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The Curious Misunderstanding

Chapter Three

He stood maybe two or three inches taller than me, dressed splendidly, his eyes so brown they were almost black, like his hair, and I knew when I saw him lying unconscious on the sidewalk two weeks previously that he was a lovely-looking man...it didn't even compare to seeing him there, at that moment. Everything about him, absolutely everything, ebbed of elegance, an unmistakably gentlemanly elegance, and I was quite speechless.

"I do apologize," he said. "This meeting is quite past due. My recovery took a little more time than expected."

"You..." I cleared my throat and struggled to smile a little. I was at a loss for words; it struck me that I should introduce myself, but he already knew my name, so I said the very next thing that came into my head. "You look wonderful. I'm so glad you're okay."

His smile continued to grow. "With thanks to you, I understand," he said, releasing my hand and gesturing towards the table where he'd been sitting.

I went forward, and Sebastian held out my chair for me. I eased him the tiniest smile before sitting down. "I didn't really do much-"

"You stayed with me until Sebastian was able to find me," Jim said, taking his seat across from me, smiling. "You quite possibly saved my life."

I felt the blood gush into the apples of my cheeks and bowed my head a little so I wouldn't have to look at him. I was suddenly aware of how I must have looked; in a fancy place like this, sitting across from a man like him, in my unpressed trousers, sweater, not a drop of makeup...seems I was definitely going for the Most Washed-Out Look of London. I cleared my throat, very aware that his eyes were on me, and I looked up at him to ease him a little smile, and opened my mouth to apologize for how I looked, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a waiter approached the table.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said, smiling grandly and bowing his head just a little. "What would you like to drink?"

I looked up at him, and suddenly it occurred to me that yes, indeed, we were in a restaurant and it was breakfast time, eating and drinking was to be expected. I cast a fleeting look across the table and smiled as best I could. "Nothing for me, thanks. I'm fine."

The waiter looked puzzled, and across the table Jim's smile faltered. "Nola, have whatever you'd like," and, before I could open my mouth to tell him I really was fine, he gave me a very pointed look. "Please, I insist."

I smiled a little, completely unable to help it, and looked up at the waiter. "I would...love an espresso, please."

The waiter nodded his head. "Certainly," and he wandered off.

Across the table, Jim tilted his head a little, his smile lopsided. "An espresso drinker," he said with an interested lilt in his voice. "It's not often you see a lady drinking something so strong."

I could have laughed right at him; it was all I drank in the wee hours of the morning trying to get that stupid fucking thesis written. I shrugged a little, smiling. "It's what I'm used to."

"Ah," he said, his interest obviously piqued. "And what is it you do to become used to something so strong?"

I felt my stomach lurch uncomfortably; I still hadn't gotten over my failed defense, and the last thing I wanted was to discuss the whole ordeal. I looked out the window briefly at the garden, wondering if I could get by just mentioning it without going into details. "I'm a graduate student."

He tilted his head, and his eyes flickered for a moment as if he was about to blink and then stopped himself at the last minute. "Really?" he said, and then he smiled, showing off perfectly pearly teeth. "And what is the area of your study?"

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. No one, no one ever asked about what I was studying or what my thesis was based on. Sometimes they'd ask a general question, just to make polite conversation, but they never asked me to elaborate on the project itself, or the research I'd done to get there, or the process in itself in writing the thing. The only ones who gave a damn about it were Nigel (because he had to) and my Dad (because he wanted to be supportive) but no one else ever ever asked about it.

Thereby the inquisition threw me off a little. "Um...I've focused my research on evidence of music therapy in 20th century British literature."

Jim pressed his lips together in a smile, and nodded as though it was something he himself was quite familiar with. "Lovely," he said, and then he shifted in his seat, giving me a sideways glance. "Though it sounds rather complicated."

I shook my head. If only he knew. "It is..."

He regarded me for a mere moment and then put up a hand as if to stop me from talking, though his eyes were warm and smiling. "We need not discuss it if you'd prefer not to."

Even if I tried for a hundred years, I couldn't express my gratitude for that. Though I could - and did - laugh a little. "Thank you."

"Although," he said, sitting back and interlacing his fingers together. "I do hope it's going well?"

I opened my mouth to make a strange noise that constituted neither here nor there (not going well because of the failed defense, but going well because it seemed like it could still be recovered), but before I had a chance to, the waiter reappeared with a tray of drinks. He gave me a smile. "Ma'am," he said, and set down my perfect white cup of double espresso in front of me, and with it a stirring spoon and two wrapped lumps of sugar. The shot on top made my mouth water.

"Thank you," I said, turning the cup around by the stem so that I could hook it in my right fingers.

The waiter served Jim his drink, which appeared to be coffee in an identical white mug, and then he stood back to attention. "Now," he said, looking between us with a smile. "What would you like for breakfast?"

