Fluffy Valentine's Day fun - sorry for the delay. Real life interfered in the form of a broken data cable and a very busy beta reader.

Many thanks to Got Tea for doing the beta :)

Tea, or Coffee?
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Hidden behind the partly closed curtain, Grace looks out of her bedroom window. Her heart beats ferociously as her gaze follows a car slowly driving down the street until it disappears around the corner.

"Damn you, Peter Boyd," she sighs bitterly, "why do you do this to me?"

After a busy week, they'd ended up at hers, sharing a hasty takeaway and a bottle of wine. Then suddenly, when Boyd was about to leave, their eyes met and locked, and they kissed. One thing led to the other, and eventually they ended up in her bed.

It was unexpected, but so fabulous. Sleeping with Boyd has been a silly daydream for her for years. Something she knew never would come true. It did, though, and it was good. So good. and her genuine impression was that it was the same for him.

Falling asleep in his arms, tucked close to his body, listening to his soft voice whispering endearments in her ear, was simply blissful.

She slept like a baby throughout the night. Didn't stir before Boyd gently twisted his body away from hers a little while ago and left for a trip to the bathroom... or so she believed.

He never returned, though. Shortly after, she heard his quiet steps on the stairs. She lay listening for sounds for a while without hearing anything, wondering what he was doing. Then suddenly the front door opened. That caused her to jump out of bed and hurry to the window, only to watch his car drive away.

It shook her to the core.

The mere thought makes tears press at the corner of her eyes, and she bites down on her lip and squeezes her eyes tightly shut, forcing the tears back. Years ago, thanks to Harry Taylor, she promised herself she would never again cry over a man, and she certainly refuses to do it on behalf of bloody Peter Boyd.

Stay calm, Grace, she commands, stay calm. Forcing herself to swallow, she inhales deeply, then releases the air slowly before opening her eyes again.

Head held high she turns away from the window, as she tries to decide what to do. Move on, make a plan. What else can you do, she tells herself. Somehow, you'll have to face him on Monday morning at the office. She flatly refuses to quit her job. No man shall never get in my way again, she bitterly reflects.

She must stay calm and cool-headed. Not act on a whim.

But what the hell is going on? She desperately ponders. What is going through his mind? She never imagined Boyd – of all men – to skulk away like that.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored door of her wardrobe – wrinkled, tousled grey hair, yesterday's make-up more or less smeared around her eyes – a brief thought hits her... Maybe it's this sight that scared him off? He knows her age though, and couldn't have expected to wake up with some hot young thing...

Anyway, she'll be damned if she's going to let him get away with treating her like this.

The shame is not hers, even though she has been foolish enough to sleep with the head of the unit she's working with. How could she be so stupid and repeat her previous mistake? Apparently, she hasn't learned her lesson from previous experience, she thinks ironically, but at least she won't be pregnant this time.

Reaching for her dressing gown, a long fluffy grey fleece with a huge collar, she slips into it and binds the robe tight around her waist with a knot. Some serious thinking is necessary. And for that, tea is very much required. Lots of tea.

With resolute steps, she walks towards the door to the landing. Hesitating at the end of her bed, her gaze is drawn to the state of it. The bed clothing is in a mess after the night's deeds and there, on the pillow, is still a faint imprint of where Boyd's head not long ago rested.

How fast fate can change, she muses indignantly, as she sighs with heavy heart. Only a few hours ago, she was in heaven in that bed. There, in his arms, she experienced a passion and a heat more intense than ever before. Deeply sated, she'd revelled in his caresses until she finally fell asleep, only to wake up to utter pain. Her dream-come-true turned into a nightmare.

A shiver running down her spine shakes her out of her depressive thoughts and Grace forces herself to walk out of the bedroom and downstairs.

Acutely aware that the sad remains from their dinner are still on the coffee table, she ignores the half-closed door to the living room. The boxes and bags from their takeaway, the wine glasses, and the almost empty bottle of red they didn't quite manage to empty before things got heated and resulted in them ending up on her bed, will still be there on the coffee table, reminding her of yesterday's events. Everything went so fast last night they didn't clean up and right now she doesn't have the energy to deal with that. Instead, she heads towards the kitchen for that much-needed cup of tea.

