A/N: for those who were wondering where Porte Orlands is, it's a fictional town in England, approximately a one-hour drive from London when there's little/mild traffic.

/ dedicated to Srijani for the lover banner up above. It's so perfect! /

So, um *cough cough* this a dramatic chapter. Perhaps it will shed more light upon the characters. Happy reading!

I awoke—alone and confused. I looked around me and noticed that I wasn't in my bedroom. I hadn't forgotten what had happened last night but merely sitting here and looking about Bruce's room made me feel giddy and excited again.

I looked to the empty spot beside me and frowned. I wondered where he was. Maybe he was being his usual gentlemanly self and decided to cook us breakfast.

Bruce. Oh shit. Suddenly, last night hit me. It was not what happened last night but rather what I felt, cocooned in the safety and warmth of Bruce's arms before I fell asleep. I had been thinking of blue eyes, a similar pair of eyes that I had loved in my teenage days. 

No, I told myself. Yes, you were thinking of blue eyes and not Bruce's chocolate brown ones but Riley has the same blue eyes. You weren't thinking of Finn. You were thinking of Riley. You miss Riley.

I did miss him. I missed my son. It was only yesterday that I'd seen him but it was the first weekend that he was actually out of the town and living with his father. I never quite thought living and father would be in the same sentence when it came down to Finn and our son but now things were looking up and if I was truly honest I was happy that Riley was getting time to spend with his father.

I frowned, playing with my fingers as I looked down at them. It was a bit unfair. I had cleared up my entire weekend for Riley this semester and now he was spending it at Finn's which was all due to me since I was the one who initiated the weekend plans. Oh God, I was confused myself. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what I was really truly feeling about Finn's, Riley's and my situation.

"Why the glum face, Hottie Maddie?" came a gravely smooth voice and I instantly lifted my head to find Bruce standing before me in nothing but boxers that did little to hide his masculinity. Heat blossomed at the base of my neck and creeped up my face as images of last night flashed through my mind.

"This isn't my glum face," I said smilingly. White lies never hurt anyone. "I was just thinking about last night."

"And you regret it?"

I rolled my eyes. "This isn't my glum face," I persisted. "I really was thinking about last night."

"Yeah? What about last night?" Bruce asked, his lips lifting into a sly grin as his brown eyes lit up mischievously.

I held out my hands, beckoning him forward. He placed his hands in mine and I tugged him forward, slithering my hands up his arms, up those muscular biceps and into his soft black hair that my fingers naturally curled into. I came within close proximity to him as he lowered his head, gazed at me through lustful eyes that shot down my spine and ignited the flame that had danced between our bodies last night. "Bruce..." I whispered.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, grazing his nose against mine.

"Where's my good morning?"

"Maybe brush your teeth and we'll see about that good morning," he said.

"You're such a tease," I giggled.

"No, I'm serious," he chuckled, leaning over and placing a quick kiss on my cheek. "I'm making breakfast and I came to check if you were awake."

"Oh," I sputtered. I was thinking of a million things to say and finally, settling for a single thought, I added, "You better not steal that kiss away from me. I'll be out in a few."

"Why don't you take a shower?" he said, with his hand on the door handle of the room. "I'll check on breakfast before using the shower. I'll use the one upstairs."

I smiled a bit awkwardly. "But why? It's not like we're going anywhere."

Bruce looked at me confused. "Did I not mention that I work on Saturdays at ten?"

"Uh, no," I started, becoming slightly agitated by his offish behaviour this morning. "Apparently in the midst of this entire week you failed to mention it."

"Well, I work on Saturdays at ten in the morning," he said, still smiling but awkwardly when he sensed the change of tone in my voice. God, he even had the nerve to smile.

"A little too late to inform me, don't you think?" I retorted.

His smile crumbled. "Come on, Madilyn. I'm a very busy man and—"

"Oh, I get it," I declared hotly, rising from my bed and gathering the pretty dress I had worn last night off the floor. "You're a busy, busy man. You have lots and lots of work to do. I should be thankful that you spared some time off your hectic schedule to shag me. Thank you so much, Mr Vela. You were brilliant last night and I will be forever in your debt for having spared some of your precious time to fuck me."

There was silence after my outburst and the anger that had been simmering in my veins began to quell. I was blowing things out of proportion and I was getting worked up over nothing. I knew that. There was no reason for me to get angry. I couldn't even begin to understand where this anger was coming from. Maybe it was the nerves from last night being finally released out into the open and if it was I wanted to desperately suck it back in, especially after I caught the sight of Bruce's expression that looked like a face akin to that of a crestfallen one.