I could feel Jim's pointed gaze on me even as I was opening my mouth to politely decline, as though he was expecting it of me. I waved a hand dismissively at the waiter; the espresso was lovely enough, he didn't need to buy me breakfast, and not at a place like Manni's, where it would have cost a small fortune. "Not for me, thank you-"

"Nola," Jim said, once more breathing my name with that Dublin accent. It instantly caught my attention; I looked at him across the table, and although a smile played at his lips, there was something very serious in his dark eyes...brimmed with something that could have been frustration, even. "Please," he said. "Whatever you'd like. I'm having eggs Benedict myself, but I will certainly not be eating if you aren't."

I was taken aback for a moment. I knew he was only looking to be polite - he had invited me to breakfast, after all - but I was not in the habit of taking charitable meals from anyone except my Dad, it made me feel like a starving student (which I was) but didn't like to be reminded of any more than I had to. But then it occurred to me, of course, that I was being rude towards my host by trying to refuse his hospitality. I felt my cheeks burn with the embarrassment, and tried my hardest to smile up at the waiter. "I would love French toast, please."

The waiter nodded, as though impressed by my choice, and in my peripheral vision I could see jim smiling. "Very good. Would you care for strawberries and cream?"

I nodded, suddenly way too excited for French toast with strawberries and cream. "Please."

The waiter wandered off, and as soon as he was out of ear-reach, Jim leaned towards me. "I know that this must all seem rather strange, but after what you did for me, it's really the very least I can do."

I stared at him as I slowly lifted the cup of espresso to my lips and sipped it. There was a boyish look about his features, a real soft sweetness in the largeness of his eyes and the pinkness of his lips. But when he smiled, there was the permeating elegance of the grown man, a delicacy and a richness all at once. Everything about him, from the darkness of his suit to the simplistic yet perfect cut of his hair and even the slightest of stubble on his chin...everything, everything was pleasing to the eye. I replaced the cup on the saucer and pressed my lips together. "Mr. Moriarty-"

"Jim," he said. "Please."

I swallowed tightly, hesitant to call him by name, as though it would make him disappear. "I was just wondering-"

"Why someone would have pushed me out of a window?"

I sucked in a surprised breath, though I don't know why. that was exactly what was on my mind; how could anyone wish this glorious man harm, and such malicious harm as pushing him out of a window to plummet to his death? I nodded, eager to know and yet hoping I wasn't overstepping any bounds. "Yeah."

A playful little smile crossed his lips, and he settled back in his seat and crossed one leg over the other, casting his eyes away as though he were trying to figure out how to delicately tell me what he was just about to tell me. "I've come to wonder that myself, to be honest," he said, somewhat sheepishly, and looked down at nothing in particular on the tabletop. "I'm a businessman by profession, and I was foolish enough to put trust in someone I had very little knowledge of."

"You're a businessman?" I repeated, and I don't know why it struck me as being so strange. He certainly dressed the part, looked the part, spoke perfectly...I guess somewhere in the back of my head I had figured there had to be a more prestigious line of work behind the man and his mannerisms.

"Yes," he said, gently tapping his fingertips on the surface of the table, careful to keep his eyes on his coffeecup. "I work independently, it suits me, and it's never been an issue, until now," there was a touch of sadness in his voice, and I pressed my lips together. I couldn't imagine it was an easy thing to get past, having been pushed out of a window as a result of your business and your livelihood. After a moment, however, he smiled delicately and looked up at me, shrugging his shoulders a little, as though to show he held no grudges against anyone for what happened. "It's difficult to know who you can trust anymore in this city."

I nodded instantly; I knew exactly what he meant. I cleared my throat a little. "Were they...arrested?"

Jim stared at me, his dark eyes glimmering in the low morning light, and then he nodded. "They were dealt with as such, yes."

I was glad to hear that, at least, and I reached over to take my espresso cup in-between my fingers so I had an excuse to keep my head down, keep him from seeing the expression on my face, the expression that said I was far more relieved than I could say. It was one thing to know that I had kept him out of harms way long enough for Sebastian to find him that night...but if the culprit hadn't been caught and arrested, I doubted even news of his safety and wellbeing would have been enough to overlook the fact that his attacker was still out there on the loose, with the potential to try and hurt him again.

I shook it out of my head, or at least tried to, and distracted myself by taking a sip of my cooling espresso, feeling Jim's eyes watching me at every moment. After swallowing and setting down my cup, I sat back in my seat, and set my hands in my lap, looking up at him. "What kind of business are you in?"

He looked as though he were about to launch into an onslaught that was his occupation of choice, when suddenly a waitress appeared with our dishes, stealing away my attention and Jim's. She set the French toast down in front of me and all I could do was stare at it for moments. It was a perfect pyramid of splendidly golden toast drizzled with ample syrup and based with the biggest, reddest strawberries. She also set down a little vat of whipped cream, real whipped cream, and across from me Jim smiled and thanked her as she gave him his eggs Benedict.

