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Like lightning, Wentworth was always back at his desk, acting blasé.
More than the usual number of people visited them throughout the days, and to them Wentworth was life itself. Full of stories to share, witty and horrifying. His voice was deep and nuanced. It made the listener sit up and pay attention. He inspired laughter and he listened in turn. His courteous interest made whoever spoke feel like their story was to be cherished.
During those visits Wentworth barely turned to Elliot, and he never let his eyes wander in his direction. Yet. Yet, Elliot felt deep in his bones that it was impossible he’d forgotten him there. Impossible he didn’t constantly drift off into memories of their past.
On Friday, having finished running through the most important sex scene in the film with the actors, Elliot came back to the music room to find Wentworth chatting with Louisa. She was perched on the left flank of his desk as he lounged back in his chair, facing her.
Elliot quickly averted his gaze and sank blessedly into the couch. On the side table was another prepared lunch. A green smoothie, two sandwiches—chicken mayonnaise, his favourite—and a large chocolate muffin. He grinned. Since Louisa’s little chat about his forgetting to eat she’d been sneaking lunches in for him. At this point, it was the happiest part of his day.
He should offer to pay her back.
He dug in, letting out a delighted moan. This, as it had every day this week, made Wentworth glance at him. It might have been Elliot’s imagination—or his very happy belly—but Wentworth’s eyes seemed softer in those moments.
Today, not stopping his conversation with Louisa, he caught Elliot’s eye and even gestured with his finger under his mouth. The universal sign for might need a napkin.
Elliot wiped the trickle of mayonnaise off his face and sank into the couch for a moment to digest.
“Was it hard when you first started songwriting in Hollywood?” Louisa asked.
“I was glad of it.”
“You weren’t overwhelmed? Afraid you’d mess up?”
“I wanted to be. At that time, I was very happy to be busy. So busy, I couldn’t think about anything other than work.”
“I like the idea of Hollywood,” Louisa said. “But it’s not my goal.”
“What is your goal?”
“To settle down. The biological clock is ticking.”
“You don’t look older than thirty.”
“Add another five.” Something beeped. “Crap, break’s over.” She glanced at Elliot. “Are we meeting for Friday night drinks?”
He nodded. “Same carpooling set-up?”
“Yep.” She slipped off the desk.
Elliot smiled at her. “By the way, thank you for the lunches. I’ll pay you back tonight.”
She frowned. “Lun—”
“It’s not clear to me,” Wentworth said swiftly, “if I’m invited for drinks or not?”
Louisa smirked. “Oh, you’re invited.” Elliot hardly noticed her waltz out, gaze rooted instead on Wentworth’s profile.
The man stared at the door, but Elliot suspected his concentration lay more out the corner of his eye. Three heart-pounding beats it continued, and Elliot debated with himself whether he should acknowledge it was in fact Wentworth feeding him, or whether he should leave it be.
Wentworth made the decision for him, sharply turning his back and slipping on his headphones.
Still, it bothered Elliot.
He needed to say something.
If Wentworth didn’t want to use his voice, there was another channel of communication available. Not ideal, for sure, but . . . he appreciated when it came in handy.
Wentworth was online in the company-wide messaging platform, and Elliot opened a private chat.
Elliot: Wentworth . . .
The chair squealed as Wentworth shifted, and Elliot could see him reading his message. Keys tapped.
Wentworth: It’s just food.
* * *
Elliot: Nevertheless.
* * *
Wentworth: It was nothing. Pennies to me.
* * *
Elliot: Thank you.
* * *
Wentworth: You look like you need taking care of.
* * *
Elliot: Thank you for the lunches, Wentworth.
Wentworth scowled and shut his laptop.
He whisked around, chest heaving, like he was eager to say something. He opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked away, frustrated. “Where’s Honey today?”
“Mary had the day off. She wanted him to stay home with her.”
“Oh.”
“Do you miss him?” Elliot teased gently.
Wentworth frowned at his boots. “Yes.”
“He’ll be back next week. Mary’s happy the neighbours aren’t constantly ringing to complain.”
A nod. Wentworth grabbed his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. His voice was gruff. “I gotta—bye. See you for drinks.”
Elliot blinked at the space where he’d stood.
At the end of the day, Elliot slipped into his car with the coffee he’d bought at Tranquil Café and sipped. Way too hot. He set it into the cup holder and swiped through his emails. Louisa messaged him, telling him she was still on set and would meet them later.
He watched Cameron and Henry’s car pull out of the parking lot; they waved and gestured something about seeing him there soon.
He nodded, and once they were out of sight took a good long moment to rest his head against the steering wheel and groan. Why was he so bloody nervous about after-work drinks?
