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Slowly, Now
They are an hour into their evening when Michelle decides to bring him up again. He has disappeared into the back - has been gone for quite some time now - and she broaches the subject carefully, gives Carla a look (the look) directly beforehand so that she knows what she is in for. Carla sighs before words have even so much as left her best mate's mouth. She leans back in her chair and grimaces, ready for a grilling. Her glass of wine is fixed permanently into her right hand, as full as it is red.
"It all makes sense now, you know," Michelle begins. "I get it now. He—" She points behind the bar to where she imagines Nick is, just behind the wall rather than stood in front of it. "—is the reason you've been acting so secretive lately."
Carla scoffs. "Secretive?"
"Yes! All this sneaking off, throwing Hayley at me the first chance you get…"
"'Chelle," Carla interjects, looking rather smug. "I do that anyway. You know that."
Michelle shakes her head.
"But he is," she protests. A long pause follows her words. She takes a deep breath; it's all very dramatic when half drunk on less than a bottle. "You fancy him," she dares to say.
Carla does her utmost not to flinch.
"Sorry?"
"You. Fancy. Nick."
Biting her lip, Carla finds herself unable to meet Michelle's eyes and keep up the lie. She instead runs a finger around the rim of her glass, the glass she has become fixated by over the course of the past hour after being kept away from it - and its kind - for so long.
To admit to fancying Nick would make her seem weak. Even the word is cringeworthy to her. Fancy. Goodness, she has never really been one to develop a crush. When she falls, she falls hard. Falls instantly in some cases; goes against her instincts in a lot of others. But this, this thing she is yet to put a name to, this what is still unofficial and unattached and in many ways, this thing that makes her feel free, isn't like falling. It isn't like falling at all. She knows this because falling can be scary. It's terrifying at times.
This just isn't.
This is safe and it's comfortable and it makes her feel warmth where she once feared the ice would, once again, never melt. This excites her. This makes her look forward instead of back. It is everything she has never had before. It's cool, it's calm, it's casual. It's only Nick.
She isn't falling for him. At least, not in the usual way. The conventional way. She isn't falling; she can instead feel herself being dragged. Dragged into him, into his life, into all that he is. In essence, it's the same thing. But falling is fast. Dragging is slow. Dragging is done with care and caution and for every thought her mind conjures up of him, another runs alongside it, considering not only her own feelings, feelings she fears are running far too deep already, but those of her daughter as well, however small she still may be.
And she hasn't been pushed this time. She hasn't jumped or slipped. Everything that has happened thus far has happened for a reason, has happened with a purpose behind it. She has let herself go. Surrendered herself to him and all that doing so may lead to. She has trusted the man she can see beneath all that front, that performance he puts on behind his stupid, restrictive bar which hides most of what her eyes wish to follow. Hides most of what her eyes swallow whole the second they are given a chance to.
She catches glimpses every now and then of what it might be like. To do more than fancy him; more than appreciate the way he dresses, the tightness of his suits; how he smiles and means it, does the most genuine of gestures and asks for nothing in return.
And it doesn't scare her. It doesn't scare her because she wants to feel this way. She likes being made to feel this way.
Not that she'll admit any of this to Michelle, let alone when on the brink of drunkenness.
"I can't believe you just said that to me," she replies, laughing at the audacity of Michelle, who at this point is grinning and barely able to contain her giggles.
"You fancy Gail Platt's son! Just admit it!"
She admits nothing. Even if she were going to, she doesn't get the chance, for Nick's hand falls suddenly onto the small of her back and she doesn't know whether it is the alcohol in her system, her surprise of his presence, or just him - or a combination of all three - that causes her to very nearly slip from the bar stool on which she is perched.
She laughs uneasily and doesn't look at him.
"Is everything alright here? Can I get any of you ladies another drink?" he asks, everything about him bright.
"Why don't you get one for yourself, Nick, love?" Michelle replies. "It's dead quiet in here tonight."
Carla does not appreciate her interference. Nor the fact that she is right. The bistro is almost empty and it's not even eight o'clock.
"Oh…" Nick hesitates.
"Go on! I mean, someone's got to keep Carla company, haven't they?"
She stands with a start, bag and coat already gathered up in her arms.
