Chapter Text
By the time ‘An Evening with Arthur Abbott’ is winding to a close, Iris thinks her heart might actually explode with sheer, unbridled happiness. Arthur made it back down the stairs just as safely as he sailed up them. Now, he’s so surrounded by a throng of admirers that he’s barely visible. And next to her, where they stand hanging back from the crowd, is the lovely man who asked her out twenty minutes ago.
Miles.
Ever since he asked – ever since he appeared, actually, at the same moment his beautiful theme made her heart skip – the air between them feels charged. It’s as though something that was always there is now fully real, mutually acknowledged. There’s no more plausible deniability to hide behind anymore, and that makes her feel shy and flattered and sweetly giddy. And oh, she can’t quite stop smiling.
“Do you think we’ll ever get a moment to speak with him again?” Iris jokes breathlessly, watching the crowd mill around their celebrated friend.
“I dunno, how sharp are your elbows? We might need to force our way through the adoring throng.”
Eventually, though, only Arthur’s closest friends remain, and they rush up to him with beaming faces. Too bursting with delight to hold herself back, Iris throws her arms around him exuberantly, and the old man chuckles, slightly startled.
“Arthur! You were just…magnificent!”
“A legend,” Miles agrees, warmly.
“Oh…” Arthur shrugs modestly, but his smile gives away his true pride.
“We must celebrate!” Iris beams, feeling as though she’s already had at least one glass of champagne. “Why don’t we all go out for dinner?”
She glances across at Miles as she says it, and the way his eyes light up at the suggestion makes her stomach do a little swoop. But Arthur shakes his head.
“You’re very kind. But this has already been quite enough excitement for an old conker like me. Honestly, I could do with a lie-down. But you two go ahead – I insist – and raise a glass in my honor.”
Arthur probably thinks the way he smiles between them is subtle. In reality, it’s all Iris can do to keep a straight face until she and Miles have actually turned away, walking slowly towards the door. Then she starts giggling, and Miles laughs too.
“Are we going to let him think that this was his idea?”
She waves a hand back-and-forth between them as she says it, and the word ‘this’ suddenly seems to encompass a whole host of possibilities. ‘This’ meaning ‘a date’ – meaning an ‘us’ – meaning something hopeful and exciting and good. Miles shrugs, grinning.
“I mean, Arthur’s probably gonna take some of the credit anyway, so we may as well just hand it to him.” She chuckles, and he looks at her thoughtfully. “Now…where do you wanna go for dinner?”
They are already dressed up, after all. You look beautiful, he’d said. And for the first time in so long, Iris actually feels it – whenever she catches him looking at her, especially.
In the end, they decide on a medium-fancy restaurant where Miles once ate with a client. Iris orders whatever she wants – and that, too, is different. In the old days, dining with Jasper, she would always self-consciously order a salad. By contrast, Miles’ only concern seems to be that she taste as many delicious things as possible. When she gets a smear of sauce on her lip – so busy talking animatedly that she doesn’t notice – he doesn’t laugh, but sweetly reaches to brush it away. Her lips tingle where he touched her, and suddenly they’re both staring avidly at the dessert menu, slightly pink in the cheeks.
That’s their first real date. By the time it’s over, they’ve planned out a basic itinerary for Miles’ visit – arriving on December 30th , the day after Iris gets home to Surrey.
A few surreal, jetlagged days later, she’s picking him up from Heathrow. They’ve only been apart a short time, but some part of her is afraid that it won’t be the same here. That perhaps whatever she felt belongs in the sun-drenched world she’d stepped into for those two magical weeks. Then Miles appears through security – his shirt rumpled from hours on the plane in a way that strikes her as oddly sexy – and Iris’ heart leaps.
“Hi,” he grins, and she remembers immediately how much she loves his voice.
“Hello,” Iris smiles in return, leaning in to kiss him quickly on the cheek. “Welcome to England! I, um, I bought you a scarf.”
She reaches shyly into her bag, and hands over the gift she’d spent an inordinate amount of time picking out. She’d thought about what colour would go best with his dark hair, his dark eyes… Miles blinks for a second, and then his smile brightens a few extra watts.
“Thank you! This is very cool!” He puts it on immediately, looking very pleased, and Iris can’t help smiling like an idiot. “So,” he asks, looking up from adjusting it, “is this a traditional gift? Or just your way of looking out for freezing Californians?”
