Nicholas - Fleeting Felicity and Stolen Bliss

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 12 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 14My hair is still wet from my shower after my workout the next morning, so I run a comb through it, even if it will get styled on set by hair and makeup later. Surprising no one, I worked out alone this morning in the small room that was converted into a weight room. I’ve had enough conversations with Briony about healthy routines to know that voluntarily lifting a weight is not something she’s likely to take up. Still, it didn’t stop me from looking up at every small creak of wood, or change in the shadows. As I step out of my room, the smell of sausage hits me, along something distinctly mouthwatering. I smell potatoes. I try to casually stride into the great room, but as soon as I see the lights on over the kitchen island as Briony bustles around to big band music playing on a speaker, I’m across the room in three strides. Today’s the day! For every movie and television series that I’ve filmed since Briony has become my chef, she takes a day to dress up as a character from the show, to help me get my head in the game. It started as a casual joke, when I told her that sometimes it’s hard to stay focused after reading a script alone over 250 times. At some point the words just become silly and meaningless if I’m just running them over and over. Briony had innocently asked what would help, and I said the Queen of Gamma herself would have to show up to run lines with me. The next morning, that’s exactly who showed up in my kitchen, blue face and all. We had a good laugh, and she helped me run lines for the rest of the day. From then on, besides regularly running lines with me, Briony would also dress up at least once during every production. It became our thing. A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I realize this could be the last time we get to do this, if I don’t figure out how to claim her heart. And fast. Briony’s back is to me as she bounces to—I look down at her phone on the island—‘Paper Doll’ by the Mills Brothers. I smile, taking in her outfit. Once again, she’s outdone herself. Her dark hair has been straightened, and pinned away from her face, with the curled ends spilling over her shoulders. A fitted white cotton button down with rolled, short sleeves is tucked into a tan button down skirt that skims her hips, falling just past her knees. It’s cinched at her trim waist with a matching tan belt. She even found a pair of brown pumps that could have come straight out of catalogue in 1943. She must have befriended the wardrobe crew again. She looks fantastic, and I suddenly have an urge to see all of her flowery black chef jackets disappear. “War times aren’t conducive to extra expenses. Do I want to know what you did to be able to afford stockings this year?” I tease. Briony spins around with a smile on her face. “I sold a goat, and some old embroidery that was hanging on a wall.” I smile as I sit at the island appreciating her soft makeup. “Ah, so we’re just opposed to getting up early in the morning to work out? Your hair and make up must have taken hours, you’re gorgeous, darling.” “Do you really think so?” She asks, touching her hair self consciously. It’s adorable, and I don’t know where to look first as I drink her in. “Yes, love. Lucille Ball would be proud.” “Ha!” Briony scoffs, hurling a balled up dish towel at me. “Kidding!” I laugh, catching the towel with a hand. “I see you used Lauren Bacall as inspiration. This look really suits you, love.” When I’m rewarded with a shy smile, I swipe a hand down my charcoal trousers, and hold it out. “Dance with me,” I plead as a new song starts up. Briony’s slow blink draws a smile out of me. “I don’t know how to dance to this,” she declares, waving me off with both hands. I stand up and come around the island. “That’s alright, love. I’ll help you.” She turns off a flame and, looking at me dubiously, she slips her hand into mine. “Can you dance?” She asks suspiciously. “I can tap dance,” I say as I start spinning her and moving my feet in time to the music. Briony is concentrating on copying my moves. “Really?” I spin and swing her around as I tease her. “No, but we seem to be figuring this out just fine.” I check the name of the song as we pass by the phone. ‘I’ve Heard That Song Before’ by Harry James and His Orchestra. We laugh as we hop around the kitchen, doing our best imitation of 40s style swing dancing. We’re nearly out of breath by the time that song goes off and the next comes on. It’s a slower song, and a quick glance reveals the song is ‘Sunday, Monday, or Always’ by Bing Crosby. With my heart thudding, I pull Briony into my arms, and there’s no stiffness as we begin to sway to the music. Even with her heels, we’re still not quite cheek to cheek, but I greedily inhale her comforting sweet peach and coconut scent, grateful to be this close. A puff of warm air hits my neck as she wraps her arms around me, sighing against the collar of my blue button down shirt. As the lyrics echo the thoughts plaguing my heart, I close my eyes, not wanting this moment to end. “Somehow, I don’t think this is helping you find your character,” Briony whispers. I pull her closer as we continue to sway to what ever song comes on next. “I’ll have you know, Miss Briony, this is the closest I’ve