Nicholas - A Slight Miscalculation

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 4 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 6 No, that was definitely the wrong line. I’m gazing longingly at the shady stand of trees at the edge of the old military airstrip when Stu mucks up his lines again. To be fair, it is unseasonably warm today. I lift my head to take advantage of a slight breeze that picks up as I ponder a picnic beneath the trees. That would be nice. I wonder if Briony will stay to have lunch with me today. “Confound it! I can’t seem to make heads or tails of this thing!” Stu exclaims again. Turning back towards my co-star I step closer. “We’ll get there in the end,” I give him an encouraging nod. Stuart Billingsley is an older actor with an incredible body of work. It can’t be easy for him to stand in his wool RAF greatcoat on such a warm day, dressing down a lad, who only cares about flying. “Rubbish memory now,” Stu grumps, his rotund frame shaking as he taps a foot, frowning at the cue cards. The first AD reads off the line again, as I do my best not to recite it aloud. It’s only the third week, and our second day here on set at a retired Royal Air Force base. No point in making any enemies just yet. I glance up at the fluffy clouds, trying to remember what I learned in flight training about cloud types, the winds—anything to distract me from the heat in my own wool uniform. We manage to get through several takes of the scene, before sitting down as angles are discussed and changed. I hear her, before I see her. The smooth throttle of the Honda hums along so faintly, that most people wouldn’t notice it. I only notice because it’s Briony. Ever since that night three weeks ago when I gave her a massage that left me wanting more, there’s been a new energy between us. If I have to describe it, I would call it ‘being in the heat of panicked retreat.’ When Alfie saw me step out of Briony’s room, he decided 1am was the perfect time to discuss my intentions towards her. I assured him I was clear in my purpose to remain friends, yet he laughed in my face. I didn’t know the man was physically capable of laughing, but here we are. Earlier this week, after seeing us to the lodgings here in Nottinghamshire, he pulled me aside and indicated we needed to talk. Apparently, he believes Briony and I have ‘danced around the subject’ for long enough, and a wedding is imminent. So, he’s in the process of securing the arrangements for next summer, including time off from any filming activities. At first I laughed in the poor man’s face, as he’s clearly delusional. Yet, no amount of reasoning would change his mind. He may have had the last laugh though, when he asked me to think about my wedding day, then imagine who I pictured myself speaking with at the reception. It’s not something I’d ever thought about before, but I ran through my core list of family and friends to humor him. Then, he asked me to describe the bride. One look at my dumbfounded face, and he knew exactly who I imagined. I protested it was because I don’t know anyone else, but it was useless. I couldn’t explain it, but I told him that proved nothing, and refused to give permission to plan a wedding. Alfie then laughed in my face as he left the room, telling me I have until 1 May to decide on the colors. He’s demented enough to do it, too. This is despite the fact Briony is avoiding me. Maybe avoiding is too strong a word. She has been distant around me, and I can’t say I’ve been any better. Yet, where it seems she’s entrenched in embarrassment, I’m struggling to put together two coherent words around her. The day after our midnight heart to heart, I apologized for putting her in an awkward position. My desire to be more supportive shouldn’t have meant forcing her to talk before she was ready. Briony thanked me, and said it would be better to just put the whole thing behind us. I couldn’t agree more. It would be far better to forget that conversation entirely… Clearly, we have two differing opinions of what that looks like. While my version means figuring out how to support her in new ways, Briony seems to think it means staying out of my line of sight in the foreseeable future. I haven’t had a single conversation with her longer than five minutes that didn’t revolve around food. And, exact opposite to what I’d hoped, I’m missing my dear friend in ways I didn’t think possible. Then, there’s the personal internal havoc that night has wreaked on me. I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve read enough books and been an actor long enough to know there’s a chemical reaction when seeing someone you’re attracted to. So, yes, I’ve managed to admit to myself that I’m clearly attracted to Briony in ways that go beyond friendship. A minor oversight on my part, that has become a problem since I led her to believe my only interest in her is brotherly. I may have been deluding myself into thinking my feelings were only friendly, but after that night on the sofa, my feelings have been distinctly unbrotherly. Meanwhile, the sensations in my chest and stomach could stop traffic. It actually does, in fact, become traffic stopping when I physically lay eyes on the woman. It’s the reason why I