Page 17 of Doc Hollywood

Pulling open her freezer, she groaned unhappily as it was nearly empty too; she searched through it, looking for anything vaguely nutritious. Her hands finally closed around a frozen vegetarian lasagne, and she pulled it out, wincing as the cold penetrated her fingers.

Reading the instructions, she grumbled again when she saw it would take fifty minutes to cook and turned the oven on. The alternative was eating toast again, and as that had been at least fifty percent of her meals so far that week, she figured she needed to eat some vegetables.

While waiting for the oven to heat up, Clara showered and gratefully pulled her warm winter pyjamas on; they were ugly, with red tartan print and buttons up to the neck; not that she cared, they were warm. She added her pink slippers to the ensemble and giggled at herself in the mirror.

It may have been two in the morning when they had arrived home the night before, but she still had enough sense to keep this outfit hidden from her unexpected guest. These pyjamas were purely alone in the house wear.

By the time she was dressed, her oven had heated, so she threw the lasagna in and set an alarm, knowing she was at a high risk of falling asleep.

She dragged her heavy legs to the living room and flopped onto the sofa. Snagging the remote from where she had last discarded it, she opened Netflix and began to scroll through, looking for something to watch.

Her fingers froze when the second Superman movie appeared on the screen, and she sat staring at Taylor as the promo for the film played.

Her mind flashed back to Jack’s anger, and her hand moved up to her cheek, rubbing it. But for the first time since that night, Jack’s face was replaced by someone else’s, and she could only picture Taylor. His eyes, his smile, his muscled arms, and most of all, the small kindnesses he had shown her.

She stared at the screen longer, waiting for the trauma of being with Jack to flood back in again, but it didn’t.

Shaking her head to stop herself from mooning over Taylor, she kept scrolling, looking for something to watch, but nothing caught her attention, and suddenly, her fingers, almost without her input, were taking her back to Superman.

She hesitated for a moment longer before finally clicking on it and setting the movie to play.

It wasn’t long before a scene came on that had Clarke Kent shedding his work clothes and stepping into the shower. Clara blushed scarlet. It was one thing to look at him undressed when he was a movie star, a theory of a person. It was another when she had spent the last two days with him and planned onspending a few more. It seemed wrong, as if she was a peeping Tom, which she knew was ridiculous as this was literally his job.

She got through her moral dilemma by only sneaking glances at the screen until he had his clothes back on again.

Then she was sucked into the movie about a world where heroes were real and could save the day.

Superman was just about to save Lois Lane, who, quite frankly, should have known better than to get herself into another life-threatening situation, when her doorbell rang.

She frowned and paused the movie before hauling herself to her feet and shuffling down the hallway to the front door. Clara put the chain on before she opened it a crack.

“Can I help you?” she asked the tall man standing with his back to her, who spun around when she spoke.

Clara’s jaw dropped open when she realised that Taylor Anderson stood on her doorstep clutching, she glanced down at his hands to count, four different takeaway bags.

“Hi.” He waved the food bags at her and grinned.

“Hi,” Clara muttered back and kept staring.

When she made no move to let him in, Taylor began to shuffle on the spot. “I brought you food.” He waved the bags again.

Clara’s eyes were drawn down to the rustle of the bags, but again, it was the muscles in his forearms that held her gaze, and her heartbeat kicked up to the uncomfortable rate it had sat at all day with him around.

When she still didn’t say anything, he added. “And I have ice cream.”

Clara’s stupor finally broke, and a smile teased at the corner of her lips. “If it’s not Ben and Jerry’s, you’re not coming in.”

Taylor’s eyes widened, his hand dived into one of the bags, and he triumphantly pulled out a pint of cookies and cream Ben and Jerry’s.

“In that case.” She removed the chain from the door and swung it open, forgetting about her interesting pyjama and slipper combination.

When his eyes widened slightly in surprise, she glanced down and blushed as red as the top she wore. “Clearly, I was not expecting guests.”

“I have seen a very similar ensemble on a catwalk in Paris, so actually, you’re quite fashionable.” He eyed her outfit. “Although now I think about it, the pink slippers had bunny ears and high heels.” He lifted his eyebrow and grinned.

Clara shook her head and stepped aside, “Come in before my neighbours see me entertaining strange men in my pyjamas.”

Taylor strode into her house, immediately making everything seem smaller; he was such a giant.

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