The Truth About The Many Worlds Of Printed Pages

°•○•°Sixteen°•○•°

Once she tidied up the kitchen, started the dishwasher and prepared a pot of coffee, then carried it along with a selection of tea biscuits and a bar of chocolate to the sitting room's coffee table, Siena paused to observe the costume she had dropped on the floor by the bathroom's door before lunch.

Stuffing it into the small washing machine of their flat seemed too risky, as the materials it was made of looked too delicate for such a treatment. She would shake both their costumes off the sand as well as she could, and carry them back to Alicia tomorrow, she resolved picking it up, then stealing James' uniform through the unclosed bathroom door where she could see it lying within easy reach, almost managing not to glance towards the frosted glass of the shower corner where the water was still running.

Just what was it about this man that she found so hard to resist? she mused, blushing, when the water was switched off suddenly and the glass started to slide open almost before she could take two steps from the door.

Silently, she rushed across the sitting room and opened the door leading into the garden, shaking each piece of the clothing outside, sending the golden grains of the Sahara sand flying through the silvery drops of London rain, then disappeared beyond the door of her bedroom to fold them down and get dressed even as James exited the bathroom, catching only a glimpse of the hem of her dressing gown floating behind her into her room.

He was already seated on the sofa, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt as blue as his eyes, framed by his still damp ginger curls, a large, illustrated copy of The Little Mermaid lying open on his lap, when she exited her room clad in a pair of black leggings and a long gray jumper, feeling cold from the lack of sleep.

Her legs looked so long when they were not hidden by floor-length skirts and too wide jeans, he observed while she sauntered towards him, the oversized jumper the colour of the falling rain hiding the rest of her perfectly shaped body like a shapeless blanket. His breath caught when his mind produced an uninvited image of his fingers peeling the grey wool from her cool, alabaster skin, turning warm and pink, slowly, gradually, under his gentle, patient touch... It was too early for that, it would take time to conquest her reluctance to let herself go, to accept the mutual attraction they were afflicted with...

He shifted in his seat, adjusting the large book on his lap to hide the evidence of his improper thoughts and feelings when she, perfectly naturally, sat on the sofa very close by his side, surprising him, confirming his belief that she found it just as impossible to keep any distance between them.

With a ghost of a content smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he watched her lean forward and place the copy of The Little Prince they had carried with them on their first quest on the coffee table, and while she poured out the coffee she had made and broke a bar of dark chocolate into chunks, chose a piece and popped it into her mouth, he shifted yet closer to her, so that when she sat back, her body brushed against his. He loved the hitch in her breathing, which the contact caused her, and he equally enjoyed the way his heart stumbled upon hearing it... They were in perfect tune, it seemed, and they had only just met a few days ago...

"It wasn't pointless, was it?" she asked, scattering his thoughts. Her hand, passing him his cup, shook a little, just like her voice, while she avoided meeting his eyes.

She was still thinking of the boy... He took the cup from her, then brought the fingers of his free hand under her chin, making her meet his eyes.

"No. We helped him as much as we could. He wouldn't get back home without us."

She nodded, not looking entirely convinced, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she inhaled deeply before taking a sip of her coffee, shivering.