Several fun, romantic fanfics for SSD have been posted recently. I was going to hold this for a while but I thought it might get cold as a follow up to TTA. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for the encouraging reviews.
MONDAY: Love Does Not Demand Its Own Way.
It is Monday. The alarm beeps for Shane to wake. She does not hit the snooze button – not once. Her blender whirls a cranberry, orange, bee pollen and yogurt breakfast smoothie. (She has yet to master Kombucha smoothies – for breakfast at least.) Handbag and gift box in hand she heads out the door and off to work.
This is going to be a great day – a great week. Norman and Rita are getting married. She has the perfect plans for a girls' night out. Oliver has Norman's surprise party under control. "Oliver always handles things well," she tells herself with an even bigger smile. And she will purchase a certain parcel today. There is a spring in her steps and a sparkle in her eyes.
The only problem - Monday does not go as expected. Nothing about Monday goes as expected. The parcel she is going to purchase becomes a project to pursue. The bachelor party is not only unplanned but also incredibly forgotten. Even wedding plans have gone awry. Whoever heard of a runaway florist? Rita is now purchasing flowers from Penelope's Petals and Poppies. Yet when Shane comes home that evening she is still smiling. She may not have quite the bounce in her step – one too many steps – but she is still amazed at all that transpired.
"What a day!" Entering through the back door, Shane tosses her Royal blue coat on the kitchen table, sits in the first available chair, and takes off her shoes. The only thing causing her any consternation at the moment is her choice of shoes – her painfully beautiful high heels.
Rubbing her feet and speaking to no one not even a goldfish she declares, "Today I decided to wear these! My feet are killing me. No one told me we would go all over Denver today – DLO, Brown Palace, Oliver's, DLO, farm, back to the DLO."
After a brief self-applied foot massage she stands and grabs handbag, shoes, and coat.
"Shoes off, dress off, bath water on! Oops."
As she scoops up her coat the gift card to Mon Amour that she left on the kitchen table hits the floor. "Well I believe you were obviously the right decision. From the confused look on Rita's face when I said the word steamy you, my little gift card, are needed."
Shane returns the card to the table where it will lie in wait until Thursday.
The barefooted DLO employee makes her way to her modestly furnished bedroom. The centerpiece of the room is a modernized version of a classic brass bed she ordered from Crate and Barrel when she first arrived in Denver. The double bed is more than adequate for the slender woman but the room's closet space has much to be desired. After one winter in Denver she knows a duvet and cover are needed to replace her thin bedspread. Tonight the soft down comforter with its huge water color roses of orange, pinks, and yellows looks wonderfully inviting. "What if I just throw myself across the bed and call it day?" she muses as she drops her shoes to the floor.
A bedside table with three drawers is home to a lamp that she bought in college. A slightly beaten cherry chest of drawers sits guard by the closet. It wasn't her first choice when she furnished the room but the size and the price of the used piece were right. Her childhood jewelry box with the ballerina that no longer pirouettes when wound sits atop the chest. A small dressing table with a lightly faded skirt left by the previous owner keeps it place by the window. This is the master suite and in her house she is the master.
Changing out of her dress the zipper hangs in the back. "Not the only closure I've had trouble with today." But her thoughts end there. She is not ready to contemplate that just yet. Right now her primary objective is a tub filled with hot water and bubbles that she is certain is calling her name.
"What I can't believe is that Oliver O'Toole forgot the bachelor party," chuckles Shane as she dips her foot through the froth of soap to the waiting warm water. "What is going on with that man? Thank goodness for Joe. Finger sandwiches at a bachelor party – oh perish the thought. Perish the thought – I am sounding like Oliver."
With her hair securely clipped on top of her head she submerges herself into the liquid respite. As she begins to relax events from the day begin to overtake her thoughts.
"A letter in a pocket – Who puts a pocket in a wedding dress? Better still who put the letter in the pocket? Apparently a woman named - Annaliese…I didn't realize that I was this tired… Annaliese, Annaliese that name should produce results. If I had to find a letter I'm glad I found a name to go with it. But who puts a pocket in wedding dress? The same person who sews a blessing into a wedding gown does. I wonder if I will ever have a blessing sown in a dress. I would have to need the dress first. Evelyn Rose would have to still be in business twenty years from now at the rate… oh well. Not going there. If I sit here much longer this hot bath is going to be a cold bath."
Out of the tub Shane wraps herself in a white terrycloth robe, frees her long hair from the tortoise shell clip, and sits at the dressing table. Amidst makeup, perfume, a tray for jewelry, and her comb and brush is an oval antique picture frame with a picture of Shane's great grandmother. Her dad said she looked like her. The ornate frame draws her thoughts back to the Brown Palace. The idea of returning there tomorrow is a pleasant notion even a welcomed one. She thinks about the beauty and history of the hotel and wonders what it might be like to stay there – to stay there with…. "Well, that's not happening any time soon either. At least I can have another cucumber sandwich."
