Chapter 111 A Spark Of something
The crisp subtle smell of the park shaded by oak trees was still present in Annabel’s cobalt-blue sweater.
As she walked through her apartment’s tiny kitchen, the weight felt cozy and the smell served as a constant silent reminder of the man upstairs.
She had already taken a shower, the hot water removing the emotional strain of the morning with Carson and the last of the night’s weariness.
She was now standing by the coffee maker listening to the dark liquid drip into the glass carafe.
The only sound in the otherwise silent apartment was the soft gurgle.
But there was no silence in her mind. A tiny warm spark the first thought that came to mind was of Fred.
She could still feel his shoulder under her cheek firm and immobile like a bedrock.
It was overwhelming in its quiet kindness to see him there to see how he had stayed motionless as a human anchor while she finally fell asleep.
A small uncontrollable smile came to her lips. As though catching herself in a private moment she swiftly pressed her mouth into a straight line.
Friend.
She'd used the word, hadn't she?
It had felt appropriate a genuine expression of appreciation for his assistance and his surprising humanity.
But as he gazed at something above her head she recalled the change in the atmosphere the way his body had tensed and the barely noticeable tensing of his jaw.
She'd known. Of course she was aware.
She grabbed one of her favorite mugs, the chipped big one and poured herself a cup of coffee.
Warm and cozy the steam curled up. She walked to the window and gazed at the street below.
The damp sidewalk was now a pale washed-out grey due to the sun’s full outing.
The bitter heat contrasted sharply with the warm fuzzy memory of the park bench as she raised the mug to her lips and took a sip.
Against the cool glass, she leaned her forehead.
“I better get to work.” She said
Anabelle sat in her office but her attention was still elsewhere though.
She turned on her tablet, took a seat and gazed at the home screen which displayed an intricate architectural rendering for a client’s project.
Her eyes continued to blur the image, replacing the crisp vectors with a picture of Fred's face even though the lines were crisp and the geometry was flawless.
The expression he wore as she woke up on his shoulder was not the usual guarded face she saw when he was on duty but rather one of intense focused exhaustion combined with an unwavering focus that was solely for her.
She was aware that he dealt in certainties and was a man of action and directness. A soft barrier: the word friend was intentionally ambiguous.
She needed to establish a boundary because she felt the electric tension between them too strongly, not because she didn’t sense it.
Immediately her hand went to a thick bound sketchbook across the desk. She kept it shut. She used her thumb to simply trace the worn leather.
“What would have happened if I hadn't said it?” She asked
It was a quick response, a surge of both fear and warmth.
She wasn't prepared to rebuild a wall only to have him tear it down again. Not as of yet.
Not when the wreckage of Carson’s intrusion was still being cleared away. She started thinking about the morning’s events.
Carson's defeated slouch, his rehearsed apology and his attempt to entice her back into his suffocating never-ending drama.
She no longer felt the same sense of guilt instead she was determined and icy.
With a start she understood that she felt sorry for the man who was unable to make his own decisions not hatred.
She reflected on the supposed fiancée Bridget.
“He’s no longer my problem. He is Bridget’s and his mother's problem.” she said
The idea felt freeing like a fresh start.
The real triumph of the morning was her ability to think about him now, his life, his decisions and his regrets all while maintaining such emotional distance.
And the man who was currently starting over in the apartment was partly responsible for her victory.
She lightly struck the screen with her pen, the rhythmic sound bringing her back to the here and now.
“But now what do you do?” she asked out loud.
She checked her tablet’s clock. It is almost 10:30 a. m. Her gaze swept over the blueprint taking in the polished concrete the cantilevered overhang and the way light and shadow interacted.
But she became distracted again. Fred's smile came back to her.
She let out an involuntary little laugh. She tilted her head wryly and pondered. He thought he was acting like a professional.
When she called him, she noticed the intense focus in his eyes. It was more than just a friendly concern.
It was the face of a man engaged in a silent conflict with himself which she purposefully intensified with a single straightforward word.
She was attracting him in with her vulnerability while simultaneously pushing him away with the word friend.
For the time being she decided to live in the middle because she was unable to reconcile the contradiction.
Fred seemed like the future—a huge exquisite building with a precarious base. She didn’t want to jump right in and see it fall apart due to her unresolved past.
She concluded with a surprising certainty
“He’s not going anywhere.” She said
Her concentration tightened.
Deep down she understood that Fred was not a man who backs off. He would have just stood there waiting for his presence, an unquestionable truth if she had erected a wall with the word friend.
A deep tension in her chest was released by this realization. She was not pressed for time.
Her smile deepened and became more determined. For now she would be his friend.
Her fingers at last moved confidently on the tablet tracing an exact architectural line as she bowed her head to the task.
Although the project was intricate and required all of her focus
there was a subtle but enduring undercurrent of Fred—the smell on her sweater, the solid memory of his shoulder.