Chapter Nine

LOUISA:

"Alright, alright. I'll get the door," I grumbled as I trudged down the stairs, leaving behind Treena's clucks that it was my turn to answer the door. I let my fingers lightly slide against the bannister as I went down, my loud and potentially even rowdy footsteps offering a sharp contrast.

"Lou, will you get the door please?" I heard my mum call from the kitchen.

"I'm on it," I replied, half shouting and half declaring. The loudness of my response roused grandad from his small doze. I saw out of my peripheral vision as I headed towards the door and passed our cozy living room that he was fumbling with the newspaper, pretending that he was awake the whole time.

I smiled to myself at his antics. Straightening my posture, I took a breath and unlocked the front door, "How can we help yo-" The rest of the question died on my lips as I registered just exactly who was standing at my front door.

Will Traynor.

Not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine Will Traynor standing on the small, and somewhat crumbling front porch. But here he was standing, donning a light rain jacket over what I assumed was the relaxed version of his work clothes: a crisply ironed and starched shirt, dress pants and dress shoes. It boggled my mind that he could somehow be at the small and humble abode of the Clarks, and look like he had walked off a page of some fashion magazine Treena probably read. It didn't add up.

"Hello, Clark," he said as his form of greeting, as if we were friends and it was normal for him to be at my family home. He said it ever so pleasantly and it made my blood boil as memories of his treatment towards me at the Longfield racetrack came flooding back. "Won't you invite me in?"

Something dangerous must have flashed across my eyes because Will then held his hands up as if he was surrendering, "Or we can talk out here."

I nodded tersely, turning back in the house to grab my mum's shawl that was hanging on one of the coat pegs near the door. While I was at it, I quickly shrugged on my rainboots which were near the door as well. Cheerful, small rainbows donned my worn boots. I found it ironic considering what I was currently feeling regarding the person on the porch.

I stepped out in the cool air, sad that it was a sign that summer was well over and fall was quickly on its way – nipping at the heels of the long hours of daylight summer had provided. Quietly closing the door so that it wouldn't draw attention of any of the family, I then turned to him. I found myself crossing my arms and adjusting my head upwards ever so slightly. That wasn't like me. I never was one to be putting on airs. But for whatever reason I was doing it, and I found that in this particular moment I didn't care.

"What do you want?" I managed to get out without my tone inflecting the sheer shock and anger I was currently experiencing from this unexpected turn of events.

Will seemed to be unaffected by my direct question. Instead he smiled. Somehow he had the audacity to smile. "You may think you look angry, Clark but really you just look like a small kitten trying to act ferocious. Well, not really a kitten. More like a turtle trying to act ferocious."

I exhaled with force, quickly becoming irritated by his manner – by the very way he carried himself, "This is entirely inappropriate. You come to the house where I live. Did you even regard the fact that my family is in there? That it might draw attention if you came to the front door and knocked?" I found myself breathing shorter breaths in quick succession. The more I thought about it, the more I became angry at Will. "How did you even find out where I live?"

"Employee forms. And I agree." He replied, watching me as I paced back and forth on the porch. The space was so cramped that it really wasn't pacing. It was more like a couple steps in one direction, a small pivot, and then a couple steps in the other direction. "This was entirely Plan B, Clark, believe it or not. Plan A was actually to throw pebbles at your bedroom window and deliver a soliloquy – but I wasn't sure which window was actually yours."

Steam was rising from my ears now. I had never been one to get angry. Upset, sure. But never raw anger. It wasn't in my innate nature. But I felt it now. "Get off my porch," I managed to get out, my nails digging into the palm of my hands as I clenched them trying to maintain whatever coolness I had left.

He took a step towards me, "I was just adding some humor to the situation."

His comment only irritated me further, and somehow I found my legs carrying me off the porch. I bounded down the three steps and into the quiet street. I didn't care where I was exactly going as long as it was away from him. I heard him scramble to follow me, and then I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Louisa, will you stop and listen please?" He took a small breath, "Truth be told this really was Plan B. I tried to visit you at the café but you called out sick, left work early and then for the rest of the week I was stuck at the office and couldn't get away."

I shrugged off his hand, and thankfully he didn't reach out to touch me again. Turning to face him I dared to look at him in the eyes. "I didn't need to know this past week's schedule of your whereabouts," I replied bitingly. I was surprised at my tone, not understanding where all this pent up rage was coming from.

