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Footsteps echoed in the dim hallway as Patrick climbed the last of the stairs to the flat. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. Nearly nine. Too late for dinner, certainly, and more than likely not enough time for even a brief visit with Shelagh before the door to the boarding house was locked for the night. This was definitely not the evening he planned.

He rolled his shoulders to try to ease some of the tension stored up, and turned the key in its lock. As he pushed the door open, he was surprised by the warm light that flooded the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn off the lights when he left?

Patrick shook his head. His head had been in the clouds this morning, full of plans now unfulfilled. Eager to find a florist so early, he must have forgotten to close up the flat properly.

He reached to hang his battered coat on its hook and paused. Was that music? He was certain he hadn’t had the radio on this morning.

At that moment, Shelagh stepped from the sitting room. “Hello, Patrick,” she welcomed.

“Shelagh!” He exclaimed. “How on earth…”

She smiled shyly. “I thought we might have a better chance of seeing each other tonight if I met you here. I’ve brought some dinner, you must be famished.”

Patrick stood staring down, his face frozen in surprise. Shelagh had been at the forefront of his thoughts for so much of the day, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t a figment of his tired and lonely imagination.

The woman before him was different somehow, and finally, Patrick’s brain registered the change. Shelagh’s typical subdued attire was left behind, her dark neutral dresses and cardigan replaced by an eye-catching navy blue velvet dress and new black pumps a bit higher than her usual fashion. He swallowed thickly.

“You walked all the way from Mrs. Trevell’s dressed like this?” If Patrick had been distracted this morning by the unexpected sight of her collarbone, there was little hope of concentration now. The supple fabric dipped into a demure portrait collar, somehow all the more alluring for its reserve. Again,  Patrick could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He shook his head to clear it. It wouldn’t do to startle her with his thoughts.

Shelagh glanced down and ran her hands over the folds of the skirt. She blushed. “This? My coat covered it up. I know the shoes must look a bit silly, but they’re quite comfortable really. I let Trixie talk me into them, and I bought this dress back before…when I first came back from St. Anne’s. It was silly to spend my money on something so frivolous, but I couldn’t resist. I was already dressed when you called, so I thought I should at least get some wear out of it.” She looked up, her smile wide. “Besides, it’s not such a very far walk, Patrick. You used to walk me home each night before Christmas, remember?”

He closed his eyes at the memory and took a deep breath.  He left the coat on its hook and turned to her with a gentle nod. “I remember.” In control, he moved closer and said, “I’d like to greet your properly, but I’m a mess. I’ve got grease everywhere, and I’ve probably ruined this coat. Let me go wash up and I’ll be with you in two shakes.”

“Your coat?” Shelagh asked, a crease appearing over her nose.

“Yes, it got caught in the door of Fred’s van. There’s a tear right down the back. I’m fairly certain it’s irreparable.” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to wash the remnants of the evening’s detour away, and then a change of clothes was in order. As he closed the door to his bedroom, he smiled widely. His plans had certainly fallen apart: no dinner and dancing tonight, perhaps, but Shelagh was here. All the rest didn’t matter. The night was perfect.

He pulled his tie loose and went to the wardrobe for a clean shirt. There he found more evidence of Shelagh’s presence, for she had begun to collect his shirts each week from the cleaners, leaving them neatly folded for him in his room. The thought of her in this place stirred him again, and he sighed.  They might not be often at the flat together, but in her small ways, Shelagh was making it a home. Soon, it would be their home.

He tossed his soiled shirt in the washing bin and shrugged a clean one over his shoulders. As he buttoned it up, his eyes wandered, then caught a slip of paper left on his pillow. His eyebrows creased in question as he unfolded the sheet.

Dearest Patrick,

Thank you so very much for the lovely flowers this morning. Their scent has traveled with me all day.

As I’ve gone about my day today, people have commented again and again that I look very happy. I’m not surprised they can see it. I feel as if I’m fit to bursting with it.

I look forward to our date this evening (I still blush when I think of it), and know I am the luckiest woman alive.

Your

Shelagh

 

The bed creaked under his weight as he sank down upon it, struggling with himself. He thought he had gained a certain mastery of himself. Tonight should be about making Shelagh feel special. He intended to court her tonight, not ease his own desires, but this note brought his passion back up.  It was all he could do to stop himself from thrusting the door open and in several strides taking her in his arms. Determined to master himself, he stood. Shelagh deserved a gentle courtship, so he tamped down his desire and finished dressing.

A few minutes later, dressed in his best suit, hair smooth, he joined her in the sitting room. Tonight wouldn’t be the Ritz, but he would woo her as she deserved. He closed the door to the private part of the flat, expecting to find her waiting in the sitting room. Instead, Shelagh was just as he had left her, standing at the coatrack. Her hand held a sleeve as her fingers caressed the old wool.

She glanced up as she heard his step, and her cheeks flooded with color.

“My love?” He asked, his head tilted in a question.

Shelagh dropped the sleeve and turned to him. “It’s silly. Promise you won’t make fun.”

He couldn’t help as a smiled tugged at his mouth crookedly. “I’ll try.” His eyes wandered over the coat in question.

“You’ll definitely need a new coat. The tear isn’t on the seam, and the fabric’s too worn to mend.”

He nodded. “I thought so.”

Her eyes shifted away from his face. She bit her lip, and he waited for her to find the words she needed.

Finally, she looked back up at him, her clear eyes meeting his squarely. “Don’t throw it away, Patrick.”

This was not what Patrick was expecting. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t follow. I can’t donate it, no one will want it.”

She reached out again and stroked the fabric. “I want it.”

A memory crossed her face, and Patrick began to understand. He reached behind her, taking the coat from its hook. Gently, he wrapped it around her, his hands holding it closed at her neck.

“It’s not so very misty, here, is it?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No,” she answered.

They stood together, a mirror of themselves that fateful day. So much had happened since then, his life turned right-side-up. All the emotion of that day came back, and yet there was more.

“I held you like this that day,” he whispered.

Beyond words, Shelagh nodded.

“I didn’t kiss you, then.” His voice grew husky. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. I was so afraid that if I moved, you would disappear.”

A quiet breath shuddered from her lungs. “I was afraid, too.”

His thumb caressed the old coat at her chin, then slowly, his hands turned and held her face.

“And now?” He whispered.

Her voice came to him quiet, but clear. “I’m not going away, Patrick.”

The words were barely across her lips before he pressed his mouth to hers, tender and gentle. For weeks-no, months- he had kept his passion for her under a tight leash. After so long, the feel of her soft mouth beneath his broke that restraint. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and he pulled her close. Shelagh relaxed against him and he felt her lips move under his. A small sound came from her throat and he felt his remaining control slip. Gently nipping at her lips, he felt her mouth soften even more and he deepened the kiss.

Her acceptance of him, the shift in her breathing, made him desperate to know more of her. As her arms slid up around his shoulders, he groaned and pulled her impossibly close. The taste of her, the scent of her, consumed his senses.

The coat fell from her shoulders, pooling at their feet and the moment was broken. Patrick slowly lifted his head from hers, ending the kiss slowly. He rested his lips against her forehead as they struggled to regain their breath.

A smile crossed his face. He knew Shelagh loved him. Every day she showed her love in the little things she did for him. The passion was there, he felt it in her body still, yet he also knew this passion would confuse her. He would slow things down, he would court her. Tonight, Shelagh would know just how special she was.

“Shelagh,” he whispered against her hair, “shall we begin our date?”

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