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In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
Hold for four.
Repeat.
She focused her attention on the sound of her low heels, breathing, calming herself until they echoed on the marble steps leading up to the door, her hand still instinctively reaching for the door only for the doorman, Eric, to swing it open, greeting her with a pleasant smile as she blushed and gave thanks.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair.” His smile brightened as she returned his, giving her the slightest of nods as she stepped past him.
“Lovely weather,” Ivy said, making strained small talk as best she could, trying to push down the awkwardness. Lovely weather? Had she really just said that? It wasn’t lovely, it was too hot, as the strands of hair clinging to her face clearly showed. Damn British heritage. She often heard jokes that they were always talking about the weather, and what had she just done? She’d played right into that stereotype. It didn’t help she’d never lost her accent, despite living here for so many years. Then again, that same accent had its perks too.
“Sure is, but it won’t be a minute until fall is here.”
Fall. Ivy still thought of it as autumn. Spring, summer,autumn, winter, that was how she’d been taught. Some words, some habits from childhood were harder to break than others. At least now she was no longer surprised when crisps appeared when she slipped up and asked for chips. It didn’t happen that often. Not anymore, anyway. A few too many disappointments when her body craved hot potatoey goodness, but was rewarded with a bag of crispy cold slices instead would do that to a person, especially one who wouldn’t correct their mistake, and just pay, as if it was what she’d meant all along.
“How are the kids?” she asked, tension easing slightly as she stepped aside to stand beside him as the door to the outside world whispered closed.
“Maggie’s already packing for uni. It’s almost as if she can’t wait to see the back of us.” He chuckled. “Oh, to be young again, with the world at my feet.”
“And Daryl?”
“Still a mommy’s boy. I thought they were meant to cut the umbilical cord at birth, but you know, four years on he’s still attached to Janie. Poor woman can’t even go the toilet without him climbing on her knee.” He laughed a good-humoured laugh, his eyes lightening up as he brought up the newest picture of his son on his phone.
“He’s grown so much!” Ivy cooed, looking at the boy sharing the same jet black hair as his father, although lacking the light dusting of white age had bestowed. He grinned at the camera like a diva, his arm wrapped around the neck of a woman sharing his pale brown eyes as they huddled together to take a selfie. Joy and happiness shone from the photo, lighting it as brightly as the back light.
Eric stepped forward, grasping the door for another resident, greeting the well-dressed man politely by name, despite the fact he just strolled off, almost as if he believed the door was automatic.
“How are the wedding plans coming?” Eric asked with a grin as the door closed.
It was a moment before she could talk. How were the plans coming? Well, last week she would have said they were done, but now they were running away from her. They’d careened so far from her view and ideas that she no longer recognised the small modest affair she’d put together. But if that was the kind of wedding Miles wanted, she could do it for him, especially after everything he’d done for her.
“They’re… coming,” she stated, drawing out the words that lacked conviction.
“Well, don’t let me keep you. A busy bride-to-be with a wedding just around the corner can’t be standing around chatting when there’re cakes to sample and colours to coordinate.”
“I always have time for you, Eric. You’re my island of sanity.” She offered him a warm smile, before bidding him a good day and making her way towards the elevator, already knowing Miles would be annoyed with her the minute she stepped through the door.
Good.
Because after the morning she’d had, she needed something only he could provide.
Miles glanced at the small clock in the corner of his laptop screen for what must have been the twentieth time in less than a minute, since the static time hadn’t changed at all in what felt like an eternity. How could sixty seconds possibly pass so slowly?
Well, he knew the answer to that. He was waiting and, as Ivy often told him, a watched pot never boiled. A phrase he would often turn to his advantage by preaching this was why cups of tea should be made in the microwave, just to see the way her expression would darken as a storm rose in her eyes. He’d learnt early on teasing a British person about their tea was not a good idea.
He understood now where the phrase storm in a teacup came from. It was the Hell unleashed by the Brits when their sacred nectar was defiled.
He prided himself on the fact she almost always drank the beige-coloured liquid when he made it now, although he wasn’t sure if his skills in this art were getting better, or she was just becoming more accustomed to his sub-par offering.
Honestly though, he didn’t get it. It was tea. Hot water, tea bag, milk, sugar. How could something so simple provide such varying results? Although it was clearly results aligned only to those British taste buds of hers, because he swore there was no difference between the so call slop he made, and her heavenly brew.
Thank goodness she drank coffee too. Now there was one thing he excelled at. There was only so much that could go wrong with sticking a pod in a machine and pressing a button. Even less since the machine also made hot chocolate, which seemed to be her preference. Although she did prefer it made with milk, in a pan, on the hob. Honestly, what was it about British people and the damn microwave? And who called the stove a hob?
Leaning back from the dining room table—because why would he think about working in his office when his beautiful fiancée was due home any second?—he pushed a hand through his titan-coloured hair, adding a little more volume and texture to the well-groomed style that had been all but been destroyed from hours at the computer checking over paperwork.