He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing, "Right, of course not." He then peered around as if he was noticing his surroundings for the first time, "Do you think we could not stand in the middle of the street?"

I felt heat bloom upon my cheeks. I looked down, nodding ever so slightly so that he wouldn't be able to see the coloring of my face. As if in silent agreement, we ambled back to the house. I walked up the steps, but Will didn't. I turned, confused by his action.

"I am sorry." He said. I waited for him to continue. He swallowed, "For my behavior at…at Longfield. I guess I wasn't thinking."

I wasn't sure what I was exactly conveying either on my face or through my vibe, but he must have detected something because then he added: "Not "I guess." I just…wasn't thinking of my actions and how it could be perceived by someone else." He let his eyes fall down to his shoes, and he focused on kicking a small shard of concrete derived from the sidewalk. A moment later and he looked up, meeting my eyes. "And for that, I apologize. Sincerely, Clark."

I studied him carefully, trying to detect any ingenuity in his apology. But I couldn't. In that moment, as he stood before me with his hands in his rain jacket, his eyes staring up at me and his hair tousled in such a way that it suggested as if he had rushed over here – in that moment he looked like a boy.

My anger towards him previously didn't suddenly disappear, but I could feel it seeping from my bones and dissipating into the cool air. I took a breath and noticed that when I did, my heart just hurt. It wasn't full of rage – it was upset and trying to understand the person in front of me.

I took a couple of steps towards him from where I was on the porch. Reaching the top step, I then sat down. Now it was my turn to look up at him. "Why did you do it, Will?"

He joined me, sitting on the porch steps. The width of the steps really weren't made for two people, but somehow we snugly fit – our shoulders almost brushing. It was somehow oddly intimate. I pushed the thought away, knowing that I was just being silly, and willed myself to focus on the matter at hand.

He stared straight ahead at the piece of empty street that lied before my family's house. "I don't know, Clark. I guess…it was the kind of pranks I would pull when I was at university with my mates." He then turned his attention to me, "I know that isn't really an excuse. It doesn't really serve as an explanation, but that's the truth." He went back to staring at the empty road.

Even though he wasn't sure of the motivation for his actions, I sense that he was at least trying to understand the why behind his behavior. And that stirred something from within me. Somehow it moved me. Because for the first time I was convinced I got a glimpse at the real Will. Not the prickly but efficient businessman. Or the man with the quick, witty comebacks that would give sassy Thomas a run for his money. But the real Will. And that thought made me quiet. I couldn't find any words. I'm not sure I wanted to find the words. I didn't want to ruin this moment. I just wanted to take it as it was.

The dim street lamps softly illuminated the edges of his face, and I realized he was not only handsome but beautiful as well. He then glanced at me, his lips forming a grin as he laughed shortly, "You must think I'm a real arse now, right?"

I shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. Now it was my turn to stare at the road. "I thought you were an arse the first time I met you. So no, it hasn't changed my opinion of you," I said, hoping my tone would convey that I was joking. Sort of.

My reply earned a laugh from him.

I heard the front door open. Will must have to because we both jumped up and turned to see my mum standing in the doorway looking surprised.

"Mum," I said, trying to create any distance as I could from Will. I felt my cheeks flood with heat. Why did I feel like I was some teenager being caught with her boyfriend? It was a ridiculous thought. He wasn't even my boyfriend. And were we even really friends for that matter?

"Lou, love, who's your friend?" my mum asked, trying to peer over me to get a look at Will. I racked my brain, trying to figure out how I was going to get out of this one. To my aghast, Will stepped around me and spoke, "I'm sorry to intrude, Mrs. Clark. I'm Will Traynor, one of your daughter's…" he paused at that, glancing at me for a moment before giving my mum his full attention, "colleagues."

He then stepped closer to her in order to shake her hand, which she welcomingly returned. I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear and wondering how such a turn of events even happened. When I opened them I watched as my mum nervously tucked a fray piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes bright as she responded, "Not a problem at all. Call me Josie. It's so nice to meet you, Will – though I must say Louisa never told us she had a coworker named Will."

I wanted to protest but somehow Will spoke up first. "Really? I'm surprised she never mentioned me. Louisa and I are basically friends." He looked at me looking rather shocked with just a tint of hurt. He was a good actor, and he was milking this for all its worth.

"Well, since you're a friend of our dear Lou's," mum said, giving me a pointed look in my direction, "would you like to stay for dinner? The roast is almost finished."

