To Clive's great surprise, when Monday rolled around again, there was indeed an order for one Jill Warrick waiting in his delivery queue. His eyebrows quirked up at the sight of her name. Despite her assurances, he had been sure that his awkward looming in her apartment would have driven her away from Cid's for good, that she would have immediately switched to one of the other dozen or so florists in town just so she wouldn't accidentally run into him again.
As he unloaded the flowers from his car, he found himself once again admiring her choice of color. She had switched out the type of flower this time, and had even followed his advice, poor as it was. The bouquets were full of sunflowers and deep orange chrysanthemums, with little purple forget-me-nots to accent. The colors were bright and cheery, but different enough from her original bouquets to keep them from feeling too similar.
Despite the fact that she doubtless remembered what she ordered, he still found himself hurrying with light steps to deliver the flowers to her door, eager to see her response to them.
Once again, she was quick to answer the door when he knocked, greeting him with a wide smile as her eyes darted down to the flowers in his arms. Almost as soon as the door swung open, he was greeted by a delectable smell wafting in from her apartment. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of cooking garlic and sage, drowning out even the scent of the flowers.
"I have a delivery from Cid's Flowers ," he said, hoisting the box up a little higher in his arms.
"Yes, I remember," Jill said, an amused lilt to her voice. "I was the one who ordered them."
Clive flushed. "Oh. Right. Sorry." Of course she would remember - she had paid her own hard-earned money for these flowers, no doubt she remembered that they were going to be delivered. He had even sent her a confirmation text from the delivery phone, just like last time. He was used to getting stuck in his verbal script, something easy to fall back on when he wasn't sure what to say. He wished he was eloquent enough to come up with an interesting greeting for her.
She waved his apologies away. "Don't be," she told him, "I was just teasing you. It's nice to see you again, Clive. Can you put them on the table, like last time?"
She remembered his name. No doubt she had hundreds of pleasant interactions with dozens of service industry workers every week, but she had remembered his name, despite the fact that it had been several days since he had last seen her. He hid a secret smile by holding the flowers up a little higher and tried to tamp down his delight. She probably took the time to learn everyone's names if she thought she would see them again.
He set the flowers down on the dining room table as instructed, but when he turned back to her, Jill's head was tilted curiously. "Isn't that heavy?" she questioned.
"The flowers?" he asked, confused. "They're not too bad."
"Yes, but there are a lot of them, and the vases, too," she said. "I'd imagine it gets to be a lot to hold for a long period of time."
He hadn't really thought of it that way before. "I don't mind," he said. "I'm used to it."
"Do you work out?"
Clive furrowed his brow, trying to figure out where her line of questioning was coming from - or leading to. "I have a set of weights in my apartment."
"I thought so," she said, her eyes flicking away from his face and across his torso. "You look like you can really lift. Your girlfriend is probably delighted - you could probably lift any woman right off her feet."
"I don't have a girlfriend," he mumbled in response. He had been on a couple dates in the past, tried a couple of different dating apps, but hadn't had much luck with them so far. He found himself clamming up when out with a prospective partner, too anxious to do more than offer short answers to their questions and too shy to ask them about themselves no matter how interested he was. At the end of each date, he was met with a polite refusal as they kindly told him that they thought he was very sweet, but they didn't think they clicked.
"Ah. Shame, that," Jill said, but something in her tone of voice and her face made him think that she didn't think it was a shame at all. He didn't know what to make of that , but he liked her eyes on him, admiring his arms and chest, even as her scrutiny made him want to shy away. He stood up a little taller, put his shoulders back just a bit further to make them appear broader, and her smile grew.
Still, he didn't know how to continue this conversation, what she wanted out of it, so he changed the subject. "How did the flowers go over last week?" he asked. "I know you were worried that they might make people sad. Did they like them?"
Her eyes lit up as they flew back to his face. "You remember me from last week?"
"Of course," he said, and immediately regretted it. It was embarrassing to admit that he had paid so much attention to their conversation, almost like telling her that he had been thinking about it (and her) all week.
"I'm flattered," she said. The corners of her eyes crinkled endearingly as she smiled. "I can't imagine I was very memorable. You must have hundreds of clients that you see every week. I'm just happy you remember me."
Clive flushed. He was pleased to hear that she had been looking forward to seeing him again, enough that she remembered him and worried about whether or not he would remember her. "You were...particularly memorable," he admitted, his face turning even redder than it had been. "I'm not the florist, so I don't usually give advice to clients. I had been hoping that it went well."
"It did," she confirmed. "The staff really liked the flowers. I don't want to take all the credit, but I think it helped them to remember him in a more positive light, rather than just thinking about his illness. There were actually people crowding around the front desk admiring them, sharing their favorite stories from him. It was nice to see them smiling again. They were...healing, I think."