The sight that greets her as she reaches the doorframe baffles her, and makes her pause by the doorframe.

Bloody hell. Grace raises a hand in front of her mouth to stop a startled outcry, gazing dumbfoundedly around her normally rather tidy kitchen.

If a storm has passed through, it couldn't look worse. Everything is in chaos. All the cabinet doors are wide open. Lots of things from the shelves – tins, canisters of sugar, flour, and other goods – are scattered randomly around the counters and on the table. Mechanically, Grace puts the kettle on, and while the water warms up, she starts putting things back into place. It's a daunting and irksome task, as it's impossible for her to reach the upper shelves without the step-stool tucked away under the stairs that she just can't be bothered to dig out, so when the water boils, she gives in, selects a mug, and makes herself a strong cup of tea.

Seated at the kitchen table, she folds her fingers around the mug, letting the heat seep into her hands. Starting to relax, she takes in the messy kitchen.

What in heaven's name has he been up to? Boyd's behaviour this morning really makes no sense. Contemplating deeply, she takes a healthy sip of the tea and tries to analyse the situation. What triggered him? The man she knows and secretly loves would never back away from facing the consequences of his actions. Even embarrassed for some obscure reason, he would never run away without a word or explanation to her — or at least, without leaving a note. And he certainly wouldn't leave her kitchen looking like this.

Maybe she's just fooling herself. Maybe she doesn't know him as well as she imagines? Suddenly, Grace realises all she's doing now is finding excuses for Boyd, or rather defending him because that's what she always does, isn't it?

What a complete idiot, she is, she snorts. This is not right. What he's done today is so wrong and unforgivable. Whatever his reasons, she feels betrayed, and she's not willing to turn a blind eye to his actions or even forgive him. It's simply too hurtful.

He won't come back to apologise to her or to sort the kitchen, she tells herself, and even though she's not in the mood to clean up after him, she'd better get started. She probably won't find any peace in her mind before her kitchen looks normal again.

Her annoyance with Boyd doesn't evaporate with the laborious work of constantly bending down to grab a can or a canister on the kitchen table, then stretching up, standing on tiptoe to place it in its usual place. Eventually, she gives up, drags a chair over to the counter, and climbs up onto it.

Only a few things are waiting to be moved back into place, when suddenly she hears the sound of the front door opening.

Whether the sound startles her, or whether she moves too fast, she doesn't know but suddenly Grace loses her balance. Struggling to find her footing again, she drops the can in her hand, and, swinging her arms, she flails desperately around her, trying to find something to steady herself.

Eventually, she manages to lean down and grab on to the back of the chair as her knees shake and her palms sweat at the near miss.

Behind her, she hears something falling to the floor and Boyd's voice worried voice exclaiming, "Sweet Jesus, Grace! What are you doing?"

Shocked, and slightly out of breath, she grunts, "What do you think? I'm sorting out your bloody mess!"

Still with a single hand supporting herself against the back of the chair, she mentally squares her shoulders and braces herself for the coming confrontation. With slow, careful steps and as much dignity as she can muster, she climbs down the chair.

Safely on the floor, she turns towards him, snarling. "And what the hell are you doing here?

Hastily, Boyd strides through the kitchen to stand beside her, immediately encircling an arm around her shoulders. Completely disregarding her question, he asks. "Are you okay, Grace?" His deep brown eyes sweep over her face and body. "Why didn't you wait for me instead of climbing up there? You could have hurt yourself, or worse."

Twisting out of his arm, she growls angrily at him. "How could I know you forgot something and had to return to get it? A simple text could have done it and I would have brought it to the office Monday morning." Still furious, she adds, "it would have saved you the trip."

"What the fuck is going on, Grace?" Looking bewildered, Boyd trails a hand through his hair. "Why are you angry with me? I don't understand?"

