Silent Moments

Dawn Cavanaugh and Stephen Edwards get trapped in Tiny Tots during a storm, each thinking that the other doesn't remember that they've met before.

I was folding blue 6x t-shirts when the bell over the door rang.

“We don’t open for another half-hour,” I tossed over my shoulder, wondering who would be crazy enough to come to the square today.

“Actually, I’m looking for Dawn Cavanaugh.”

I would have known that voice in a room of clones.

I turned, and looked him up and down, trying to keep the recognition from my face. He wouldn’t recall… that night. He looked pretty much the same as he had seven and a half months ago. Medium-length, messy blond hair, greenish-hazel eyes, clear skin, a nice oval face, rather soft features…. Not bad. Not drop-dead-gorgeous by any means, but pretty cute. He was also shorter than me, soaked to the bone, and he knew my name but didn’t have a clue who I really was.

“You found her,” I said warily, tensing a little bit in case he turned out to be some creeper. Hey, I watch the news—you can never be too careful. And there was that one time. Maybe he really did know who I was and he was just trying to psych me out.

“I’m Stephen Edwards. Mrs. Sawyer sent me; I’m supposed to start working today.”

I sighed mentally as I moved on to red, and not just because I was relieved that he really didn’t seem to remember me. Mrs. Sawyer wasn’t known for her hiring prowess. In fact, most of the people she’d picked to work alongside me in the last two years I’d been at the store had been downright horrible. I didn’t know him (in the conventional sense of the word, I mean), but this guy didn’t look like he was a character from a different story. He looked uncomfortable in his sopping slacks and long-sleeves, he hadn’t shaved (and possibly hadn’t washed or brushed, for that matter) in a couple days, and he had a pair of those massive cushioned headphones around his neck. He didn’t seem like the type to enjoy working with kids. In fact, he looked like the kind who would have never set foot in the store unless in the unwilling company of a bratty younger sibling.

Not exactly the breed of guy I needed as my only other co-worker. Especially not this particular specimen.

“I’m surprised you showed,” I said when I was finished my silent analysis and the last shirt was neatly placed on the display table.

“Why?”

I pointed out the window at the rain that was coming down in torrents. We weren’t likely to get any business today. Not with the hurricane watch that had been aired only half-an-hour after I’d arrived at the store. “It’s not really a day for walks.”

He shrugged. “I said I’d show up today, so I did.”

Hmm. Dedication. That was a new quality in Tiny Tots employees. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, as long as he remained oblivious.

“Do you have younger siblings?” I wondered.

He shook his head. “No, thank God.”

“Younger family members at all?”

His brow wrinkled and he looked confused. “No.” Confused looked good on him, I decided.

“Have you ever worked with kids?” I tried.

He was getting annoyed now. “Not really.” Annoyed looked even better on him. “Look, I’ve already had my interview and gotten the job. What’s with the third degree?”

“Well, last I checked this was a kids store.” That sounded rude, I realized after I’d stopped talking. I tried to lighten my tone. “Some experience with kids is a handy tool around here.”

He grinned, and I noticed that his left eyetooth was crooked. “I’m a kid at heart.”

Great, I thought. “Kid at heart” translated to “immature”, and dedication didn’t make up for that. Maybe it really was going to be that bad.

I did my job and gave him his uniform (beige pants, light-blue collared shirt, navy sweater vest), showed him where everything was, and taught him to organize the book and toy shelves, fold and hang the clothes, dress the mannequins, and work the cash register.

It was noon by the time we slowed down, and we hadn’t spoken about anything other than the job once.

The weather was really getting bad now—the street had disappeared behind a curtain of rain that was streaming down almost horizontally, and the winds were ripping up the occasional signpost and sapling.

“So much for a lunch break,” Stephen said, coming to stand beside me at the window.

I shied away. I tried to tell myself that it was because I hated my height being noticeable (though, really, who could miss it?), and at my skyscraper six-feet, I had a good five inches on this guy. But it didn’t work—I was moving because if I didn’t, there would be a repeat of the last time we’d met. And that would so not be cool.

“There’s a fridge in the back. I always keep a few things around in case I can’t leave.”

I motioned for him to follow me into the miniscule “staff-lounge”. It wasn’t much of a lounge, and there wasn’t much of a staff (the only other people who ever worked at Tiny Tots being Mrs. Sawyer and my boyfriend Carl, who were both on vacation in the Keys), but I was proud of my closet. And its gourmet-stocked kitchenette.