Iris laughs. “Something like that. I mean, what kind of a host would I be if I let you catch cold? Anyway, I thought it would suit you. And I was right.”
It's a subtle little compliment, but it isn’t lost on Miles – despite the jetlag, he’s suddenly walking that bit taller.
They make a mercy stop for takeaway coffee at Caffé Nero before they’ve even left the terminal. (Miles thanks her profusely.) Then they’re in her car, Surrey-bound.
Miles stares out the window as they drive, apparently as enchanted by London’s boroughs as he is later by the snowy countryside. As they near Iris’ village, he turns to look at her from the passenger seat.
“I know I’m buzzed on caffeine and jetlagged as hell, but…everything just looks incredibly beautiful right now. And everyone.”
There’s a beat – a moment’s silence in which Iris feels her cheeks grow warm. An irresistible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“That postman, for instance, is gorgeous,” Miles continues, and Iris bursts into peals of helpless laughter.
His accommodation is a room upstairs from the village pub. Standing out on the pavement, Iris hands him his suitcase.
“So…I’m guessing you’d like a chance to unpack, nap, have a shower?”
“I would love a shower.”
“How about I meet you back here for dinner, then? Six o’clock?”
When she comes back, Miles is waiting for her at a table in the pub. He looks good. Rested, fresh, shirt neatly ironed. And the way he smiles when she comes through the door…
On one level, she’s not quite sure what to do with being obviously wanted this much. Appreciated. It’s never really happened before, and it’s kind of disconcerting. What Iris has previously known as ‘love’ is a stomach-churning rollercoaster of intoxicating highs and crushing lows. This is so different. But with every second that passes, she’s finding that this slow-and-steady rise feels just as good. Better, even.
“And then there’s toad in the hole.”
“Toad in the what?”
Over a ‘pub grub’ style dinner, she’s been giving him the rundown on British cuisine – focusing mainly on the dishes with funny names she knows will make him laugh.
“No actual toads involved! It’s sausage, cooked in a great big dish of Yorkshire pudding batter. Excellent comfort food!”
“I’m sensing a running theme here – sausage and carbohydrates. I think I could learn to like this country.”
At one point, Iris takes a sip of her drink, and looks up to find Miles just…smiling at her.
“…What?” she laughs. He ducks his head, the closest to bashful she’s ever seen him.
“Nothing. Just… Well, are you aware you have the cutest dimples on planet Earth? When you smile…”
She can’t not react to that kind of compliment, and when she does, Miles sighs and points to her cheek almost accusingly.
“See?? That’s exactly what I mean!”
“Well,” Iris shrugs, “I seem to be smiling a lot recently. Make of that what you will…”
She’s trying to be coy, and succeeds. It comes out sounding very flirty.
“Oh, I will,” Miles grins.
Am I blushing?? My God…
She takes another sip of her drink.
Later, she walks him upstairs to his door, and they stand together for a sweetly awkward moment.
“How’s the jetlag treating you?” Iris asks.
“Ah, could be worse. I think my body-clock’s slowly catching on to the new schedule.”
“Well, um…good luck with that. And sweet dreams.”
He’s hanging back, obviously letting her set the pace. Iris hovers for a second. Then, suddenly feeling brave, she reaches for the scarf she bought him – still hanging loose around his neck – and uses it to pull him close.
Miles is a good kisser. That becomes clear straight away: actually, it catches Iris a little off-guard. She gasps against his mouth, curling her fingers into the scarf, sighing into the kiss as his hands find her waist. When they part a minute later, they’re both slightly breathless.
Miles raises an eyebrow. “Have I mentioned that I really like this scarf?”
That breaks the tension, and they both laugh breathlessly.
“Seriously though, thank you. For the scarf, and dinner, and the ride from the airport, and…everything.”
She smiles back, with almost aching sincerity. “Thank you for flying across the ocean.”
“Pshaw, that was nothing. Tonight alone was worth it. And I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get to see you tomorrow as well. That is, assuming I’ve made a decent impression.”
Iris rolls her eyes, beaming. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m damn lucky. Goodnight, Simpkins.”
Iris doesn’t sleep especially well that night. Turns out it’s possible to be too happy to sleep.