A/N: I've been sick for a straight month at this point, so thanks for your patience on the slow pace of my updates. And thanks for all the support and amazing feedback.  You guys make my day.  Also, if you're on facebook, add me!  https://www.facebook.com/Circa1927

We walk quietly back to Tom’s house, my heart pounding the entire way there.  He lets me back inside, and I’m thankful that his mother and cousin aren’t just standing there waiting when we walk in.

“Tom? Did I hear Gracie?” Mrs. Hiddleston calls from out of sight.  I spoke too soon.  I freeze, my hands bunched at my side.  Tom gives me a look, and holds up a hand as if to relax me.  He turns then, and walks out of the entryway, disappearing through a doorway and around a corner.  I stand, frozen by the front door. 

It gives me a chance to look around a bit.  Off white walls. High ceilings.  There’s not much to see from the entryway.

“Yeah, mum. She just stopped by on her way home from a party.  She’s a little embarrassed because she spilled something on her dress at the party. I’m just going to take her upstairs and find her something to wear.  I’ll be right back.” I can hear Tom’s muffled voice from the other room, and my cheeks flush when I hear his excuse for me.

“Oh, that poor girl.  Okay, bring her in here when she’s changed. She can help with dessert.” Mrs. Hiddleston says, her voice warm and concerned.  A second later, Tom comes back, around the corner, his eyes bright. He gives me a smile and then gestures to a wide, wrought iron and wood staircase on the other side of the entryway.

“Bedroom’s upstairs.” He says softly, raising an eyebrow.  I can’t help but pause at his choice of words.  He smiles and then leads the way up the stairs.  I follow him quickly, praying that I can get up the stairs to the safety of his room before his Mom comes around.

He leads me down a short hallway and then we are walking through a loft area that overlooks the lower level of the house.  The whole house has light wood floors, and the lower level has a big wooden dining table.  The ceilings are high, and I can see the large wooden beams above.  Tom leads the way, across the loft area and then into the bedroom at the very end.  We pass by a bathroom, and what looks like two other bedrooms before getting to his.  I follow him in, and he softly shuts the door behind us. 

“Your cousin is going to think…a lot of things about me.” I say, swallowing hard as I look around his room.  It isn’t all that much to look at.  It’s comfortable, but sparse.  He’s got a queen sized bed, with nice looking gray bedding.  There’s a dresser, and a chair in the corner. Not much else.  I’m not totally convinced that this is his house.  It seems as if he’s barely spent any time here.

“You’re probably right.” He clears his throat, looking at me as he opens a drawer of his dresser, pulling out clothes.  “But Darla once got totally pissed at one of our other cousins’ weddings, and she flashed the DJ because she thought he was good looking.  So, I don’t really think you have much to worry about.” He gives me a little smile, and I can’t help but grin and shake my head.

“This outfit was a terrible idea.  It sounded much better when I was back at the pub.” I mutter under my breath.  Tom looks at me amused and walks over, handing me what looks like a tshirt and sweats.  I seem to be accruing a collection of his clothes.

“Are you drunk, darling?” He laughs, sitting down on the edge of his bed.  He crosses his arms over his broad chest and smiles, watching me.

“No, not drunk. But tipsy. Or I was. I’m perfectly sober now.  Showing your bare ass to strangers will do that to a person.” I set his clothes down on the bed, and chew nervously on my lip.

“Right.” He nods, still smiling.  “I’m going to…give you a minute.  Come downstairs when you’re changed?” He asks, standing up.  I nod, my hands at the ties on my coat. 

“Tom.” I wait, and he turns around, his hand at the door.

“Hm?”

“Can you help me…get out of this? It took me twenty minutes to get in it while I was alone. I’m pretty sure it was designed to have a second person help you out of it.” I say, feeling my face flush as I say it.  It’s true though.  There’s about a thousand ties and ribbons in the back, which was nearly impossible to do while I was alone.  Tom pauses for a second, but then nods and walks back over.

We stand facing each other for a moment, my hands still on the ties of my coat. 

“Right.” He looks down at me, not smiling but an amused smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  I blink.  Tom reaches up, takes me by the shoulders and gently turns me, moving me like some sort of doll.  I can’t help but laugh, feeling strangely nervous and suddenly bashful.  I take a deep breath as I turn my back to him and then quickly undo my jacket.  It slowly slides off my shoulders, and then down, falling softly onto the floor.  The room suddenly seems small, and still and way too quiet.  We’re both quiet for a moment before I force myself to speak.