Clive allowed himself a small smile. "I'm glad," he said softly. "Do you know how he's holding up?"
"His daughter stopped by the other day, after the flowers were delivered to his room," she told him. "She said he's doing well. Sleeping more than usual, but she says that's to be expected considering...everything. But he's in good spirits, he's not in pain, and when he's awake he's alert and present and spending time with his family. She gave me a hug and thanked me before she left."
"It sounds like she liked the flowers," he said.
"She did," Jill replied. "Seeing her again actually gave the staff an idea. We're going to try to help them out so they can spend as much time with him as they can. Do laundry for them, grocery shopping, clean the family home, bring them food, that sort of thing." Her face suddenly turned pensive. "Actually, would you be willing to help me with something? It won't take long."
"Sure." She was his last delivery of the day, and he doubted Cid would mind if he was a bit later back if he was helping a client.
"I'm actually cooking for them now," she said. "I signed up to bring them food tomorrow, but it's a new recipe. I think it's going well, but I could use a taste tester. Would you be willing to try?"
Once more, his nose tuned back in to the smell of roasting meat and garlic. "Is that what I've been smelling since I walked it?" he asked. "If it tastes like it smells, I don't think you need to worry."
Jill's cheeks pinkened and she smiled, pleased. "Thank you," she said, "but you should really taste it before you decide. Come here."
She led the way into the kitchen and beckoned him in after her. Clive peered over the deep-sided pan, at the simmering meat and chunks of vegetables braising in a thick, brown sauce. "It looks amazing," he breathed, his mouth watering. Clive was too used to eating to sustain himself rather than for pleasure, but the meal Jill was cooking looked good enough that he was starting to reconsider his meager spice drawer.
"You should try it," she said, even as she opened a drawer next to the stove to select a fresh spoon. She didn't even need to cut the meat to get a piece - it was tender enough that she was able to simply use the edge of the spoon to shred a small piece off, then fished around the pan for some of the gravy and vegetables. "Here," she said, and held the spoon up for him, one hand cupped a couple inches beneath it to keep it from dripping.
Clive took the utensil from her, blowing on it to cool it off and to dispel some of the steam rising from the top of it before slipping it into his mouth. The meat practically melted on his tongue, the vegetables perfectly tender. The gravy was creamy and tasted strongly of bay leaves, the garlic and sage he was smelling working perfectly in harmony with it.
"It's really good," he mumbled. He couldn't resist sticking the spoon in his mouth again to try to chase the flavor. He wished he could take a bowl home with him. Better yet, he wished he could take her home with him. "Would you be willing to share the recipe?" he requested, licking a drop of sauce off of the stem of the spoon.
Her eyes dropped slightly, following his tongue as it darted out of his mouth. She was silent for a long moment, and Clive realized how rude he had been. She had to use these spoons, and here he was licking it like a starved animal. "Is there some place I can wash this?" he asked. If he was going to behave like a savage with her spoon, he might as well have the grace to wash it.
Her gaze snapped back to his, and rather than let him take care of it, she took it directly from his hand, not seeming to care that his saliva was probably all over it. "I've got it," she said, excessively cheerful, and simply placed the spoon in the sink. "And yes, I can share the recipe. I've got a printed version, if you don't mind some sauce splatters."
Jill selected the paper from where it was sitting on the countertop, folding it over once. However, rather than handing it directly to him, she turned her back to him and grabbed a box off the counter top, tied shut with some string. She slid the piece of paper underneath the twine and turned back to him with the package. "Here," she said, and held it out to him. "This is for you."
"For me?"
"Yes, and for the rest of the staff at Cid's flowers. They're cookies," she explained. "You were such a big help to me last week - and your boss, too, who gave me such a wonderful consultation when I asked for more ideas on what sort of flowers to send. I wanted to thank you and the rest of the team for helping me. Would you be willing to deliver them? For me?"
Clive smiled at her and reached out to take the box in his hands. This time, when their fingers brushed together, he didn't let himself flinch away. She let her touch linger for just a moment, their hands brushing together just slightly, before she pulled back, blushing. "I'd be delighted to."
A routine was established in Clive's life after that. Every Monday afternoon, after all of his other deliveries were done, Clive would stop by Cid's flower shop to pick up one more delivery for Miss Jill Warrick. He'd drive to her apartment, and she'd let him in to drop the flowers off at the table. Each time, they'd talk - sometimes for only a few minutes, sometimes for half an hour or more, since he had nowhere else to rush off to afterwards, no more deliveries that needed to be made. The topic varied week to week. Usually, he'd ask after her boss and his daughter and how they were holding up (well, but steadily declining in health, which was a sad, but not entirely unexpected, outcome). It was a question that seemed to flow naturally into his script and made it easier for him to open up a conversation instead of having to worry about what to say every time he greeted her.
