Chapter Text
Today looms. Looms like a bird of prey, hovering over you menacingly, bathing you in shadow. But carpe diem, right? He seems genuinely interested, not pushy, he’s got some depth to him, which is a nice change.
But…you can’t help your nerves. You’re thinking ahead, to tonight, it’s all you can think about, which shortens your responses and communication skills down to hums and one syllable sounds. Not that Silver notices. She hasn’t stopped a single moment to ask for an invested opinion from you. Which, honestly, is fine because you have no expert opinion when it comes to dresses, or rhinestone earrings- and Jesus -don’t bother asking about heels.
Silver thrives off the sound of her own voice, kudos to her because she’s complete on her own, but that just means you have to be subjected to the torture of listening to her never-ending list of woes. Imagined, of course.
She stops outside a store, stares in the windows, her skinny frame reflected back at her like a murky doppelganger. Her sunglasses take up half her face because they’re designer which means more is more, and she could use a little more to her physique.
Silver seems, to a degree, to recognize your distaste for this little traipse through New York, and she gives you the smallest mercy of not trying to dress you up. Thank God. You might actually punch her through her obtuse lenses.
“So,” she says, and a silence falls after that one syllable with something like promise.
Is she actually taking a breath of air? It’s insane that she hasn’t passed out from talking non-stop.
“You seem a little distracted,” She continues, touching up her lipstick in the shop window. But her lipstick is perfect and she isn’t the least bit subtle.
“Do I?” You shoot back, waiting for her abrasive follow-up, bow pulled taut, arrow aimed, let it fly.
“That bookstore. Something been catching your eye?” Alright. That’s a little more tact from her than you’re used to, but still ridiculously transparent.
“What, you stalking me?” You snort, and continue on down the sidewalk, prompting her to follow. And she will because she needs attention to live, attention and money.
“Guilty,” she snips, unimpressed, smoothing some loose hair behind her ear. The earrings in her lobes sparkle, flash in the sunlight, Look at me! “You’re a creature of habit, T. Is this a new habit?”
You roll your eyes and stop, lean back into a parking meter, the cold metal cutting through your jacket. “Jesus, Silver. Just ask.”
Her rose red lips spread devilishly. “That clerk. The skinny one.”
You toy. “Still not a question.”
She pouts theatrically, adjusts her sunglasses, “He catch your eye?” She asks you, tone piquing, going loose and pitchy with the prospect of girly gossip. Ridiculous, because she knows you don’t do her brand of girl-bonding.
You nod. “And my number.” You start on again, not waiting for her response. There’s a shop that might snatch her attention and you don’t have the time for that, you need to tie up this pointless sashay around town and get some work done.
“My god.” She exclaims, hot on your tail, her heels clicking sharply.
She’ll want-
“Details.” She demands, linking her arm through yours, all simpatico and cheery.
You huff at her. “There aren’t any. We haven’t even been on a date, we’ve barely talked.”
We’ve barely talked but I’m already hooked. And out of my head with worry about our upcoming date. What if what I have planned is too far out of left field? What if I scare him off? I mean, it’s a power switch: me making the plans, picking him up, holding the details hostage. He seemed okay, but what if he really isn’t?
She hums in an uncommitted reply, reading a text on her cellphone.
Thank God. Please tell me the barbie squad is trying to get you to tag along on a bar crawl through the diamond heights of New York.
She drops her phone into her purse, and looks at you with a sad lilt to her mouth. “Honey. You move so slow- live a little.” An idea sparks her eyes to life, “Come with me, the girls just hit me up for a night out. It’ll be fun!”
She knows I hate her other friends. This is just a pale attempt, an excuse to cut this short and I couldn’t be more thrilled to turn her down. She knows that too.
You make a point to hesitate, to elaborate, before you grimace. “Uh, not really my scene, Silver. But you have fun.”
Another faux pas pout, seemingly disappointed. She sighs, “Suit yourself. But I want to know everything about this guy.” She drops a kiss to your cheek and struts down the sidewalk, hips swaying and drawing every man’s gaze within a fifty-foot radius.
You wipe a hand across your cheek. Needlessly. That designer lipstick could make it through a nuclear war. You watch her disappear around a corner, cellphone to her ear, manicured hand gesturing as she talks. You sigh heavily.
Time for a tea.
The shop is near-empty, which is nice. You could use the quiet after spending a morning with Silver. The barista, a blond with dark bags under his eyes, smiles when he sees you. Steve. Steve is nice, boyish, big aspirations. New York hasn’t beaten him to a bloody pulp yet, and it’s simultaneously heart-warming and pity inducing.
