Just in Time (A Tom Hiddleston Fan Fic)

Chapter 6: Little White Roses and The Blonde

I finish cleaning before Tom returns from the market. As I don't know how much time I have, I slip away to the guest bedroom's bath to take a quick shower.

I take out my toiletries from my bag and pull out jeans, a tank top and a fluffy cardigan to put on.

The guest bath is very well appointed, with a rainwater shower head to wash all my worries away. Well, all but one, and that worry happens to be a tall, sexy British guy.

I'm wondering how to approach this. I mean, I know my feelings for Tom. I've known them since I first met him. If I had followed my instincts on that fateful day a year ago, who knows where Tom and I would be today?  Probably avoiding each other for the mistake we had made, I think.

But what if? What if it had turned out differently than I imagine? What if I was the one for him, and we made each other complete? What if, even now, we could figure out how to be friends and lovers? I realize there are too many 'what ifs' for a 20 minute shower, so I turn off the faucets and reach for a towel.

I hand-dry my hair with the towel and put it into a messy bun. I decide on no makeup, either because I'm feeling lazy or I don't want to make myself too attractive. After all, I don't want a recurrence of what took place earlier.

After I dress, I head to the kitchen. I hear Tom has returned by the shuffling of bags being unloaded.

"Do you need any help?" I ask from behind him. Tom startles a bit, then turns from the sink with a vase and flowers in his hands. They're a lovely mix of daisies, thistles and little white roses.

Tom seems a bit bashful holding the flowers as he looks at me. "They're nothing special. I just thought they may brighten up the kitchen," he says, looking away from my eyes.

"They're beautiful," I say, taking the vase from his hands and placing it on the counter. "You even managed to find small white roses. They're my favorite."

Tom looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"The rose of all the world is not for me.
I want for my part
Only the little white rose of Scotland
That smells sharp and sweet - and breaks the heart."

"You just recited poetry to me," Tom says, with a surprised yet sweet look on his face.

I look at him seriously for a moment. "I'm like an onion, Hiddleston. I've got layers."

With that, I busy myself putting away the rest of the groceries.

The rest of the day is spent cooking and eating and generally being lazy.

Tom and I are relaxing in his living room, watching a nature show on BBC.

"You know, you'll catch your death leaving your hair damp like that," Tom says, taking his eyes away from the tv to look at me.

"You know me, TW. I'm a risk taker," I say with a cheesy grin on my face.

"Come here," he says, motioning me to move next to him. My ploy all evening has been to leave space between us. I don't know if Tom knows the tactic I've been taking, but he seems determined to defy it.

So far, he's touched my hand every chance he gets, he's invaded my personal space while in the kitchen by reaching for things he needs rather than asking, and he's questioned me more than once about my reasons for sitting at the far end of the sofa. It's not unusual for Tom to be touchy-feely with me. What can I say? He's a very tactile person. It's just that, right now, I can't handle it.