"How can you even ask?" she almost spits at him.

"How can I not?" Sighing deeply, Boyd draws out a kitchen chair and sits at the little table, saying quietly. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," she immediately cuts him short and turns her back to him. There's no need to show him how deeply he hurt her.

"Oh, I think there is... " Boyd tuts, and leaning back on the backrest as he folds his arms over his chest and crosses his legs. "I'm not going anywhere before I know what's going on here."

"Suit yourself." She dismisses him with a shrug and, without a glance in his direction, she turns on the kettle to make a new cup of tea.

Pottering about, she continues to ignore him until the water boils and she can brew her tea. She has absolutely no intention of offering him any, and if he won't leave her kitchen, then she will.

Mug in hand, planning to retire to her study where there won't be any traces of him, she walks toward the kitchen door and there – right in the door frame – lies a plastic bag from Argos clearly containing a big box and a bouquet of red roses wrapped in cellophane.

The wind suddenly knocked out of her sails, she stops and stares. Trying to process the sight, to interpret the evidence on the floor, her mind suddenly works overtime.

Quietly, she whispers the only question that comes to her mind. "You went shopping early on

Saturday morning?"

"Evidently, I did."

She wets her lips, wondering. "Why?"

Behind her, she hears him push the chair back, then his footfall as he slowly moves towards her.

"I woke up, decided to bring you tea and breakfast in bed and came down to make it." Boyd exhales deeply before he goes on and she can almost hear him summoning every last shred of his patience. "You know me, Grace..." She feels his hand on her shoulder and turns to face him. "While I waited for the water to get hot, I was desperate for a cup of coffee and in vain, it seems, I searched your kitchen for your coffee - "

"I have coffee!" Cutting him short, she paces to the counter and grips a jar. "See!" Triumphantly, Grace pushes the jar towards him. "Golden Blend even. The best of the best. For house guests."

"That, my dear," Boyd laughs, raises his hand in avoidance, "has nothing to do with real coffee. Instant coffee is a disgusting surrogate. I rather have nothing than a cup of that."

"Well, how should I know, I'm a tea-person," she comments tartly.

"So I noticed," Boyd smirks, "and that's the reason I decided to go and buy a coffee maker. That's a necessity if this," he waves a hand between them, "this thing between us is going to work."

Heat rises in her cheeks, and for a moment, Grace has to turn away. Her mind scrambles, struggling to put this sudden revelation into perspective, along with her almighty error in judgement.

He left without a word though, a tiny voice in her head reminds her. What were you supposed to think?

Even so…

Realising how wrong she's been, she murmurs something unintelligible, a hand pressed towards her upper neck as she forces herself to turn back to face him.

Boyd is staring at her, waiting. There is tension visible in every line of his face.

Grace takes a deep breath. "I'm so sorry for doubting you. I thought you left me without a word or explanation. That you did the walk of shame. That you…"

"You think I would do that?" With an expression of utter disbelief, Boyd studies her for a while, then, shaking his head, he calmly tells her, "I could never do that to you or any woman, Grace."

"How was I supposed to believe otherwise? I was heartbroken," Grace divulges and bites down her lip to prevent herself from crying.

"Forgive me, Grace. It's all my fault. I didn't even consider that you could wake up before I was back. I never set out to hurt you."

Closing the gap between them, Boyd embraces her, catches her lips and kisses her. For a while, they linger in each other's arms, then, looking up, Grace scrutinises him, her expression sceptical.

"You bought flowers, though." Going back to the door, she bends down to pick up the bouquet. On her way back to him she arches an eyebrow in question. "So, these are not meant as an apology?"

"No, no, not at all," he chuckles. "Outside, I realised what date it is today, Grace. There are flowers, chocolates, and pink cards with hearts everywhere. It's Valentine's Day. Of all days, I woke up by your side and that's certainly something to celebrate, don't you agree? Now, if you take care of the flowers, I'll put the coffee maker to work. I believe we deserve a good breakfast, but first, I need a kiss."