As I piled the containers of tuna salad, penne, devilled eggs, and chicken curry on the table, I watched one of his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “A few things?”

“I like to cook,” I replied in a “so-sue-me” tone. “You can pick whatever. There’s a microwave behind you.”

He turned to look for it, clearly not believing me, and made some weird noise half-way between a chuckle and a “hmm”. He picked up the chicken curry, asked me what it was (which earned an odd look and a sixty second analysis of all the ingredients), and then turned away again to nuke it.

I switched on the radio, fiddled with it for a while to find a station that hadn’t been knocked out by the storm, and then heated up my pasta. I love pasta. It deserves to be a food group in its own right. In fact, if I were making my own food groups, there would be three of them: pasta, soup and salad, and chocolate. That’s all anyone needs in their life. But I digress.

The radio station was fuzzy, but we sat in the lounge and ate lunch while listening silently. My leg jiggled the whole time. It does that when I’m nervous. And trust me—I was nervous about being alone in an enclosed space with this guy. The hurricane watch had turned into a warning, and power lines were being torn down left and right. They were predicting gale-force winds long into the night, and demanding that people not leave their homes or businesses unless it was an emergency.

Well that was just perfect. Here I was stuck in a store, with a guy whose name (he thought) I had known for about five and a half hours (when really I hadn’t been able to get rid of his name or face or… other qualities… for almost eight months). And we were most likely trapped for the night.

I’d say this could be classified as an emergency.

Too bad the lightning had started, or I would have seriously considered going to find a taxi that would be willing to drive through this crap.

“So what do we do now?” Stephen asked.

I went through the mental checklist of things I usually did during slow days, then discovered that everything had been done the day before.

“Not much, to tell the truth. Mom didn’t leave a whole lot.”

“ ‘Mom’?”

“Oh, Mrs. Sawyer.”

“You call your boss ‘mom’?” he asked, laughing.

I noticed something kind of weird when he laughed. Not about him, really, but more like the fact that my heart performed this little jig when he did it. Which it definitely shouldn’t have.

“I call my boyfriend’s mom ‘mom’,” I corrected rather harshly—more to remind myself than anything.

He looked surprised again. I wished he would stop doing that eyebrow thing. “That serious, is it?”

It was my turn to be surprised, because guys didn’t ask questions like that. At least, not any that I knew. But that feeling was quickly drowned out by a crash of thunder, the first big one of the day. I squealed and had to stop myself from diving underneath the table.

The roll of thunder lasted a good five seconds (though if you’d asked me at that moment, I’d have probably said that it was more like five minutes), during which time I dropped my food onto the table and curled into a little ball in my chair, clapping my hands over my ears and squeezing my eyes shut (which was pretty stupid, since you can’t see thunder, anyway). Stephen was laughing at me by the time I opened my eyes and went back for my food.

“Shut up,” I growled, suddenly testy.

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but he was still chuckling. I would have told him off, but the thunder rolled past again, just as loud—if not louder—than the one before it. That pretty much did it for my iron veneer, and I broke into tears.

That stopped the laughter pretty quick, replaced with panic. And it sure as hell didn’t improve my mood either—I detested crying in front of people. Not even Carl had seen me cry, and it had almost been a year since we first started going out. So the fact that I was crying in front of this guy (again) was kind of pissing me off.

And I’m not exactly a people person when I’m pissed off.

What made matters worse—oh, yes, it really could get worse—he decided to be the gentleman and attempt to comfort me, which constituted an arm around my shoulders and that voice in my ear.

I shook him off and stood, backing away until I hit the wall. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said, taking a step forward.

I’ll take a big fat helping of déjà-vu for five-hundred, Alex.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m fine!”

He held up his hands again. “Just trying to help.”

“Then don’t look at me!” Between my tears, red eyes, slightly splotchy face, and the fact that my voice kept cracking, I was neither sounding nor looking as bitchy as I wanted to.

The panic disappeared, but it didn’t really matter, because it was replaced with a look that I didn’t recognize at all. “Dawn, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody’s scared of something.”

It wasn’t what he said that hit me—I knew that it was true. No, it was the tone of voice he’d used when he said my name, because I’d only heard it once before, and let’s just say that it hadn’t come from my boyfriend.

Suddenly I felt betrayed, which was a stupid emotion, really, because it wasn’t like he’d done anything. Not this time, anyway. “You remember, don’t you?” I accused suddenly.

His facial expression would have been comical in any other situation. He looked like he’d tried to swallow his tongue. “You remember?” he exclaimed.

“Of course I remember,” I snapped.

