it came the realisation that what she felt was something more than physical, something beyond wanting to take him home and find out what he could do with his hands when there wasn't a gun to keep them busy.
He's snoring lightly now and as much as she could happily lie beside him and watch him all morning she needs the bathroom, and she needs coffee. In exactly that order. She runs a finger softly down his arm before climbing out of bed, grabbing her robe from the back of the door, and glancing again at her sleeping partner before heading for the bathroom.
She's part way through her first coffee, daydreaming as she stares out of the window, when she suddenly remembers the envelope Tommy handed her the night before.
Her guess that the envelope contained recipes was a good one and the fact they're all handwritten, that his mother has taken the time to write them all out just to send to her, gives rise to an unexpected lump in her throat. There's a card in the envelope along with what looks to be a folded letter so she swallows down the lump in her throat, takes a mouthful of coffee, and opens the card.
Dear Harriet
I promised some recipes after our chat, but I don't want you to let that boy of mine stand by and watch while you do all the cooking. Jimmy's actually pretty good in the kitchen, especially if he's cooking for someone he loves. He might have a little less trouble with my handwriting than you too, honey. I tried to write them up as neat as I could!
Now...I know my son and I know he can talk too much sometimes but not enough when it matters so I don't know if he's telling you all the things he wants to or if he's playing at being Mr Cool while he's filling his letters to me with his true feelings. There's a letter in here that he sent to me a few weeks ago that I wanted you to see. He complains a lot about the amount of rain London gets in summer but you can skip those parts. I guess you know about the London weather already!
There are some photos for you too, one of all the kids (Jimmy can tell you who's who), and one of him and me together. Maybe you can slip that one onto his desk so he can remember to call me.
I hope the two of you can make it over here for a visit soon, I can't wait to meet you.
xx
(Maybe don't tell him I sent you the letter!)
The photos make her smile, all the little Dempsey children grinning widely at the camera, all wearing shorts, clearly in the midst of a New York summer. It's no surprise he complains about the summer weather in London, although he has described New York in August as "like being inside a giant dryer" so she suspects some of his complaints aren't entirely genuine. The photo of him with his mother is adorable and really does need to be in a frame on his desk. She'll find a frame and make sure that's where it ends up.
She refills her coffee mug and unfolds the letter, smiling at the sight of his familiar scrawl and feeling a flutter in her stomach at what he may have written to his mother. Skimming over the first few paragraphs, she sees that he does indeed complain about the weather, quite a lot, in fact, but thankfully after he's asked how his mother is. Then it gets interesting.
Things are good here, I'm keeping out of trouble at work (mostly) and things are going really well with me and Harry. We're taking it slow, which ain't easy, believe me! I really don't want to mess this up though, she's too important, but you I figure you know that already. She's gorgeous, Ma. I mean, really beautiful, and she gives as good as she gets, she doesn't take any of my crap, she calls me out on it, makes me work harder. Drives me crazy, but in a good way. You know me, I never really thought about getting married, I always figured it wasn't really for me. Well, I guess Harry changed all that, she's different, she's something else, and I can't imagine my life without her in it. Hell, if I wasn't working so hard on treating her right and taking things slow, and if I didn't want to totally freak her out, I'd marry her tomorrow.
We'll try to get over there soon, I promise. I know you two chat it up on the phone but I really want you to meet her and she wants to meet you too. I know you're going to love her, she's it, Ma, she really is.
He moves on to asking about various other members of his family, and about how his sports teams are doing, but her brain is stuck on one sentence.
I'd marry her tomorrow.
His mother isn't entirely correct in thinking he hasn't been sharing his feelings, he just hasn't always used his words. Instead he seems to have decided to show her how he feels by not rushing her, by revealing his sweet side, his gentle side, by kissing her goodnight and leaving her so desperately wanting more. For the first time she's actually grateful for her useless ex-husband, for his despicable behaviour and the way he eventually confirmed his shithead status in style by running off with her best friend. Without him, without a marriage that was essentially a disaster waiting to happen from day one, she isn't sure she would know she deserves so much better. She knows it now and her embodiment of so much better is sleeping soundly in her bed upstairs.
