Will Be Yours Ch. 13

"Would you like something to eat along with it?" he asked, pouring the coffee in the cups. He got no response, and repeated the question, this time a little louder. Still no response.

"Cynthia?" he said gently, walking out of the kitchen. And then he smiled at the sight. Cynthia was fast asleep, seated upright on the sofa. Her mouth was slightly parted, and her arms were wrapped around a cushion. Luke watched her, not ceasing to wonder if she had really lost her innocence or if it was still alive in her, quiet and dormant, as if looking for a way to come out. Cynthia was a picture of tranquillity as she slept, without any sign of the storms she had experienced or the hidden hurt that secretly pained her.

Tip-toeing up to her, Luke leaned closer, hesitating for a while before gently pulling away the cushion from her arms and picking her up. She was featherweight, and Luke couldn't tear his eyes off her face while he carried her to her room. Opening the door with his foot, he walked into the dark, quiet room and put her down on the bed, before switching on the bedside lamp. In the soft light, she looked gorgeous, her hair spread over the pillow and the mattress, and her hands folded on her stomach. Luke quietly took off her spectacles and placed them on the nightstand, wondering if he should take off her shoes as well. He considered the thought for a moment, finally deciding that the action could wake her up. Taking a final look at her, he switched off the light and walked out of the room.

He drank his coffee after he showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, and put the rest away. Flipping through a magazine in the lounge, the cool breeze relaxed him, and he had soon dozed off on the sofa. When he awoke, it was ten in the night. Luke bolted out of the room, and opened the door to Cynthia's bedroom, where she was still in deep sleep. Luke sighed, crossing his arms against his chest. She indeed was tired. The long day with kids had obviously worn her out all the more. Not wanting to wake her up for dinner, Luke sauntered into the kitchen and made himself two sandwiches with some leftover fried bacon, some tomatoes, cucumber and cheese. He also heated the remaining coffee and had it with the sandwiches, while watching a late night movie on TV. Twice, he rose to check on Cynthia, but she showed no sign of waking up. If she felt hungry at night, he decided he'd make her some sandwiches.

In the wee hours, he was awoken by noises coming from the kitchen. He pushed the duvet aside and sat up, pulling on his shirt. When he came out of his room and neared the kitchen, in the faint light of dawn, he found Cynthia foraging for food. She looked like she had already freshened up, all set to leave for the airport. Luke checked the time, wondering when he'd last woken up at five in the morning. Hell, it wasn't even morning. The street was quiet, the birds were barely chirping. If only she could stay for a few hours more, they could have breakfast together, and maybe they could even squeeze in lunch...

"Oh. Hi." Cynthia looked flummoxed when she turned around and saw him standing there. She had managed to rustle up a quick sandwich and had even brewed a pot of coffee. "Good morning."

"Are you sure it's morning yet?" he yawned, realising she was already dressed. The pale pink pants and the white shirt made for an ideal attire that early morning. "I can vouch for the fact that I've never woken up so early."

"Confucius said, he who has never seen sunrise is a poor man," she said, walking up to the table with the plate of sandwiches in hand. Luke frowned at her.

"Confucius didn't say that," he pointed out.

"Maybe." She shrugged, biting into a sandwich. "But it's true. Anyway, I've kept two sandwiches for you in the kitchen. And about a cup of coffee. Have it before we leave."

"You seem too eager to go home," he said, turning to head back into his room. "Who's picking you up?"

"Scott. I hope he remembers."

Luke quickly freshened up and dressed, before grabbing his jacket, wallet, and car keys. Cynthia had finished eating by then, and was washing the plate and the cup when he walked into the kitchen. Luke downed his coffee at one go, making Cynthia roll her eyes.

"Aren't you having the sandwiches?" she asked, when he proceeded to wash the cup.

"I don't feel like having anything now." He kept the cup upside down on the counter and looked at her. "Where's your luggage?"

She pointed to her bag at the foot of the sofa. Luke tried to steady himself, having always known that moment would come sooner than later, yet seeking extra strength to be able to let her go. He hadn't thought it would be so hard, or that he'd become so attached to her.

"You should have woken me up last night," she said with a smile as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. "I slept for almost twelve hours."

"You needed it, or you would fall asleep while waiting for your flight," he said, watching her take a look around the living room. Something told him it was hard for her as well, because when her gaze stopped on Diana's photos, her eyes exuded a moment of despondency. The she pushed up her glasses and looked at him.

"Thank you for everything," she said softly, coming closer to him. "I had no idea I'd have such a wonderful time here."

"You don't have to thank me for anything," he shook his head.

"I do. You took care of me, protected me when I felt vulnerable." Her eyes turned misty as she chewed on her bottom lip. "I couldn't imagine going through all this alone."

"You're never alone." Taking the opportunity, he fished out a small gift-wrapped present from his jacket's pocket, about the size of a bar of soap.

"This is for you," he said, hesitantly holding it out to her. "I hope you like it."

"What is it?" she asked, taking the gift from his hand.

"Just a token of appreciation."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Appreciation?"

"For spending four days with me, for keeping me company."

Cynthia smiled and put the gift inside her bag. "I'll open it once I'm home." And then she hugged him, with the amazing naturalness that never failed to stir him to his soul. He felt her face against his shoulder, and as he folded his arms around her body, he found tears burning his eyes. This was indeed hard for him, harder than he thought it would be.

"You didn't have to thank me," she stood on her toes and whispered against his ear.

"I did." He struggled to keep emotion out of his voice, but failed. He hoped the gift would serve the purpose he intended it for. Maybe she'd understand the meaning behind it, and maybe, just maybe, realise what she meant to him.

(To be continued)