Here’s more of what I posted yesterday…I do particularly love feedback if you would be so kind. And I welcome constructive criticism.
There was something about her, and it wasn’t her long legs. Nor was it the curve of her hips and chest. Not the bow of her lips or the cornsilk of her blonde hair or even the angle of her eyebrow.
It wasn’t even the way her body fit against his, or the way she said his name.
It was the way he could always read the smile in her eyes, the silent words that walked between them and told him how happy he made her. It was the way she bit her lip when she looked at him, like there were always things she wanted to tell him but knew that he already knew. It was the way her eyes snapped to him every time he entered the room.
It was the way her palm felt against his. The way her rings made his fingers cold in the wintertime, because she refused to wear gloves if they were going to hold hands. The way her thumb pressed against the back of his hand to make sure he didn’t pull away.
That’s why it came as such a surprise when he found the gun hidden in the trick drawer in her closet. He’d just been searching for his Christmas present when the back of the drawer had sprung out, leaving him with a block of wood and a Beretta and a panic that was so fierce that he dropped the semi-automatic and screeched like a little girl.
She came running, looking between him and the pistol until he pointed at it from his new vantage point in the corner behind her dresses. “Christmas present,” was all he managed to stammer, and she cocked her head at him in utter bewilderment.
“That’s not your Christmas present,” she said, picking up the gun and putting it back into the drawer and replaced the false back. Pushing the drawer in with her hip, she reached out to him, but he didn’t reach back. “What?”
“Gun,” he said.
“Oh.” She stepped back and shrugged one shoulder. “Just because I mostly do deskwork with Interpol doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to carry weapons.” But he just stared at her in horror. She fidgeted. “Look, it’s really not a big deal.”
“But you—you just keep that in the drawer.” Keeping his back to the wall, he edged around her and backed out of the closet. “What if—I mean—what if…Why don’t you keep it in the safe?”
She followed him, flipping off the closet light and shutting the door behind her. “Why? It’s not loaded—I keep the bullets in the next drawer down. Besides, there aren’t any kids around to find it.”
He waved one hand around. “Irrelevant! What if—I mean I could have…”
“Christ, I already told you—it’s not loaded,” she said, slowing her words down as if she was talking to a five-year-old.
His fists clenched and unclenched, and clenched once more. He licked his lips. “Are there any more?” he asked, pushing a stray sock across the carpet with his toe.
“No,” she said, then hedged, head cocking as her eyes slid sideways. “Well—I have one at the office. I keep it in my desk, just in case one of our leads pans out.” As his eyes narrowed, she took three steps forward and reached for his hand. This time he didn’t pull away, and her thumb rubbed across his knuckles. “But I never bring that one home. It stays at the office.”
He sighed, eyes on her hand in his. “Why do you need two?”
“Just in case,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “You know I take my badge home. I have the gun so that if I get called in for something, I’ll be prepared.”
When he continued to look unconvinced, she took his other hand and laced her fingers through his. “”Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I should have told you. Let’s just—let’s just forget about it. The gun won’t come out of the drawer again.”
He hesitated another few moments, but then she shook he one hand so their arms swung between them. Nodding, he pulled her closer and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Okay.” He nodded again as if reassuring himself. “Okay. Let’s have dinner.”