Plus One

Part 8 - A Not Quite Midsummer Night's Dream

I had to blink a few times to be sure this wasn't a dream.

There were flowers everywhere. All kinds of flowers; roses, carnations, peonies, lily-of-the-valley, forget-me-nots and orchids, all with one thing in common – they were all my favourites.

And candles. Blinking again, I thought there were perhaps more candles than flowers, if that were possible; short, tall, chunky and chunkier – hundreds of candles, each contributing its flame to the ambient glow here on the rooftop of Tom's apartment building. Even the shadows seemed warm and inviting.

There was music too; the soft strains of a violin concerto by Paganini reached my ears though I had no idea where it was coming from.

The parallel to a scene from a movie wasn't lost on me and I determined I would never sneer and call those scenes cheesy ever again – its effect on me was as potent as one of Tom's smiles.

Suddenly the man himself appeared, debonair in a dark suit and tie, looking freshly groomed and decidedly nervous. "Hello," he said quietly.

"Hi."

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"You sent me chocolate..." No-one close to me was unaware of my unhealthy obsession with the nectar of the Gods that is chocolate.

He took a step closer and my pulse jumped. "I fucked up, Sam; I'm so sorry." Another step closer. "Can you forgive me for being such an arse?"

This time I moved toward him. "Only if you forgive me." The surprise on his face made me feel ashamed. "I fucked up too; my initial assumption about your motives was the catalyst for all this..." One last step brought me within his arm reach.

"Deal." He drew me so close the thudding of our hearts seemed to merge. "I love you, Sam."

Cupping his face in my hand, thumb running gently over jaw and cheekbone, I told him, "I love you right back; you've become as addictive as Chunky Monkey."

Brows rose as he gently swept a stray lock of hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear, his lips twitching upwards. "High praise indeed."

"Don't let it go to your head, Hiddleston." I didn't quite pull off the stern look I was going for and the smile he gave me flooded my body with warmth. "So," I sighed into his neck as he pulled me closer, enveloping me with the scent I'd been dreaming of and arms I'd been longing for, "how do we do this?"

"I'm not entirely sure; I've never had an amazingly talented screenwriter for a girlfriend before."

"No? Huh, imagine that."

"How about you?"

"Nope; never had an amazingly talented screenwriter for a girlfriend either."

He poked me in the ribs and a giggle escaped me, then another and another as relief and joy bubbled up inside me. Tom just held me, pulling goofy faces while I giggled which of course only made me laugh more until eventually I had to bury my face in his chest to calm myself down again. "I didn't expect to miss your warped sense of humour so much, you crazy American," he said with a smile. "Nor did I ever think my ideal woman would be so sassy and sarcastic."

"Ideal?"

"Perfect."

"Tom, I'm so far from perfect you'd need to build a superhighway to reach even halfway."

Cerulean eyes bore into my brown ones. "You're perfect for me and that's all that matters."

I sighed. "You are too damn smooth and wonderful to be real, Hiddleston. No wonder all your fangirls love you so much."