From there, Jill was able to use it to lead into another topic with far more grace than he ever could. She'd talk about what one of her co-workers cooked the family for dinner one day, and then ask for his opinions on local restaurants. She'd say she was thinking of getting him a book to keep him company, and ask if he liked to read and what his favorites were. They'd talk about her flower choice, and she'd use it to find out where he learned about them, and from that more about him. Once, Clive managed to ask her - far more awkwardly and with a less smooth transition than she would have, he was sure - about the cooking show he frequently saw her watching when he arrived, which led into a long conversation about other cooking shows and television series.
Talking with her was surprisingly easy. Clive wasn't known for his composure when it came to communication - quite the opposite actually - but though he was frequently quiet and let Jill lead the conversation, he never got the sense that she found chatting with him a burden. In fact, he was starting to suspect that she enjoyed their weekly chats as much as he did. He couldn't understand why - it wasn't as if he was a stellar example of confidence and poise, and instead he found himself stumbling through most conversations - but she never seemed to mind helping him get back on track whenever he tripped over his own tongue or put his foot in his mouth. In fact, the way that her eyes lit up whenever he arrived at the door was starting to make him think that she was actually excited to see him.
Despite himself, Clive found himself looking forward to Mondays. Normally, he dreaded the beginning of the work week and would immediately miss the rest that the weekend brought, but now he practically leaped out of bed at the beginning of the week to get to work. He'd hurry through his other deliveries, running back and forth from the flower shop, hoping with each trip that he'd see her name on the delivery card, and lighting up with joy whenever her order inevitably turned up. Cid had started to tease him, poking fun at his blatant crush, and had even jokingly told him that he'd pay for their first date in full - if he ever got up the courage to ask her out. Clive only brushed him aside. Even his playful ribbing could do little to ruin his good mood.
Besides, he doubted she was interested - her attitude towards him had never been anything but friendly. This knowledge did disappoint him a little, but it also left him relieved. Clive had ruined every date he had ever been on, but if they didn't go on a date, then he couldn't mess it up. He didn't want to jeopardize what little they had. He enjoyed the small amount of time he was able to spend in her presence every week. Even knowing that he was a miniscule, unimportant part of her life, he deeply cherished her friendship.
Everything changed one rainy Monday afternoon. It was the first major storm of the year, earlier in autumn than he would have expected. He had been awoken in the middle of the night by the gentle pattering of the rain on the windowpane of his bedroom, but by the time his alarm went off in the morning, it had turned into a deluge. The wind whistled outside, and there was a chill in his drafty apartment that made him reluctant to leave the warmth of his covers. It was only the knowledge of what that Monday afternoon would bring that finally convinced Clive to drag himself out of bed to his coffee maker.
Clive was extra careful during his deliveries that day. The first rain after a long summer always left the roads slicker than usual, and many people seemed to forget how to drive safely during bad weather after a long dry spell. He drove just under the speed limit, leaving a healthy gap between himself and the cars around him, watching other vehicles go zipping in and out of the heavy traffic. Clive passed the remnants of more than one accident on the road, of cars stuck in ditches or drivers yelling at each other at the side of the road in the pouring rain. He was determined not to join them.
When Jill's order finally came in, Clive breathed a sigh of relief, not just because he was finally able to see her again, but also because he was approaching the end of his day, and thus the amount of time he had left on the roads now had a definitive endpoint. He was particularly careful as he loaded the flowers into his car, shielding the brightly colored snapdragons from the wind with his body even as his hair got soaked.
Almost as soon as he slammed the driver's side door shut, the delivery phone pinged. Clive unlocked it, and was surprised to see that it was from Jill. He didn't think he had ever seen her text the delivery phone unprompted, though doubtless after dozens of confirmation texts she knew that anything she sent there would reach him.
[Jill Warrick - 4:42pm]
hey clive, i'm running late getting back home from work. i don't think i'll be able to meet you at the door. sorry! :(
[Jill Warrick - 4:42pm]
i'll text the doorman and tell him to let you up, you can just leave the flowers at the doorway and i'll pick them up when i get back.
Clive frowned down at the two messages on the delivery phone. He wondered what had held her up. He had been looking forward to talking to her all day - all week, in fact - and couldn't say he wasn't disappointed that he wouldn't get the chance to talk to her. Still, there was nothing for it - he'd simply need to be patient until next week.
Unless...