"I'm sorry?" Carla is not impressed.
"Yeah, darling. I forgot that to say. We're short staffed tonight. I can't go leaving Liz in the lurch for a second time this week."
She goes to put on and button up her coat, swaying slightly as she does so. She hadn't realised she'd consumed quite so much wine until back up on her feet again; she is thinking on them, too.
"Look at you." Carla shakes her head. "You can't work - you can barely stand up! 'Chelle, you agreed to come out and celebrate with me."
She is desperate.
"Yeah, well. You can celebrate with Nick, can't you?" She drops her voice to a whisper after giving him the slightest of smirks. "I know you'd much prefer to."
"Michelle!"
With a cackle, she merely pats her friend's arm, downs the rest of her drink and calls, "See you later! Have fun!" as she leaves the bistro.
Incredulous, Carla swivels on her chair in the direction of Nick and scoffs. She is shocked, her mouth opening and closing multiple times, unable to form words for a good few seconds. She eventually comes out with, "Can you believe her?"
Rather than offering her any form of sympathy, Nick points to Michelle's now empty stool and smiles. "Is this seat taken?"
Carla rolls her eyes; shrugs at him.
"Go ahead."
Nick heavily drops himself down next to her. A moment passes of companionable silence in which Carla returns to her drink and Nick taps his fingers across the bar, the picture of a man lost deep in thought. Carla takes his distractedness as an opportunity to stare at him without, she hopes, being caught. She finds herself particularly drawn to his jawline, managing to tear her eyes from him only once he has let out a lengthy sigh, having suddenly snapped himself out of his trance.
He has realised something Carla gets the impression isn't as significant as his face is suggesting.
"What?" she asks.
"Well." And he sighs again. "Now I've sat down, I'm gonna have to stand back up and go all the way around the bar to pour myself a drink. And I don't wanna do that. I'm far too lazy."
She laughs at him.
"You idiot."
His lips push outwards to form a pout. He shuffles closer to her. Does his best to get her to smile - and doesn't fail.
"Can I not just put a straw in yours?" he asks quietly, fingers toying with the end of one as he speaks.
It's hilarious to her that he would think she'd share her wine with anyone, let alone him, after months of going without. It's been well over a year and she is... well, thirsty.
"No way, matey," she quips.
They hold each other's eyes for a long moment, their moment which broken by Carla standing from her chair, albeit on shaky legs, and purposefully brushing past him. She makes her way over to the opposite side of the bar than what she is used to and grins, turning her back to Nick as she scans the bottles in front of her, her hair falling over one shoulder exposing the skin of her neck to him.
He is in awe.
She holds an empty glass up in the air and waves it at him.
"What can I get you?"
To say Carla is tipsy would be a slight understatement. It's unclear whether there is any blood left in her veins at all. It has been replaced by the poison she hasn't drank more of than she used to, but a prolonged lack of exposure to it seems to have had a detrimental impact on her levels of tolerance. She'd be outraged by this fact - if only she were sober enough to acknowledge it.
She clings to him. At some point during what seems to have turned into a bizarre, impromptu wine tasting session - by the bar with its samples and empties and all that they have discarded placed on top of it - Carla stood up. Carla is still standing now, only managing to do so by holding onto the lapels of Nick's blazer and hanging off of him, not that he is complaining in the slightest.
Steph is. It's a good job she's working, too, because for the past couple of hours, she has watched her boss drink more and more, becoming less and less interested in the customers he is supposed to be serving. Usually, he spends his breaks alone, in the back with a glass of orange juice for company - and he never, ever takes this long. It seems that Ms. Connor is a bad influence on him, but the way Nick is looking at her suggests to Steph otherwise.
Gradually, Carla's steadiness decreases further up until the point where the only thing Nick can think to do in his state of intoxication is place a hand on either side of her waist to try and keep her still. Still and secure; and it works in more ways than one. Carla smiles at the motion. She is touched by it, leaning into him, so much so that her hair brushes his face and neither do anything to stop it.
"Leanne is not going to be happy with me," Nick says.
Carla hums. She seems tired, unused to nights out such as these nowadays. "What?"
"Well." Nick pauses and their eyes meet. "I dread to think of how much wine we've wasted 'trying'."
