Shattered (Watty Awards 2011!)

Chapter 12

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Chapter 12

It was very difficult not to notice the dark shadow on Peter Dinsmoore's countenance that morning. His eyes rarely met mine, except once, when I turned to find him looking right at me as I dusted his bookshelf. He said few words, and the ones he did speak were strained and frozen and only necessary.

Did it really matter to him that I had chosen to stop addressing him informally?

"Did you want me to get your breakfast now, Mr Dinsmoore? Or would you prefer to wait until later?"

His expression could only be described as... expressionless.

"Now, please."

I just nodded and set down my cloth, retying my loose apron strings as I walked towards the door. His voice stopped me suddenly. I turned on my heel as he began to speak.

"Em- I mean, Miss... Miss Butler, have you had breakfast yet?" His averted eyes seemed to be finding the bookshelf very intriguing. Strange.

"No, sir. Why?"

"I was wondering if... you would like to breakfast up here. With me."

That darned blush was creeping up my cheeks again. I knew I didn't feel any... real attraction to him. I had spent all night running reasons to steer clear of him through my head. Surely he didn't feel any attraction to me, either!

What was I supposed to say? Those liquid eyes finally glanced up towards me, and I was even more at a loss than previously. Why had he even asked me?

"I thought you enjoyed your morning privacy, Mr Dinsmoore."

"Well, yes, I... I suppose I do... I just thought that perhaps a little company would be good. For both of us, you know. Just for a change."

"Whatever makes you think I need company?" I was confused, and possibly even upset by his suggestion. I had always strived to be an independent girl. I did not need his suggestions for company.

He must have noted the angered tinge in my voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that I thought you in need of company. To be honest, I..." He faltered, mid-sentence. He was staring at his desk, one eyebrow raised as he attempted to finish what he had started to say.

"It gets lonely sometimes, Miss Butler." He looked up, and I felt a twinge of guilt shoot through my chest. All he wanted was someone to sit with and maybe talk to.

"I'm sorry. You sometimes seem so... independent - like you don't need companionship, or don't need to talk, or... or something." I tried to look him in the eye, but now I was the one who struggled.

He gave a soft, short laugh, a wry smile on his face. "Independent? I need your help to cross the room."

"Regardless. I..." Great word choice, Emma. "I'll breakfast up here this morning, then."

"I don't want you to if you feel sorry for me. Truly, that is never anything I want you - and you especially - to feel." I sensed a deeper meaning to his words.

"I'll go get the tray." I left the room, wondering if I was doing the right thing.

~

By the time I had brought up breakfast, my mind was once again flitting between my formerly produced ideas on staying away from Peter. I had to stop to tell myself that all we were doing was eating in the same room, a feat hardly considered a feat. It didn't mean that either of us had any feelings for the other.

We sat at his oak desk. I carefully set out the cutlery and glasses, and then handed him his plate of steaming pancakes. I took my seat opposite him awkwardly.

For a few strained moments, the only sound was the rain outside and the distant sound of a slamming door somewhere below.

"Do you... want tea?" I was surprised at the timidity of my voice.

"Oh, yes please. Don't bother unless you're having some too." He picked up his fork with his less-damaged right hand and began to cut at his pancakes with it. I poured out his tea and pushed it towards him, along with cream and sugar. We lapsed into silence again.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" He spoke suddenly. I glanced up in mild surprise.

"It's raining."

He shrugged slowly. "Yes, it is. But I quite like the rain. Don't you?"

"Oh yes, I like it too. It's... soothing."

"Yes, I know what you mean."

I carefully cut my pancakes and reached for the syrup.

"Did you have any plans for today, Mr Dinsmoore?"

Perhaps I ought to call him Peter again. I could tell he preferred it.

"Oh, no, not really. I have some paperwork to do. You know, boring things."

"Fair enough." I took a bite, wiping my mouth with my cloth napkin.

"Do you?"

"Have plans? Not really. Working up here, I suppose. And then Harry has asked if I'll have lunch with him downstairs when he gets back."

"Oh. Harry asked you?"

"That's what I said. Does it seem so strange?"

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at his plate. "No, it's certainly not strange."

"Please, explain." I felt quite quizzical.

Peter Dinsmoore only laughed. "Let's talk about something else. Didn't you say you have a sister?"

I squirmed. I wanted him to tell me about the 'awful' normality of eating with Harry, not talk about my literally 'awful' sister.

"Yes. But if we want to talk about something more pleasant, she is hardly a good topic."

"Ah, I see. Well, we can discuss something else, then. Do you have any interests?"

"Well... what kind of interests?"

"You know, like... embroidery or something. I don't know what girls like," he laughed.

"I like to read," I began, talking slowly as I thought, "and I hate embroidery." I shuddered, and he chuckled.

"I apologize. I don't know all that much about females."

I laughed. "Harry said you had a girlfriend, so you can't be completely clueless."

"Irrelevent," he said, his words as tight as his smile. I had obviously touched a nerve. "Do you have any other interests, then?"

"Music. That's not to say I'm very good at any of it, but I suppose that's irrelevant too."

His eyes lit up slightly. "Music? As in, singing? Piano, maybe?"

"Piano," I smiled. "I never really had a chance to learn it all that well, and I haven't practiced in a long time."

"Well, there's a little music room downstairs. You're welcome to use it whenever." He turned back to his breakfast.

"Thank you, Mr Dinsmoore. It's very kind of you to offer."

He waved his hand. "Anytime."

15? .)