The arrogance returned. “Because it was the best kiss of your life?” he said, raising that damned eyebrow haughtily.

“That must be it. Or, wait, maybe it’s because I cheated on my boyfriend!”

He scoffed. Yeah, seriously. He actually scoffed. Like cheating on Carl wasn’t a big deal! “Obviously it’s not a very satisfactory relationship if you’re hooking up with guys at parties.” He smirked. “Or if the way you’ve been lusting after me all day is any indication.”

I had no response to that. Honestly. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Because the fact of the matter was, even though I had convinced myself that things were better between Carl and I than they had been six months ago, I was still kind of warm for Stephen’s form. And just knowing that he knew this—or at least suspected it—made me feel like I was cheating all over again.

And, sadly, I might as well have been, ‘cause I’d pretty much been fantasizing about jumping his bones since eight o’clock in the morning.

“So what now?” I asked, because I wanted him to stop being a smart-a*s and actually take the situation seriously. Just as I finished talking, the power finally went out. Fabulous. Could the day get any worse?

Stephen wasn’t fazed by the sudden darkness, and he continued our conversation. “We could always make-out again. As I recall, we both kind of enjoyed that last time.” The smirk surely got bigger. “Or we could do something else.”

The tone of his voice left no room for debate about what that “something else” was, and my heart nearly stopped. He couldn’t be serious. “Keep dreaming,” I said shakily, and he shrugged, which I saw, because my eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness.

“It was worth a shot.”

Okay, he was kidding. The question was: why the hell didn’t I feel relieved?

“Stop being a jackass. This is really serious.” My voice was still shaking.

“What is? The storm? Did you know that you haven’t freaked out at the thunder for almost a minute and a half now?”

Gee, really? Maybe ‘cause I’m just a little busy freaking out about something else.

“No, you idiot. The fact that we’re stuck here. Together.”

“Oh, calm down. I’m not going to do anything to compromise your honour this time.”

Which was precisely the problem. Well, actually, the problem was that I kind of wanted him to. Compromise my honour, that is.

But I couldn’t let him know that. I straightened, smoothed out my hair, and took a deep breath. “Thank-you,” I said primly. “Because you really wouldn’t get anywhere.”

He had a good laugh at that one, and I could feel myself turning crimson. Was he just guessing, or was I really that transparent? Finally the gales died down, and he fixed me with a look that was sarcastic at best. “Give it up, baby. You might as well just throw yourself at me.”

I swear my jaw hit the floor. How could he be so… so… arrogant? No one was that full of themselves! I made a noise of disgust and pushed past him, into the main part of the store. Why am I always attracted to the jerks? I thought angrily.

To say that Stephen looked a little shocked when I brushed past him would be an understatement. No doubt those stupid good-looks and that stupid cocky manner worked on a lot of girls. Hey, it was working on me, and I, A, am taken, and, B, happen to pride myself on the fact that I don’t throw myself at the feet of every cute guy to walk past.

Just the idiots’, apparently.

“So, what, you’re going to ignore me all night?”

“If we’re stuck here that long, then yes, that is what I intend to do.” I wasn’t getting off on the best foot with that whole plan. This was stupid—I had some modicum of self-restraint… somewhere…. Surely I didn’t need to completely shun him to avoid mauling him.

“That’s dumb.” Stephen echoed my thoughts.

“Why?” I rolled my eyes at my own weakness—I couldn’t even keep from talking to him!

“Because I’m so damn irresistible,” he explained as though it were obvious.

I groaned audibly and headed for the cash desk, where I had stashed my latest novel. I really did need to learn to shut up.

 

The End. The words sent a pang of regret through me—now that I’d finished my book, it was going to be harder to ignore Stephen. The story was so engrossing that I barely noticed he was in the room while I read.

Oh, all right, fine! So I was watching him out of the corner of my eye so often that I ended up reading the same page three times. There’s nothing wrong with observing that he is an outstanding example of homo sapiens—you do the same with dogs, right?

“Ready to talk?” Stephen asked, seeing me close the paperback.

“No.”

He looked bored out of his mind, but I went over and began to straighten up toy racks, solely for something to do.

Stephen was fooling around with something behind the desk when I looked back up. I didn’t bother to ask what he was doing, even though I kind of wanted to know, because I would probably get some smart-alecky response.

“The phone’s dead,” he remarked a few seconds later.

I looked out the window at the storm. “No kidding?”

A few more moments of uncomfortable silence passed, and I began to feel sorry for him, because he really did look like he was struggling with this whole situation. But not that sorry, because I thought it was hilarious.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” I laughed.