By the tone of her text message, it didn't seem like she was running that far behind, just that she was running later than usual and she thought that she would miss him. If he delayed just a bit, came up with an excuse of his own, maybe he'd still be able to meet with her. He didn't want to inconvenience her if this was some sort of excuse to avoid him - which, he was realizing, was a very real possibility. She had been perfectly nice to him whenever they spoke, had asked him questions about himself and told him bits and pieces about herself, invited him into her home briefly each week to make his delivery, but perhaps she was just being polite.
For a moment, Clive warred with himself. If Jill didn't want to see him, then he didn't want to impose, but neither did he want to miss his opportunity to see her if she actually was delayed.
In the end, he was selfish. He couldn't resist the chance to see her once more, even if she decided to kick him to the curb afterwards. He carefully typed his response into the phone, reading it back to himself several times, questioning each word, each phrase, before anxiously sending it off.
Thankfully, she was quick to respond.
[Clive Rosfield - 4:49pm]
Hello, Jill. I'm running late as well, I got held up by another delivery. I'll try to be there as soon as I can, but I might be a while.
[Jill Warrick - 4:51pm]
oh no, i'm sorry that you got stuck at a delivery! especially in this weather.
[Jill Warrick - 4:51pm]
well, maybe we'll get the chance to meet face to face after all. i'm glad, i like chatting with you. :)
Clive stared down at her words, his mouth dry. She liked chatting with him? He couldn't see why. More often than not, he stumbled through their conversations, ineloquent and boorish. Maybe she enjoyed the presence of clumsy fools, or maybe she was just laughing at him.
Still, there was something so sweet and genuine in the text and the little smiley face at the end. With trembling fingers and a racing heart, he typed out a response, sending it before he had a chance to think better of it.
[Clive Rosfield - 4:54pm]
I like talking to you, too.
He almost immediately regretted it. It was far too vulnerable a thing to say, and no doubt directly after this she would tell him not to bother dropping off the flowers, she never wanted to see him again. The three little dots popping up at the bottom of the screen as she typed her response had never felt like such an anxiety attack before.
[Jill Warrick - 4:55pm]
i'm glad that you feel that way, too <3
All the tension went out of him at the sight of her response and the polite little heart emoji at the end. Good. He hadn't chased her away (yet).
Another message came through not long after that one.
[Jill Warrick - 4:55pm]
don't wait up for me if you get there first though! there is always next week too. :p
He laughed at that. Not only did she like talking to him, but she was already looking forward to seeing him again despite the fact that they hadn't had the chance to meet up today. He sent her a quick confirmation, but even then, he knew he'd find a way to putter around to show up late enough that he'd be able to see her this week.
Clive didn't bother taking the long way around as he merged onto the road. Almost as soon as he turned onto the street, he could see that rush hour traffic was beginning, and even heading the opposite way of most of the other cars, the roads were still stop and go all the way to the other side of town due to the rain. Few people wanted to wait in the rain for public transportation, so there were far more cars on the road than usual, and the earlier accidents on the main thoroughfares of the city had slowed traffic down to a crawl. It might have been frustrating any other day, and he would have been drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with his eagerness to go visit Jill, but he took his time today, knowing she was delayed, as well.
And because of this delay, he made a short pit stop, as well. There was a small restaurant downtown, a little more than halfway between the flower shop and Jill's apartment, that Clive liked to drop in on sometimes. The owner was a crotchety, middle-aged man that always seemed like he imbibed as much wine as he used in his cooking. When Clive had first visited, he had feared that he didn't like him, with how he seemed almost dismissive of him when he ordered, but he quickly realized that he treated everyone that way. Assured that the owner hadn't decided that he hated him personally, Clive found himself stopping by his shop frequently now that he had the disposable income. The owner didn't expect nor even want him to make small talk - just to come in, order his food, and get out and leave him be. It helped that he made the most incredible and flavorful little dumplings that Clive had ever tasted, tiny half moons of dough, a little smaller than a golf ball, filled with just about anything the chef could think to stuff into them.
He ordered extras, this time around. A dozen stuffed with meat, another dozen with mashed potato and chives, and a half dozen of just the dough drizzled with spiced honey and cinnamon. Finally, he requested two to-go cups of tea, extra hot so it would stay warm through the long drive.
If the owner noticed that he was ordering more than twice as much as he normally did, he didn't mention it, merely grunting as he took his payment and heading into the back to pick out his order. Clive wasn't even totally sure that he recognized him, despite the fact that he was in here at least once a week. He could have just been pretending, but honestly, Clive might have preferred it that way. It meant he didn't have to pretend to make small talk about how his week was or what was going on in his life - he could just order his food and scroll through his phone in peace while he waited. It didn't take long for his order to be ready and for everything to be bundled into the front seat of his car, the two cups of tea safely in the center cup holders.