She pushes the last glass she drank from away from her. A grin threatens to tug at her lips.
"Yeah, but it was so worth it."
Nick nods slowly.
"Do you have a favourite?" he asks, referring to the wine.
"Oh, I have many favourites," comes her reply. Her tone suggests they are not talking about the same thing.
"Care to share?"
"One day, perhaps…"
Slowly, with a breathy sigh she feels upon her face, Nick removes his hands from Carla's waist and she notices his lack of presence immediately. It is as if he has only just realised what it is he had been doing; how she isn't there for him to touch. She is there merely to be observed, if that, and he would be wrong to push his luck too far this early into an evening, this early into discovering how it is he actually feels for her.
He asks, "Shouldn't you be getting back?" Not because he wants to, but because he feels he ought to.
She is frowning a little. His attempt to distance himself from her is most unwelcome.
"Should I?"
"I don't know. What time did Bethany say she'll have Hayles 'til?"
She snorts. It's an automatic response she wouldn't even control if she had known it were coming. "Hayles? Are you serious?" She giggles at him. "Nick, don't call her that. It's borderline child abuse."
She manages to get a smile out of him for that.
"Shut up, Carla."
"Only if you shut up first."
"Well, we both know that's not gonna happen any time soon."
She shrugs. "Okay, then. That's fine."
The mood between them seems to have changed. It has changed so much, Carla feels brave. Or maybe that's just her, under the alcohol's influence. Either way, a plan forms in her head, one she knows she must carry out now or regret for the next however long it takes for her to get the same opportunity again.
"I'm sorry?"
"It's fine because I'm going to kiss you now. That'll shut you up." And she does; it does. Without warning. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to his and what she had only intended to be a peck lingers on for a few seconds more. She feels one of his hands seize her elbow, the one that is leaning against the bar, and is so very tempted to part her lips, to taste him properly - but something stops her. Her phone is vibrating in her pocket and she reluctantly parts from the kiss, the ending so abrupt, she is able to watch him slowly reopen his eyes, have them adjust to his surroundings, and the way in which they soften and focus on her face, combined with the genuineness of his slight smile and his hand that is still in contact with her bare skin, causes her stomach to flip.
"Are you not going to get that?" he whispers. He does not let go of her until she moves her arm from him.
"Yeah," she replies weakly, visibly shaken. The call is answered and her best responsible adult voice is put back on. She looks anywhere but at Nick. "Hello? Yeah, hi. Good, yeah! No. Shit, sorry. Is that really the time? I got a bit… carried away. No, not like that. Don't be stupid. Bethany. Excuse me. What? Okay, okay. I'm coming. Half an hour? Yeah, whatever. Okay. See you in a minute. Bye."
Nick's words are spoken quietly. "i'm guessing you've been summoned?"
She sighs heavily. "Unfortunately."
"Ah." He is doing this stupid thing with his lips where it is blatantly obvious he is limiting how wide his smile is until she is out of sight. "We'll have to do this again sometime."
"The kissing bit or?"
He laughs and it doesn't sound as awkward to her as she thought it might. He lets himself grin, just for the briefest of moments, and then seriously replies, "All of it."
She aches.
To distract herself, she stands, more sober now than she had felt minutes previously, and tugs on her coat as swiftly as she can muster.
"We will. We shouldn't let our busy schedules part us for as long the next time," she replies. As if it's that simple.
"Exactly."
She throws her bag over her shoulder.
"I'll see you later, Nick." And as she goes to leave the bistro, she trips over her own ankle, retaining her balance by gripping onto the bar tightly. She expects Nick to be laughing, but he isn't. He places a hand on her back to steady her, but it's all a bit too much for her right now.
"Mind your step," he says.
"I'm fine."
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
"No." God, she's all flustered now and she just wants to go. To be alone with her thoughts that she is currently receiving in the form of overeager shouts, if only it is for the short walk back up to her flat. "I'm fine, Nicholas. Promise."
His eyes narrow with scepticism.
"Pinky promise?"
He offers out to her the little finger of his left hand.
"I'm going." She chuckles slightly. "Night, Nick."
She is already out of the door by the time he replies, "Goodnight."