Just as I was about to open my mouth and apologise he spoke up. "You know what, Madilyn? You should be thankful. I have a lot of things to do. I'm actually working my arse off to get a promotion and if I do get that promotion—hallelujah! Maybe I can spare more time for you. But I am not to blame for not telling you that I work on Saturdays. I told you how I was dedicated to my work, how I did it at home too. It was a no brainer that I worked Saturdays as well."

And just like that the anger shot right back and I forgot why I wanted to apologise in the first place. I slithered into my dress, throwing everything on in a rush. I didn't care if I looked a mess. I couldn't stand to be in this room any longer. The argument had accelerated quickly and I was not ready for this. Couples argued, I understood that, but we had only been dating for a week. We knew things were going fast but that didn't mean those inevitable arguments had to be right around the corner waiting to pounce on us.

"What the hell are you doing?" he questioned, watching me like I was out of my mind and perhaps I was.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I yelled, looking at him. "I am leaving!"

"You can't leave."

"I believe I can."

"What has gotten into you?"

"What has gotten into you?" I asked back. "You're such a gentleman. I thought you were."

"Fine, go," he gave up. "You're such a drama queen."

"I honestly can't be arsed by your thoughts of me," I bit out icily, before I stalked forwards, brushed past him and ran to the door. I was barefooted but I didn't quite care. The raging emotions in me were going wild and I couldn't be next to the problem if I was trying to calm down. Grabbing my coat from the coat rack that was stationed near the front door, I put it on hurriedly before I opened the door and instantly yelped when the icy weather kissed at my open skin. Hissing all the way to my car, I fumbled with my purse in search for my keys. I found them and ran all the way to the car, trying to bear the bitter cold that now seemed to be biting my skin before I unlocked my car, got in and put the key into the ignition. I looked out of the window to see Bruce standing there in nothing but his boxers, staring unbelievingly at me like I had truly gone bonkers.

Turning to face the road, I took the car out of park, put it into reverse and began to back up from his driveway. Once in the clear I began to drive. Not back to my house but to London. What I was looking for in London was unknown to me at that precise moment but once I entered London I knew what I was looking for and it wasn't to see my son. It was to see my son's farther. But I couldn't face Finn like that. I needed comfort and Finn was not the answer. He hadn't been for the last six years so why should he now? It was wrong of me. Completely and totally wrong. And so I turned around, driving back to Porte Orlands, back to Bruce's house hoping desperately that he was there waiting for me.

* * * * *

I cooked dinner. I had cooked dinner before but never have I ever cooked such a fancy meal in my life. Surveying everything that was on the dining table in the dining room I didn't even feel like I cooked a meal. It felt like I cooked a miniature feast.

Bruce wasn't in his house by the time I returned back to Porte Orlands from foolishly driving to London without thinking twice about the situation. I didn't have the key to his apartment but I assumed there would be one lying beneath the door mat as there often were in the films I had watched. The assumption I had made was true and after taking the key from beneath the dusty mat, opening the door and welcoming myself inside his house, I wondered how it was that I was going to make up for my harsh words this morning.

Maybe Noah's words got into my head. He had said that I seemed unhappy. But I was happy. Was I satisfied? I didn't know. I thought I was. To be honest, I felt rather confused and the actual meaning of satisfied was nowhere to be found in my dictionary.

I was overthinking. I always overthought everything. Past experiences taught me to be better, to never let my guard down and that possibly may be why I was so abrasive this morning. I hadn't even considered how Bruce must have felt having to go to work and give up a perfectly good weekend. I knew he was hardworking. I knew that. I knew he worked at home most times too and yet, for some reason, without even talking to him I blew my top. The reason as to why I got infuriated was not known to me at that moment so I decided that I should keep myself occupied, think of what I should do to apologise to him. So after making a quick detour at the supermarket, and a stop at my house to pick up a few books and a few of my favourite music CD's to listen over to and put on in the evening when he got home, I began to make dinner.

I heard the door unlock just as I was laying the roast chicken down in the centre of the dining table. My nervousness instantly broke through and I took a deep breath to calm myself.

"Madilyn," Bruce called, his voice rising above the slow music I decided to play.

"In the dining room!" I called back and sucked in a sharp breath as I watched him walk into the room seconds later, his jet black hair dishevelled, his blazer in his arm, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened.

"Hi," he greeted, a little breathily.

"Hello," I replied, smiling, my stomach churning with the nerves.

"I went to your house," he informed me.