When Clive arrived at Jill's apartment building, he sent her his standard confirmation text to let her know that he had arrived and would be up shortly. He paused before getting out of his car, waiting to see if she would respond.
But she didn't. He waited for nearly ten minutes, but she didn't even reply. It didn't even look like she had read the message.
Eventually, Clive came to terms with the fact that she was still stuck out in the traffic and the rain and wasn't back yet. It was disappointing, but he would have to wait until next week to speak with her. However, it was not just his disappointment he had to handle, but also the realization that there was a much greater obstacle he would now have to overcome: the doorman.
Clive hadn't had many interactions with the doorman in Jill's building. Usually, he would see him coming in and wave him up to the elevator, seemingly already knowing that Jill was expecting a delivery. He'd never actually spoken to him before, but this time, he'd have to actually ask him to buzz him up to Jill's floor. Jill had said she would text him to let him know he was coming, but had she? He had told her that he was running late and she said that they might be able to meet each other if they were both behind schedule, so maybe she hadn't let him know. Maybe the doorman would think he was some sort of thief trying to sneak into a young woman's apartment, and he'd be left stuck out in the car with the flowers and the slowly cooling food.
There was nothing for it - he was going to need to speak with the doorman for permission to go up either way. Clive took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He took a moment to go over his script, selecting the right words and repeating it over to himself a couple of times to make sure he had the phrasing and intonation right. He loaded up the food into the same box as the flowers, making sure there was room for each without crushing the delicate blooms, and pulled his hood up to face the rain.
He shook himself off as best as he could as he walked under the awning of the building, but there were still a few small droplets clinging to his coat as he approached the front desk. The doorman, as per usual, was scrolling through his phone, his feet up on his desk. Clive had rarely seen him out of that position. It seemed that keeping watch over a residential apartment building wasn't that exciting on a day to day basis, at least not enough to do more than glance up at the computer with the security feed in front of him every few minutes.
Clive cleared his throat softly, resting the box of flowers and food on the desk in front of him. He had to peer through the blue and purple snapdragons to see the doorman, who glanced up at the noise. "I have a delivery," he said simply.
The doorman simply looked at him. Then, to Clive's horror, he set his phone on the table face down in front of him, taking his feet off the table to lean forward and lace his fingers together. "A delivery?" he asked slowly.
Oh, no. Oh, no no no. The doorman thought he was suspicious, that he was trying to break into someone's apartment. This was his nightmare. Clive tried to find the words to explain that the flowers had been ordered, he was just dropping them off at Jill's door, but his voice failed him. "Yes," he said weakly. "A delivery."
The doorman raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, man," he said. "But I've already got a boyfriend."
Clive blinked at him slowly, trying to figure out how they had gone from "flower deliveries" to "the doorman is dating someone". "Excuse me?" he said when he was unable to make the connection.
"I said I've already got a boyfriend," he repeated, as if that would somehow clarify things. It didn't. When Clive continued to stare blankly at him, he sighed and tried again. "I'm flattered that you'd bring me flowers, but I can't accept them. You're a handsome fellow, and I might be interested if the situation was different, but I'm currently attached and very happy with my relationship."
He thought the flowers were for him , that Clive was bringing them to him in an attempt to ask him out. He tried to correct him, but he had never encountered a situation like this. This wasn't in his script. Normally, he might be able to improvise something, awkward as it might be, but Clive was already flustered, and any explanation fled him in his panic. "I didn't mean - I just wanted to - " he stammered out, but he had no idea how to remedy this situation.
"And besides," the doorman continued on, not even listening to his protests, "I'm not really into fickle men. I'm sure you've gotten sick of being rebuffed by Ms. Warrick - I would be, too, if I kept bringing her flowers every week and kept getting rejected - but it's a bad look to go from showing so much interest in one person to quickly taking a liking to someone new. And in her own apartment building , no less," he chortled. "Nope, it does not look good at all. So I'm flattered, but I'm going to have to go by way of Ms. Warrick and say no as well. Can't say I blame her, though. She must have rejected you, what, half a dozen times by now? It's a little strange to keep bringing flowers after she said no that many times. You've got determination, I'll give you that, but don't you think that it's time to give up and leave her be?"
All of Clive's protests died in his throat as the doorman continued on. He probably should have tried to correct him, but the insinuation that Jill wasn't interested in him, was simply making conversation but would reject his companionship in any other situation, hit a little too close to home, because it was what he had suspected all this time, too. Of course she was just being polite when she spoke with him, of course his presence was a burden upon her when he lingered in her doorway every Monday evening. She probably just wanted to be left in peace after a long work day, and instead, he subjected her to his feeble attempts to get to know her better when she probably wanted nothing to do with him.