I told her thank you and returned to stare at the meal in front of me as though it were an ancient holy relic. Jim wasn't going to wait for me, it seemed, as he was already unfolding his napkin and beholding me with a knowing little smile.

"The kind of business I'm in," Jim continued, as he picked up his knife and fork. "Is one I've known a long time, and frankly should have known better," I watched him cut into one of his poached eggs; it practically sang as perfect yoke spilled onto the muffin. I watched his hands, how milky white and lovely they were, how purposeful and elegant his movements. As I picked up my own knife and fork, he looked up at me and gave me a smile. "But luckily, you came along."

I smiled, but at a loss of what to say to that, I turned my attention to my breakfast by carefully cutting a perfect piece of toast, covering it with a little dollop of whipped cream with my knife, and slipping it into my mouth. It was sweet and eggy and creamy and sticky and everything, all at once, and I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the taste, while across the table Jim eyed me with his big dark eyes and a growing smile on his pinks lips. I couldn't help but smile back at him, and I swallowed the bite and wiped my lips with my napkin before setting down my utensils and going for my espresso once more. "Who were they, if you don't mind me asking?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders, distractedly cutting into his own meal. "That, I'm afraid, is a story for another day," he said, and then he looked up at me and pointed at me with the edge of his fork. "Another breakfast."

I could see by his growing smile that I had absolutely blushed bright red, and kept it out of his view by keeping my head down and digging in deep to my delicious French toast.

/

By the time breakfast had finished, it was close to noon, and after making a phone call to Mrs. Penslivy that I was going to be on time to meet Dad after all, Jim escorted me out of the restaurant, which by that point was filled to all four corners with chatty breakfasters, and we walked to the front of the hotel where Sebastian and I had first come in.

A taxi was waiting as we emerged, and I stared at it in surprise as Jim gently took my elbow in his fingers, drawing my attention back to him. "I'm afraid I'll have to put you in a taxi to send you home, Sebastian and I are running late for a previous engagement."

Truth be told, I would have preferred to ride with him in the back seat of the fancy car Sebastian was driving, but a taxi was nice too, far nicer than making the ridiculous Tube ride back to my flat. I stared at the taxi, smiling fondly, and then I turned to Jim and gave him as lovely a smile as I could muster. "Thank you for breakfast," I said, watching the appreciative smile stretch over his lips. "It was really nice. Unconventional..." I laughed a little but recovered easily to be serious. "But very nice."

At that moment, his smile fell, as his eyes became dark, and for a moment I was worried that I had said something wrong, but suddenly his hand had slipped into mine, and although he held me firmly, I started, surprised by the contact. He held my hand up and then grasped it between both of his, like he had done when I first came into the dining room, and my heart began to pound as he considered me very seriously.

"I am in your debt, Nola," he said, his voice low but perfectly clear, meaning for his words to be heard only by me, and I stared into his eyes, completely entranced. "I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but thankfully you were not."

And then, to my utmost surprise, I felt him slip something into my hand. I looked down at our hands between us, though he continued to grasp mine so I couldn't see. I looked back up into his eyes and he was still staring at me. "Anything I can do for you, anything at all, I want you to contact me."

I realized then what he'd given me, and it made me want to break out into a giant smile and jump up and down. His card. He'd given me his card.

I tried to play it off as best I could. "That's...really not necessary," I said. "I was only trying to help-"

"And a kind heart should be rewarded in any way it can," he said, and he gave my hand a little squeeze, to emphasize the fact he'd given me his card, his contact information, and that I should contact him if ever I needed him. "Anything."

I swallowed, and nodded slowly to show him I understood. "Anything."

With that established, he grinned and shook my hand between his as though were old, dear friends about the part ways. "Well, so happy we finally had a chance to meet," he said, smiling so widely that it damn near took my breath away, and he slowly released my hand and placed both his hands into the pockets of his jacket, though his eyes, his beautiful chocolate eyes, never left me for a single moment, and neither did his smile. "I'll be seeing you soon, no doubt."

I stood there completely dumbfounded, holding my hand up where he had held it, before coming back to earth and pulling my purse strap back up over my shoulder awkwardly like a schoolgirl. I smiled and gave him a parting nod. "I hope so," I said, like an idiot, and then laughed. "Goodbye, Jim."

He stood and watched as I climbed into the back of the taxi, closed the door, and gave the driver my address. As the taxi pulled away from the curb and away from the hotel's front reception, I stared out the window at Jim, who stood and watched me with a handsome smile, and raised his hand in goodbye. I raised my fingers against the window and simply pressed my fingertips against the glass, and when he was well out of sight, I sat back in my seat, let out a deep sigh, and stared at the card he had given me, beholding his number and his initials. J.M.

/