Author’s Note: I have been fighting the urge to write Thomas Hunt and MC but I finally gave in. Especially after the past few chapters in RCD … I’m such a sucker for the tension and slow burn, I just can’t control myself! I did create a new MC, Candace, for Thomas though … do not worry, Jessica is still happily dating Seth! (I’m looking at you @mrswalkerwrites! 😉)
This originally started out as my submission for the @Choices-September-Challenge prompt day 1 ‘Rain’ but also incorporates day 6 prompt of ‘Home’, and I wanted the extra few days to perfect it. Happy reading! 💕😘
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Candace slipped deftly through the door to the loading dock platform behind the warehouse, the smell of rain and sterile concrete mixing together in her nostrils. Although filming The Last Duchess had been about as glamorous as one would expect of filming in an abandoned warehouse, she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the blank slate aspect of the looming industrial building. The crew had had to do everything from scratch and use their creativity to create the most imaginative movie sets possible on a tight budget, which only made the end result that much more beautiful in her mind.
Today was day five of filming, and despite her love for the script and her character, the role of the Duchess had started to wear on her a bit after four straight days in tight corsets and portraying a repressed yet lovesick woman. She was relieved when the director Thomas Hunt finally recognized the fatigue in the crew’s faces and granted them a longer than usual lunch break today. While the others took the opportunity as the chance to go out for a long lunch, go shopping or run errands, Candace looked forward to a few moments alone to reflect. And the soft downpour of rain on the metal roof of the warehouse signaled that her ideal oasis today would be outside.
Candace moved deliberately along the exterior wall of the building, careful to remain in the dry space under the canopy to avoid direct contact with the falling moisture. About 30 feet from the door she exited from, she came across an abandoned wooden shell of a crate and perched herself on top of it, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her body. The rain had brought in a refreshing chilly breeze, a welcome change from the usual stagnant heat of early September in Los Angeles. She peered out over the large driveway in front of the loading dock, watching as the raindrops hit the concrete and already-formed puddles, causing drops to bounce back into the air before settling back to the ground. Each one was like a tiny water exhibit dancing only for her. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the sound of the rain patting the ground around her and the ting-ting on the roof above her. She inhaled deeply, focusing on the erratic pattern of noises, allowing herself to drift into a trance …
Clop, clop, clop. Footsteps approaching, somewhere on her left side. She opened her eyes just in time to see director Hunt turning a corner, then stopping in his tracks as his gaze fell upon Candace. His eyes widened in surprise, both of them stunned silent for a few moments.
Candace surveyed the tall man standing in the murky light, his normally proper and buttoned-up appearance looking slightly disheveled, a more casual version of the Thomas Hunt than she was used to. He still wore his brown leather Oxfords that had signaled his impending arrival and his tan trousers, but his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his top button was undone. Even his stern expression seemed to be replaced by a more relaxed face, the crease between his brow softened and his eyes shining softly in the light. Candace didn’t realized she had stopped breathing while examining him until he finally shifted in place and cleared his throat. And then his face went back into director Hunt mode, the crease between his brows reappearing.
“I wasn’t expecting to find anyone out here.” Thomas muttered sternly, glancing around awkwardly as if he were looking for an escape. As he turned, Candace noticed the cigar in his right hand.
“I didn’t know you smoked.” She blurted out abruptly, then blushed when she realized how inappropriate that must sound. “Erm, I mean … you just don’t seem like the type.”
Thomas gave her a half-smile, the brow crease fading slightly as he peered down at her. “I’m not.” He glanced down at the cylinder of tobacco in his hand, admiring it as he rolled it between his fingers. “I just like the feel of them … and the smell.”
Candace patted the large expanse of space on the crate beside her. “You can sit if you want.” She gave him a small smirk, then quickly looked back towards the falling rain in front of her embarassed. Thomas Hunt always had a way of making her feel ridiculous. Stop it Candace, she chided herself. Stop acting so childish. But then he surprised her, nodding slightly before sauntering over towards her on the crate and sitting on the edge.
Thomas leaned forward on the surface, resting his elbows on his knees and bringing the cigar up to his nose to inhale deeply before holding it between his index and middle finger of his right hand. He glanced down at it again as he spoke. “So what are you doing out here in the rain by yourself, Miss Taylor? I would have suspected you to run off with the others to lunch or shopping or some other amuseming activity.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, as if scolding a juvenile for skipping class. But then he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, a look warmer and softer than his usually steely gaze, easing some of the tension she’d been holding. He placed the cigar in his mouth, unlit, shifting on the crate to straighten up and stare out at the rain.
Candace watched him curiously, surveying his expression and observing his mannerisms up close like an exotic mythical creature. “I, um …” she started, taken aback momentarily as he looked towards her when she spoke. “I love a good rainstorm. I’ve always loved to sit and watch and listen to them, ever since I was a kid.” She paused.
