"It wasn't so bad." Having spent over a decade sleeping in the dirt or on bare rock, a mattress on the floor is nothing to complain about. He takes her downstairs, flipping on the lights. The whole basement still smells very faintly of fresh paint. "But it is nice. I'm glad to have it."
"It's a place to live," he says. "Certainly nothing to be unhappy about. I'm hoping it's still cool down here in the summer."
He leads her through to the bedroom. Sure enough, there's a frame, along with the black bars of a metal headboard. Not terribly impressive, but it is what it is.
He could have gone with something that isn't reminiscent of cell bars, but maybe that's her issue and not his. She's just glad he finally got something.
"It's nice," she tells him. "It's silly, but it's important to me that you're happy to come home, Clive."
"I'm always happy to come home when you're here," he says. Even just hearing her stir and turn over in bed when he comes in late is enough for him. "You don't need to worry about that."
"I'm happy to hear that." After all the tension and arguments, it makes her heart swells. She gives his hand a tug. "But you need to get to your nap so you can return to me in one piece."
She politely lets him prepare as he needs, going to sit on the edge of the bed. She thinks she'll just sit and chat with him a little longer, until the tell-tale signs of him about to drift off hit, and then quietly leave. Nothing more, nothing less.
He does little more to prepare, instead just crawling into bed and sprawling out on his back. He looks at her, hesitating, and then lays his arm out in case she wants to join him instead of sitting there.
She hoped he would do that. Asking seemed like too much, however.
With only a moment of hesitation, Jill moves over and scoots in, delicately resting her head on his shoulder. She keeps her hands tucked against herself, as if that will help anything.
"Thank you for all your help in the garden," she says, not wanting silence to linger between them for too long.
He feels his heart momentarily surge as she moves towards him, and he settles with an arm around her as soon as she cuddles up against him. This, he thinks, is a cautious extension of trust.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m glad I can give you this, even if it’s not a whole field of snow daisies.”
He wants to say I know, and maybe he did know. But everything felt so clear then. He had a mission ahead of him, and each part of it revealed itself to him, one after the other, leaving him a clear path. Of course he'd known she wanted him. It had been easy to give her what she wanted.
Now...
"Well, you'll have a whole garden and a man to lift heavy things for you," he says. Absently, he winds a finger around a lock of her hair, and he closes his eyes. "A man to safeguard it all."
"A man to keep me safe," she says quietly. The man that's hurt her most of all. But she tries not to dwell on that. "A man to share the garden with me. Every time I'm tired of kneeling in the dirt, I remind myself that soon we'll be able to enjoy the beauty of the flowers together."
"That sounds perfect to me," she sighs, eyes closing. Winter was miserable, if only because of all that happened between them. Warmer months make her hopeful that the next year will somehow be better.
She lasted long enough, keeping her hands to herself, she thinks. Carefully, she drapes an arm over his middle so that she can hug him. Nothing wrong with that, is there?
Nothing wrong at all. He hardly moves beyond turning his head towards her scalp a little more, even though this feels like a dangerous subject to acknowledge.
"I am sure it will be a very successful evening, going into it in good spirits," he assures her, with a quiet huff of laughter. "So you needn't worry." He runs a finger along the ridge of her spine, through her shirt. "Thank you for this."
"I was going to thank you." For allowing her to be this close, where intentions could so easily go awry. She wants him, she always does, but she's satisfied with this closeness. This peace between them.
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"Are you happy with the basement, Clive?"
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He leads her through to the bedroom. Sure enough, there's a frame, along with the black bars of a metal headboard. Not terribly impressive, but it is what it is.
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"It's nice," she tells him. "It's silly, but it's important to me that you're happy to come home, Clive."
So that he continues to do so.
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"I'm always happy to come home when you're here," he says. Even just hearing her stir and turn over in bed when he comes in late is enough for him. "You don't need to worry about that."
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"I'm happy to hear that." After all the tension and arguments, it makes her heart swells. She gives his hand a tug. "But you need to get to your nap so you can return to me in one piece."
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"So I do," he says, voice briefly muffled before he drops it at the foot of the bed.
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With only a moment of hesitation, Jill moves over and scoots in, delicately resting her head on his shoulder. She keeps her hands tucked against herself, as if that will help anything.
"Thank you for all your help in the garden," she says, not wanting silence to linger between them for too long.
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“Of course,” he says. “I’m glad I can give you this, even if it’s not a whole field of snow daisies.”
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"You've given me a home in which I can have any flowers I want. That's more than enough."
And, after a moment, she adds:
"It was never the flowers. It was you."
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Now...
"Well, you'll have a whole garden and a man to lift heavy things for you," he says. Absently, he winds a finger around a lock of her hair, and he closes his eyes. "A man to safeguard it all."
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"I'm glad," he says. Surely, the worst is behind them.
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"I wish every day was like today."
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"As do I," he admits.
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"Now, if your hunt is terrible, I will take back what I said," she jokes.
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"What for?" he asks. Nothing comes to mind.
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"For... your time. Your company, and letting me... be here, I suppose." In his bed, with him, when the lines are unclear.
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