Same small table, same view, but comforting. While Steve steams your water, you call Alistair. It rings a grand total of twice before he picks up.
“Hey, what’s up?” Voice is loud, you can catch all the timber in it, the deep bass of his vocal chords. Usually only that deep when his chin is tucked and he’s got the phone between his cheek and shoulder. Taking pictures.
“You’ve got those photos ready for me, right?” You swipe breadcrumbs off your table, frown at fingerprints on the window.
“Sure do. Organized and filed. Ready to be edited. Also got a blank canvas waiting for you at the apartment,” Click, click, pause. Click-click.
You were right. He’s taking pictures. “Yeah. Probably won’t get to the canvas tonight,” It’s silent on his end, no picture taking as he waits for you to elaborate. “I have a date.”
And now the silence has a palpable flavor.
“A date.” Not so loud now. He’s put down his camera and is holding his phone, invested in the conversation. “With bookstore guy?” God, are you really that see-through? “Are you sure, Toss?” Concern, uncertainty.
You clear your throat, sigh tightly. “I mean, it could be good. Good for me. To move on, you know? Get passed it.”
“Yeah, yeah. You think you’re ready?” Patience, patience and worry, and familial protectiveness. Somewhere in there, there’s hope too. Hope that you are ready, hope that this could be good for you.
“I guess we’ll find out.” You reply- attention fractioned as Steve calls out your name. “He’s nice, you know? Polite, charming. Actually reads books.” That’s the clincher there, the bookish quality. You smile at the barista.
Click, click. Click. “Well, I suppose if things go slightly south, you do know how to throw a punch.”
You smile, blow on your tea. “Damn right, I do.”
“You bringing out the big guns?” He asks you, a hint of a grin in his voice and you can’t stop the one that steals across your own lips.
“Maybe.” Maybe as in yes. He knows.
He chuckles- Click. Pause, click-click-click. “It’s good. It’ll be good.” He says, attempting to alleviate his doubts and your anxiety. “I gotta go, Toss. You call me-”
You roll your eyes fondly, “If I need anything. I know.”
“Brat,” He retorts good naturedly. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” You say goodbye, and lay your phone on the table as you plan out your day. The tea helps relax you to a degree, helps to ease your running mind into a gallop. It’s been some time since you’ve been on a date, on a date with a decent guy.
Your phone chimes and you wonder who-
Joe: I need an informed opinion.
You smile, humor spiking the corners of your lips until your mouth is reminiscent of a crescent.
On?
Joe: What author gets voted off the island, and shipped to the discount shelf. And before you ask, no. Not Fitzgerald.
You chuckle into the collar of your jacket.
I do read works by other authors, you know? But who are the candidates?
Joe: No, no, I’m sure you do. You’ve got good taste- but, the contestants: We’ve got Dan Brown. Or, some young adult author: Cassandra Clare.
That’s not even a decision needs a second opinion, Joe. You know your books, you think with a wry smile. Do you just want to see if I know my books?
Jesus. Dan Brown- don’t even put it on the discount shelf. Just burn it.
Joe: XD Do you even know who the other author is?
Nooope. But it doesn’t matter.
Three little ellipses roll, and blink as he measures his response. Stop…start up again, and you smile.
Joe: Normally, I’d be all for a Dan Brown book burning, but…we did spend money on them. So…
He sends you a picture of the books in question, sitting on the discount shelf all by their lonesome, with a simple caption Can’t always get what you want. Which in this case is to char-grill these things.
You glance at your phone’s time…contemplate your plan, the zaniness of it, and grin like a madwoman.
Don’t let anyone buy those. I’ll be there in ten.
And with that your phone goes back into your pocket, ignoring the chiming, most likely Joe. You set off at a brisk pace, hands in your jacket pockets, feeling lighter than usual, hopeful.
You’re coming here. I can imagine it’s to buy the books. But maybe I’m just a little hopeful that the ulterior motive is to see me and the books are a good excuse. He rereads your short conversation, grinning at the comfort of it, the way you picked up on his humor, shared his opinion, your easy-going attitude.
He has a really good feeling about you. And it only gets stronger after every interaction he has with you.
He still has a couple hours until he has to close up shop, and knows those hours are going to drag on. He knows they will. And these next ten minutes. He’s counting every second, every second is a lifetime that he spends musing about you.
The shop is slow, the day has been slow, his life has slowed down to snail-like proportions but you’re bringing some of the excitement back, some of the whimsical qualities he’s forgotten life can deliver. He busies himself, as much as he can, dusting down bookshelves, wiping coffee stains off of end tables. He’ll never get over how inconsiderate people are.
He restrains himself from glancing at the door every time it opens, he can’t appear that interested, that devoted/desperate. Ethan’s started to wonder, picked up two, and two, and has taken the time adding them together, but Joe knows it won’t be long before Ethan asks about you.
The store is just beginning to smell like orange peel when you walk in, he’s wiping down the front counter, and doesn’t bother looking up when he says, “Welcome to Mooney’s.” But when you walk up to the counter he recognizes the sound of your boots, the leather of your jacket crinkling, the zippers twinkling merrily, and he catches a whiff of your perfume.
And then he looks up, slightly dirty cloth hanging from his hand like he’s forgotten what he’s doing with it. He beams. “Welcome back to Mooney’s.” He corrects himself, and leans into the counter this time, makes sure there’s no room to doubt his attraction. If there wasn’t a counter between us…
You smile up at him, a cheeky grin adorning your mouth, an impish gleam in your eye. You don’t say anything.
And you don’t have to. “Might I interest you in our discount shelf. Just added some books to it.”
You appear pleasantly surprised. “Really? Don’t suppose Dan Brown has made his way over there?”
Christ’s sake. I’m tempted to close shop right now, He leaves the check-out, walks you over, and leans a forearm into the edge of the shelf. “Dan Brown has more or less rented out the shelf.” And he isn’t joking, there’s a nice pile of his works taking the long stretch of the top.
Your grin prompts him to think of the Cheshire Cat, and he wonders, haltingly, who that makes him?
“I’ll take them.” You say, far more pleased than he thinks the situation calls for, inside joke included, but he doesn’t judge. Carries them to check-out and rings them all up, sneaking glances at the devilish spark in your eyes. He’d like to familiarize himself with that spark.
“Thank you for your charitable purchase, madam,” he finally says when he has them all bagged.
You wink. “No thanks needed. I’m going to thoroughly enjoy these books.”
Are you? You have something in mind, and I’m dying to know what it is, but I have to stay here, and wait.
“Joe? What are you still doing here?” Ethan stops at the end of an aisle, a stack of books in his hands. He looks genuinely confused, and Joe’s confused about his confusion.
Joe smiles benevolently. “I’m closing, Ethan.” I am. Unfortunately.
Ethan wrinkles his brow, it jolts his glasses down his nose. “No, I told you I could close tonight, remember?”
No, Joe doesn’t. Probably because Ethan is lying out his ass. But Ethan takes a swift glance at you, meets Joe’s eyes, and he understands. Ethan is, not exceptional, but occasionally he can be a good wingman. Like, right now. He’s a good wingman.
Joe’s face goes slack with remembrance. “Oh, you know- I forgot. Slipped my mind.”
Oh? So, he’s free now? You glance down at your bag of books. Two ways this could go: Start the date now and spend the rest of the day together, foregoing your work. Or, meet up here at the aforementioned time and stick to the plan.
You look up and meet his deep brown eyes, and feel your resolve shatter. “If you’re fine with starting a little earlier than planned, I can swing back in 20…”
He smiles warmly, holds your nervous but excited gaze and says, “More than fine.”
You roll your lips into your mouth, still smiling and nod, “Okay. See you soon.” You can feel his eyes on your back as you leave and it’s like fire racing up your spine, but it gives you goosebumps and makes your blood buzz. You’ve never felt such strong attraction from someone, or for someone. The way he makes you feel, the things he causes your body to do. God, he could be like a drug.
Joe sighs as the door closes behind you, unbeknownst that Ethan is still nearby.
“She’s different.”
Joe’s head whips on his shoulders to look at Ethan. “…yeah. She is.”
The larger man smiles, “A good different.” He slips back into the stacks and Joe nods, mostly to himself at this point.
You are different. Different from Beck, and from Candace which gives me hope. That’s not to say I’ve forgotten what a mystery you are, because I haven’t. I won’t let myself fall in deep without learning all there is to know about you, Tossy. Alluring and magnetic as you are. I’ve been hurt one too many times by secrets. We can’t have any of those between us.
But, this is only our first date. And I’m patient. I’m very patient, able to forgive anything.
He takes off his apron and folds it, tucks into the cubby of the check-out counter and heads to the bathroom to straighten up as much as he can before you come back.
Today is going to be perfect.