Tumbleweed (Crissy's Story‪)‬

"Hey, beautiful, whatcha up to?" Jarvis, her co-consultant on the TV series asked. He stood in front of her, tall and lean in his black suit and tie. His tie clip always matched his cufflinks. Today they were dark emerald stubs bordered in gold. No doubt, fourteen-carat gold, she thought. He could well afford them, alsong with his thin-black-rimmed progressive lensed glasses (unlined trifocals). The bridge of his nose wrinkled as it normally did whenever he tried to say something inoffensive yet humorous. He was only a couple of years older than she was, and they worked well as a team editing and revising the series scripts. "Sit down, already," Crissy wailed. "You're giving me a neck ache, staring up at you." He was a gentleman, she pondered, sighing. He never sat down beside her on the park bench, unless she invited him.
"Thank you," he said, bending, sitting, and adjusting his glasses to fit more snugly over the bridge of his nose. They had a habit of sliding a bit. He truly ought to have a talk with his optometrist. "So what brings you to the park today?" she asked. As if she didn't know. The whole office knew. Jarvis Elliston was infatuated with her. He'd never made a secret of it. He ignored the whispers and the gossip, or the knowledge that he was the last man in the world she'd consider falling in love with. She tolerated him. He was not a stalker, never tried to force his attentions on her. His whole attitude toward her was that he accepted his unworthiness for her affections, and was content just to have her work with him, talk with him when it suited her, and be there when she needed his advice or company. He was by no means unattractive, in an English gentleman sort of manner. Actually, his lineage was English, from London, and he was wealthy, heir to his parents' estate in England. He'd come to New York with his parents when he was a child. With dual citizenship and an alluring English accent that he'd never quite lost, there were women in the office that envied Crissy, and considered her a snob for not finding him a great catch. She didn't blame those women for their opinion of her. He was a good catch for some girl. He was a nice person, interesting and intelligent. But what could she do? She felt no spark, no desire, nothing. He was nice to talk with, nice to walk with, easy to work with, even fun to be with. Just not her cup of tea.
"You're rather quiet today," he said.
"Pensive, is the word," she said.
"Maybe, a bit sad," he added.
"A little," she admitted.
"Life not turning out the way you want it to?" he asked, his tone considerate.
She nodded, shrugging.
"What can I do to cheer you up?"
Someone who hadn't known him as she had these past two years, might find him intrusive and mistake his sincerity. Crissy couldn't help smiling.
"Ah, there it is," he said, grinning. "That lovely smile."