"Oh, sorry about that. I was here. Making dinner." Why the hell did I sound like I was having an asthma attack?

"I see that. I should have called anyway."

"No," I jumped in, "I should have called."

He nodded, a tense silence settling between us. For two people who never ran out of things to say we were pretty damn speechless.

"How did you get in?" he finally asked, breaking the ice that frosted over the room.

"Key under the mat," I said, smiling a little. "Which movie did you learn that from?"

"Several," he laughed and my heart lifted. But before I could even get a word across, he said, his face losing all its delight in one go, "I should get cleaned up. I'm a mess."

"Uh, okay," I stammered. "Why don't you have dinner first and we can talk?"

"No, that's alright," he nodded. "I'll have a shower and then we'll have dinner and talk."

"Right," I said, nodding. "Well, I'll just pour myself a glass of champagne and wait for you." God, you're sounding more and more pathetic by the second, Mads. Up your game, missy.

"Okay," he asserted but continued to stand there. "So...I'll just...yeah, okay." After pointing his thumb repeatedly at the backward direction and stammering like the idiot who made him dinner, he walked out of the room and the minute he was gone I let out a deep breath that I hadn't realised I had been holding until then.

* * * * *

It was needless to say that dinner was awkward. We sat on either ends of the table, and not once had Bruce talked. I mean, yes, of course, he talked—but of the food. Nothing about us. Nothing about what happened earlier today. Nothing. And I was internally dying.

"Where are you going?" came Bruce's gravelly smooth voice. I swung my bag over my shoulder and looked behind me.

Ignoring the way disappointment flooded through me like the gates of a dam being opened and the water flowing out in a streaming rush, I looked back at the coat rack, took my scarf and wrapped it around my neck.

"I'm going home," I sighed, reaching for my boots.

I felt a hand on mine and I stilled. "I said I'm going home, Bruce," I gritted out, barely breathing. I didn't think my heart could take this much heartbreak along with the close proximity we were in.

"Don't go home," he whispered.

"Is that a command?" I spat out, straightening and pushing him away from me. I looked him in the eye so he'd know that I wasn't in a joking mood and that I was being wholeheartedly serious at that moment.

"I promised we would talk," he said defensively.

"Yes," I effused, "And you were silent the whole bloody evening!"

"I was thinking of what to say," he shouted, raising his voice above mine as his features hardened.

"But it's me, Bruce. Maddie. You say something funny and that would have broken the ice and we would have progressed from there and talked about how we can fix this because I really like you and that entails me not wanting to cock up what we have."

"Cock up?" he raised an eyebrow after a few fleeting seconds of silence.

"Screw up," I offered.

"You people have such strange terms that you use to express your emotions," he commented, his expression set in a faux serious one as his chocolate brown eyes danced with humour.

"And one would think that you'd be used to it by now considering you have lived in England for quite a while," I played back, sending him a toothy grin before frowning. "Hey, how long have you been in Porte Orlands? I actually don't know when you came to England."

He smiled. "My family and I moved from Mexico to America when I was twelve. Then I moved to London for business after I graduated university. I got a better job offer here in Porte Orlands and moved here about two years ago."

"So you've been living here a total of...?"

"Let's see. I graduated when I was twenty-two and moved to England right after. I got a job offer here in Porte Orlands two years prior to now that would more than just pay my bills and I'm currently twenty-nine so I've been living here for a little over seven years."

"Oh wow, that's a long time. Do you visit your family often?" I inquired, genuinely curious.

He stared at me and for a few seconds I stared back, wondering why he seemed weirded out to answer the question before it finally struck me that we were engaged in an argument. Or was. Or was about to. Shaking my head, I smiled sheepishly and backed away. "Sorry," I apologised, "I should go."

"No, please stay," he blurted, his hands shooting out and grabbing a hold of mine. "We should continue this conversation, inside the house and preferably whilst sitting down."

I looked at him, mulling over his proposal. I wasn't too sure if I should stay. Would it add coal to the already burning argument we had or would this add water over it? Finally nodding, I answered, "Yes, please. I'd very much like that."

His deep breath inwards was evident by the rise in his chest and the fall of it. Smiling softly at me, his brown eyes now holding a different light, he held my hand and led me to the living room where we both sat down on the couches.

"Would you like a drink?" he kindly asked.

"Maybe later," I replied. "I'd like to talk now."

He nodded. After a few moments of hesitant silence between us, he clasped his hands and began by saying, "I was rude. If I wasn't so blatant then we wouldn't be here, acting like total strangers and not lovers."