"Listen," the doorman murmured, leaning forward a little more. His tone had turned sympathetic, no doubt catching sight of the broken look spreading across Clive's face. "I know how hard unrequited love is. It's never fun to like someone and have them not return the feeling. You seem like a nice guy. You'll find someone else in no time, but not if you keep clinging to this. Let her go, and you'll be much happier for it."
Clive swallowed and nodded slowly. He was right. He had tried not to, but some deep, dark part of him had been hoping for far too long, though he had tried not to acknowledge it. He wanted her to look his way with something more than polite attention, something other than cordiality. He wanted her to notice him. But he had been clinging to that hope for far too long. Even if she ever did, he would have been too shy to do anything about it. His interest had been doomed for the start.
But this still left him in something of a jam. He would let Jill Warrick go, leave her in peace, but - he still had a delivery to make. He didn't want to bother her any further than he already had over the past several weeks, but he couldn't simply pack the flowers back into his car. She had already paid for them. Clive silently warred with himself.
He had decided on simply leaving the flowers with the doorman, and had opened his mouth to ask him to hold the flowers until Jill arrived, when the glass door behind them swung open and a voice rang out through the lobby.
"Clive! You made it safely." There was a note of relief in Jill's mellifluous voice, and she drew up even with him in front of the front desk.
Finally, he found his voice again. "I...yes," he murmured, and averted his eyes, knowing that she probably didn't need him staring at her, even if all he wanted was to drink her in. He didn't want to bother her any further than he already had.
"I'm glad," she breathed. "Did you just get here?"
"Your boyfriend's been here for a bit," the doorman chimed in helpfully. Clive flushed at the epithet. "I was just telling him that he should be finding someone else to deliver flowers to."
"I certainly hope not," Jill replied. "I paid for the flowers, he better not be delivering those flowers to anyone else unless I tell him to." She didn't bother correcting the doorman on Clive's title. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Realization dawned on the doorman's face. "Oh," he realized, "You're delivering the flowers."
"Yes," Clive finally said. "That's what I said."
"I see, I see," he said, but there was something sneaky in his eyes as he looked between the two of them.
"Sure you do," Jill muttered under her breath. He could see her shaking her head in his peripherals.
He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but Clive knew he probably shouldn't linger any longer to listen in. "I'll leave the flowers here," he told Jill, and slid the box onto the countertop of the front desk.
"Oh," Jill said. Was it her imagination, or did she sound disappointed? "Would you be willing to help me up? The box looks really heavy, I could use the help - but only if you have time. I know it's probably the end of the day and you're eager to get home."
He debated with himself for a moment. He didn't want to force her to be in his presence any longer than she had to, but she had commented once that she worried about how heavy the flowers were. He didn't personally think they were that heavy, but neither did he want to leave her struggling if she needed the help.
"I'll help," he finally confirmed, lifting the box from the front desk. "Lead the way?"
"I will," she agreed, and waved him to follow after her to the elevators.
The doorman caught his attention with a snap of his fingers before Clive could fully walk away. He hesitated for just a moment, but it was long enough for the doorman to stand from his seat and lean over the desk. "Try chocolates next time," he hissed, and Clive glanced over his shoulder, suddenly worried that Jill would hear him, but she was busy pressing the button to call the elevator. "Women love chocolate."
Clive didn't give him a chance to tease him any further, practically fleeing the lobby to catch up with Jill as the elevator dinged with its arrival on the ground floor.
As they boarded and Jill swiped her keycard, Clive took a moment to observe her while she wasn't paying attention to him. Her hair was damp from the rain and a little mussed. He didn't see her carrying an umbrella and hoped that she hadn't been caught in the rain for too long, but there were a few water droplets soaking through her pale blue blouse and knee-length skirt. She was shifting slightly on her feet, her high heels likely starting to pain her. With a start, Clive realized that this was the first time he had seen her in her work clothes. Normally, by the time he arrived at her apartment, she had already changed into comfortable loungewear.
There was a certain haggardness to her appearance today, a weariness in her eyes and a tension in the space between her eyebrows. He knew he shouldn't pry, should just leave her in peace, but he also worried for her. The exhaustion was clear in her sagging form and tired visage. He sidled up just a little closer to her, tilting his head to look into her face. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.
She looked back up at him and gave him a fatigued smile. "I'm fine," she said. "I just hate driving in bad weather. It makes me anxious."
"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yeah," she said, and glanced away, running a hand through her damp hair to try to untangle it. She was silent for a moment, then blurted out, "My parents died in a car crash during a storm like this."
He went still at that, not sure how to process such a delicate and personal detail revealed so suddenly. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "That must have been hard for you."
"No, that's not what I - " she cut herself off, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. You're working, I shouldn't be dumping my old trauma on you. It was a long time ago, but driving during the rain and the wind and the snow makes me nervous, and makes me nervous for the people that I care about. I just wanted to say that I was worried for you, driving out here in this weather, and that I'm glad that you're okay."
Her concern touched him, and the implication that he was one of the people she was concerned for, that she cared for him , made his heart flutter. He wanted to tell her that he felt the same, but wasn't sure how to say it without driving her away. "You don't need to worry," he said. "I'm a very safe driver."
"I'm sure you are," she said. Still, she sounded frustrated. "I just feel bad for making you drive all the way out here in this weather. I shouldn't have. I was thinking that I should just cancel this week's order so you wouldn't have to drive out during the storm, but I didn't want to miss our weekly chat. It was selfish of me. I'm sorry."
He didn't mind, really. He was used to driving in all sorts of weather - rain, fog, snow, wind, even a dust storm, once. Clive was always careful behind the wheel, and she needn't have worried about his safety. But her comment about not wanting to miss their Monday evening conversation struck a chord with him. She had expressed the sentiment once over text message, but to hear her say it in person made it sink in.
Oh. She enjoyed being in his presence, looked forward to talking to him at the beginning of the week as much as he did. He couldn't suppress the small smile that spread across his face.
"I'm glad you didn't cancel your order," he said, and she glanced up at him from under her lashes. "I would have missed talking to you if you had, too," he admitted.
She didn't get a chance to respond, her gaze tearing away from him as the elevator slowed to a halt, and the door opened on her floor. "Looks like we're here," she said instead, but Clive didn't miss the way she smiled to herself as she exited and led the way down the hall.
Once she had unlocked her apartment, Jill gave a sigh of relief, likely happy to be home, and held open the door for him to enter and set the flowers on their usual spot on the table. She kicked off her high heels as soon as the door swung shut. She was normally barefoot whenever he came by, comfortable in her own space, but there was something strangely intimate about watching her slide her uncomfortable shoes off, about seeing her pantyhose-covered calves and her feet nestling into the carpet.
It couldn't have compared to what she did next.
"I'm going to take this off," Jill told him, her fingers reaching for the buttons of her blouse. The shoulders of it were soaked through both from the rainwater and from the excess moisture in her hair.
Clive blanched. "Are you sure about that?" he asked. He was, after all, just an acquaintance. He doubted that she had forgotten that he was here, but he didn't want her to undress directly in front of him on the off chance that she had.
She flashed him a quick smile. "I'm wearing an undershirt," she said with a chuckle. "Is that all right?"
Clive nodded dumbly, and she proceeded to undo the rest of the buttons, stripping the shirt off and folding it up. She wore a light camisole underneath, preserving her modesty, but with the blouse gone and the straps so thin, the slopes of her shoulders were exposed, her long throat, the allure of her collarbones and the swell of her cleavage. Clive swallowed thickly.
"Was your drive back okay?" he asked, just for something to say. He had to remind himself not to stare. It was rude to stare.
"It was well enough," she said, still sounding fatigued. "I'm sorry I'm so late. I didn't mean to delay you and make you wait for me."
"It's fine," he said. "Like I said, I was held up, too." He hesitated for just a moment, debating whether or not to offer his gift. He could still take it home, feast on leftovers for days, and not risk his heart in the process.
But she had also worried for him so, had told him twice in one day how much she enjoyed talking to him, something he so rarely got the chance to hear. It was so rare to get the chance to converse with someone regularly like he did with her, and to hear that she liked talking to him was even less common. Part of him wondered if she was lying, if she was just saying it to be nice. He wasn't an expert, but she had sounded sincere when she said it. Didn't she deserve some sincerity in return?
Besides, there had been so many times when she had fed him. She had been experimenting with more recipes to bring to her friend and her family, and frequently asked him to test her recipes. Even if it was just to make sure they were palatable before they went to their intended recipient (they always were), he liked that she valued his opinion enough to ask for it. She had even been kind enough to send him home with some in a container once, saying that she had prepared too much and she wouldn't be able to finish it on her own. This seemed a natural extension of that - returning the favor, in a way.
"I...actually have something for you," he said hesitantly.
She tilted her head. "You do?"
He nodded slowly. Too late to back out now. "I stopped by a local restaurant to pick up dinner," he told her. "I ordered a little extra. When you said you were running late, all I could think was that you would be hungry when you got home." Part of him wanted to retract the statement as soon as it was out of his mouth. It felt too familiar, too intimate, to admit that he was thinking of her and worrying for her when she was a near stranger.