“There’s these…ah, clasp things at the top, and then you’ve got to, eh, undo the ties.” I say, reaching back.  Tom makes a noise, but doesn’t really say anything.  I feel his hands move to the top of the corset, and a second later, the click of the snaps at the top. 

“This is quite an outfit.” Tom says softly.  I smile and shrug.

“Yup.” I say quickly, making a soft popping noise as I enunciate the end of the word.  Tom laughs, and I feel his hands loosen the corset all the way.  I can feel it loosen around my middle, and open in the back.  Ah, unhindered breathing.  You never know how good it is until you’ve been stuffed into a corset for an hour.

“Here you go.” He clears his throat. “Can you breathe alright?” He asks with a chuckle.

I groan, reaching up and holding the corset to my chest so it doesn’t fall off completely.  I move my shoulders happily, “I can now.” I smile.

“You’ve got marks on your skin from this thing.”He says, his voice low and right by my ear. 

“Mmm.” I nod and then a second later, I feel him touch me, just between my shoulder blades.  I tense for a moment, surprised at the contact.  I pull my lower lip into my mouth, pressing down hard with my front teeth as I do.  Tom moves his hand—the back of his knuckles, slowly down my spine. His touch is feather light, and I stare straightforward, feeling almost intoxicated by it.

“Thank you.” My breath is fast and shallow, and I clutch the corset to my front.

“I’ll see you downstairs.” His says quickly, and then a moment later, he’s gone.

 ****

It takes me a few minutes to recover.  I stand in the same exact spot for at least three minutes, my eyes closed, my thoughts focused on the way his knuckles felt against my skin.  Smooth, hard, gentle.  I’m brought back to earth by the sound of laughter coming from the lower level of the house. 

I feel a little lightheaded, but I’m not totally sure what the culprit is.  The last time I ate was around lunchtime.  Mary had bought sandwiches, and crisps from the café in Cleredon (yes, Cleredon has it’s own café! It’s not in the house though, it’s in one of the out buildings designed for tourists).  And then I had quite a few pints with her at the bar.  And then Tom touched me.

So who really knows.

I turn and toss my professional slut outfit to the side.  I pull off the garter belt and stockings, throwing them all into a rumpled, expensive heap in the corner.  Sad, really.  They should have been tossed aside for much sexier, thrilling reasons.  I quickly change into the clothes which Tom has given me.  A comfy pair of gray sweats and a tshirt, complete with a zip up hoodie.  It’s all a bit too big, but I make do.  I look about as sexy as a awkward middleschooler in gym class, but I suppose this is my life, so who are we kidding.

Somewhere, deep inside, I stuff Jamie far, far away, and I find the last bit of courage that I can muster tonight.  I leave his bedroom, and make my way downstairs.

It hits me quickly.  The smell of food.  Lovely, delicious, wonderful food.  My stomach rumbles in response, and I follow my nose.  Under the loft, there is a cozy sitting area with couches and a fireplace.  Through a door to the right, I can hear laughter and see a warm, inviting light.  The kitchen.

I make my way there, and then pause at the doorway, taking in the scene.

Tom has on an apron, and he’s standing in front of the stove with a wooden spoon in his hand.  He’s half turned away from me, and he’s gesturing wildly with his free hand as he speaks to his mother and cousin.  Mrs. Hiddleston is sitting at a very tiny little island in the middle of the small kitchen, and it looks like she is crumbling meringues into a bowl.  Darla is leaning against the counter, laughing at whatever Tom is saying.

As if on cue, Tom turns and sees me, stopping midsentence.  His smile widens, and then he turns quickly, dips his spoon into the large pot to his side and then holds it out to me.

“Taste this. Tell me what you think.” He gestures at me to come into the kitchen.  I smile at everyone, and take the few steps in to meet him.  He leans forward, the spoon only a few inches from my face.  I look at it.  Some sort of tomato sauce.  Tom holds up a hand, stopping me.  He leans forward, blows gently on the end of the spoon and then holds it back out, smiling.

“Careful. It’s hot.” He warns.  I nod, and then lean forward, opening my mouth slightly.  I take a taste, and the rich, fragrant tomato sauce is absolutely delicious.  I grin and nod.

“That’s amazing.” I turn then, smiling at Mrs. Hiddleston.  “Did you make this?” I ask.  She shakes her head, then stands up to walk over.  She immediately envelopes me in a huge hug as she nears, and I hug her back, happy to see her.  Our visits are usually only once a year at Christmas time.  Although I most definitely hadn’t expected to see her tonight, it’s most welcome.

“Lovely girl, it’s so nice to see you, Gracie.” She says happily into my ear.  I smile and squeeze her tight, then let go.

