Nicholas - Effervescent

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 7 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 9Instead of answering, I frown at the pond, all the while noting the heart palpitations her question has given me. Maybe I should be concerned. Perhaps what I’ve been experiencing aren’t butterflies, but signs of heart failure. That makes more sense than romantic ideations at the age of 40, and with Briony of all people…even if there is only an 11 year gap in our age. I’ll schedule an appointment for a full medical work up when we return to London. Yet, as we continue down the path in comfortable silence, listening to the sound of wrens and blackbirds trading their songs from the nearby trees, I’m reminded of another time. I knew nothing about birds until four years ago, when filming outside of Berlin. That was when I caught Briony standing outside of our guest house at dawn, listening to bird calls. When she asked if I knew which bird was singing, I admitted I didn’t know. But, when she smiled and said she wanted to bottle it up to play it at home when she was feeling down, I knew I had to find out the name. There’s no point in discussing how many bird calls I’ve memorized since then. It’s just one of the many ways that Briony has made her mark on me. After this trip, I know I’ll miss the opportunities to explore new things and places with her while filming on location, so I’d better enjoy the time alone now. “Hey,” I say softly as we walk along. “Do you remember running into that nonna in Tuscany, and with your smattering of Italian, you tried to learn where to find the freshest basil and tomatoes in Lucca?” Briony chuckles as a cool breeze gently blows her curls around. “Oh, I remember all right. It was only a couple months after I started working for you. You let me struggle for like 20 minutes as we followed her around that market! Then, what did you do?” “I asked her—” “In perfectly fluent Italian..” she quips. “—if she wanted to make our year by telling us the secret of Tuscany’s tomatoes and produce, since it may be our last time in Italy together.” I grin as I remember how Briony’s face went from confusion, to indignation, much as it’s doing now. Albeit, now it’s softened with a smile of fond remembrance. “Exactly,” she smirks. “Except she thought we were a couple who were parting under unfavorable circumstances, so she made us promise to stay together in exchange for the story.” I immediately start chuckling. “She refused to believe me when I said we weren’t together, so then you just made the promise—” “Only for her to take us to her backyard to pick some produce from her garden!” We burst into laughter, as I grin at her. “At least you were happy when you saw they were heirloom tomatoes!” She nods, her eyes still lit with amusement. “It was only my second time seeing that basket tomato. And, once we got back to the guesthouse and made the sauce with it, between that and the fresh basil, it was truly the—” “—best sauce I’ve ever had,” we finish the sentence simultaneously with a smile. I give her a wink as we round another bend in the path. I don’t know when I went from keeping Briony at arms length to talking to her every day. One minute I was busy running lines, listening to radio dramas, or reading in my room every night, and the next minute, I’m flying through the streets of Bali looking for curry. One day, I woke up, and she was just..there; tightly woven into the very fabric of my existence. I wouldn’t know how to begin untangling her from my life, and what’s more…I don’t think I want to… The sudden pinch in my chest stirs concern, but not for my health. Because that’s when I know, it’s not my physical heart that’s in trouble. It’s also how I know it’s not just fear of losing this close connection with another person, but losing Briony herself that I’m having trouble with. The deep ache that rises in me at knowing this will be our last trip together, leaves me in a desperate, melancholy mood. When we come to my favorite part of the gardens, I stop in a secluded spot bracketed with tall shade trees and a beautiful water feature in a shallow pond. At the moment, I can’t appreciate the sound of water trickling over the stones of the small waterfall as I usually do. Still the sound creates a buffer between here and the rest of the gardens, making the sunny knoll feel more private than it actually is. Anyone walking through the gardens would have to take this path to pass through. However, I can imagine a bygone era, when we might have been the only two people to stumble upon this area for hours at a time. How many have spread a blanket on the same grassy bank near the pond with a good book, or curled up next to their lover? Stepping off the path and crossing to my favorite large shady tree, I unzip my jacket, crawling under the low hanging boughs to lean against the trunk. The sounds are muted here, and when Briony bends down at the waist to peer under the low tree limbs, I beckon her to come. Shaking her head, she also unzips her jacket to stoop down, shuffling forward until she reaches me. “You truly are the most dramatic man I know,” she smiles. When she settles beside me against the tree, I silently point up through the branches. Blue sky peeks through the dark green needles at random intervals, making it feel as though we’re in our own tree house. Briony looks up, and as I watch her soak in the wonder of it, the same peaceful feeling I felt while looking at her in the restaurant returns. Is this what it would be like to share a life with someone? Experiencing the world through their eyes, through the flavors that sing on their tongue, through the sounds that melt their hearts? Is it possible to create two core memories in one day? Or, is today one big core memory I’ll savor for the rest of my life? The notion is shocking, and I’m barely breathing as the idea takes root. Is this what people are seeking