But his anxiety was worth it when a smile blossomed across her face. "That's so thoughtful of you," she murmured. There almost looked like there was a fetching blush blooming across her cheeks, too, but Clive quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light.
He couldn't help but offer her a tentative smile back before returning to the box of flowers. He pulled the takeout boxes out of the container, opening each of them up before pausing as a thought occurred to him. "You don't happen to have any dietary restrictions, do you? Or allergies?"
"Only to bad food," she said, approaching the food and standing at his side. "They smell incredible. What is it?"
"They're dumplings. They're stuffed with various fillings," he told her. "I got one with vegetables and one with meat, and another one that's just the dough with honey. Something sweet for afterwards. I wasn't sure which you would like better."
"Any. Both. All of them," Jill said. She looked like she was practically salivating. He turned his face away so she wouldn't see him smile.
He briefly entertained the idea of sitting down for a meal with her, but quickly dismissed it. It would feel too much like having dinner, which would be too much like a date, and though he would have loved that, he didn't want to drive her away with the suggestion. "Do you have a container?" he asked instead. "I'll split them up, you can have half of whichever ones you want. I'll take the rest with me."
She left his side only briefly to grab the requested container. However, when she returned, there was a confused look on her face. "How are you supposed to eat them?" she asked. "With a fork? Chopsticks?"
"However you like," he replied. "I usually see the customers in the restaurant just eating them with their fingers, though. Like this." He plucked one of the ones with vegetables in it out of the container and popped it into his mouth. It was small enough to fit into his mouth without having to rudely stretch it wide. This one was stuffed with potatoes and spices and practically melted in his mouth. "Here," he said after he had chewed and swallowed, and grabbed another one between his fingertips and offered it to her. "Fingerfood. Like when you were a kid."
Jill was silent, looking down at the dumpling in his hand contemplatively, and suddenly Clive realized that he had made a mistake. Here he was, dipping his bare hands into her food like some sort of particularly rude caveman. "Sorry," he said. "My hands are clean, I promise."
"Oh," she said, and reached for him. "Good."
He fully expected her to grab the dumpling out of his hand and eat it, or perhaps just throw it into the trash now that he had touched it, but she surprised him when her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She jerked his hand up until it was level to her face, and Clive's brow furrowed, trying to figure out what she was doing, until she took the dumpling directly from his fingers with her mouth.
Clive froze, unable to move as she ate directly from his hand. An electric jolt raced up his spine at the feeling of her lips brushing over his thumb when she took the dough between her lips, and she didn't release his wrist as she chewed slowly and swallowed. Her eyes darted up to his, and her gaze seared into his soul as her pink tongue darted out and brushed over his finger, picking up the last couple of crumbs.
"Mm," she murmured, her voice low and breathy. "Delicious."
He was rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Jill seemed disinclined to pull away, as well. His mouth had gone dry as he stared down at her, his eyes hooded as he replayed the feeling of her tongue on his skin on repeat. She was still so close to him. On impulse, he pressed his thumb to the center of her lips, his fingers cupping beneath her chin. With just the lightest pressure, her mouth parted just slightly. Like this, he could see the shine of the inside of her lower lip, her tongue pressed back up against the back of her teeth.
He could do it. He could act on the tension that had been growing between them these past few weeks, could finally do what he had dreamt of doing since the moment he had met her. With the ways her pupils had blown wide, how she pushed her mouth just a little further into his touch, the indent of his thumb on her lips and her mouth parting just a little further, she probably wanted him to. He could kiss her, chase her tongue with his own as he had wanted to for so long. He leaned in just a little bit, swiping his thumb across her lips to rest it on the corner and make room for his own.
Outside, the wind slammed against the windows of the apartment, and Jill jumped before he could do more than lean down slightly. Clive froze.
What was he doing? He was on the job delivering flowers, not here to seduce a woman who likely just wanted to rest after a long day at work. Clive jerked his hand away from her chin and stepped back suddenly.
Jill's eyes, which had closed as he had leaned in, slowly drifted back open as he stumbled away from her. "Clive...?" she asked, breathy and high, and by the heavens, Clive wanted to do nothing more than surge back in and capture her lips.
He had to leave. Now. As nice as she had been to him, Jill probably just wanted to rest, while he was here, thinking about kissing her. He needed to learn to leave this woman alone.
"I need to go," he said suddenly, and made for the door.
"Wait, don't - " Jill called out to him, but he couldn't turn and look at her for fear that he would return.
"Enjoy the food," he said hoarsely, practically stumbling over his words and his own two feet before closing the door behind him and fleeing down the hall.