I'm trying to do some paperwork in my office when to my relief someone interrupts me. I look up to see a vision of beauty standing in my doorway. Oh god, she's wearing that red dress! Doesn't she realise the effect that one seemingly harmless item of clothing has on me. That red dress is my Achilles heel. I can't think straight when I see her in it. It fits her perfectly and I can't help run my eyes over her body when she's wearing it. I can judge her mood by the clothes she wears. I know for example that if she wears grey she's feeling down and I need to cheer her up. I know all sorts of other things about her too. Like what kind of perfume she wears, like she loves chocolate pudding, like her favourite holiday is Christmas. People think she's sweet and innocent but she can be tough when she needs to be. She doesn't take any crap, especially from me. I love the look she gets when she's looking at me like I'm crazy...just like she's looking now. Oh crap. I've been staring at her in that dress and my brain hasn't managed to get a coherent sentence out of my mouth. Grinning at me she asks me a question about the case we're working on and I manage to reply without drooling.
Later, when we've wrapped up the case and I'm alone again I catch sight of a photo of Emily. I pick it up and am reminded how lucky I am to have her. My thoughts return to Gillian and how I've always thought what a wonderful mother she would make. I know the struggle she went through trying to conceive naturally. Disappointment after disappointment, yet she never gave up hope. Then she got Sophie and it was just perfect. I had never seen her so happy, so content. And then they took her away and something inside her died and she'll never be the same. They took her baby and with it her hope. The night they took Sophie, she came to me and I held her. I cried with her because the pain on her face broke my heart. We never speak of that night but sometimes she looks at me for a moment longer than necessary and that's all that needs to be said.
She's a caring compassionate woman. She wants to discover the reasons behind the emotions we can read. She's the heart of our company, without her we'd be lost, me particularly.
I am pulled from my thoughts by knocking. I look up to see her standing in my doorway again. This time she's holding a bottle of whisky.
"I thought we could celebrate." she says.
I nod and she sits on my couch and kicks off her shoes. I love the fact she feels so comfortable around me. I know she finds it hard to really trust people because of her father. Those mushy romance novels she's so fond of were her escape back then. She still reads them now because I know underneath the level headed, realistic exterior, she dreams of her happy ever after. She's watching me again and I wonder if she knows I'm thinking about her. One look at her beautiful, expressive face lets me know she does. She sees a lot more than she lets on. I know she sees how I feel about her just as I see how she feels about me. But if you asked me if I love her... I'd lie.