“You too.”

“And no, I had nothing to do with that sauce.  I’m afraid I can’t take credit.  But I did make him, so I suppose I had something to do with it.” She grins, her eyes sparkling as she sits back down to finish crumbling the cookies.  I raise an eyebrow, looking back at Tom, who hands me a full wine glass.

“You made that?” I ask. He nods.

“Indeed.”

“Wow, I did not…picture you as a cook.” I smile, taking a sip. 

“I’m pretty terrific.” Tom laughs loudly, and puts his hands on his narrow hips.  I grin and then scrunch my nose at him.  “Where are my manners?” He says quickly, rushing forward.  “Gracie, this is my cousin, Darla.  Darla’s visiting mum this weekend, and I invited them over for my famous spaghetti Bolognese.  Darla—this is my friend Gracie Bell.” Tom finally introduces me to his cousin, who has so far kept rather quiet in the corner.

I turn, a bit frightened to face his cousin.  She’s seen my ass and all.  I feel like I should be sending her a gift basket, or at least a card.  She’s smiling though, and it seems quite genuine.

“Hi Gracie. Nice to meet you.” She leans forward, holding out a hand.  I shake it, feeling my nerves dissipate a bite.

“Nice to meet you, Darla.” I smile at her, and then mouth ‘I am so sorry’ to her.  She smiles and shrugs, waving a hand.

“I’m glad to see that Tom has such a good close friend.” She winks at me and I feel my face nearly burst into flames.  I can’t look at Tom or his mother, so I focus on my wine for a minute.

“Gracie, are you hungry? You’ll stay for dinner?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks.  “Tom’s made his spaghetti, and garlic bread. And then there’s the Eton mess.” She gestures to the bowl she’s been slowly filling.

“Oh, um.” I look around, realizing what I’ve just been roped into.  Tom is grabbing plates from a cabinet, but he’s not saying anything.

“Of course she’ll stay.” Darla answers for me with a smile. 

“Okay, sure. Thank you.” I nod, as my stomach rumbles in reply. 

 ****

Forty five minutes later, after what is quite possibly the best pasta I’ve ever had, and at least two glasses of red wine, we are all sitting around Tom’s dining table, groaning happily about our full bellies.  Tom is still eating bread, and Darla is refilling all of our glasses.  We’ve gone through at least two bottles.  Mrs. H may be a little drunk.  I don’t blame her, because we are in the same boat. It’s like Christmas all over again.

“You’ll be here how long, darling? I think it’s lovely you’ve taken such a brave step!” Mrs. Hiddleston beams at me in the way only she can.  I confess, I never had a mother who was proud of me for, well, anything  and speaking with her now, it makes me even more aware of what I missed in my adolescence.  And my adulthood.

“At least six months, maybe longer.  It depends on Vera’s big plan.” I sigh.  I can feel Tom’s eyes on me, though he hasn’t said anything.

“So gallery work is where you’d like to stay?” Darla asks.  She’s a history professor at a small university in Scotland.  Over dinner, she told me a bit about her education, and how hard she’s worked the past few years to get where she is.  Tenured at a university.  She’s not much older than me, and it’s pretty impressive.

“That’s the funny part.  I thought it was, but lately I’ve really loved working at Cleredon House.  I work with a really hilarious, sweet woman.  And she’s sort of helped me see how great these historical sites can be.  They’re a work of art in and of themselves.” I nod.  Darla raises her glass to me.

“Agreed.  Well, you should just let things take you where they will.  You’ll be surprised.” She offers.  I grin and nod.  Tom’s still quiet, just watching us talk.  He seems perfectly content listening, and not saying much.  Which is sort of strange for him.  I glance over at him, and he’s staring right at me.  I give him a tiny shrug and he just blinks at me.

“What about Santos?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks, her question breaking my focus on Tom.

“He’s still in DC.  He loves it there.” I smile thinking of him.

“You two are inseparable.  Won’t you miss him?” She asks with a grin. 

“I do miss him.  But he’ll come visit.  He always needs an excuse to travel.  Plus, he’s been dating someone pretty seriously so, he’s been preoccupied.” I look over at Tom, who is still staring.  I narrow my eyes at him, and then give him a little sneer.  This seems to pop him from his trance and he barely moves his hand over the table, flicking a breadcrumb at me when his mother isn’t looking.

“Oh that’s lovely.  So good to hear.” Mrs. Hiddleston claps her hands together.

“What about you two? Do you see each other often?” Darla asks, gesturing to me and Tom.  Tom looks up.

“No, we don’t.”