“That’s interesting.” Thomas replied curtly. “Did you want to be a meteorologist as a child?” His tone was serious, but Candace read the sincerity in his deep brown eyes.
She smiled at his question. “No … I just always thought the rain was so soothing and cleansing. And back home, rain was always considered good luck. With the farm and the occasional droughts, my parents would always celebrate when we got a good rain.” She watched him again, trying to gauge his response when he turned his eyes back to the rain-soaked driveway.
“Do you ever miss Iowa, Miss Taylor?” He continued watching the rain falling before them.
“I do sometimes … although I know that I need to be here to pursue acting. But I do miss my parents, my friends … little things like this.” She gestured to the weather engulfing them before looking back to him suspiciously. “I never told you I was from Iowa.”
Thomas cleared his throat again, dropping the cigar from his lips but luckily fumbling to catch it in the palm of his hand. He straightened to a seated position, turning to face her. “I always do my homework before hiring a new actress, Miss Taylor.”
“Yes, of course …” Candace responded quietly, trying to mask the disappointment in her voice. What, did she think the THE Thomas Hunt was going to be googling her for fun?
Thomas interrupted her internal berating with a wistful tone. “I like that … what you said about the rain. A sign of good luck. A chance to wash the slate clean and begin again.” His gaze met hers, his eyes boring into her own. “I often forget the beauty of such simple things until they are pointed out.”
Candace gulped, her eyes locked on Thomas’s. She thought she caught the hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth and noticed that his stare looked softer somehow. Perhaps just the light, but … perhaps not. Suddenly she realized she was grinning widely herself, her nervousness momentarily subsided in this private exchange. She shook her head and giggled. “So, Mr. Hunt, why is it that you enjoy a fragrant yet unlit cigar in the rain?” She asked playfully, thankful to see a smile finally meet his lips.
The smile broke into a deep laugh, surprising Candace with his unexpected response. “Now that, Miss Taylor, is an excellent question. Also related to my childhood … but please, call me Thomas. We will be spending a lot of time together on set, there is no need for such formalities.”
“Alright, Thomas … but only if you promise to stop calling me Miss Taylor. It makes me feel like a school marm. Candace is fine.” She chuckled, cocking her brow at him. “So, the cigar …?” She prodded again mischeviously.
“Oh no, that is a long sentimental story I would rather not get into at the moment. But perhaps another time.” He smiled genuinely, the sight warming Candace’s heart and making her feel bolder than usual.
“So there will be another time then?” She gave him a coy look, but internally she could hear the blood rushing through her veins. He looked down at the cigar he still flipped in his fingers, a pensive look on his face. She prayed he could not hear her heart beating, too.
When he finally looked up he laughed again, Candace would swear he looked ten years younger. He had a youthful grin that met the corners of his eyes, his skin smooth and free of worry lines. She had no doubt before that Thomas Hunt was a good-looking man, but to see him like this … “I think I’d like that, Candace.” He responded smoothly, his tone tinged with a hint of both amusement and surprise that made her stomach do flips.
Thomas stood slowly and slid the cigar into his shirt pocket, surveying the light drizzle while unrolling his shirtsleeves. Candace tried not to stare as he reassembled his director Hunt ensemble, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of watching him from the corner of her eye as he buttoned the cuffs of his shirt and the top button at his collar. She felt there was something surprisingly intimate seeing him like this and she dare not disrupt him for fear of frightening him off.
Once he was put back together he turned back to her. “Thank you for letting me sit with you for a moment, Miss Tay- I mean, Candace. I enjoyed our chat in the rain very much.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the cigar, handing it to her tentatively. “Here, for good luck. It’s nothing as poignant as yours, but it soothes me nonetheless. And they do smell good.” He gestured it towards her in offering.
She took it with a thoughtful smile and brought it to her nose, inhaling the deep chocolatey tobacco scent. “Mmm … thank you, Thomas. I look forward to hearing your story about these some time.”
Thomas chuckled softly, placing his hands in his pockets coolly. “Hmm, I have a feeling you’re not going to let that one go, are you?” He laughed loudly when Candace shook her head in agreement, confirming his suspicions. “Well then, enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit longer. I’ll see you back inside.” He nodded his adieu, then turned on his heel to walk back towards the door.
Candace sat on the crate again and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the light rain on the roof and the soft pounding of Thomas’s shoes on the concrete, then the opening of a door. As she heard the click of the door closing behind him, she brought the cigar back to her nose and took another deep breath, the aroma of the dried leaves mixing with the freshness of the rain, making her head feel dizzy. She moved it away and observed it in front of her face, twirling it between her fingers and stroking the smooth edges of the paper shell. Such a small thing, yet she would never be able to look at one the same. One shared moment and suddenly you discover a whole new perspective.
END