It had been five weeks and he hadn’t done much more than kiss her and hold her hand. Which in itself was enough to freak Margaret out. Guys just didn’t do that. Their hands wandered and they wanted some personal attention paid to their private parts. At least in Margaret’s experience.

Which is why she decided it was time to make the next move.

Monday afternoon, Margaret knocked on Leo’s door and hovered in the doorway.

“Yeah,” he grumbled.

“Are we working late?” she asked quietly, staring at her notepad.

“Nine, ten o’clock.”

Margaret inwardly groaned. “Okay.”

There must have been something in her voice because Leo’s head shot up. “You have plans?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, moving to leave.

“Margaret?” Leo called and she spun around. “You can leave when you’ve finished typing the letters.”

“I go. . .”

“Yeah, I know. But I think we can make an exception, this once.” He grinned inanely at her. “I take it things are going well with Toby.”

Margaret bobbed her head and smiled. “They’re okay. After tonight they may. . ., “ she trailed off as she realized what she was about to tell her boss.

Leo coughed, “That’s enough information. Just be careful.”

Her eyes went wide as she noted his teasing grin and his twinkling eyes. “Leo!”

He shrugged and returned to his work. He rubbed his eyes as the images threatened to overwhelm him.

******

Margaret left the Wing at eight o’ clock, after dropping by Toby’s office briefly to let him know she was leaving. She drove home with her radio turned up full volume and the windows wound down to enjoy the last of the summer heat. It would be Autumn soon and she wouldn’t get to see the outdoors much in the coming months, if previous years were anything to go on.

At home she kicked off her shoes and started dinner. Leaving the chops to marinate, she peeled the potatoes and popped them in a pan. That done she began to undress, dropping her clothes into the laundry basket.

She stood under the shower, allowing the mixture of steam and lavender shower gel to cleanse her. Her voice sang along to silent music as she relaxed and contemplated what she needed to do to achieve her plan. Finally she switched off the faucet and climbed out. Towelling herself off, she dabbed perfume on her most sensitive areas before standing in front of her open closet.

She had contemplated wearing her black satin negligee for dinner, but she had visions of him gulping nervously and choking on a bone. Her suits seemed too formal and her sweats seemed a little too casual. Instead she settled on a simple floral sundress, one that buttoned up the front.

Pulling her hair into a clip, she returned to the kitchen and started the grill.

She was just tidying magazines off the coffee table when she heard his soft knocking on the door. Smiling to herself, she tossed the magazines into the rack and crossed to the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey Margaret,” he greeted, stepping over the threshold and kissing her lightly on the cheek. His fingers brushed her arm as he pulled back. “How was your day?”

“Same old. My boss is still a tyrant,” Margaret teased.

“I’m sure Ginger says the same thing about me.” Toby threw his jacket over the back of the chair and followed Margaret into the kitchen.

“So what’s for dinner?” he asked, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

“Chops.” She had thought about going to the extreme of oysters, but having never tried them she didn’t particularly want to be ill in front of him. “Okay?”

“Sounds good,” he whispered against her hair. “Margaret?”

She shook her at his whiny inflection. It was obvious what was coming. “Go.”

He kissed her neck again and headed into the living room. A few seconds later the play by play for the Yankees game drifted through the doorway. He had long since given up trying to explain the rules to her. Instead he watched part of the game, or the highlights while she cooked, and then for the rest of the evening he was all hers. Of course getting him away from the television was easier said than done.

“Toby,” she called. Getting no answer she tried again. “Toby.”

“Home run,” came a shriek from the other room.

She hadn’t thought it possible until a few weeks ago, but Toby shrieked when he was excited. Of course she had yet to discover what he did when he was really excited but she fully intended to change all that.

“Who are they playing?” Margaret asked, perching herself on the arm of the couch.

“Toronto Blue Jays,” he offered, not even looking away from the game.

“So you’re pulverising the Canadians?”

“Yeah.” His face broke out into a broad smile.

Margaret shook her head. “Dinner’s ready.”

He turned to look at her briefly. “Can we eat on the coffee table?” he asked hopefully, flashing her a smile.

Margaret swallowed and without missing a beat said, “Okay, but I want sex later.”

“Okay.”

Her jaw dropped momentarily at his nonchalant acceptance. Then she shrugged at the knowledge he probably hadn’t heard what she’d said.

She returned with two plates and cutlery. Handing one to Toby she settled down beside him. They ate in silence, as he watched the game and she watched him.

She wasn’t sure when he had become such a big part of her life, or when she’d started to mark her days around seeing him. The first thing was changing her route to the Mess so that she passed his office. The second was the way he always left via her office after staff. And of course their Monday nights.

“This is great,” he mumbled, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You must let me cook for you one night.”

“Ah, Miss Julia Child,” Margaret teased.

“Don’t mock the best.”

“Okay.” Margaret took his empty plate and wandered into the kitchen. Checking he was still engrossed, she did the dishes.

The sound of his footsteps crossing her kitchen was the first Margaret realized the game had finished.

“Who won?”

Toby muttered something and picked up the dishcloth. He began to dry the plates one by one. “I thought perhaps you’d gone to bed.”

Margaret shook her head ruefully. “Nope, just engrossed in domesticity.”

“If you say so,” Toby mocked. “So you’re not ready for bed?” He bit his bottom lip as he grimaced at the not so hidden implication behind his words.

She turned to look at him, her emotions evident in her face. “You want to go home?”

“No, I . . .,” he stammered, shuffling back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You, er, said, something about sex.” His cheeks took on a deep shade of pink against his beard.

Margaret flushed crimson and continued to soak her hands in the dishwater. “Oh.”

“Look, maybe I should go,” Toby growled, mentally chastising himself for being so stupid.

“No,” she said, her voice barely audible. “You can stay if you’d like. I mean, if you don’t have work to finish.”

Toby dropped the dishcloth on to the drainer and placed a hand on her hip. “Shall I make coffee?”

Margaret swallowed and twisted to look up at him, her face composed. “I don’t actually want coffee, do you?”

He shook his head and tugged her hip towards him. “You don’t have to do this. I’m in no hurry.”

“And here was I wondering how you’d react with a home run of your own,” she laughed, nervously.

Toby’s smile started at the corners of his mouth and soon reached his eyes. “You really want to find out?”

Margaret dried her hands on the cloth and stepped into his embrace. A bob of her head followed before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “Want to retire to the bedroom for the first innings?”

Toby broke the kiss and released her waist. “I just need to get something from my wallet,” he admitted, embarrassed. “I won’t be a second.”

After he had gone, Margaret leaned against the sink, a radiant smile on her face. It faded as her thoughts drifted to the predictable awkwardness of the morning after.

“Margaret?” he called softly from the doorway, his hand extended towards her. His eyes never left her face as he waited patiently for her to say she had changed her mind.

Her fingers entwined with his as she brushed past him in the doorway.

“Batter up!” she quipped.

The End

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