“We do, yeah.”

We both answer at the same time, and then it’s quiet for a second.  Mrs. Hiddleston gets a tiny smile at the corner of her lips, and I press mine together and glare at Tom.  He frowns at me and then looks at his cousin.

“We…do see each other when we can. But it’s not that often.” Tom says slowly, backtracking over his words.

“I didn’t even know you two were close.” Mrs. Hiddleston reaches over, patting Tom’s arm.  I hold my breath.  Tom and I both know it’s best if we don’t let on what we’ve been really doing.  Mrs. H wants her only son to be married, and settled down with a wifey and hoards of children.  She wants to be a grandmother.  She doesn’t want to hear that her only son has just been casually fluffing about with her daughter’s friend, and will probably fluff about with her later that night. If things go accordingly.  And no grandchildren.  We take careful pains so that is not an option.

“Gracie is a gem.” Tom looks at me and winks.  I roll my eyes at him, and then finish the rest of my wine.

We finish dinner, and then move onto dessert.  Mrs. Hiddleston’s Eton mess is delicious, which was to be expected.  We talk about Darla’s work at the university—some research she’s been immersing herself in for the past few months.  Tom talks a tiny bit about some of his work, but he doesn’t say much.  Mrs. Hiddleston laughs, and enjoys herself, and drinks more wine than I thought possible.  I sit back, soaking it all in.  The feeling of family, and being around people who truly care about each other.  It’s such a comfortable, intimate atmosphere, and it seems so foreign yet so utterly delicious to me.

Tom refuses to let any of us help with dishes, so we clean up a bit and then pile everything into his tiny sink.  It’s nearly half past eleven by the time we’ve finished, and Mrs. H is yawning and obviously a bit tipsy.

“I’m going to take Dotty home. She’s about to pass out, the lush.” Darla rolls her eyes, but smiles warmly.  Tom hugs his cousin, thanking her as we all walk toward the front door.

“Ring me when you get home? I want to know you make it safe.” He asks his mother and cousin.  Darla is staying with Mrs. Hiddleston for her short break. 

“Yes, yes, son.” Mrs. Hiddleston hugs Tom, and then turns to me.

“Have a good night. It was so nice to see you. And it’s not even Christmas!” I grin.  She laughs and yanks me into a hug.

“What a lovely little surprise.  We’ll tell Tom to keep you around.  Or we’ll keep you and get rid of Tom.” She laughs at her own joke, and Tom groans and then laughs along as well. 

“See you soon. Thanks for coming over.” He waves as his mother and cousin make their way out.  Tom hasn’t quite asked me to stay longer, so I’m in a strange limbo.  He turns though, as he closes his front door, and gestures to my wine glass.

“How about some more of that?” He asks, and then starts walking back toward the kitchen.  I suppose he would like me to stay.  I watch him as he walks away, in his dark slacks and his shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms.  His tall, lean figure moving confidently through his house.

“Yes, please.” I say, following him.  We go back into his small kitchen, and Tom grabs his glass and takes mine from my hand, setting them on the counter.  He uncorks a bottle of wine, and then pours us each a healthy glug.  He holds my glass out to me, but when I go to take it, he pulls it back, close to his chest. 

I step forward, smiling, kicking him gently in the shin with my bare foot.  He lets me take the glass from him, but then he grabs my hips, and pulls me against him, leaning down and pressing his forehead against mine.

“Stay over tonight.” He says, more of a statement then a question.  I look up at him, into his clear, ocean blue eyes.  I reach up, running my fingertips over the strong angles of his jaw.  I see and feel his jaw muscles clench slightly as I do, and then I pull back slightly so I can see his mouth.  That lovely mouth. 

“Okay.” I nod. “But what’s in it for me?” I add with a half smile, joking.  Tom chuckles softly, and then pushes his hips against mine.  He leans in, kissing me quickly, a bit sloppily from all the wine but it’s nice.  It’s very nice.  Everything is suddenly wet, and slow and rubbing achingly slow against me. 

“You can have whatever you want. Everything.  This.” He says quickly inbetween kisses, his hands coming to my waist and then pushing under the hem of my shirt.  His breath is fast, and short and it seems he’s already ready to go.  Oh.

“I can’t stop thinking about you in that ridiculous, sexy little get up. And then I see you in my clothes. And I don’t know what’s damn sexier. And my bloody mum has been here all night, and all I could do was think about…fucking…taking you on the dining room table.” He says this all almost breathlessly, and when I try to reply I’m not sure if I can talk at first.

“Good enough.” I manage, yanking him toward me.