This is why she wears the dress, this particular dress and not just that longer, prettier skirt and a sort of dressy top and not that simple black dress that she wore to her uncle’s funeral that time:
As she leans across the bar to order her second glass of wine, there’s a hand on the her back. His breath is hot against her ear and she can smell a little vodka on his breath , but mostly just the lemon from his glass that he’s been idly sucking on when he whispers, “You look-” Then he doesn’t finish the thought and she turns to look at him. His eyes are running over her as he tries to find an adjective and finally settles on, “beautiful.” It comes out of his mouth like a breath. It sounds like something essential and life preserving.
He leaves his hand on the small of her back as he orders another drink. “Second?”
He shakes his head, leaning against the bar now while his hand moves with him and its on her hip. “Third- Wait, fourth.”
The bartender places his fourth drink in front of him and he looks down at it. He contemplates it for a second and looks at her, “Maybe I’ve had enough for now.”
She laughs because he’s sort of wobbly on his feet and it’s almost endearing to think of him as being such a lightweight. She remembers that he doesn’t drink much. She doesn’t either, but now she takes a generous sip of her wine and tries to ignore the way his fingertips are moving just slightly against the silky fabric of her dress. She tries to focus on anything besides the way she wants to lean into him and have both of his hands running along her dress.
The dress she wore for him. Not for Roy. Not for anyone. Just him.
And there’s something in the way he looks at her then as she’s putting down her now almost empty glass of wine. There’s something in the way he’s standing and talking and acting that’s different. His eyes seem darker and murkier and he isn’t one to boldly touch her like this in a room full of people.
She starts to move away from the bar. His hand drops from her hip and hangs awkwardly at his side. She says, “Poker? You and me?”
He smiles and he’s Jim again. “Oh, you’re on, Beesly.”
Still the air changes as they move towards the table and she feels unsettled. She feels on the verge of something. Like maybe her life is going to change.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I had this one written since the beginning and I was pondering writing one for Drug Testing or Conflict Resolution, but then I decided to just post this one. If I do write another for one of those episodes, I'll put it up. But for now, this looks like the end. Until next season.
