Breaking the Ice

Chapter 24

24

Samantha felt the weight of Dulcie’s and Kelly’s rage, knowing they expected her to be as livid. And she was. Somewhere way back in the recesses of her mushy mind, she was really ticked. But she was also grappling with Nick thinking about having sex with her all the time.

“Nick!” Dulcie spied him standing in the doorway to the back room. “You in? We have to do something. It’s Martha’s . Your grandmother would be rolling in her grave.”

Samantha glanced over her shoulder, immediately shying away from the look in Nick’s eyes. The one saying don’t think I don’t know you’re going to use this to avoid our conversation . But taking on city hall seemed much easier than facing whatever the hell was happening with them.

“It’s Martha’s , Nick,” she appealed.

Martha’s wasn’t just any old place. Like Birdie’s, it was a Tetworth institution. Only it had been around longer. It was Dulcie’s memories. Birdie’s memories.

Favoring her with one last look, he switched his attention to Dulcie. “I’m in.”

“Good.” She nodded, clearly satisfied with his answer. “We’re going to need a little star power. Now” – marching herself over to the lounge, she sat – “we’re also going to need a plan. I’ll have the usual, thanks Nick.”

He pushed off the doorway. “Yes, ma’am.”

Samantha painted a large exclamation mark on the thick white cardboard. Nick’s apartment was littered with placards. Shame, Shame, Shame , read one. Let Them Eat Cake , read another. And, Remember the Bellhaven , another old city landmark that had fallen last year in the name of progress.

Nick’s high profile had worked in their favor and his spot on the six o’clock news had mobilized an amazing number of people in the space of a week. Birdie’s had been a hive of activity ever since, which heartened Samantha for two reasons.

Firstly, it gave her something else to focus on other than the fact Nick thought about having sex with her all the time. Secondly, the plans were being pushed through city hall, lending urgency to the protest movement and leaving absolutely no time to indulge in furtive glances and talk about what ifs.

Not to mention how the protest had been exceedingly good for business as a bunch of newcomers were introduced to the magic of Birdie’s. The accountant in her couldn’t help but crunch the figures in her head and be very pleased. Not that Nick seemed to care. For a rich guy he seemed completely disinterested in anything financial.

If that didn’t illustrate how different they were then what did?

Samantha sat among a little band of the converted the following Saturday afternoon, having invaded Nick’s apartment, determined to fight for their cause. The aroma of Magic Marker and paint fumes lingered in the air as people told their Martha stories.

Most of the group were elderly and it was great hearing their recollections of a bygone era when Martha’s Teahouse had been the fanciest place to go for morning tea which only crystallized Samantha’s conviction that they were fighting for something worthwhile.

Tradition was responsible for a lot of bad stuff, but it could also be very worthy.

The best part was having an eager younger generation involved in the process. Sally and Kelly who had been converted to Martha’s orange and poppy-seed friands during their visits to Birdie’s were just as enraged. Kelly had mobilized heaps of her inner-city friends from the queer community and Sal had circulated a petition at her work.

In a world where Starbucks and McDonald’s seemed to invade every city street, it was gratifying to see that the loss of a relic could be equally lamented by the young as well as the old. There were precious few Tetworth businesses that had stood the test of time – Birdie’s was one, but Martha’s had been there the longest and nobody in the apartment wanted to see it go.

The news came on the TV and the gathering fell silent as the details of tomorrow’s protest march were announced. They played a grab from Tetworth’s favorite son’s interview earlier in the week and the apartment erupted into cheers. Dulcie even stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill wolf whistle, stunning everyone.

Nick grinned and bowed to the gathering. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Then a financial representative for the developer came on, lampooning the planned demonstration as anarchist overkill and Sam’s skin crawled.

It was Ray.

Okay, now she was really pissed and looking forward to squashing Ray like a bug.

They worked into the night, most of the group leaving at around ten to picket the front of the Teahouse in case the unscrupulous developers decided to pull a swift one and knock it down in the dead of night as they had done to the glorious old Bellhaven hotel.

Nick showed the last person out at ten-fifteen. The last person bar one. Samantha glanced at him from her position on the couch, sunk in among the cushions looking so damn at home in his chair.

In his apartment. In his life.

She’d kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up under her. A smudge of black paint decorated her cheek and he was startled by the very strong urge to lick it off. It was the first time they’d been alone outside of the shop since her birthday. The first time they’d been allowed five minutes’ respite from Dulcie’s practically perfect (as she had coined it) plan to save Martha’s. It was the first chance he’d had to talk to her properly in over a week.

And the attraction hadn’t gone away just because they hadn’t had time to act on it. It was there. Pulsing madly around the room.

“Fancy a coffee before you leave?”

Hesitating, she said, “I should go.”

Yeah, she probably should. But man he didn’t want her to. “How about a tea instead?”

Smothering a yawn, she smiled and nodded. “Tea would be great.”

Nick returned the smile. “Tea coming up.”

He lectured himself about keeping his hands off as he boiled the water, wondering if she knew how hard it was to have her here, on his couch, looking at him with her sleepy gray eyes, and not touch her?

At least the protest would be over tomorrow and things would get back to normal at the shop. The strategy sessions led by Dulcie in major-general mode had given them both something else to focus on, but he was in no doubt they were in a holding pattern, and Samantha knew it too.

Carrying both their mugs, Nick stopped in his tracks as he entered the living room, nearly spilling tea everywhere. Oh no. No, no, no . Samantha snuggled into the corner of his couch, in his apartment, all sleepy and happy was too much.

Samantha asleep was the living end.

Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath and continued on, placing the mugs on the coffee table noisily. Nothing . “Sam?”

Still nothing.

“Samantha,” he said, louder this time, and shook her gently.

Her eyes fluttered open for a second during which time she smiled serenely and said, “I like it when you call me Samantha,” and then fell promptly fell back asleep.

He almost groaned out loud as he crouched beside her, reminding him of the night she’d propositioned him on her couch, holding the condom between them and he wished like hell he’d thrown gentlemanly caution to the wind and done the wild thing right there and then.

God knew she’d been too plastered to think that night.

At least there wouldn’t be this feeling of unfinished business between them that seemed to be a more and more taboo subject as each day went by.

Nick rose, removing himself from the temptation. It was late after a week of very late nights. And they had an early start. He and Samantha were part of the relief team who would take over at five in the morning until their 10a.m. march on city hall. With Hawkeye now apparently the unofficial spokesperson for the cause, a lot of media interest had been whipped up and they were hoping for a good turnout tomorrow.

She shifted in her sleep, snuggling deeper into the couch as she murmured something unintelligible, drawing his gaze to her mouth.

Hell . He was never going to sleep.