[For Jack] A post-Valentine's nightcap

[st_illunsmeared]

Still in the grip of yesterday's affliction, Phryne retired early and dismissed Dot for the evening. Distress in no small part due to not having been able to find a rational cause for the lust outbreak, she sought to distract herself with a mystery novel. But the inspector had none of Jack's cleverness or finesse, and she soon found herself wandering aimlessly from one room of her suite to the next.

That was the other part of the distress, she was woman enough to admit. Jack. It had hurt unbelievably to see him kiss another woman. Even knowing the truth of why, the mental image made her chest ache and her jaw clench. It was uncomfortable for more reasons than one.

"Fie," she muttered, turned on her heel and called room service (which usually amounted to one of the bartenders cashiering the nearest available person to roll the cart to her room).

An hour, a cocktail, and a long soak later found her draped over her sitting room couch with another novel (this one with a female sleuth) and another cocktail, dressed to please herself and no one else.

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[st_illunsung]

As he'd gotten out of the habit of calling ahead when he intended to visit Phryne for an evening nightcap, and saw no particular reason to get back into the habit when they'd found each other at the Inn, Jack didn't call ahead tonight, either. As much as possible, he wanted to present, consistently, his desire that the previous day's events not ruin what they were finally, slowly building.

The flowers were therefore not an apology, exactly. They were bright and vibrant and as such had reminded him of her, and thus made an appropriate gift.

And if there was a flicker of uncertainty as he knocked on Phryne's now-familiar door, he ignored it. They both deserved better than last-second cowardice from him.