Page 4 of Skipping Stones
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Bump. The airplane shuddered. Bump. It shook again. It was a less-than-smooth landing, and after a fitful sleep coupled with the turbulence that had begun even before the descent, Linney felt unsettled and dishevelled. The customs line seemed endless, but eventually she was waiting with hundreds of other people for the luggage carousel to spit out their bags. The conveyor jerked to a halt and she could feel the frustration in the baggage hall rise. Digging around in her purse, she fished out an elastic band and raked her fingers through her hair until she had some semblance of a ponytail. Next was a cloth to clean her glasses. She rubbed it along the lenses, squinting, trying to make the blurry arrivals hall come into focus. No luck. At least the carousel was starting to rumble again.
Bag in hand at last, and clean glasses back where they belonged, Linney joined the crowd to reach the Heathrow Express. When the train arrived at Paddington Station, she splurged on a cab for the last leg. She couldn’t wait to get back to her tiny sun-filled flat, where she shared more nights than not with Mac since that first time after at the awards three years ago. He was at work, so she’d have time to wash off the travel grime, unpack, and rest for a bit before making the promised dinner for two.
“Notting Hill,” she told the cabbie as she slipped into the back seat.
“You here for business or pleasure, ma’am?” asked the driver as he pulled away from the curb.
“Oh, I live here,” Linney said, explaining about her job.
“Well, welcome home then,” he said and Linney realized, with surprise, that while London felt like home, she rarely called it that.
As the cab idled in London gridlock, she pulled out her phone and messaged her Silver Lake friends.
Hey, everyone. Safely back in London. Thanks for a great vacation. That sunrise yesterday was amazing. Love you all and see you soon.
Looking at her watch, she realized it would be a few hours before anyone would be awake to respond. It was time to return her focus to London, and to Mac.
Morning! Headed to my flat to shower and nap. Can’t wait to see you tonight!
Welcome back.
She hoped for more, but Mac was a man of few words, so she closed her eyes until it was time to pay the cab driver.
* * *
A long hot shower had been just the ticket, Linney thought to herself as she wiped steam from the mirror. Leaving her long thick hair to air dry into gentle waves, she threw on some comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater. Yawning, she unscrewed the lid of the mason jar on a slim console table tucked inside the front door next to the umbrella stand and dropped in her newest stone. Among the collection were stones from Vancouver, Toronto, and Halifax in Canada, one from a Florida trip with Kirsten’s family, and a slice of agate from a Lake Superior camping trip. There were English stones from Robin Hood’s Bay and Brighton, and two from Ibiza and the Amalfi coast where Mac had rolled his eyes at her for looking for them when they vacationed together.
Linney padded over to the window and sank into an oversized chintz-covered chair—a re-covered thrift shop find and her favourite reading spot—pulling her feet up under her. She started turning pages of a magazine, not really reading, but glancing at the pictures. Yawning again, she pulled the quilt Gran had made over her lap and her eyes fluttered closed.
It was two hours later when Linney woke with a start. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten since pushing away the scone in the airport the day before, and she was suddenly starving. Time to go to the market. She bought a few essentials from Sainsbury’s and then stopped at the Portobello Road vendors for fresh fruit and vegetables before lugging her bags up the steep stairs. That was the other downside of her shoebox-sized period flat. But the tall baseboards, wooden floors, crown moulding, and huge windows more than made up for it. And besides, it was good exercise. A good reason to splurge on a nice meal.
Linney didn’t cook often. Tonight, however, for their first dinner together in weeks, she wanted to make something special for Mac. By that evening, there was salad on the table and apple crumble cooling on a rack on the counter. A glass of chilled white wine was by her side, and Linney took a small sip before she chopped the mushrooms. The broth was heating, and soon she’d start stirring it spoonful by spoonful into a pan of arborio rice and caramelized onions. She looked at her watch. Timing was everything with risotto, so she picked up her phone.
Be here soon?
Just leaving now. 30 minutes.
♥?♥?
When Mac stumbled through the door with a kiss two hours later, the risotto was a congealed starchy clump, the limp salad was an unappetizing room temperature and Linney was steaming. She’d wanted tonight to be special.
“You’re late,” she said flatly.
At least he had the presence of mind to look sheepish. “The boys convinced me to stop at the pub for a pint. I guess we had more than one.”
“Dinner’s ruined.”
He pulled her close and kissed her again, hungry after a month away from her. “You know it’s not dinner I’m after. I’ve missed you.” He kissed her neck and was rewarded with an involuntary sigh. Linney was losing her resolve to stay mad. She’d missed him too and her body was responding. His hands slid under her sweater and deftly unhooked her bra. Achieving the goal, they continued to roam and the last of Linney’s anger melted. Dinner was soon forgotten in a tangle of bodies and bedsheets as they made up for lost time.
The next morning, Linney scraped wilted salad and cemented risotto into the trash while Mac was in the shower. It was a waste of food, but the welcome he had given her had been something else. She touched her bruised lips with her fingertips and then moved on to her collarbone, slightly irritated from the day’s growth of Mac’s beard. Oh, yes, it had been so worth it.
They left her flat together but headed in different directions—Mac to a meeting with a source, and Linney to the newsroom. The city was already alive, and she revelled in the bustling activity as she entered the studio.
“Bonjour, Marie-Josée. Hi, guys.” Greeting her colleagues as she entered the newsroom, Linney put down her purse and turned on her computer.
“Bonjour, Linney,” MJ replied. “Welcome back. Are we on for shopping soon?” Nodding her head, Linney sat down at her desk. Her laptop had booted up and now several hundred unread e-mails stared back at her. Linney winced. It was going to be a long first day back.