ever been to Wing Commander Rafe Edwards, thank you.” Briony chuckles. “I’ll have you know, Commander, your breakfast is getting cold.” I smile against her temple as I spin us around the great room, intoxicated by the music and the feel of the woman in my arms. “You know I’m going off on another mission,” I say softly. “I may not make it back. This may be the last moment we have together.” Briony tilts her head back, a question in the liquid pools of her chocolate eyes. Time stops as my eyes drop to her rosy lips before I drag them back to hers. Gazing into her eyes, I know this is inevitable. Whether, it’s today, tomorrow, or a year from now, Briony is the only one for me. The only one there will ever be. “Don’t you want to give me something to remember you by, my love?” The question quietly slips out, aching, pleading. The music fades as Briony nods, almost imperceptibly. Then, there’s only the sound of my heart pounding in my ears as my eyes drop to her softly parted lips. Our breaths mingle as I dip my head, and our lips softly brush— CRASH! Briony and I leap apart as if we’re competing American Ninja Warrior and the floor is lava. “Oh, clover! Sorry, sir! I didn’t realize..I didn’t see—” Scowling at Alfie, who’s profusely apologizing as he bends to pick up the remnants of a breakfast tray from the bottom of the stairs, I glance at Briony. She’s managed to teleport over to the kitchen, and begun plating breakfast, as if nothing has happened. As if there aren’t a million stars dancing in my eyes, and I haven’t been left completely breathless. Running a hand over my hair, I heave a sigh and resume my seat at the island. Somehow, this feels worse than where I began this morning. “Bri, can I see you—” “Breakfast’s ready!” Briony interjects, sliding a plate in front of me, and staring over my shoulder. “Alfie leave that. We can pick it up later. Come have breakfast. There’s pork sausage and home fries this morning.” The tinkling sound of broken dishes comes to a halt while I blindly stare at my plate of three sausages and a couple of potato wedges and onions. “No, Briony,” Alfie protests. “I’ll just pick this up and leave you two—” He may as well have been speaking to the wind. “Absolutely not, Alfie! Don’t play with me. You’ll sit right there next to..er..Nicholas, and enjoy breakfast.” I glance at her sharply as she busies herself setting out biscuits and pouring coffee…all while avoiding eye contact. Nicholas? Are we strangers now? Briony has never called me Nicholas. It’s been Nick from the first meeting. Nicholas sounds cold and foreign coming from her lips. Those lips. I close my eyes, swallowing a groan of frustration as I remember how soft they were. When I open them, Briony, has her back to us as she slices fruit. I shoot a dirty look at Alfie, who smiles sheepishly with a shrug of his shoulders. I draw my thumb across my throat in a threatening manner, but when Alfie looks down pitifully at his plate, I sigh and begin eating. As Briony begins the dishes, Alfie leans over. “I’m truly sorry, sir,” he whispers sadly. “If I had noticed you earlier, I wouldn’t have come downstairs at all.” I shake my head as I swallow my tender potatoes which have turned to sawdust in my mouth. I can’t bring myself to say it’s fine, but I’ll get over it..eventually. I’ve only managed to cut up my sausage when a loud sigh echoes next to me. I glance over to see Alfie miserably chewing his food. “What’s wrong with you?” I quietly hiss. He swallows his food, looks down at his plate and back at me. “I’ve already eaten breakfast,” he whispers. “I was bringing my dishes back to wash them. This is what I get for trying to be early to call time,” he mutters, shoving another bite in his mouth. I chuckle despite myself. Even when she’s flustered, my Life is a force to be reckoned with. Despite many attempts to bring up the near kiss, Briony has made it her life’s mission to never acknowledge it. A heavy sense of déjà vu accompanies my attempts to have a conversation about it, only to be dismissed, or have her disappear on me. It’s that night all over again. That evening, I’m haunted in endless coconut peach dreams by what could have been, only to wake up exhausted and ill-tempered. During the day, shooting begins with the last scene of the series. After today, we’re going to be shooting the rest of the series in order. I was praised by the costume designer for being able to fit into my costume without trouble, although the director, Andrew, thinks I should have lost a few more pounds for a more pronounced look. Ah well. There’s no pleasing everyone. My character Rafe is supposedly on war rations for several years, so I was meant to show up lean, but as the story progresses, with Rafe first convalescing as he eats well and later works on Annika’s farm, caring for animals and growing potatoes, his body is supposed to fill out and become bulkier. My fitness trainer, Bert, refuses to allow my gains to be due to a lack of activity. Therefore, I’m not only changing the type of exercises and amount of weight I’m using, I also have to stick to a new diet of protein, greens, and, to my ever growing disappointment, good carbs. Bert insists all weight gain will be pure muscle, so I’m definitely more disagreeable lately than usual. Which is why I don’t blame Chanel the chamois when she head butts me during one of the first days of filming. To be