“To what?”

“Not getting your way with a girl.”

“Well as a matter of fact….”

I laughed a little louder—why hadn’t I seen the comedy in this situation before?

“What’s so funny?” he mumbled, looking put out. And, really, why not? I was basically dissing his whole way of life.

“You are! It’s actually kind of pathetic, Stevie. You have to learn to get rejected.”

He scowled, but it just made me laugh harder. I think I was going a little stir-crazy, locked up in Tiny Tots, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop. Even when he came around the counter toward me, I just stood there and laughed my head off.

I laughed right up until he wrapped his hands around my neck, dragged my face down about five inches, and crashed his mouth against mine.

Yeah, that shut me up pretty quick.

And all right, I admit it: I kissed back.

What? It wasn’t every day cute boys go around grabbing me, and whatnot. I mean, jeez, Carl had a rather… physical… relationship style, but still. He didn’t tend to just attack me in a moment of unbridled passion. And that’s pretty much what Stephen was doing—well, except maybe the unbridled passion part. I had a feeling he just wanted to do what he had succeeded in doing, which was get me to stop laughing.

But it worked.

And for whatever reason—my own hidden emotions, or the fact that I just hadn’t been kissed the way he was kissing me in about, oh, seven and a half months (Carl’s not exactly Casanova, if you know what I mean)—I let him do it, and I maybe, kind of, sort of enjoyed it.

He seemed to realise what was going on suddenly and let go of me. I was blushing pretty fiercely by this point, and looking him in the eye wasn’t exactly an option for me, so I couldn’t really tell how he was feeling about the whole thing.

I’d like to say that he kissed me again and that we had this whole torrid make-out session up against a bookshelf, and that I suddenly realised the error of my ways and decided to ditch Carl in favour of Stephen. I’d love to be able to tell you that. It actually might be better than what really happened.

But that’s not the way it went.

‘Cause suddenly the fact that I—once again—had made out with a boy who was without a doubt not my boyfriend (though, as far as I knew at this point, the two probably could have been personality twins) caught up to me and I went running for cover.

Literally.

I did the only thing I could think of doing, the one thing that every girl does when she’s been embarrassed or burned in a public place and doesn’t want people to know:

I locked myself in the bathroom.

 

Stephen knocked on the door. “Dawn, you’ve been in there for hours! Are you going to come out any time soon?”

“I’d actually planned on staying in here, if you don’t mind.” It took a lot of skill not to let him know that I’d been crying.

“I do mind,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. “Look, Dawn, I didn’t mean to--” He stopped, and I was grateful. If he said that he didn’t mean to kiss me, I was probably going to break down again. I mean, seriously, it sucked that I had done it, but I sure didn’t want him to say it had been a mistake. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he resumed after a bit of silence.

Okay, I’m loath to admit that my heart kind of skipped when he said that. I couldn’t help it! It was just so sweet, and the way he said it was so cute, in this little tiny voice, like he was ashamed of himself.

Though now that I think about it, he was probably just feeling awkward about talking to a door.

But I was irrational at the time. How could I resist that tone? It wasn’t exactly an apology, but knowing Stephen (which I did), it was as good as I would ever get. So I reached up from my spot on the floor and unlocked the door, making sure that he could hear me do it. A second later the door opened, and there he stood. The power had clearly come back on during the hours that I had spent in my cave, because the light was shining in from behind him, making him glow, kind of ethereal-like. He would make a good Greek god, I decided at that moment, staring up at him.

And that was how I knew that I was in trouble.

Big trouble.

Because when a guy starts to get more attractive all of a sudden, it doesn’t bode well for the female--especially when said female can’t abstain from feeling up said guy. I almost shut the door in his face when I realised where my train of thought was headed--but then I’d have to explain it to him, and how embarrassing would that be?

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Stephen asked.

“Does this mean you’re apologising?” Hey, it couldn’t hurt to try.

“I said I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Just because you didn’t mean to do it doesn’t mean you’re sorry it happened.”

He sighed, and I could see how much it was going to kill him to admit it. “Yes, I’m sorry,” he ground out between his teeth.

I jumped up off the floor. “Well, okay, then. I guess I forgive you.”

I trounced past him, and he just kind of stood there in the doorway, his jaw on the floor for the second time that day. “Just like that?” he cried. “You’re not going to fight me on it, or sulk for another couple hours?”

“Why should I? I cooled off, you apologised, I pretended that I thought you meant it and forgave you, and that should be the end of it.”

