Work Text:
Rose likes to take her lunch breaks by the fountain in the park. (Well…in the park, on the perimeter of the park, same difference.)
The rushing water provides nice white noise, and the mist from the fountain helps keep her cool without soaking her completely through. It’s also near the small flower garden in the park, which is always nice to walk through and see if there are any new blooms.
Not to mention its design. With the water off, it probably just looks like some sort of abstract sculpture: a giant ball with dozens of rods sticking out of it. The true art to the fountain comes when they turn the water on. From each rod springs forth a circular jet of water, all dissipating to a fine spray.
With the water on, the fountain resembles the seedhead of a dandelion.
Rose will sit on a bench as near to the fountain as she can find, eat a sandwich or salad, sip some tea read a book, listen to music, or just look around the park and watch. Bird-watch. Squirrel-watch. People-watch.
It’s how she meets Armitage.
***
The park is weirdly empty that day. At least, near the fountain, it is.
It feels like just Rose and someone who keeps running by, doing laps around the park, she guesses. She hasn’t actually looked up, though, to confirm. Not when her book is getting this deliciously good.
In lieu of a bench, she’d decided to make something of a picnic of it today, a small blanket spread on the grass beneath her as she reads beneath a tall, shady tree. She alternates between flipping a page and sipping her tea, her spring rolls long since finished. Faintly, she registers the pattering run of the same person approaching again, passing her. As they do, she decides to glance up, because this has to be…maybe the seventh lap? Anyway, more laps than she thought bearable, with the sun and the temperature and the size of the park.
Though already a distance away from her, Rose can make out red hair. Like, straight-up ginger hair. And an all-black workout ensemble.
She flips the page to a new chapter. Groans at the point-of-view shift. The last chapter ended on SUCH a cliffhanger with that character; almost a shame she won’t see resolution on that front until maybe three chapters from now (unless all the separate storylines begin to merge…THAT would be a twist).
A few more minutes of reading, another sip of tea, and Rose hears the red-haired runner approaching once more, for lap number eight (maybe). She assumes at first that he approaches. The running step slows to a walking step. So…maybe he’s done.
The steps stop all together. In their place, amidst the white noise of the fountain, Rose hears the heavy breathing of someone who has perhaps worked themself too hard.
She looks up from her book, lips still pursed around her metal straw. The runner stands right in front of her, though still several feet away from her. Nearer the base of the fountain than her bench. Her lips leave her straw as she watches him pant, bent over, hands braced on knees. In the sunlight, a couple drips of sweat glint as they fall from his forehead.
Perhaps, upon feeling eyes on him, he looks over at her, still unable to catch his breath. She sits up, begins to uncross her legs to stand. Maybe it’s just because he’s ginger and he burns more easily as a result, but his face is…VERY red. Concerningly red.
He wobbles the slightest bit, and Rose pushes herself up to standing. When he looks back down, bending forward even more, Rose dashes over to keep him from falling.
“Are you all right?” she asks, hands hovering around him, ready to catch or steady him, if needed. “Do you need me to call a doctor or anything?” He shakes his head. She places a hand on his back. “Let me at least help you sit down.”
He makes no argument as she leads him slowly over to the nearest bench with the most shade, sits him where he’s likely to get the most of the residual spray from the fountain. She murmurs that she’ll be right back and dashes over to her blanket to grab her bottle of tea and some clean napkins, running back to the bench to sit next to him as he still bends over his knees…just sitting down now.
“Do you feel sick?” she asks, keeping a hand on his back. “Do I need to walk you over to a garbage can?”
“No.” The response comes breathless, though his panting slows.
“Here…” She holds the bottle of tea in front of him. “Not water, but it’ll help refresh you a little.” He sits up slightly, and she turns the straw to face him. He takes a small sip before wincing.
“Christ, is that sweet,” he coughs.
“Yeah…mango passionfruit hibiscus tea,” Rose says, setting the bottle down. “Got more sugar in it than I should probably be drinking, but you definitely need the glucose, given how long you were running today. About as long as I’ve been here. Maybe a little longer.”
“How long have you been here?” he asks. “Can’t have been that long, surely.”
