Tangled In Time

Burden

I was genuinely amazed by what I had read, I felt a tear drop down my cheek and I quickly wiped it with the back of my hand. As I reached for the glass that Blake had thoughtfully placed in front of me, I downed its contents in one go. 

"That was quite a read."

"More?" Blake inquired, raising the bottle and taking a few steps towards me. 

"Please," I replied, standing up from the chair and walking towards the kitchen. 

Blake refilled my glass and nodded, "We have our work cut out for us to find something that might help you get back home. It'll take time, but we'll do it."

I looked up at him, overwhelmed by the enormity of his kindness, and said, "I can't explain how grateful I am for your help. If you weren't here, I don't know what I would have done."

As I took another sip from the glass, I couldn't help but wonder about Blake's emotions when he first read the letter. I longed to ask him about it but was hesitant, not wanting to pry into what might be a deeply personal part of his history.

 My gaze drifted towards a shelf filled with neatly arranged records behind Blake. Rows of artists and songs that I didn't recognize, but then I spotted a name I knew: Nat King Cole.

"I may not recognize most of these artists, but I do know Nat King Cole. My grandmother used to love his music," I said, standing to take a closer look at the shelf.

"Do you want to listen?" Blake asked moving to the shelf and picking the record from the shelf. He carefully removed the vinyl from its cardboard sleeve and placed it on the turntable.

Blake admitted, "I haven't had the chance to listen to much of his music," as the needle dropped, producing a scratchy sound before the dulcet voice of Nat King Cole filled the cottage.

My fingers trailed along the letters in the box, absorbing their historical weight, and then I shifted my attention back to Blake, who was leaning against the table by the record player watching me. I lifted my drink and took a long sip.

"So, aside from throwing grand balls for your village," I teased, "what else do you enjoy for fun?"

Blake considered the question, taking a contemplative sip of his own drink. "I do relish a bit of polo and cricket. What about you? What pastimes fill your days in your time?"

I grinned, "I'm more of a reader than a sports enthusiast, and definitely not much of a cricket player. It's not quite my cup of tea, you know?"

Blake chuckled, revealing those enticing dimples again, "I'm sure I could teach you the ropes of cricket. What about dancing?" he asked, moving closer to me and extending his hand.

I hesitated, surprised by his suggestion. "Dancing? I can't," I said with a laugh.

"Why not?" Blake inquired, a slow smile spreading across his face, and those captivating dimples reappeared. He placed his glass on the counter and then moved closer to me, his hand extended. He waited for me to take it.

I didn't take his hand; I just looked at it. "People still dance but, not like this... unless you go to a wedding or you take lessons," I replied as I finally took his hand.

"Oh, God," I said, feeling a flush of embarrassment as we moved onto the dance floor. I knew there was a good chance I'd step on his feet or make a complete fool of myself. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air, a tantalizing mix of musk and a hint of citrus.

"It's simple," he assured me, his hand on my back, guiding me closer. The music played softly in the background, setting the mood for something more intimate than I had anticipated. "Just let me lead."

I chuckled nervously, "I'm worried you'll lead me off a cliff or something." 

Blake raised an eyebrow, his grip on me growing firmer as we glided gracefully across the floor. "What was that?" he asked, tightening his hold on my hand. The dance seemed to slow, and time itself became elastic.

"Nothing," I laughed, attempting to follow his steps. "I have danced like this actually, but I'm not sure standing on my dad's feet counts."

"That certainly does not count," he replied, his voice lower and huskier than before. He lifted his arm, and we twirled around the room. His hand on my waist was warm and reassuring, and the music enveloped us in its enchanting embrace. The world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only us.

The music from the record player faded into silence, leaving only the soft crackle of the vinyl. For a moment, neither of us moved. The quiet settled over us like a blanket, cocooning us in the glow of the room.

"We should probably get back to the party," Blake said at last, his voice low and unhurried. He reached for his glass, but his fingers lingered on its edge. There was something hesitant in his tone, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as me.

I nodded, but the thought of stepping back into the glittering chaos of the ballroom felt surreal. It was hard to reconcile the intimacy of this moment—the warmth of his hand still ghosting on my back, the faint trace of his cologne—with the grand spectacle waiting for us. The image of Charlotte, poised and radiant among the crowd, flashed in my mind, a sharp reminder of the life Blake was bound to.

I smiled faintly as he moved the boxes and tucked them under the dining table I then followed as he moved to the front door, the cool night air rushing in as he opened it. For a moment, I hesitated on the threshold, glancing back at the cosy warmth of the room behind us. It felt like stepping out of a dream and into something far less certain.

The faint hum of music and laughter carried on the breeze, drawing us forward. Blake stepped ahead, and I followed, my bare feet brushing the cool grass as we made our way back toward the party. But even as the glow of the house grew nearer, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between us—something I wasn't ready to name.