Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

As Regards the Roses ...

The Rosier Family Estate (England).

Late Autumn, 1967.

He knows it's her behind him before he even turns around to look. 

Something about her footsteps as she approaches;

Can't explain it other than to simply say ...

It just feels like her

Wesley's channeled the shock and agitation of earlier this afternoon into doubling down his efforts as regards the roses. And so, now situated alone in the smallest greenhouse, he's spent the past hour leaned forward over a massive wooden table, approximately 30 bare roots stood up side by side in a row of buckets that he's laboriously filling with water.

It's absolutely necessary -

After all ...

The roses require such unbelievably involved care

They must be protected, their roots must stay moist if they're not yet in the ground

It's a ritual he's been seeing to every day since his arrival here. Every afternoon, he lines up a long row of the rose plants destined for the ground and fills each bucket of them with water. There they stay until the following morning, when he carries them out one by one and plants them.

He does it largely the muggle way because experience has taught him that this works best. But that's not to say he doesn't also have a few clever spells up his sleeve, too.

For one, he casts a spell that ensures the water's just the right temperature. A neat little shortcut that allows him to trim time off an already daunting task. 

You need to think smart when working in bulk, when dealing with such a large scale operation. 

Another spell was evidenced just a few moments ago, as he waved his wand and walked slowly down the length of the table, silently charming the roses with a special spell he himself created to prevent water rot.

He's an exceptionally hard working man, and one known amongst his friends for his ability to focus with hawkish like intensity on a task at hand. But Toinette's changed something in him, it seems. At the very least, she's put a kink in things. 

Because ever since this afternoon ...

Ever since the night they met, if we're being completely truthful

... 

He can't stop thinking about her. And it's starting to distract him from his work.

Setting down the now empty pail of water in his hand, Wesley listens as her footsteps slow and then come to a halt behind him. And sure enough, when he finally turns around, Toinette's standing there.

She's drawn her hair back into a loose, low bun, he notices admiringly. Earlier today, it was fully down.

Completely stunning either way

As for her, Toinette's just been considering how handsome he looks as he straightens up fully, her heart suddenly beating more quickly now that his warm brown eyes find hers. Though, to be fair, she was admiring him just as much when he was leaned over, diligently studying the plants in their buckets.

Completely stunning either way

When he doesn't say anything, she glances around nervously and nods, "... Wesley."

"Mrs. Rosier."

That changes everything. Those two words, when spoken from his lips, cause her whole body to go completely rigid as her eyes whip back to his, "Please ..." Hesitating, she shakes her head, "... Please don't call me that."

Wesley finds his arms crossing defensively despite himself, and his reply, when it comes, is quiet and flat, "... Isn't that your name, though?"

At this, her cheeks pinken self-consciously, "It ... is. Of course it is."

"Then why wouldn't I ..."

Eyes fixed on his, Toinette takes a step towards him, "It's complicated."

Shaking his head, he holds out his hand, a gesture that immediately stops her in her tracks, "It's really not, though. Not at least as far as I'm concerned."

"Wesley -"

But he's conflicted. And really ...

... Who in their right mind could blame him? 

Because though he realises that he can't help but want to linger here, to stay near her, he's not about to risk the wrath of her husband, his employer. And not simply his employer, but a man who very clearly doesn't want him here to begin with. A man who already completely hates him on principle.

And all because of something so ridiculous as his blood, his birth -

He's not trying to be rude to her, but he knows he is. And later tonight, he'll beat himself up over it. But he's acting in the name of self-preservation. He's acting the way anyone possessing any bit of common sense would.

And so, though it kills him to do so, he refrains from saying anything else as he slips off his gardening gloves and strides out the greenhouse.

As for Toinette, she stares after his retreating figure with an air of sad, silent resignation, shoulders slouched forward defeatedly.