She picks up her favorite bottle of lotion and begins her nightly routine. Finally as she brushes out the tangles of the day she looks in the mirror and her mind and her heart call back to another mirror – a much larger one, the full length mirror in DLO. This is part of her day that she isn't certain she is ready to contemplate yet it is inescapable. She is as torn over the memory as the check she wrote for the dress.
Just thinking about it – about him in that moment causes her to put down her brush and close her eyes. She is standing there in her own little dream and suddenly he is behind her – with her. They are no longer in the present tense. They are caught between what is and what may one day be. She takes a deeper breath. This more sensual side – demonstrative boldness – that he does not flaunt overwhelms her. She can feel his hands at her waist. All it takes is one touch and she melts. Even now she can hear tacit permission to stay in this moment. Shush. For a split second they are united in what may be. For a split second she feels him step closer to her. For a split second she is his bride. Everything is perfect. But the fantasy does not last and the reality of being caught, of being fully exposed steals the dream. Embarrassment quickly settles itself between the two of them.
She opens her eyes and picks up the brush but her arms do not move. Her memory and her heart hang still in that in between space.
She feels her cheeks flush hot even now. The back of her hand touches her face. Embarrassment engulfs her but he does not allow her to drown. Instead just the memory of how he buttons the dress feels as if he is giving her his blessing to wish, to dream – to hope for all things. She is rescued – by him – rescued from humiliation by his touch, his smile, the twinkle in his eyes.
He expresses no reprimand, no disclaimer, no revulsion by her action. She is grateful. Perhaps the concept of her as bride is not foreign to him.
She cannot help but think of his hands – the way it feels for him to be at her waist, button the dress. It makes her miss him as she now sits there alone. His hands are gentle and sure – just as he is a gentle and confidant. How different his hands are from any other man she has ever known. She has been on dates with men whose hands tried to play with her buttons – to be her undoing. They were men she had to push away. But not Oliver. Never Oliver. He is not trying to unbutton anything. He is securing something - something for her. It is more than a dress. It is a wish, a dream, a hope.
She sits and rests for a moment in those now treasured memories of his hands – reaching – meeting - holding her. She cherishes his touch.
She remembers the first time he extended his hand to her. It is their first case after she decides to stay with the DLO. She thinks how he looks up at her crawling out of that window. He looks up to help her and offers his hand – this thoughtful gentleman. Even then she knows he is a uniquely caring man.
His hands hold her close when she is afraid in a locked vault and she feels safe. His hands keep her from falling when tripped by uneven pavement on their first official date and she feels steadied. His hands hold her while dreading a difficult decision and she feels certain. His hands lead her body and soul when they dance and she feels transported. And when his hands bring hers to his lips she feels treasured.
She smiles. No. No. His hands have never been the source of hurt or concern for her. Even today at her most vulnerable – she is only thrilled and made secure by his touch.
She longs for him now.
She swallows the lump trying to form in her throat and takes a tissue from the box on her table. Her eyes are a puddle of emotion. As beautiful as that moment is for her, she is torn by it. For his sake she would give up every wonderful second of that moment this morning. She never meant for him to see her. Can he pretend that it did not happen? She was not trying to manipulate him, seek anything from him. She certainly wasn't trying to get her own way with him. But from the moment he catches her in her – sees her – touches her – there is no turning back.
Her regret isn't over losing a dress that was never truly hers or even her own embarrassment. Her concern is Oliver. Here he is struggling with something – distracted and he walks in and finds her in wedding dress.
She is glad that she has the opportunity to tell him that she never intended for that to happen. She hopes her words lessen any pressure he may be feeling. She respects this man so much that the last thing she wants is to impose any pressure on him especially where their relationship is concerned.
"Please forget. Please do not by burdened by what you saw," she whispers.
She cannot forget but she genuinely hopes that he does.
With that thought Shane closes her eyes again. Only this time it is in prayer.
"Oh dear God let it be ok. Let him be ok. You know I did not mean for him to see. Whatever is distracting him, burdening him, please lift that load for him. Help me not to add to his whatever is bothering him. Help him to…to forget. I do not seek to demand my own way. But ultimately Father, not my way or even Oliver's way, but your way."
With that prayer uttered she finishes brushing her hair.
There is no more time to think of herself or Oliver.
"Turn back these covers and go to bed. Tomorrow you have a grandmother to find for Norman and a dress to deliver."
Shane trades her robe for her pajamas - a three-quarter-sleeve waffle-weave cotton sleep top in gold with matching gold and gray paisley sleep pants. The paisley print of the pants reminds her of one of Oliver's pocket squares. She pulls the drawstring ribbon tighter at her waist and laughs at herself. "What doesn't remind you of Oliver?" She turns down the bed, fluffs the pillows, and slips into the cool, welcoming sheets.
"To sleep perchance to dream? Uhm, Shakespeare. But not quite what Hamlet meant. Oh Oliver, what have you done to me?" With her head resting on the pillow a still smiling Shane McInerney drifts to sleep to dream of him.