Jules pounced on my brain fart with a vengeance, and very commendably set about procuring us the tickets and the hotel reservation for an event 10 months into the future. The fact that it is such a long way away still doesn't dampen my enthusiasm. Nor does the fact that we don't know yet who will be there. As I've mentioned often to both J and C, the main thing is that we will be there, and we'll finally have a chance to find out if we can get along as well in real life as we seem to be able to do in our daily e-mail contact.
Which has come about through our mutual fascination with BtVS and our shared love of the Spike character. Which sometimes spills over into a complete adoration of JM as well. Although we do try to keep each other well grounded in reality...But it's not always that easy!
To wit: calove went to Devon for a week, to try and escape the heatwave currently enveloping her native Kent. Did she utilise this time away from us and our bad influence to regain some perspective on life, love and Spike/the actor who portrays him? Nooooo! She took all of our e-mails over the last year and used them as a base for composing a delightful and oh so funny story starring yours truly (albeit unnamed, but it is so me, whatever she may say)
...and this is the finished product. It's called
Not for the first time that evening, she wondered what had possessed her to wear these particular shoes. They were very nice shoes, true, with sweet little kitten heels, and they matched her carefully chosen dress perfectly. But they were new shoes, and an impulse buy which she had just fallen in love and bought without really and honestly being sure they fit comfortably. And turns out they didn’t – at least not in the sweltering heat of the hotel. So, here she was, standing in a room full of over-excited females, all sweating gently – or in the case of some of them, sweating in an unladylike and highly unattractive way on the dance floor. She could curse whoever it was had turned off the air-conditioning.
The music changed and she winced. They were playing his music - and it really wasn’t her thing. However, most of the other women in the room cheered the choice and the object of their attention, writer and singer of the song, blushed becomingly and grinned widely.
She scanned the room desperately trying to find her friends among the mass of bodies. Nope. Totally disappeared. She sighed and edged a little closer to one of the doors, shoes punishing her toes. It was getting difficult to look haughty and bored given the circumstances, and existentialist lurker was in danger of shifting towards wallflower at any time now.
Her mind drifted back to earlier that day – and squirming embarrassment was added to her current list of discomforts. Her friends had taken meeting him all in their stride – well, mostly – one experienced at this sort of thing, calm and chatting easily to the man who really seemed to remember her and be pleased to see her again; the other, a gibbering beetroot-red mass of nerves, had at least managed a few squeaked words. But her turn – one touch of his hand and a look from those intense blue eyes and all her carefully thought-out words had deserted her. And he had just looked at her, gently smiling, not letting go of her hand – obviously, she thought, totally bemused by her wordlessness. For a moment he had looked as if he was about to say something to her – but had blinked, hesitated and stopped, as if suddenly aware of his surroundings. He gave a self-depreciating smile and said hello and signed her picture. When he handed it back he looked at her intently, and a gentle frown had creased his brow. She fled. No amount of the others telling her he had watched her walk away made any difference. The man clearly thought she was an inarticulate fool. Bugger.
She was dragged back to the moment and the shoes by the commotion of the guest of honour leaving the room. Almost immediately the atmosphere became less charged, and the females in the room relaxed and began to chat excitedly among themselves. OK. Five more minutes and she was out of here – or at least, out of these shoes…
The voice from the shadowed doorway behind her, when it came, was strangely anticipated.
“So, you aren’t dancing?” The chocolate-brown tones purred close to her ear. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, raising a shiver of pleasure down her spine.
“No.” She didn’t turn around, but carried on watching the others in the room. Every fibre of her being was acutely aware of his nearness.
“It’s hot.” He eased a strand of dark hair away from her neck.
And getting hotter, she thought. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. He smelt of clean soap and oranges, under laid with a slightly musty, very masculine note that set her pulse racing.
“Very.” Unbidden, her body swayed gently towards his.
“Earlier today… we didn’t get the chance to talk… I felt… I’ve never…” he hesitated and there was an edge of uncertainty and vulnerability in his voice as he went on. “I was going to take a walk. See if I could catch a breeze. Would you like to come?”
She hesitated, glanced over at her friends who had suddenly appeared in the crowd. “Walk?” Bloody shoes. But she was intensely aware that her body language was screaming yes, please, take me… out of here.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Walk some… talk some…and then maybe…” he ran a gentle finger slowly down her spine and his hand settled naturally in the hollow of her back as if it had been made to fit.
Finally she turned to look at him - blue eyes smiling above cheekbones like sin, lips curved gently in a lop-sided, heart-wrenching smile.
She gave him the headtilt, and a half-smile that touched the warm brown depths of her eyes. “Maybe.” She said softly, and let him take her hand.
As she followed him from the room, she looked over at her friends and mentally blew them a kiss. They’d understand. She’d tell them all about it tomorrow… maybe.
When I read this, I just had to laugh...and then I felt so -- loved. Cass, I just can't wait to meet you for real. Love ya!