Dust and Teacups

Laurent had finally found her in the library, tucked away on a couch, surrounded by cushions. If he had given it any thought, he might have chosen this room to be the first in which he looked for her. She was sitting at such an absurd angle, with limbs crossed over limbs, that he found himself smiling. He had to tilt his head nearly upside down to face her. “Are you quite comfortable, miss Magnolia?” “I am, thank you for inquiring.” She did not offer to disentangle herself. “I suppose I am interrupting?” “You are. You see, I had gotten to a very interesting bit of the story, when my arms started to ache. This position seems to be the only one that offers some relief, and the only one that does not demand the discontinuation of my reading.” She fidgeted. “Unfortunately, now my posterior is complaining.” He was smiling yet more. “I see. Might I suggest something?” She looked up at him. “You may.” “Maybe if you scoot up a bit, against the armrest, and brace the book against a cushion, with another one underneath, you should be able to manage for a while longer. It will also relieve your, uh, current complaints.” Magnolia set her book down and squinted. “I think your theory is sound, but I'll need a demonstration to confirm it.” Laurent acquiesced immediately. When he had achieved maximum comfort, cradled in the cushions on the couch across from her, he spread his hands with a smug tilt of his head. “See?” Magnolia clapped. “Is your posterior comfortable?” Laurent seemed to want to blush. “Quite.

Laurent had finally found her in the library, tucked away on a couch, surrounded by cushions. If he had given it any thought, he might have chosen this room to be the first in which he looked for her. She was sitting at such an absurd angle, with limbs crossed over limbs, that he found himself smiling.   He had to tilt his head nearly upside down to face her. “Are you quite comfortable, miss Magnolia?”   “I am, thank you for inquiring.” She did not offer to disentangle herself.   “I suppose I am interrupting?”   “You are. You see, I had gotten to a very interesting bit of the story, when my arms started to ache. This position seems to be the only one that offers some relief, and the only one that does not demand the discontinuation of my reading.” She fidgeted. “Unfortunately, now my posterior is complaining.”   He was smiling yet more. “I see. Might I suggest something?”   She looked up at him. “You may.”   “Maybe if you scoot up a bit, against the armrest, and brace the book against a cushion, with another one underneath, you should be able to manage for a while longer. It will also relieve your, uh, current complaints.”   Magnolia set her book down and squinted. “I think your theory is sound, but I'll need a demonstration to confirm it.”   Laurent acquiesced immediately. When he had achieved maximum comfort, cradled in the cushions on the couch across from her, he spread his hands with a smug tilt of his head. “See?”   Magnolia clapped. “Is your posterior comfortable?”   Laurent seemed to want to blush. “Quite.”

“Your hands look cold. May I see them?” he asked.  Her eyebrows raised delicately.  This seemed to demand a blush. “Only to warm them, Miss Beaumont.”  She gave them to him readily, and he rubbed the tops of them with his thumbs. He seemed to be quite focused on his task, and she took the opportunity to watch him. She thought the curve of his mouth looked happy. “And when will you let go of them?”  “After I am satisfied they are no longer icicles.” He looked up at her, an apology in his eyes. “Immediately, if you wish it.”  “I do not wish it.”  There was a momentary stillness in his ministrations, while he absorbed what she had said. He cleared his throat for distraction and looked back at her hands, refocusing his attentions. After a while, it seemed less like he was rubbing warmth into them and more like he was tracing the outlines of her fingers. She wondered if he knew this conveyed the same amount of heat, if of a different kind.   She didn’t speak again until she could be sure of her voice, and when she was sure, she waited another moment longer because she knew he would stop when she did.  “And are you satisfied, Mr. Laurent?”  He did stop, his hands immediately still, but he did not let go of hers. He didn’t look up.  “No, Miss Beaumont.”  “But my hands are now very warm.”  And then he did look at her. “I know.”

Magnolia looked at him, her chin resting on her palm. “I suppose you’ll always be so dramatic?”   Laurent shook his head. “So dramatic. In fact, the winged seraphs of heaven themselves would have to rise from their divine chaises occasionally and glide down to the mortal world just to tell me to cease speaking.”   Magnolia’s eyelids lowered in resignation, but it required a bit of effort to hide her smile.

Laurent wanted to show Magnolia the garden. He wanted her to see the beauty of those roses, and hoped they would give her the same peace and quiet happiness they had given him all of his life. The sadness, of course, he would keep to himself; that secret belonged to him entirely, because it was entirely his fault.   Excited pride and nervous anxiety bounced around inside him, at once making him smile and pull at the fingers of his gloves. He was proud, because sometimes he felt like he was the only person who truly knew the marvels of Thomas’s garden, like it was a gift he had been trusted with, and he couldn’t wait to share it with her. He was anxious, because he wanted Magnolia to see that he had tried his best to take care of them, but he was still learning and perhaps his best was not enough.   He found himself hovering, to see her reaction, and forced himself back a few steps. Perhaps this was the sort of thing you enjoyed alone, and he was overcrowding her.

Magnolia turned to him as he was leaving. “You still want to meet again this afternoon?”    Laurent was unprepared for the question. He would like to say he had nearly forgotten, but in truth the prospect of an afternoon alone with Magnolia, reading books and maybe sitting with Rosy again was all his mind seemed to have time for. Yesterday, in the middle of remarking to himself about how nice breakfast had been, he couldn’t help but think how nice tomorrow afternoon would be. And after that, when he was dressing for a walk in the gardens, he found it necessary to give serious consideration to what sort of tie he would wear tomorrow afternoon.    He turned to look at her, still walking. He was nodding an unnecessary amount. At first, he missed the door entirely and walked into the wall beside it instead, prompting a soft “oof.”    Magnolia lifted from her seat with concern. “Mr. Laurent, are you all right?”    Laurent was now blushing and nodding. “Quite fine. Really fine.”    He tried for the door again, this time finding it with his shoulder first, until finally the rest of him followed. He slammed the door a little too loud in his haste to escape his own embarrassment.