The Art of The Affair

11

I had no idea what come in after close really meant.  Loosely, and without reading into it, one could deduce that he wasn't finished talking to me.  Though I wasn't sure what else he wanted to talk about.  There were inferences I shouldn't make.

Either way, there was no reason I should go to the pub this evening, except that he'd asked me to.  

About an hour before closing, I found myself standing in my bathroom mirror at home with jittery nerves and a pounding heart. While I quickly swiped on some mascara and darkened my eyelids with some shadow, I noticed that my hand wasn't steady.  

I tried on top after top, as well as shorts, jeans, and even an old knee-length skirt.  Nothing felt right.  I chose an outfit out of exasperation and went back to the mirror to tame my hair.  I decided to go with a side fishtail braid - the one Katie had taught me - and after a spritz of the new perfume I'd picked up, I was out the door.

The pounding of my heart increased once I emerged from the station and started toward my destination.  Once the building came into view, I stopped walking and began having a hard time breathing normally. I pretended to be checking my phone while I casually watched for Jason to exit.  The moment he did, I was frozen in place.

I had never felt more fear in my entire life.

I don't know how long I stood there, heart racing and beating erratically.  I'd already stopped pretending to be on my phone and could only stare at the door of the pub, as if death itself was there waiting for me.  But Malfoy wasn't death; it was the old me that would die when I stepped through that door.  Draco or no Draco, my awakening had already happened some time ago, and I was going to walk out in that sea and drown myself if I didn't follow my heart.

So I did.

After one last pause, I insert my key into the lock and walk into the quiet, dark building.  The door loudly closes behind me. I don't relock it.  I simply stand there and wait.  I'd taken so long to work up the courage to leave my observation post that, for a moment, I feared he'd already gone.  But then a dark shadow steps out of the office and quietly pulls the door shut.

I open my mouth to say something like, "oh, you're still here", but nothing comes out.  I brace myself as the heavy steps of his boots sound on the old wooden floor and close in on me.  But his dark figure merely passes by, stirring the thick air and fanning traces of his cologne into my nostrils.

"I thought you weren't coming," he says quietly as he reaches for the door and pushes it open.

Nothing in his tone sounds like an accusation.  There's none of his usual impatience or frustration, or even irritation.  For the first time since I've known him, I think I hear a softness in his voice.

I follow him outside and watch as he locks up.  In the dim light of a nearby street lamp, I watch as the tendons and veins strain against the pale skin of the back of his hand.  I don't know why, but I find his hands to be attractive - erotic, even.  I catch myself imagining his long index finger tracing down the back of my neck and it gives me a shiver.

Our eyes meet as he turns and starts walking.  He doesn't ask if I'm cold but I know he saw me shudder.  I can only imagine, as I start walking blindly beside him, what he thinks that was all about.  

He turns and walks beside the building and it's then that I remember about the bike, and my ankle.  My heart, already racing, begins an even more insane cadence that seems doomed to result in me embarrassing myself with a trip or loss of balance.  I take a couple of deep breaths as quietly as I can and just keep walking.

"Ever been on a bike?" he asks calmly, almost as if he can hear my heartbeat with his own ears.

"When I was little," I garble, and then clear my throat and repeat myself.  "My father had one when I was younger.  I don't remember much about it, other than I enjoyed riding on it."