when they go on date after date with the wrong person? I take in the sparkle in Briony’s eyes, the curve of her lips as she starts to smile, the excitement that she seems to hum with, even when she’s silent. And, suddenly the story where the princess kisses a hundred frogs just to find her prince makes all the sense in the world. Because the prince..or in this case, princess, is worth it.Briony quietly chuckles, as she lowers her warm gaze to mine. “I can imagine you here as a little boy with Evie, hiding from your parents.” I smile faintly, my mind still whirling from the effects of my epiphany. “Maybe not such a young boy. I was 12 when Evie was born, so I was mostly hiding from her. She really loved talking, even as a toddler. It’s so funny that she complains how much Braxton talks, when she was the same way at the age of four.” Briony looks up at me curiosity in her eyes. “Did you change her diapers?” “Of course.” “Feed her?” “Yes, why wouldn’t I?” I frown, wondering what she’s getting at. Briony squints at me. “And did you defeat her bullies?” I scoff. “Every single one of them. Especially the boys.” “Hm.” Briony nods, as she rests her head against the tree. When she falls silent I tilt my head towards her. “Why do you ask?” In the shade of the boughs, Briony’s brown eyes find mine. “I was just thinking how much time has changed things for you both.” My brow wrinkles as she continues. “You’re still her brother, but your relationship had to change as time went on. She no longer needs you to fight her battles, or physically care for her needs. Now, she’s grown, with her own husband and children.” I fall silent as I contemplate that idea. It’s true, Evie isn’t the little girl I’d done all of those things for. She’s still my sister, and I love her, but she isn’t dependent on me for the same things she did as a little girl. I frown as I stare up through the green boughs. By that reasoning, why do I subject Briony to treatment that I’ve long put away for Evie? Was I playing the overprotective brother card as a shield, to keep me from seeing the truth of the matter? That I’ve felt something for Briony, perhaps for…well, a long time if I’m honest. But, treating her as my sister made it feel ok to..what…be close to her? I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the water trickling over stones as I give this serious thought. I’ve spent the last eight years talking to her, nearly six as her employer. Never once did she feel unrelatable, or make me feel our life experiences were too dissimilar. All excuses aside, I’ve just been ignoring this growing attraction. Why? Because it was safe? What am I really afraid of? Losing her friendship? If I remove the idea of losing her in my life, just what keeps me from dating Briony? When I open my eyes, Briony has turned to look at me, and lifting a hand, she wipes something from my hair and returns her hand to her lap. She turns back towards the water, softly humming a tune, as I look up. Staring at the boughs above, I think about the day that’s brought me here, to this moment, and the answer is abundantly clear. Nothing. There’s nothing stopping me from seeing if her feelings run in the same direction as mine..and perhaps pursuing something more. Something I’ve never imagined for myself. Briony’s warm, quiet voice surprises me when she hums, “It’s beautiful here. It would be nice to be married somewhere like this. In a quiet garden, just family and close friends.” Were it anyone else, the subject jump would have alarmed me. But it’s Briony, so I nod slowly in agreement as we watch the ducks lazily swim by. “Do you think about your wedding day often,” I ask, curiously. “Not…usually.” She clears her throat and goes quiet. I can feel there’s something being left unsaid, and curiosity gets the best of me. “What colors would you choose?” Briony shrugs. “I don’t know. Doesn’t that depend on the season? Although…if I’m being honest, I’m partial to the idea of navy blue and magenta.” She pauses, thoughtfully chewing on her lower lip. “Maybe I’d have to go with wine instead of magenta though. I think that would work better with Evie’s hair.” My stomach swoops with the knowledge that this woman is willing to change her own wedding colors so Evie would fit in. Somehow it’s right. It’s just what Briony would do. It takes everything in me to keep my voice neutral. “Interesting color choices. Those colors work with my coloring, too for the record,” I tease. Briony rolls her eyes. “Who says my future husband is going to allow you to be in the wedding? You might be relegated to honorable guest.” My immediate scowl is met with laughter. “You should be so fortunate to have me in your wedding party, you ingrate.” Yet, her laugh is always contagious and before I know it, I’ve joined in. “Would you serve fish or beef?” I ask when the laughter subsides. She chuckles, “Well, since you’re conducting a survey, what do you think?” My face scrunches in thought. “Hmm. Knowing you..both.” She nods. “You’re so right. And a red velvet cake with cream cheese buttercream.” She laughs when I groan. She knows it’s my favorite. “What, no Victoria cake? What ever will Mum and Dad think?” I tease. “They can argue the merits with my Mom and Dad over coffee,” she chuckles. As we laugh, Briony throws her head back, the setting sun casting its golden beams through the boughs of the tree, lighting up the red tones in her curls. Her dark eyes brighten in the rays with flashes of gold that mesmerize me with their mischief. She’s absolutely stunning, and as I hold my breath, I wish I could freeze this moment forever. Pulling out my phone, I flip the camera around and snap the picture of us. “What are you doing?” She exclaims, throwing up a hand. “Taking a picture for posterity,” I say, snapping another. “Whose posterity? I have helmet hair!” She exclaims with a laugh. “Do not!” I laugh, snapping a burst of shots with her trying to cover her face with