“So... you’re not mad?” he inquired cautiously.

“Why should I be? It’s not like I even made an attempt to push you off.”

He sighed. “I’ve officially met the only rational woman on the planet. Well, except for that whole storm thing. So why did you lock yourself in the bathroom, if you’re not angry?”

“Hello? I just made out with you. And last I checked you are not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, first of all, that wasn’t an answer. And, two, that wasn’t making out. Besides, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him right?”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!”

“And we’re back to irrational,” he groaned. “Why is it so terrible? We’ve got cabin fever, and we kissed. It isn’t a big deal, and it isn’t worth destroying your relationship over.”

He was wrong. It was a big deal. But I was starting to think that maybe it was also a reason to leave Carl. I mean, if I couldn’t even contain my own hormones long enough to stop kissing a total stranger, what hope did Carl and I have as a couple?

“Cabin fever,” I muttered, disgusted both with myself and with the situation. “I think this is a little more than cabin fever, as much as I hate to say it.”

“Meaning…?”

I glared at him. He knew perfectly well what I meant: I could see it in the arch of that hellish eyebrow. “Meaning,” I snapped, “that I’m ashamed of doing it, but that I don’t think it was a mistake.”

My cheeks, I was sure, were going to be permanently stained red by the time we got out of Tiny Tots.

Stephen looked surprised. “You don’t?”

I took a deep breath. “No. But that doesn’t mean it was right.”

“And so?”

I sighed. “Stephen, it can’t happen again.”

“Technically, it could. I mean, you have lips, I have lips, they seem to like touching….” He trailed off with a smile, which disappeared when I scoffed.

“I’m serious. So unless you promise that you won’t try anything else, I’m going to have to leave.”

I shuddered just thinking about going out in the storm, though I tried to hide it. Even though it had let up during my hours in the bathroom, it still wasn’t going to be any picnic to walk through.

“I won’t promise anything of the sort,” he replied haughtily. “But you won’t leave, either,” he added.

“What makes you so sure?”

“You want me,” he responded carelessly.

Duh. That was the problem!

I repeated this aloud, which I probably shouldn’t have, because the arrogance increased ten-fold, if that were even possible.

But I also saw a little bit of surprise behind his eyes—just a little bit. And suddenly I knew that the confidence he was giving off (almost as strongly as what had to be pheromones), was an act. A total and complete act. He had no clue, this entire time, how I was feeling about him, or myself, or the kiss we’d shared over half-a-year ago.

Meaning I’d just dug myself into a very, very big hole, because now he not only had power over me, but he knew it, too.

I looked over my shoulder at the window, which was still being pounded by rain, and sighed. I really didn’t want to go out there.

But I knew that I had no choice. It was either get wet, or get kissed, and although I ultimately preferred the latter (who wouldn’t), I knew the former was better for my sanity.

And my physical well being, too. Bruised lips are no joke.

I went into the back, got my coat, and slipped it on, zipping it up to my chin. I put on the hood, and walked back out to the front, with Stephen’s coat on my arm. I threw it at him, and he caught it, looking at me like I was crazy.

“You can’t seriously intend to walk in this.”

“Yes, and so do you.”

“Not a chance.”

“Well, you’re not staying here by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you enough,” I said bluntly, and I picked up the keys from the desk. Out went the lights, up went the Closed sign in the door, and then I shoved him ahead of me into the storm.

“Which way’s your house?” he yelled over the wind.

I pointed behind me.

“Oh. I’m the other way.”

Thank God.

“Are you going to get me fired?” he wanted to know.

“Why would I do that?”

                 “So you don’t have to see me anymore.”

                 But I want to see you, I thought guiltily to myself. I didn’t respond to his statement, however.
                 I turned and started to walk away, but his voice stopped me.
                 “What will you do about Carl?” he shouted.
                 “I’ll tell him the truth,” I replied honestly. “And he can do whatever he wants to with it.”
                 And I knew that he would want to use it as a reason to dump my cheating behind.
                 “Oh.”
                 He wasn’t so eloquent now. I would have laughed if I weren't feeling so idiotic... and guilty.
                 “I’ll see you later.” It was clearly more of a question than a statement.
                 I should have said no. I should have told him that, as a matter of fact, I had decided to tell Mrs. Sawyer that Stephen wasn't going to work out, and that we would never meet again. But I didn't, because, as I'm sure I've said before, I'm an idiot. So instead of shouting "No way!" at the top of my lungs the way my head told me to, I smiled at him.
                 “Yeah, you will.”