listen to her approach on the motorbike she insisted on having, with a mixture of excitement and nerves. I already feel it building, and just the thought of getting to talk to her sends my chest into spasms. Some might think that sounds worse than it is…it isn’t. The dates I’ve been on in the past were neither initiated by me, nor repeated. The experiment was conducted a few times for research purposes, and the data supported one fact. Dating is not something I enjoy, so I haven’t pursued it further. Not to discount others’ experiences with it. I merely believed any mythological ‘butterflies’ belonged to the special people who enjoyed the awkward dance of finding life partners. While acting, I can replicate what I think it must feel like to be in a relationship with a person, with varying degrees of success. It only seemed far-fetched that a person you have affection for could internally affect you so greatly. Walking into walls? Incoherent speech? Must be an act. And, now these very real butterflies are simultaneously ruining my life and giving me a futile hope that something more could develop. Futile because it can’t go anywhere. Even if Briony’s actually a year older than Evie, and therefore only 11 years younger than me. That fact changes nothing. Despite this rebellion in my chest, it’s more important that we remain friends, so she can continue living in the cottage. Something that won’t happen if I rashly act based on these butterflies, and they disappear as quickly as they arrived. The very worst of it, though, is I can’t talk to Briony about any of this. We’ve traveled nearly everywhere together in the past six years. Over countless meals, we’ve spoken about nothing and everything. I hate to think that by attempting to create the same type of space for her that she creates for me, I ended up driving her away. I heave a sigh. I’m completely at sixes and sevens, and maybe I can still figure this out without having to call Evie. But first, duty calls. We shoot the scene several times before they call for lunch. On long shoots like this one, Alfie usually hires a camper van for our use on location. Briony comes to the filming location, cooks in the camper and cleans up before leaving. On this trip, because Alfie isn’t here, she’s also responsible for shopping the ingredients and stocking the van, making her busier than usual. It’s the reason why she hasn’t stayed for lunch since we arrived, but I’m hoping to change that today. Like a laser, I lock in on Briony as soon as I turn around, and I’m disappointed to see she has already changed out of her chef’s jacket. Instead her black moto jacket dangles over a shoulder as she gives me a nod. Walking towards her, I take in her moto kit. She’s quite fit in the black and blue striped trousers paired with her moto boots, her dark curly bob brushing the shoulders of a white long sleeved shirt. Would it be inappropriate to give her a hug to break the ice? Instantly, the rage of a thousand butterflies is unleashed in my gut, causing me to falter a couple of meters short of her. All I can do is breathe through it until it passes, putting one foot in front of the other. I don’t know at what point this gets under control, but I hope it passes soon. Briony looks up just then, and when our eyes meet, the something that keeps zinging between us gets bigger and louder. Forcing out a breath, I stride over to her. “Not planning to run, I hope.” My voice dives without my permission to a previously underutilized level of deepness. Is this a feature of some gene that’s unlocked once your body identifies a mate, whether it has your permission or not? Is Briony going through the same thing? She’s just staring up at me oddly, without answering. Did she hear it, too? Tilting my head, I ask, “Are you ok, Bri?” She clears her throat and licks her lips, and before I can get myself sorted, she says, “It’s the first day I’m seeing you in the uniform. You look really good. I mean—it looks really good on you. Blue has always been your color.” Her voice has taken on a light and airy quality, and yes, alright. The butterflies have upgraded to the diamond package, just shredding my insides. Afraid she’ll leave if I go straight to the camper van, I linger. “Would you like to sit a while?” I ask, gesturing towards the nearby craft services tent, with its assortment of drinks and snacks. Briony slowly nods as she looks me up and down again. I swallow. If I don’t get control of myself, I’m going to go mad. “Right, well, let’s get you sorted, maybe a bottle of water.” Reaching down, I take her hand, and almost immediately drop it. Having realized my mistake, I lead the way to the tent, and sit her down at an open table. Pull yourself together man. As she distractedly looks around, I fetch a couple of bottles of cold water, and manage to avert my eyes so I don’t get distracted watching her watch me return to the table. When I get back, I open a bottle, handing it to her. She thanks me as I begin unbuttoning the jacket of my uniform, revealing the white shirt that must be more limp than crisp at this point. As I sweep off my jacket and loosen the tie, I sigh in relief when a cool breeze hits me. I happen to make eye contact with Briony at that moment, who