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CHAPTER 17 -- Epiphany

Spike slid out of the Desoto, trickily balancing several white Styrofoam boxes on top of each other. Jutting his chin at an odd angle to keep the tower secure, he closed the door and pressed a button on his key chain, the beep of the car signaling its security. He walked up the meandering sidewalk and threw open the door of Fairytale, the door bell chiming.

He was met by Buffy, who was currently three feet above him, teetering on a chair, reaching towards the ceiling. “What are you doing?” he asked, placing the boxes down on a table just inside the door.

“Seeing just how many Buffys it takes to change a light bulb.” She dropped her shoulders in a huff, “And it’s apparently more than one.” Her lower lip jutted out appetizingly as she lifted her heels off the stool she was standing on, again reaching to screw in the bulb. Her wispy sleeveless peach silk blouse raised with her, and the scrap of jean around her waist lowered, presenting Spike with an unobstructed and accidental view of her soft tummy, leaving Spike fighting the urge to nuzzle it.

Without knowing it, Spike subconsciously took several even strides towards the stool, with Buffy trickily balancing on it in stiletto boots.

“One little nudge of my boot,” he thought, glancing at the stool’s uneven legs, “and she’d come tumbling down into my arms.” At his serious consideration, Spike gave his head a violent shake. God, ever since that accidental kiss on the porch his head had been all over the place. Even when he was up in L.A., immersed in bitchy models and unforgiving deadlines, his mind kept wandering to the little blonde back home. Ridiculous.

The room suddenly grew a little brighter, and Spike looked up to see Buffy with her arms crossed, smiling satisfactorily. She glanced up at the burning light, it’s fixture back in place, “Look, I did . . .” One of the spiked heels of her boot slipped off the stool and her body jerked. Spike dropped the car keys he was holing in his hand and rushed to the chair.

Her hands flailed a moment before finding the strength of his shoulders, her legs wobbled until his fingers steadied her hips. He wrapped his right arm around her, bringing her body flush against his. Their gazes met as Buffy slid sensuously against him, down to the floor. “. . . it,” she breathed, finishing her sentence when both her feet were set on the ground. Her hands were still splayed on his chest, his held her low on her hips, their lower bodies rested against each others.

“I . . .um . . .” Spike frantically searched his mind. He knew there was a reason he was at the store -- a specific purpose of his visit -- he just couldn’t remember what it was at the moment. Oh . . . Food. “I brought you something,” he broke away from Buffy, leaving her feeling cold where his warm body had been pressed up against hers.

“Ohhhh, a preezie!?” She squealed, instantly cheered.

“Sort of,” he answered, grabbing the first box off the stack. He held the box in front of her, making a grand gesture of it’s opening. With a flourish, he whisked the top off, revealing a delicious looking chicken pasta.

“My favorite!” she beamed.

“I remembered,” he answered, pleased with her reaction. They had made the dish during one of their cooking sessions at her house. She had loved it so much she had made him promise they’d make it again soon. He handed her the box and a fork, holding up a finger, gesturing her to wait. He went back to his pile revealing fiesta fried cheesecake for desert. “If you got a blanket and some drinks we’ll make it a real picnic, yeah?”

She nodded eagerly and disappeared to the back.

“I heard you were neck deep in designs for the wedding from hell,” he called back to her, referring to Xander’s wedding to the bridezilla herself. “I figured you’d be too busy to take lunch -- working by yourself.”

Buffy came out from the back, “You figured right,” she replied, laying down an old piece of fabric on the carpeting. She took a moment to marvel at the rightness of his statement. She hadn’t planned on eating today, figuring she’d snack on some cherry licorice of some other unhealthy alternative. She handed him a Pepsi and joined him on the floor. They ate in comfortable silence, both their hectic lives suddenly calm in each other’s company.

She looked over her dish at him, digging into his chocolate like a little boy. She smiled at him, “Thank you,” her tone implied more than just the meal.

“Your welcome,” he returned quietly. It was the way he looked at her that caught her breath. His features soft, his head tilted to the side, and his eyes shining.

“So,” Spike broke them out of their trance, “I haven’t seen you in a while, luv. Everything between you and the good doctor going well I take it?” He steered the conversation and his internal feelings in the opposite direction.

Buffy tried to wipe away the haze that fuddled her brain. “Huh? Oh, ah, yeah. Everything’s going great.”

Spike nodded. “I’ll be going back to L.A. tomorrow. You’ll be up there with me on Tuesday, correct?”

“My flight lands at eleven o’clock, you’ll meet me there, and we go straight to the photo shoot,” she answered dutifully.

“Good girl, I’ll see you then,” he kissed her on the forehead and headed out the door, the chime of the bell echoing behind him.

TBC





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