She's hungry so she heads for the bread bin, suddenly craving hot buttered toast, and her mind is still on the letter, and on Dempsey's words, as she drops the bread into the toaster. So much so that she doesn't hear him come into the kitchen until he's right behind her, his breath warm against her neck as he slides his arms around her waist.
"Morning, angel." He murmurs softly and she leans into him slightly.
"Did you somehow hear the toaster from upstairs?" She smiles and covers his hands with her own. "Your timing is exquisite. Suspiciously so."
"I think that would make my hearing more impressive than my timing." He kisses her neck, barely a touch, more of a breath with intent. "So no, I woke up and it seemed like the gorgeous girl I fell asleep next to last night had run out on me so I figured I should investigate. You know, me being a cop and all."
"Unless I'm very much mistaken…" She turns in his arms and smiles at his morning hair and the weariness in his eyes. "I think you've found her. You can consider your investigation concluded, Lieutenant."
"Not bad work for…" He glances up over her shoulder, presumably in the direction of the clock on the kitchen wall. "Just after nine on a Saturday morning."
"Impressive." She smiles at him and slides her hands up to rest on his shoulders. "I have to say...all of your work so far this weekend has been impressive."
"And the weekend only just started, princess." He leans in and kisses her, pushing her gently back against the counter, sliding his tongue against hers and pulling away only when the toast pops up behind her. "Breakfast."
She watches as he spreads what appears to be half a jar of marmalade onto his toast before taking a huge bite and washing it down with a generous mouthful of coffee. She feels herself moving closer to him, shuffling to the edge of her chair, and her hand comes to rest on his arm, almost like it's out of her control.
"Oh…" Her eyes land on the envelope from New York and she reaches for it, sliding the photo out onto the table. "Your mother sent this. You, James Dempsey, were adorable."
"Were? Pretty sure I still have my moments." He smirks and picks up the photo. "Ah yeah, I guess I was seven here, eight maybe. Did you pick out Tommy too?"
"Tommy's in the photo?" She leans over to peer at it more closely, and spots him almost immediately now she knows to look for him. "The two of you have barely changed."
"Still cute, I know." He grins and points to the other children in the picture. "That one there is Billy, my older brother. This is Liam, the younger one, and that's Erin, the one and only girl, and the baby of the bunch."
The photo makes her smile, they all look like such sweet, happy children. For as long as she can remember her family has been made up of just her and her father and she wonders, not for the first time, what it would have been like to have been part of a family of siblings. She has often thought about how it might have been to have brothers or sisters to call on when she needed someone to talk to, when she needed advice.
"It's such a lovely photo," she says, pausing to take a sip of coffee. "I always wished I had siblings. Being an only child is...well, it's the reason I'm certain that when the time comes I want at least a couple of children."
"At least a couple, huh?" He reaches for his toast but he doesn't take his eyes from hers, and she realises he's not rattled in the least by her inadvertent declaration. "I wasn't sure if you...if you wanted kids, you know."
"Well, now you know." She picks up her own toast and takes a bite, giving him the option to continue the subject if he wants to, or the chance to move on if not.
"I always figured I'd have a whole bunch of them." He smiles at her before crunching on his toast, somehow managing not to drop any of the huge blob of marmalade he has balancing on it.
"You did, did you?" She returns his smile, matching his confidence in continuing the subject. "And are you planning to somehow give birth to this giant brood of children yourself?"
"Nope." He takes another mouthful from his mug before he goes on. "I'm going to marry you and then hopefully you can be persuaded to deal with that part."
"Then you should probably count yourself lucky that you have the occasional moment where your powers of persuasion can be rather effective." She can tell by the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips that he expected to catch her off guard but of course he doesn't know that the letter to his mother is sitting in the envelope on the table between them. "I certainly hope that wasn't your attempt at a proposal though."
"When that day comes, honey…" He moves his plate aside and squeezes her hand. "You'll know about it."
"I actually do have a proposal…" She stands up, keeping his hand in hers, grinning when he suddenly seems to realise she's wearing absolutely nothing under her short robe and his eyes widen. "I propose we go back to bed."
"Proposal…" He stands up and lets her lead him out of the kitchen. "Accepted."