in turn, coughs up water, her eyes bulging as she stares at me. Straddling the bench, I pat her on the back, and when she begins breathing again, I can breathe as well. Her cheeks turn pink, which unfortunately, is quite adorable. I rest an elbow on the table and prop my chin on a fist as I drink her in for the first time in weeks. She’s eyeing me sideways, but I’m just glad she hasn’t run. “What’s wrong with you?” She mumbles into her bottle. I smile. “Nothing. I’ve just missed you. I’m glad you’re staying.” Her mouth opens to form an ‘o’, but before she can say anything, I see Amelia, the cast member that’s playing the female lead, approaching us. Amelia’s in her mid twenties, but with her impressive credits with Masterpiece, the production team leaped to cast her. I’m sure her long blonde hair and green eyes didn’t hurt either. She’s only here for two weeks to meet the rest of the cast for team building before she’s off to Switzerland to begin filming in three weeks. Something about Amelia’s wobbly gait catches my attention, and when she trips on nothing, I realize immediately that it’s a stage fall. Unfortunately, her cup of Coke doesn’t understand it’s a joke, and I only manage to get my hands on Briony’s shoulders before the contents splash over her. The noisy tent goes quiet as my eyes flash to Amelia in annoyance. She’s apologizing, but she doesn’t appear sorry. “I’m sure it was an accident,” Briony grits out after shooting out of her seat, pulling the shirt away from her body. I quickly knock the ice off, trying to control my displeasure. “No, it was a terrible joke,” I snap. I doubt it was meant to be funny, but with months of shooting ahead, I’m choosing to hold my tongue now, and have a chat with the AD later. “Please get some napkins,” I say to Amelia, who continues to stand there, dumbly holding her now empty cup. Thankfully, a catering assistant runs over with napkins. As Amelia takes a number of them to wipe at her cup, I grimace as I thank the assistant, and collect the remaining napkins. But upon turning back to Briony, I realize her shirt is white. Heavens. My eyes snap up to her surprised ones as I reach behind me for my military jacket, and throw it over her to save embarrassment. “Oh, that caught you proper good, didn’t it?” Amelia smiles apologetically. “But, Nick, aren’t you worried about your jacket? It’s likely to be a right pain to clean, darling.” As I stand, turning to address Amelia, I firmly say, “My name is Nicholas.” “I know it well, darling,” she says in a suggestive voice, winking for good measure. Ugh. It’s going to be one of those shoots. “I’m sure you’ll be more careful to mind your step in future,” I grit out. Amelia slowly nods, her face all surprise as I turn away sighing over a fairly cross Briony. She’s gritting her teeth as I escort her away, once again holding in her anger. It annoys me to no end, the number of incidents that happen to Briony when we’re on location. If she’d just give people a piece of her mind like she does when we’re at home, half the incidents would never take place, or repeat themselves. I’ve stepped in every time, yet women grow bolder. Besides my ire, I just don’t understand what people hope to gain from treating her that way. As it is, I’ll have to keep an eye on Amelia in case this isn’t a one off incident. In the meantime, Briony must be very uncomfortable. I consolingly pat her on the shoulder. “What a wretched thing to do. I’m sorry, love. I have a spare shirt and trousers in the camper.” When we reach the black van, heading past the tiny blue and cream plaid sitting area, kitchen and washroom, I pull out a drawer from beneath the bed. Retrieving a t-shirt and black joggers, I bring it back to where she’s still standing in the dining area.She grimaces as she accepts it. “Maybe I should just grab my jacket and head back to base.” “No! Please don’t!” I balk. “I’ve been looking forward to eating with you again. Please, stay.” Briony looks up at me, her face softening as her peach fragrance fills up the enclosed space. “Ok, but let me tell you. That woman lost her whole soda, and it’s traveled far and wide.” When she frowns in disgust, I bite my lips to contain my smile. “The washroom is at your disposal. I’ll leave you to it.” Changing in the van provides privacy, but there isn’t a utility closet for laundry. For the first time in my career, I find myself wishing I had opted for the flashy trailer I’m usually offered. Stepping out of the camper, I close the door and head over to the wardrobe tent to give the team there my jacket to be spot cleaned before shooting resumes. After a detour at the craft services tent to retrieve Briony’s things, I’m closing the door of the van just as the washroom opens. When I see Briony, I can’t help but smile. She has the joggers rolled down at the waist and rolled up on the legs. She’s adorable, but I know she’s only concerned with the shirt she’s got on. She scowls up at me playfully. “You just happened to have this in your van, eh?” “What? It’s about the Nottingham cheese riots. Of course, I thought of you,” I grin with a shrug. She chuckles, holding the dark green shirt away from her body. There’s a wrinkled brown wheel of cheese with blue veins running along the top. Beneath it, the caption reads: ‘Wanted: Nottingham Outlaw for a Stilton Cause.’ Briony releases it with a disgusted snort. “Har har.” She loathes stilton cheese, always complaining it’s too sharp. I laugh out loud, pulling on the hem of her shirt. “What? You’re adorable, and the cutest outlaw in the whole forest. You’ll have no issue with the sheriff.” If looks could kill, I’d be evaporated. I swallow a chuckle. “How long did you spend thinking up that one?” She grimaces. “No time at all, because it’s absolutely true.” Her cheeks brighten and this delights the butterfly gang, so I do what I can to appease them. Reaching out, I push her hair behind her shoulder, and when her dark eyes lift to mine, as if she’s waiting for an answer only I have, it takes me a moment to breathe. “Well,” I rasp, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears, “Let’s eat.” Picking up her wet shirt and trousers, I pull a hanger from the cubby, and hang them to dry in the tiny shower stall. When Briony gingerly sits her motorbike boots in the stairwell, I wince when I see the fizzy drink still on them. “Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the dining table, where my lunch sits in carefully packed bento boxes. As she takes a long drink of water, I tie an apron around me to protect the rest of my uniform and wash my hands. “Well, what do we have here?” I exclaim, doing my best Jerry Seinfeld impression as I sit down and open my lunch. “A sandwich! This is special. I can’t tell you the last time I had ham.” Briony gives me a side eye. “There’s no ham.” “You don’t say. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well that’s ok,” I wink. “I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had olives.” She smiles, rolling her eyes. “There are no olives,” she chuckles. “You don’t say!” I go on, eyes wide, as I examine the sandwich. “Well, that’s ok. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had cheese. Maybe a good wedge of stilton?” Briony finally laughs, and I chuckle when she waves her hand at me. “I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.” “Well, say bub,” I deadpan, lifting a brow. “Just what kind of sandwich is this, anyway?” She chuckles. “It’s a meatball sub, using only ingredients that would have been available to you in 1943.” “Very nice,” I nod. After I push a bag of sliced fruit towards her, I pull out a salad and begin eating. Briony points to a small soup flask sitting on the tiny stove. “Don’t forget your soup.” “Well, well, well. What have we here, love?” I quirk a brow. She smirks. “Your favorite…potato and leek soup.” My eyes swell to the size of grapefruit. “Truly?” She grins, flashing her dimples as she nods. “Really. I even added some crumbled bacon. Enjoy, Nicky babe.” My stomach drops as I gaze at her. Her eyes widen slightly. “What’s wrong?” I clear my throat, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “There’s only one sandwich. Help me split it?” While she slices the sandwich in half, I stand to soap up a rag in the sink, before retrieving her boots. I have to do something about these butterflies, or I won’t be able to eat another bite. “I can do that later, Nick. Don’t you want to eat?” Shaking my head, I reach under the lounge seat to remove a bottle of leather conditioner from a bin. “I’ll eat in a bit. Enjoy.” After giving her boots a proper wipe down, I sit them in the shower to dry. “I feel so bad,” Briony wryly smiles. “You didn’t eat much.” “What do you mean?” I smile, as I wash my hands at the sink. “I’m completely satisfied. I savored every bit of it. It was delicious, thank you.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re too good to me, Nick.” “You think that’s something?” I snort. “Just wait till you see…” Our eyes connect then, the playful words dying on my lips as I find myself unable to look away. Either the butterfly gang has learned thermodynamics, or electricity has just passed between us. As Briony’s rosy lips part, I inhale sharply. We’re in a great deal of trouble, mate. “Nicholas!” Stu’s voice cuts in from near the front of the van, startling us both. Taking a shaky breath, I slide the door open to see his salt and pepper quiff blowing in the gentle breeze. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you…” Stu looks between me and Briony with his brows raised. I wave at him, and drinking down my favorite soup without tasting a drop, I hastily make my excuses to Briony. Slipping off the apron, I scoop up my half of sandwich, and speed off towards Stu without another word. I need to get my head on straight. He looks surprised as I steer him away. “If I’d known you were having a bit, I wouldn’t have—” “It’s fine,” I say abruptly, shaking my head. If I don’t get my head out of the clouds, the next few hours will be murder. Doing my best to clear thoughts of Briony from my head, I focus on Stu. “Now, what’s the trouble?” I ask, taking a bite of my sandwich. I barely hear him as the flavor of basil and oregano explode across my taste buds. I groan in response, knowing I’ve already failed. This is going to be a long day…← Previous Chapter: Chapter 4 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 6Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe