They are standing outside, waiting for the fire crews to (finally) signal the all-clear. It's been a solid fifteen minutes now since they were first so abruptly ushered out of the restaurant and out into the (unseasonably) bitter cold. She'd been so flustered by the wailing sound of the alarm and the nervous rush of the crowd that she'd remembered to grab her cheesecake but forgotten to take her coat. It seemed now, as she looked around her, that no one else had made that mistake - they were all toasty in their trenches and scarves while she shivers and attempts to eat the last bite of her mocha cheesecake without her trembling knocking it off of her fork.
As she savours the last tasty morsel of her dessert, she notices him grinning at her. He had, of course, grabbed his jacket; he'd attempted to offer it to her but she had refused, worried that he might take the cheesecake as payment (though this had occurred mere moments after they made it outside, and she had been warm then). Now that the cheesecake was gone forever, she realizes that maybe the coat might have been a better trade...
She tries rubbing her arms with the palms of her hands, attempting to stimulate some sort of frictional heat. What a day to wear this dress, Liz, she thinks to herself, looking down at the short, v-neck dress she'd worn to their dinner this evening (at Jack's suggestion, of course). They were supposed to meet up with potential new sponsors later on, and her lovely boss had encouraged her to "maximise her assets". Blergh. She'd rather be in her Slanket right now; then at least her "assets" would be warm.
"You look like you've turned to ice, Lemon," he states, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his gloriously thick and warm double-breasted trench coat.
"Just call me a lemon pop," she quips, though with the chattering of her teeth, it comes out more like an intelligible jumble of consonants accompanied by a harsh guttural sound. The pathetic attempt to warm her arms has failed, and now she has to resort to cupping her hands together and blowing warm air into them.
"Oh, for heavens' sake, Lemon pop," he says, moving closer to her in two quick steps. He unbuttons his coat, and with a quick motion of his arm, grabs her wrist and pulls her in.
Suddenly, she finds herself pressed up against her boss' chest, his arms holding the jacket closed around them, making a tent of fabric around her body. Her first thought is (strangely) wow this is nice, quickly followed by what on Earth am I doing pressed up against Jack's chest? She tries –albeit briefly – to pull away, but his arms stay put around her as his clear blue eyes look down to meet hers.
"What are you doing, Lemon?" he asks, noticing her protests. "Did you want me to let you freeze?
"Then don't argue about it. It'll still be a couple more minutes, and I've got enough heat for the both of us." With that, he pulls the two corners of his jacket even more tightly together, and she becomes effectively trapped.
She decides not to argue with him, and with a reluctant sigh, gives in and lets her forehead fall forward onto his chest. He has a point, after all. She doesn't want to get hypothermia. Yeah, that's it. No hypothermia. This is nothing but an exchange of heat between friends.
(However, for a second or two, she swears she can hear his heart racing faster than before.)