Somehow this situation was unraveling and becoming worse the more time went by. I jumped, as if shocked, trying to intercept this whole exchange before it derailed too much, "Oh no, mum. Will was just leaving," I said. This time it was my own turn to direct a pointed look. This time at Will. I silently pleaded that he would get the hint.

He looked at me for a moment, a twinkle in his eye, before smiling politely at my mum, "I haven't had a true home cooked meal in a long time. If it's not too much trouble, roast sounds lovely. Thank you."

My mum beamed, smiling brightly at us, "Lovely. I'll go add another place to the table. Please come in and make yourself at home." With that, she hurried away back to what I assumed was the kitchen, and left Will and I still on the porch.

He made a move to enter the house. I grabbed at the hem of his jacket, restricting such an act, "Will, you can't eat at our house." I said.

A frown marred his face, "Why ever not?"

I mentally drew up a list of all the reasons why he shouldn't eat dinner, the top reason being that he would seem out of place in our blue collar home. It was cramped and homey. It was nothing like Granta House. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Will wouldn't like it, and I didn't want him to see where I lived. My ears burned as I silently mulled this over, and as he was looking at me waiting for an answer. I couldn't bring myself to actually communicate that to him, so instead I lamely said, "You wouldn't like the food. It's not the stuff you're probably used to eating."

He stared at me for a moment before gently removing my hand from his jacket, "Believe it or not, Clark, I do like a good roast."

And with that, he entered the house.

Throughout dinner I basically held my breath for a disaster to occur. Yet, except for the fact that in the very beginning Treena had entered the kitchen, seen Will and then hurried back to her room to change into a better shirt, it was surprisingly normal. Mum had made sure he sat across from me at the table, which gave me the opportunity to observe his behavior. He made sure to say "please" and "thank you" every time it was warranted and then some. He ate everything on his plate, gave compliments to the chef (my mum), spoke to my dad, Bernard, about work (everyone in the Clark family learned that night what exactly Will did – buying, selling and merging companies worth millions of pounds), and joined in on the jokes and laughter that were shared at the table.

Every so often, Will would meet my eyes and give me a soft smile. I couldn't help but look away. I was puzzled by his behavior and intentions. He had every opportunity to put on airs. His line of work alone compared to my own dad's was enough to make it awkward. But he didn't act any better than the rest of us. It was a stark difference from his prank at Longfield. And I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Before I knew it, Will was shrugging on his coat to leave. After offering multiple times to help clear the table and wash the dishes (which earned an insistent "no" from my mum every time), Will was in the small and narrow hallway preparing to leave. Clutched in his hands was a container filled with leftovers that my mum had insisted he leave with, and which he graciously accepted.

I lingered in the kitchen, not really wanting to actually speak with him in the aftermath of what had transpired. I wasn't mad at him. I just didn't have the desire to face him.

Unfortunately, my mum gently elbowed me as she worked on clearing the table, "Lou, you should at least walk him out."

"I'll do it," Treena volunteered all too willingly. I couldn't tell if she was eager to do so because she was assigned to dishes, or if it was because Will was definitely fit her type. Probably both.

"I said Lou," mum said, shooting Treena a look before gently pushing me into the hallway. This caught Will's attention and he smiled at me.

No turning back now.

I found myself awkwardly trundling towards him, not sure exactly what to do or say. His frame seemed to fill the hallway. No. He certainly wasn't the kind of person who fit into our lifestyle. He was too shiny. Too polished.

"Showing me out?" He asked, expertly arching an eyebrow.

I nodded, not daring myself to speak. We both stepped out back onto the porch. He shoved his one hand in the pocket of his rain jacket. I was tempted to twiddle my thumbs but channeled enough willpower not to. We were silent for what seemed like an eternity before I spoke, "I'm pretty sure my mum loves you."

He laughed before he teasingly said, "I tend to have that effect on mothers."

I rolled my eyes.

"Do thank your family for having me for dinner," he paused for a moment and then continued as he walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk, "It was nice."

I nodded in silence. He then took a few steps, and I realized that he had made the trek on foot to my house in the first place. He didn't simply drive over. I wasn't sure what to make out of this fact. I watched him take a few more steps from my position on the porch. He then looked back and raised his leftovers as a gesture of saying goodbye, "Goodnight, Clark."

Author's Note: Was so inspired and motivated I wrote another chapter. What did you all think?