I couldn't help the quirk in my lips as they pulled up to one side on their own. "Lovers, huh?"

His brown eyes met mine with a fiery passion. "Nothing more, nothing less," he ensured.

"Good," I whispered, closing my fingers around his and gripping his hand more tightly against mine. "I shouldn't have been so harsh. Sometimes my walls are down and when something is slightly amiss they go right back up. They've always been up but for some reason, around you, they go down and this morning..." Unable to look at him any longer for the guilt rode me like a horse racing through a forest, I looked down to our entwined hands. "I've been hurt before, Bruce. I know you're nothing like... My past is my past but it's given me experience, life lessons and I have no intension of ever repeating past mistakes."

Silence met my ears and it was deafening. My heart was beating erratically within my ribcage and I was nervous, my hands slightly shaking. He gripped my hands tighter and gave them a little tug which I knew was a request to look back up into his eyes. I looked at him and my nervousness grew when I could read nothing from his expression.

"I'm not a mistake, Madilyn," he guaranteed me, his words taking the tone one would use when embarking on setting a vow. "You have your doubts and I understand that but I really like you. We've only been going out for a week and I do want to make it work with you. I know I can make it work with you. You're are attractive, yes, but you're also funny and we're so alike that I can't not like you."

I smiled, trying to ignore the inner voice that yelled, maybe that's why this morning blew out of proportion. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I promised to let you in and I am trying my best."

"I understand that it isn't easy but you have to understand, Madilyn, that it's not good to always keep to yourself and reserve your true self from the world," he advised.

"I suppose," I said reluctantly. "Someone once told me that if you keep your walls high and if you built them with a strong foundation they will always survive the aftermath of a hurricane." It might have been funny since those very words were what my mother told me had it not been for the current situation that made nothing humorous.

"Oh babe," Bruce cooed, his hands coming up and cupping my face. "I'm not a hurricane. I will not wreck you."

"Words are words. They're just that, Bruce," I whispered, my expression hopefully portraying just how sorry I was for speaking the truth.

"Yes, they're just words but when those words come from someone you trust then it's got to mean something, doesn't it?"

I looked at him, uncertain how to answer. Finally I nodded and smiled, "Yes, you're right. I'm worrying about nothing." I didn't tell him the reason why I was unsettled this morning was because I didn't wake up next to him, or that the last person on my mind wasn't him. But I couldn't truly talk about today morning's fiasco because he clearly wanted to put it in the past and move on from it.

"Is there anything else you're curious about?" I asked. "I want an honest, blatant answer." This always worked with Finn. Whenever I asked him if he wanted to know something he'd right out say it without any hesitation, even if it was hurtful—but that was the thing about brutal honesty, it was brutal but still the truth and better the truth than soft lies.

He sighed, giving my face a look as if to make sure I was being serious before he gave a slight nod and said, "Noah. Finn. I know you told me that there's nothing going on but the way you talk of Finn contradicts all your anger you always have for him. Noah and you..."

"Don't," I shook my head, my voice holding a tone of caution as my heart twisted slightly when the hint of his accusation hit me. "I told you, Bruce, there's nothing. Noah is like my best friend. He was there through my darkest time and while I admit at one time I thought of something happening between him and me but it wasn't because I loved him. It was because I was thinking about my son's welfare and Noah was already a father to Riley. It was perfect and my feelings didn't matter. I learnt in the end that they did which is why I am with you. And Finn? He's my past. He's in my present too and if things between my son and him go well, he'll be in my future. But Bruce, he's in my present and possible future. He isn't my present and future. You are."

He gave me a little embarrassed smile. "I feel pathetic."

"You should," I joked, smiling lightly, "I've only got eyes for you, Mystery Man."

"I know how I can make it up to you."

"Yeah? How?"

"By coming to the Christmas party."

My smile fell and I stared at him in a shocked state. Had I heard him right? A couple of second later, after his words fully processed in my mind, my heart leapt and my lips broke out into a grin, a happy feeling bursting through me. His smile widened in response to my smile and he leaned forward, capturing my lips in his.

His lips and mine carried on into the night, our bodies moving as one, the good news exciting me that I couldn't stop kissing him. On his lips, below his ear, his chest, his abdomen—everywhere. I was so consumed in that very moment that I hadn't realised until later that Bruce and I didn't really discuss the fiasco that exploded this morning. But perhaps things were better left unsaid. I only wished he could somehow telepathically read my mind and know that I would love to wake up to the sight of him lying next to me in bed—awake or asleep didn't matter.

The following morning I woke up alone. Oh, how much I wished he knew.