fair, I think I stepped into her shot at the wrong time. At any rate, I was sent home early, and given two days’ rest. Which is how I managed to fall asleep, sprawled face down on the great room sofa. When Briony comes over that evening, and rubs a finger over my cheek to wake me, I’m ready to take on Chanel again. “I heard you were sent home from class. What happened, Nicky babe? Were you bullied?” I suppress the smile at hearing my nickname again after being largely ignored, and instead focus on accumulating Briony’s pity. “Yes. I was head butted in the back by Chanel the chamois. I would like to file a formal complaint. Chamois’ aren’t soft.” Briony squats beside me, running her fingers through my hair, and as she begins massaging my scalp, my eyes close and I shiver. “It could have been worse,” she quietly replies after a few blissful moments. As her words slide over me, my only focus is on the pleasure a scalp massage can give. However, Briony leans close to my ear and whispers, “It could have been Spike the chamois.” Groaning when she stands and walks away, leaving me bereft, I’m sulking over the loss of her fingers when I think of Spike. That’s when I realize, where Chanel’s horns curl back toward her head, Spike’s horns stand straight out and away from his head, like some kind of double horned unicorn. Laughter erupts as I envision that debacle. “Touché, my love.” Three days later, I’m back to work, and for the next two weeks, things limp along, as normal as could be expected. The tension in the air between Briony and I can be cut with a knife, yet, I’m forced to give up hope of having a conversation about that which shall remain nameless. At least, if I don’t want to see Briony hightailing it at the barest hint of it. Instead, I resolve to let things naturally take their course, however slowly that may be. So, we spend our weekends hiking a trail, or swimming in the cold, but crystal clear lake. I should say, I swim and Briony bathes in the shallows, since she can’t swim. Slowly, she ventures out a little deeper, learning something new every time. In between dips in the lake, and eating our picnic lunches, we sun ourselves on our towels while reading Hamlet, since she admitted to never reading it. Despite the fact that Briony hates tragedies, she enthusiastically embraces the reading, and throws herself into her parts. Our discussions are always lively, and we frequently draw the attention of holiday goers on the lake with our laughter. I know she only agreed to read Hamlet to convince me to try for the lead role. As much as I love the theater, it’s a different world to films and television series. It calls on a different set of skills, and endurance, but each performance leaves me more invigorated for the next. I’ve long dreamed of returning to the theater where I got my start, but my agent, James, constantly reminds me it’s not the right time. He isn’t thrilled that I’m considering it now, but when a legendary director like Peter Smithson calls and asks you to consider working with a world renowned Broadway producer, consider it you must. James’ reminders, that taking a break from film to do theater could mean a significant loss of time during the run of a show, as well as loss of market value, are warranted. It’s a serious consideration, as it could mean a loss of opportunities I may not be able to bounce back from. Yet, Briony’s constant encouragement to do the unexpected, being unafraid to fail, has me leaning toward taking the leap. “Why don’t you and I go fishing at the weekend?” I suggest to Briony one Friday. The sun is setting, casting its golden glow over Briony’s dark curls as she finishes scrubbing a pot. Her eyes shine in amusement as she dries her hands on a towel. “The last time we went fishing, you said that I was terrible at my job.” “I said what I said,” I smirk. “Your only job was to look for large rocks standing out of the lake, love. We hit every single one!” Briony laughs, as she wrings out the towel and lays it on the rack to dry. “So, you’re saying that you finally forgive me?” “Ha!” I scoff. “I’ll always remember towing a wrecked rowboat back to the rental shop, but I assure you, darling, I don’t hold it against you.” Briony comes around the island to stand in front in of me as she coyly bats her lashes. “So, you’re willing to play with me again?” She teases. My brows shoot up as I look into her playful brown eyes. “Always,” I say softly. “That never changes. The question is, are you ready to play fair?” She’s in the middle of undoing the top two buttons of her chef’s jacket, when I smile. Her nimble fingers stutter on the open flap, as my eyes follow the movement, and when I drag my eyes back to hers, she visibly swallows. “Come fishing with me, tomorrow,” I insist, my voice diving several octaves. Avoiding eye contact, she gurgles a vague response and skitters away. “I’ll take that as a yes, love,” I call out after her departing figure with a grin. I push off my bar stool at the island, slowly releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It may kill me, but if Briony requires a snail’s pace, then that’s how fast we’ll go. In the meantime, I think I need to go for a walk, and perhaps..take a plunge in the lake before dinner…← Previous Chapter: Chapter 12 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 14Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe