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The buzzing of his mobile makes Malcolm tear his eyes from the TV that he wasn’t really watching. He tries to find it within himself to grab it.
Bzzzt
It won’t stop.
With a grunt, Malcolm tries to stretch his arm for the phone, barely just brushing it on the coffee table. His arm slumps to the ground in defeat. He refuses to sit up, the family size of crisps on his chest he has balanced on his chest would fall on the floor.
Tired eyes follow the movements of the vibrating mobile until it falls off the table and on the floor within reaching distance. Surely by now, it’ll go to voicemail.
Bzzzt
It’s still ringing…
Malcolm snatches the phone with a dramatic groan. Nicola Murray’s name appears on his screen. He answers with a grunt, eyes lazily going back to whatever show was on.
“Oh! Malcolm? This is Nicola” Her painfully sweet voice answers.
Malcolm paws around the bag for something solid among the crumbs, pointedly saying nothing. Of course he knows it’s her. Doesn’t she know how caller ID works?
The receiver crackles as Nicola breathes out a laugh. She’s nervous. He can sense the real question that she wants to ask is on the tip of her tongue, but she has to work her way up to it. He can hear her mess around what sounds like the kitchen with different clinking of metal pans. Malcolm takes up imagining her banging pots and pans around while pacing in her kitchen. More entertaining than whatever he had put on telly.
“So… are you in the middle of something?”
“Yeah”
“That isn’t a bag of junk?”
Malcolm sniffs in annoyance and crinkles his bag so Nicola could hear through the phone. “Then no”
There was silence. Even the background noise ceases. He knows what she wants to ask and they go through the same song and dance. Just ask it, Nicola. Give me an excuse-
“Do you think-Can you come over?”
Of course he will. Whatever this thing is between them, some type of weird relationship and not at the same time, they use each other. Nicola invites him over, especially when the kids are over James’, to distract from the lonely silence. A way to keep her nattering brain from asphyxiating itself. Malcolm willing comes over to distract from the same thing. No more plotting, backstabbing, blackmailing… God it’s boring.
But, Malcolm will never admit it.
“You got something better to offer than crisps?”
Nicola sighs heavily into the receiver, annoyed of course that she has to entice him and he can hear her banging cabinet doors and opening the fridge. It’s part of the game.
“Left over meatloaf?” Nicola offers with an irritated tone.
“Goodbye”
“No, wait!” Nicola says too quickly, then quieter, as if recalibrating. “I—I can make us a chocolate cake?”
It was a good bargain, but it wasn’t the point. The point is that he’ll go over anyway, whether she had nothing at all.
“Fine” Malcolm hangs up abruptly and waits precisely 15 minutes before he gets ready. He puts on a fleece, because he knows she likes it when he does, and grabs something he already bought for her. He’s been anticipating this for a few days, but always refuses to initiate the contact.
Nicola answers the door way before Malcolm could knock on it with a big smile on her face. The type that squints up her eyes. As if she’s actually pleased to see him and not annoyed at him. He can feel the thump of his traitorous heart, but his face keeps playing the game with a bored expression.
“Here” he offers her a box of Queen Anne’s. He doesn’t know why she likes it much, but he remembers she does and how she moaned last time that she couldn’t find them.
The gasp in delight almost got his lips to quirk. Almost. But, when she leans up on her toes to kiss his cold cheek, well…
Time feels like it slows down. Her warm lips linger against his skin. Malcolm’s eyes close to savor it. It’s… nice.
“Yeah, it’s fine” Malcolm dismisses, his voice crackling like gravel. “Can I come in now or am I gonna have to go full Nicolas Cage in The Shining?”
“That’s Jack Nicholson, Malcolm” Nicola says, leaving Malcolm at the threshold. An open invitation.
The kitchen is warm and cozy from the oven preheating, and Malcolm watches Nicola flounce over to the mixing bowl like this is all perfectly normal.
“Do you want the spoon?” Nicola calls out, looking behind her and seeing Malcolm stopped at the doorway of the kitchen.
“No, I don’t want the spoon” he scoffs, “Heard of salmonella?”
“Oh, please. My children lick the spoon all the time”
“Riddled with diseases too” Malcolm emphasizes with a waggle of his fingers at her.
Nicola rolls her eyes with a smirk on her face. When Malcolm hasn’t made a move to come in, she grabs Malcolm’s wrist and tugs him properly into the kitchen. Now that he’s inside her house, she’s in charge.
“There,” she says, positioning him beside the counter like he’s been stationed there. “Now you’re helping.”
“I don’t remember applying for kitchen duty,” Malcolm mutters.
She chuckles, turning back to the bowl and resumes mixing, but Malcolm doesn’t move away.
“Hand me the sugar,” she says absently.
Malcolm grabs the bag beside him and passes it over. Their fingers brush for half a second too long.
Neither of them comments.
Nicola pours the sugar in, stirring slower now. Malcolm leans against the counter, closer than he meant to be. Close enough that he can see the crease between her brows when she concentrates.
Not another word passes between them, just the familiar tension that settles in whenever Malcolm comes over. Nicola’s hands start to shake in the anticipation. Malcolm makes her stew in it, just a bit longer.
He finally takes the bowl from her and resumes mixing until the last lumps disappear, then pours the batter into the pan.
Malcolm saunters back to her, catching her wringing hands in his before bending down to press his lips to hers.
She tastes like chocolate and he immediately stops the kiss with a groan. She must have snuck some in her mouth like an impatient kid.
“Can’t even wait for the cake, can you? Just love risking shitting your pants.”
“Very lovely, Malcolm” she deadpans, grabbing his shirt front and dragging him back down.
“Unbelievable” Malcolm mutters against her lips
“Mm” she hums back, setting the pace slower. It lingers. Builds. The kind of kiss that threatens to turn into something else that neither of them need to say out loud.
Malcolm exhales sharply against her mouth, one hand tightening at her waist—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The oven’s done preheating.
Malcolm lets his forehead drop briefly against hers with a groan.
“Cake” Nicola reminds them both.
“Right” he mutters, breaking from her and grabbing two mugs from the cabinet over her.
As Nicola puts the cake into the oven, Malcolm makes the tea. He dances around her, getting the tea she prefers and the tea she keeps just for him in the back.
She leans against the counter and Malcolm moves to box her in, looking down at her with his intense gaze.
“20 minutes” Nicola murmurs, resting her hands on his shoulders.
And he’ll stay much longer than that