The phone rings. No caller ID. There wouldn't be for an international call. She lets it go to voice mail and puts the phone back in her bag.
The phone blips stubbornly, letting her know that a text message has arrived.
Merry Christmas Eve Scott ...
She puts on a bright smile as she helps to rearrange the presents beneath the tree.
The phone rings. No caller ID. She lets it go to voice mail and stares at the screen for a long moment.
Merry Christmas Scott ... Hope my present got there in time ...
She rips open the small parcel that was couriered from the States and placed into her hands. She stares at the cross-eyed wombat brooch looking back up at her with demented eyes. Dean could never understand why out of all of Australia's native fauna, she has such a thing for wombats. She thinks they're cute in the way they shuffle along. She looks in the envelope. There's no note or card. There doesn't need to be. She knows who it's from.
New Year's Eve.
The phone rings. She waits for the text message.
It's already 2012 in Australia Scott.
She resists the almost irresistible urge to text him back and ask him how it feels to live in LA - in the past when she's in futuristic London. Of course she doesn't and she forces herself to put her phone away. It's bad enough that she's saving these messages when she should be deleting them. Then again, who is she kidding? Even if she deletes his messages and his number from her phone, how is she going to delete the memory of the way his blue eyes darken when they stare at her? How's she going to delete the memory of his hard, firm body against hers and the taste of him in her mouth? Even though she tells herself that it was all acting and that there's nothing more to it - deep down she knows the truth.
New Year's Day.
The phone rings. She holds it in her hand, watching it ring and ring.
Scott - Happy New Year.
And then, suddenly, there's another message.
I know you're there.
Her mouth twists in a wry smile and then blinks as another text shows up.
I've told her it's over. I've told her how I feel about you.
Naomi freezes, staring down at the phone. Her hand isn't quite steady as she re-reads the message. She closes her eyes and re-reads it again. She swallows hard and puts the phone away. She opens the front door and steps through, stopping abruptly as she almost collides with the man standing there, holding a phone in his hand.
"How - ?" she starts to demand incredulously and he smiles slowly and ruefully down at her.
"Planes - they're a great invention - you should try one some time. Figured I had to show up in person since you keep ignoring my messages."
Naomi has no words and she takes a step back as Dean takes a step forward and kicks the front door shut behind him.
"I um ..." she stammers, her heart pounding and her face flushed.
"You've got somewhere to be?" he asks her sardonically, taking her bag off her shoulder and tossing it onto her ratty couch, along with his phone.
"Yeah," she mutters, aware that his arms are sliding around her, even as she tries to step back and away from him.
"Careful there - wall," he warns her as her back comes up against the unyielding wall of her flat. His mouth is inches from her, his eyes dark with want and emotion. He looks so good and she has missed him so much. His mouth tantalises her, brushing a playful and teasing kiss along her jaw. She tries hard to ignore the embarrassing heat between her thighs at his nearness, an arousal that she knows is mutual.
"You shouldn't be here," she tells him, even as her fingertips slid beneath his t-shirt to touch his warm skin.
"This is exactly where I should be," he says huskily and then she's moaning his name against his lips as he kisses her hard, tasting and rediscovering. His bold hands have slid beneath her skirt and she knows her body has betrayed her.
Whether the show is renewed or not - the new year is filled with extremely exciting possibilities.