Page 29 of Doc Hollywood

“You need to eat before you go to work. It was all I could find. Unless you wanted leftover Thai for breakfast?” Taylor took a step towards the fridge.

“No, the toast is great. Thanks,” Clara said quickly, stopping him before she slowly lifted a slice of bread off her plate and bit into it, while she stared at Taylor.

He brought his hand up to his face, rubbing at his cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clara’s eyes snapped away. It was hard to get used to the fact that he was a real man standing in her kitchen and not an image on a screen that she could stare at for as long as she wanted.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she silently ate her food, ignoring his question until she had finished the first slice.

“You realise how ridiculous this all is?” Clara finally broke the silence, which hadn’t become uncomfortable despite having gone on for some time.

“What?” Taylor paused his coffee halfway to his lips, a puzzled expression on his face.

“This,” Clara gestured at him, then around her kitchen. When Taylor still looked bewildered, she clarified, “You, being here. Standing in my crappy old kitchen. In my shitty old house. To you, this is just another Wednesday, doing some research for your movie. For me, I have Superman standing in the middle of my kitchen. Making me toast and giving me coffee.” She glared at him. “By the way, that was a hint. Can I have a coffee? I spilt my last one.”

Taylor saluted and turned to put another cup into the coffee machine he was standing in front of. Clara tried not to watch the muscles in his forearm ripple under his skin but failed dismally, taking the opportunity to stare at him while his attention wasn’t on her.

When he turned back around with a cup held out to her, she quickly moved her eyes to the coffee machine, pretending she had been watching that all along, not him.

Taking a sip of coffee, Clara sighed in relief.

“I like being here,” Taylor said simply.

Clara’s gaze flew back to his, unsure if she had heard him correctly. Had Taylor Anderson just said he liked being in her very shabby house?

“Umm, what now?”

“Let me ask you a question. What do you want from me?” Taylor stared straight into her eyes.

Clara couldn’t look away from him as she thought about the question before finally answering, “A coffee. I’d like another coffee.” She held her cup out to him, shaking it to show it was empty.

A burst of laughter erupted from Taylor, and he leaned over to grab hold of the cup, his fingers brushing hers as he took it.

Clara nearly flinched at the tingle that shot up her arm but managed to keep a mask on her face, not letting him see how much he affected her.

Taylor was silent as he waited for the machine to produce another coffee. When he handed it over, their hands touched again, and Clara felt another tingle. She mentally berated herself. At this rate, the next thing she was going to do would be to start giggling and simpering like an idiot.

But she definitely didn’t giggle. In fact, one complaint Jack had levelled towards her near the end of their relationship was that her laugh was too loud, that she snorted, that she looked unattractive while she laughed, and that she needed to make her laugh more ladylike.

Clara had been puzzled by that one; how could her laugh be such a problem? It hadn’t mattered anyway, as life wasn’t that funny when you had to constantly walk on eggshells, waiting for what would make the other person explode. So she barely laughed. She barely smiled. She had forgotten what it was like to laugh so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Where did you just go?” Taylor reached over and touched her arm.

Clara snapped back to reality, pushing the memories of the past back down. “Sorry?”

“The look on your face was so bleak. You looked like you were remembering something terrible,” he murmured, rubbing her arm, sending more electricity shooting through her body.

“Sorry. Bad memories. They catch me occasionally,” she apologised, shaking herself. “Anyway, what were you asking me? What I wanted from you?” Her eyebrows rose in question.

Clara glanced down at his large, warm hand and knew she should step back out of his grip, that all she was doing was deluding herself. Instead, she stood there, revelling in the comfort and warmth of another human’s touch.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Taylor squeezed her arm.

“No.” Clara shook her head, and despite her brief words, her voice was warm.

She strangely did want to tell him about it. Tell him about what a shit Jack had been to her. Instead, like she always did, she put her walls back up and carried on like nothing was wrong.

“Okay.” Taylor nodded. “I asked, what did you want from me? And you answered?”

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