her hair. She eventually ends up sticking her tongue out, before we collapse against each other laughing. Eventually falling quiet, the call of the birds who like to wake up for dusky evenings begin to sound. It reminds me of a poem, and I can’t help reciting it in the silence. “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more.’” Briony blinks at me, her lips parted in wonderment. “Even I can admit it’s a lovely piece.” I chuckle as I stretch out to lay in her lap. “Tell me you don’t like Byron without telling me you don’t like Byron.” She chuckles as she shoves at my shoulder. “You know I can’t help it. Georgie Boy just seems like a man who never truly came to know love. He never lived it because he was too in love with himself.” We’ve been down this road before, so I just shake my head as she continues. “Think about it, Nick…” “Right,” I scoff. “The man who said, ‘And then there are such things as love divine, bright and immaculate, unmixed and pure, such as the angels think so very fine, and matrons, who would be no less secure, platonic, perfect, just such love as mine’? He never knew love?” She shrugs with a quick laugh. “Sounds purely observational to me. ‘Like the measles,’” she recites in a slow, stuffy English accent. “‘Love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.’” I chuckle as she concludes, “Does that sound like someone who has an intimate knowledge of the subject, Nick?” “And what…you do?” I quirk a brow, taking pleasure in the agitation that dances across her face. Briony swats my shoulder again. “I didn’t pretend to be the greatest poet of my era. Just do me a favor, and don’t love me the way Byron loved. Constantly reaching for love, and never having the fortitude to close his hand when it’s within his grasp. I submit that Byron is a poser!” My mouth falls open in wide eyed shock. I know we’re talking about Byron, but I have never felt more called out. “You take that back!” I sit up, but before I can grab her, she shuffles out of reach. “I absolutely will not!” She laughs, ducking from beneath the tree. I chase after her, and though she’s light on her feet, she isn’t quick enough. She shrieks when I finally wrap a hand around her waist, and we both tumble onto the grass in a fit of giggles when someone nearby says, ‘Did you hear that?” When I realize she’s laying on my arm, I lean up to slide it from beneath her. But, when we make eye contact, that now familiar electricity zips through me, accompanied by an ache of longing. Reaching down, I skim a finger under a curl that’s laying on her cheek and sweep it aside. Looking into Briony’s chocolate and gold eyes, I’m suddenly moved to recite more poetry. “‘She walks in beauty, like the night,’” I whisper over the nearby trickle of water. “‘Of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect…and her eyes.’” I gently sweep a finger over one of her brows as her lips part. “‘Thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace which waves in every raven tress,’” I murmur, running my fingers through the curls I never knew were so soft. “‘Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express how pure…how dear their dwelling place.’” I pause one beat, two beats, before sliding my finger over a dimple. “‘And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow, but tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent.’” I pause to lean closer, inhaling her peach and sweet tea scent, and nearly get caught in my own performance when I see the desire in her eyes, and realize I want to kiss her. My mouth goes dry and I sit up with a loud laugh, badly shaken by the realization. “You should see your face,” I laugh, using every skill I have to cover my raw nerves. “Byron. A poser!” I collapse in a heap of laughter, grateful for my acting skills, but still unable to bear continuing to watch her expression travel from desire to confusion, to disbelief. I actually guffaw while pointing at her. “Take that you Byron hater!” Briony recovers magnificently, and I’m relieved when she laughingly swats at my shoulder. I roll over and leap out of the way, as she playfully pouts up at me, before jumping up. “It wasn’t the words! It was the delivery! Any decent actor worth their salt could recite a McDonald’s menu and still steal the breath away of an unsuspecting audience!” I genuinely laugh this time, accepting the high praise despite the wrapping it came in. “Ah, so it wasn’t Byron who stole your breath away, but me?” I tease. When she tries to shove me, I laughingly pull her in for a side hug as we begin walking towards the motorbike. During the ride back to the guesthouse, I’m only half paying attention as Briony chatters nonstop. One recurring thought continues to distract me. Do I want to convince Briony to give us a chance? Can I? I have no clue what I’m doing. A handful of dates nearly twenty years ago just doesn’t equip a person for something so high stakes. Am I really considering it? If I were 6 or 7 years younger, would I still ask that question? So, why is it a question now? I silently begin ticking off my reasons for holding back as we round the corners on the rapidly darkening road back to the hotel. One, she’s my little sister’s best friend. Which is actually irrelevant according to said little sister. I choke back frustration. Two, I’m still her employer. Not for long. Three, I literally put a roof over her head. Seems like you’re already half way there, old chap. Right, but what if…the problem is me? What if I’m not able to be what Briony needs in her life? I groan, forgetting I’m on the comms, and Briony immediately stops chattering. “Are you, ok, Nicky babe?” She asks running a hand over my chest, causing my eyes to cross. “Just peachy, love,” I grit out through the surge of electricity in my belly. Just…great…← Previous Chapter: Chapter 7 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 9Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe