by Karen Ferry
“Goodnight,” he whispers.
As soon as I’ve locked the door, I turn around and lean my back on it, sighing deeply.
“Wow . . . what the heck do I do now?” I mutter to my small hallway, but it doesn’t have any answers for me. Of course it doesn’t.
Feeling the urge for a cigarette, I quickly head to my bathroom and rinse my mouth. Once that’s done, I move to open the doors to my balcony and I slip outside. Taking my small stash from the ground, I sit down on the chairs, and I remain there for the rest of the night, contemplating what just happened.
And all the mysteries of Daniel…
Because who’d have thought that all that deliciousness was hidden beneath his clothes? It certainly kept my thoughts away from my nightmare, that’s for certain. I’m actually grateful for him coming to check up on me, however embarrassing it was that he heard me, and the way his actions make me feel? Well, let’s just say that I’m starting to become one of those heroines I always read about in my romance novels.
I guess miracles do happen.
There is one part about the nightmare I can’t keep away from my mind: the fact that the little girl tried to call for help. That’s definitely a new development, and I can’t help but wonder what it means?
I don’t get an answer, however, and I remain in my seat, staring unseeingly at the park across from me until the birds begin to wake up and the sun rises.
A new day . . . a new beginning, perhaps?
I’m lying in my bed, one arm supporting my head, and the urge to get up and go to Emma’s is almost unbearable.
Waking up to her screams easily stole five years from my life . . . they were that horrendous and chilling. Not being a stranger to nightmares, I keep wondering what past events could be the reason for them, because I’m absolutely certain that something happened to Emma to cause her such night terrors.
When I saw her standing in the doorway, her tearstained face evident for all to see nearly made me pick her up and take her back to my flat. I didn’t do that, of course . . . but now that I’m back in my own home, still thinking about her an hour later, I vow to do exactly that the next time she has a nightmare.
Because I’m sure there’ll be a next time . . . and when she breaks, I’ll be there, helping her stand tall and proud again. Seeing her tears, the sadness and fear in her eyes nearly unmanned me. Yes, the intensity of our growing connection scares the ever-loving crap out of me, but I can’t keep my curiosity in check. Somehow, some way, Emma has managed to dig herself deeper and deeper into my soul -- and now I sound like a pansy.
Frustrated and, as ever, rather turned on by the thought of my evasive neighbor, I fluff my pillows, turn to my side, and close my eyes. Sleep is necessary . . . yet it eludes me, and I end up lying awake all night, wondering if Emma has fallen into a more peaceful sleep than the one I heard.
Chapter 19
Staying up the rest of the night was clearly a very bad idea. The pounding in my head and the way the sunlight only seems to intensify my headache are almost enough to make me consider the idea of calling Mr. Andersen and telling him I am sick. But my stubbornness kicks in; I will not let those blasted nightmare win. They will not have the power to rule my life. They are not worth it.
The day starts very much like the day before: I knock on Daniel’s door, and together we take off to work at the shop, none of us mentioning what happened during the night. As we walk to the bus stop, it almost seems as if I dreamt the whole thing.
We’re a bit early today, and apart from playing with his phone, Daniel is awfully quiet. I’ve already become used to feeling his eyes meeting mine, and the fact that he withholds them today is disappointing. I do love his emerald-green eyes . . . It makes me wonder what is on his mind. I don’t have to wait long to get my wish granted.
“Sorry I didn’t text you back yesterday,” he says, only looking at me briefly.
For a moment, I can’t remember what text he’s referring to, but then it hits me: our first tutoring session.
“Oh, no worries,” I answer quietly. Shite, this headache is killing me!
“All my books are yet to be unpacked, so is it alright if we do it at your place?” he continues, staring straight ahead at the playground across the road. No children are there, and my gaze turns to the swings. For some reason, the lack of children, the way there are no sounds surrounding us, makes me a bit despondent, but I shake it off.
“Sure, no problem,” I tell him and give him a small smile. I can see the unsaid question in his eyes; he wants to ask me if I am okay, but he’s too polite to say anything.
I break eye contact, and silence descends upon us again. I’m grateful when I see the bus arriving in the distance so we can get on our way.
In a move that resembles very much that of a gentleman’s, Daniel steps back immediately the bus opens its doors, and he holds out a hand, indicating that I should go first.
I may be a modern woman and everything, but I do appreciate his gesture and smile more genuinely at him when I pass him and climb the steps to head inside. As usual, not many passengers are present. Once we’re seated, I take a deep breath, lean my head on the headrest and close my eyes.
“Are you alright?” Daniel whispers from beside me. His breath causes my skin to break out in goose bumps again.
Here we go.
“Just a headache,” I mumble, keeping my eyes shut.
Daniel doesn’t respond, and I find comfort in that. In my sleep deprived state, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my wayward thoughts about him in check if I speak too much with him today.
“Do you want to cancel this afternoon?” he suddenly asks me, surprising me, and I turn my head closer to his, but I daren’t open my eyes yet.
“Don’t be silly, Preppy. I can handle it. One small headache won’t defeat me.”
“You promised not to call me that,” he scoffs, and I mentally bite my tongue.
“Sorry,” I apologise. “But now that it’s stuck in my head, I kind of like it.”
He chuckles. “Strangely enough, so do I . . . ”
I don’t answer that -- what is there to say? I’ve already said too much. Suddenly, I’m unable to open my heavy eyelids, and my busy thoughts seem to have quieted down a bit.
I need sleep.
“Don’t let me fall asleep, please?” I mumble.
“I won’t,” Daniel promises me, but his voice seems far away . . . In no time at all, I drift off into a deep slumber, only vaguely aware of someone putting an arm around me, and I snuggle closer, inhaling deeply. Mmm . . . nice . . .
I wake up with a start, cuddled close to a warm body, and when my sleepy eyes fall on my arm around a very manly chest, I panic. Shooting up, my head collides with a sharp object, making me see stars, and hearing a pained grunt forces me to scoot back in my seat and I look up and beside me.
Oh . . . Daniel. One who’s currently rubbing his chin, eyes squinting with the discomfort my hard head must have caused him.
“What the hell, Daniel?” I sputter, and immediately rub said head. Dang it, that hurts.
“What?” he asks, abandoning the pain to his chin to lean further into me. Automatically, I shrink back until the cold glass from the bus window makes me too uncomfortable and I ease up a bit.
“I told you not to let me fall asleep!” Clearing my throat, I look around me, and find the bus empty. Frantically pulling out my phone from my clutch, I check the time and almost have a heart attack. Ten am?! I’ve slept for an hour?!
“We’re late for work, you nutter,” I explain harshly, and Daniel grits his teeth, bristling at me.
“Well, you needed the rest, you stupid girl,” he seethes, causing me to wince. I don’t get a chance to rip into him for calling me stupid, before he continues, “Don’t worry, I already texted the Prof, and he knows we’ll be there soon. For your information, he actually told us to take the day off, but I knew you wouldn’t approve of that fact. Yes, we’re late for work, but it’s not
the end of the world, Emma. It’s clear you needed the rest, and I do apologise for allowing that to happen. I won’t let it again.”
Pulling his backpack from the floor, he leaves his seat to stand at the doors of the bus, not looking at me, and I feel like I’ve just been scolded as if I were a child. And I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t keep my sharp tongue in check.
Seeing that we are now close to the train station, I pick up my things and leave my seat. My headache is gone, and I do feel thankful for the way Daniel took care of me. I suppose I’m just so used to being in charge -- living in a foreign country will do that -- but that isn’t an excuse. I shouldn’t have lashed out the way I did.
I walk slowly towards Daniel who stubbornly avoids my gaze, instead looking straight ahead out of the window. Jaw clenched, frown drawn, he suddenly looks so much older than his twenty-four years, and I can’t say I like that.
Hesitating, I open my mouth, but no sound comes out, and I turn away from him and stand at a safe distance, leaning against one of the seats so as not to fall.
“How’s the headache?” he asks me gruffly, and I let out a big sigh, feeling relief beyond measure.
“All gone, so . . . thank you,” I reply, finally venturing closer.
He gives a curt nod, and I don’t have time to ask him about his chin before the bus is at a standstill, and we step off and walk hastily towards the station.
The rest of our journey is made in silence once more, me busy wracking my brain for coming up with a proper apology. But no words feel good enough.
It’s funny: words are a huge part of my life, yet I cannot seem to find the right ones at this very moment.
After I apologised to Mr. Andersen and he, in turn, kept telling me that it didn’t matter, Daniel went to the front desk to work alongside his uncle, making it clear that he didn’t feel like spending more time with me, and the past couple of hours have dragged. Being in the shop hasn’t had the calming effect it usually has, and I’ve found no joy in my usual tasks. I don’t like feeling so unsettled, and now that it’s close to lunchtime, I vow to get the chance to apologise properly for my behaviour earlier. It’s evident that it’s still bothering Daniel, and the fact that we’re leaving early today for our tutoring session forces me to break the tension.
Because spending the rest of the day with a disgruntled guy is not my idea of having a good time. And I want . . . no, I crave seeing Daniel smile at me again.
I’ve gone quite mad.
Since when have I let a guy’s mood dictate my own?
Answer: never. But . . . well, Daniel is different.
Not wishing to examine these unusual thoughts further, I walk briskly up to Daniel, who’s just finished serving a customer, and when his blank eyes turn to mine, I stand taller.
“What do you want for lunch?” I ask him. “My treat.”
Putting his hands in his pockets, he purses his lips for a minute, leaving me just standing there, and I cross my arms.
“A ham sandwich sounds good,” he finally relents, and I can’t keep the grimace from my features. He chuckles.
“I take it you don’t like ham?” he asks me, smirking.
“I hate it with a vengeance, but, luckily for me, I don’t have to eat it,” I return and walk to the back office where Mr. Andersen has been avoiding us for the past hour, clearly hiding from the tension that has cloaked us.
After he tells me what he would like for lunch, I grab my purse and leave the shop to buy lunch at the supermarket right next door. The way Daniel tries to hide a cheeky smile isn’t lost on me, however, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
I need food. Now.
As soon as I get back, I hurry to Mr. Andersen to get him his food and to tell him that Daniel and I will be eating outside today. I almost don’t hear his reply before rushing out and over to Daniel. I grab Daniel’s hand in mine and practically pull him out of the shop, walking briskly around the corner where a small park with benches is situated. For once, there is no wind, and I want to feel the sun on my face while we eat.
“Hey, slow down a bit, Emma,” Daniel says from behind me, but I ignore him and keep up the pace.
Soon, we’re at the park, and I quickly spot a set of benches with attached tables another young couple is about to leave. Perfect. I drop Daniel’s hand when we reach it, place the bag with our food and drinks on the table and turn around to face him. Grabbing his hips, I don’t comment when his eyes widen, but instead manage to push him in the direction I want, forcing him to stumble around a bit. When his back is to the seat, I place my hands on his shoulders and push lightly, causing his knees to buckle, and he’s finally sitting down.
“Emma, what are . . . ? “ I hold up my right index finger, silencing whatever he’s about to say.
“Now, please just listen, Daniel,” I say, and he nods, accepting my request.
Clearing my throat, I feel a bit nervous, but I force out what’s on my mind anyway. “Alright. I’m very sorry for the way I treated you earlier. It was very considerate of you to let me sleep, and I just want you to know that I appreciate it. Even when it didn’t seem like it at the time.” Holding his gaze for a while, and seeing the acceptance there, I let my arm fall to my side. “Alright then. Let’s eat.”
Walking to the other side of the bench, it isn’t lost on me that Daniel’s eyes follow me the whole time; my body feels heated up from within, leaving me small pinpricks all over, but not in a bad way. I can practically feel his gaze zeroing in on my arse, and another kind of tingling spreads throughout my being.
When I turn around to face him, he has a thoughtful look on his face, and a smirk covering that handsome face of his.
As I sit down, I ask him, “What? See something you like?” and I grab the sandwich I bought for myself: grilled slices of chicken with tomatoes, pesto and garlic.
“Hmm,” he ponders, and I start to unwrap the food, my mouth salivating at the thought of the first bite.
“Well,” Daniel continues, “that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
Stopping with my mouth hanging open, the sandwich halfway to it, I’m quite taken aback by his brazen comeback to my question. I brush it off and dig into the food instead. The moan erupting from me is loud, but I don’t care, and I close my eyes and lean my head back to soak up the sun. This is just too good!
A strangled groan coming from Daniel instantly makes me reopen them, and I find Daniel’s gaze locked on me, his food clearly forgotten, and his face is flushed.
“What now?” I ask him, but I can’t keep a knowing smile from forming on my lips. Oh, I know exactly what’s causing this, and I’m enjoying it immensely.
Daniel swallows and places his food back on the wrapping.
“You’re cruel, Emma . . . ,” he answers, his voice husky and low. He leans closer towards me from across the table separating us, and hearing those words wipes the smile from my face.
“Why?” I croak, mouth suddenly parched, and my heart begins to beat faster and faster. My heart wants Daniel to stand up and come closer . . . yet my head is screaming at him to keep his distance. I’m not ready!
Once again, it feels as if Daniel has an uncanny ability to understand what I need, because he leans back in his seat and break eye contact with me. When I see him reaching for his sandwich again, I breathe a small sigh of relief.
Taking a huge bite of my own, I am determined to stop this kind of cat and mouse game that always comes over me whenever he is near. Because that is not fair . . . not to him or to me. Still, it is very flattering to see how my words and actions affect him so much. It’s a great boost to my confidence.
When he speaks again, I jump a bit, startled after having been so lost inside my own head.
“You’re a cruel woman for toying with the virgin in such a public place, Em,” he says, and I don’t know what to say. Oh . . . my . . . God . . . did he just say what I think I heard him say?
“I didn’t do anything!” I sputter, and I can feel the blush
creeping over my cheeks.
“Oh, but you moaned, and it sounded beyond sexy,” he continues, and I narrow my eyes at him when I see the smirk reappearing on his lips.
Balling my napkins in my hand, I say, “You better be careful or I’ll throttle you.” My threatening words seem to have the opposite effect, though, because Daniel’s smirk transforms into a beautiful smile, and his eyes twinkle with suppressed laughter.
“That might be interesting, but you can’t do that in a public place,” he says, grinning, and my lips pull up in a knowing smile.
“Oh, can’t I?” I threaten, causing him to pause and look at me thoughtfully.
“You don’t embarrass easily, do you?” he asks me, and I pause, mulling his words over.
“Well, no, not really . . . Actually, the only times I have been embarrassed have been when I was sober,” I tell him, and the admission makes me frown.
Hurrying on, I say, “I mean, I’ve probably done a lot of strange things while out clubbing.”
“You go dancing a lot?” he asks me, and I nod and take another bite.
“I have in the past, but not anymore,” I answer vaguely and hurry to change the subject. “Oh, remind me to introduce you to Suzy, by the way. She’s my best friend. She might be good to practice on,” I muse, and Daniel coughs.
“Get your head out of the gutter,” I reproach him and pull out a bottle of water from the bag placed on the table between us. I hand it to him and watch as he guzzles it down. Never knew adam’s apples could be so fascinating . . .
Moving on.
“What I meant,” I continue, “is that seeing as I’m supposed to help you get over that . . . err . . . awkwardness you experience while in the presence of the opposite sex, I could call Suzy, let her in on what we’re trying to do, and she could go out with us one evening. What do you think?”
Frowning, Daniel says, “I really hope you’re not setting me up for embarrassment, Emma.”