“It’s been, like, an hour, dude.”
“…oh.”
She picks up a napkin, folds it and begins to dab beads of sweat away from his brow.
“This okay?” she asks, napkin pausing. “I didn’t even ask and I’m all up in your business, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, it’s…yes, it’s fine.” She remains still for another beat, searches his face just to make sure he’s not hiding discomfort (and noticing, now that he’s so close, that his eyes are…VERY striking…in color and expression). When she finds none, she continues her ministrations. “I mean…you really don’t have to, but it’s fine.”
“Like I said, you’ve been running a long time on a hot summer afternoon,” she says. “Thought you were gonna faceplant straight into the concrete or the fountain and I didn’t want to have to call an ambulance. I don’t know CPR.” She uses the back of her hand to push his sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead and press it against his skin. She frowns at the heat bringing the flush to his skin. “Do you feel feverish at all? Headache? Nausea?”
“You have beautiful eyes.”
The napkin halts on his face, and she straightens. He likewise freezes before looking away.
“Sorry. More tired than I thought,” he says quietly.
“…yeah, the heat’s definitely getting to your head,” she says, pushing her bottle of tea into his hand. “Making you all confused.”
“Not confused,” he says. “Brain-to-mouth filter might be a bit fucked right now, though.”
“Getting you out of the sun and the heat will probably help best,” Rose says. “And I gotta get back to work.” She stands. He looks up at her, grimacing as he sips from the straw again.
“Thank you for your help,” he says.
“Who said I was leaving alone?” she says. “You’re coming with me, buddy.”
“What?”
“The café where I work is air conditioned. Plenty of seating for people who need to cool off and enjoy some chill vibes and chill air. And we’ve got other blends of tea that aren’t sweetened to high heaven that you’ll probably enjoy much more than that.” He glances down at the bottle in his hand. “I also make a pretty fucking delightful noodle salad, if I do say so myself.” He looks at her face. At the bottle in his hand. Back at her face. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay the rest of the afternoon. That you don’t develop heat stroke or something. You don’t even have to talk to me while you’re there if you don’t want.”
“…may I at least know the name of my protector for the day?” he asks. She blinks as she realizes…yeah, they’re still pretty much complete strangers.
“Rose,” she says, omitting the last name for now. (He’ll find out soon enough.)
“Lovely to meet you, Rose,” he says, shaking her hand, grip loose in hers.
“What, I don’t get to know your name?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Try me.”
“…Armitage.”
“Lovely to meet you, Armitage.” She drops his hand. “I’m gonna pack my stuff up real quick and we’ll be out of here.”
She bunches the blanket up with her book somewhere inside of it, shoving it all into her bag before slinging the strap over her shoulder. She should probably fold it, but the runner’s…Armitage’s condition takes precedence.
“Ready?” she asks, walking back over, seeing Armitage sipping more of the tea.
“I think this is helping a little,” he says. “Still sickeningly sweet, but…”
“Suck it up, buttercup,” she says.
“Literally or figuratively?” he asks, lifting the bottle. …okay, so his condition probably isn’t THAT bad if he’s able to snark at her so quickly.
“Both,” she says. “You need to hydrate.”
He looks at her palm before placing his own hand in hers once more, and she helps him to a standing position. She keeps one hand on his back and readjusts the strap on her shoulder before turning towards the exit of the park that will lead them back to the street.
“Café’s only about a block from the park,” she assures him as they begin to walk slowly. “If we need to pause at all, let me know.”
“Not THAT far gone,” he says. “But thank you.”
“Sorry…I tend to overworry when people I care about get sick.” He looks over at her. “Or, you know, strangers who run themselves to the point of nearly collapsing in front of me.”
“Technically, you cared enough to help,” he points out. “Could’ve just left me to suffer.”
“I COULD have, but that’s just not in my nature.”
“I’ve gathered.” She looks at him again, to see if any annoyance he may have hidden in his voice shows on his face. She sees none…perhaps he’s just very good at hiding it.
“So…Armitage,” she says as they pause at a red light. “Is that a family name?”
“No,” he says, voice sullen. “Are we at the teasing now?”
“I’m not teasing. Just curious. It’s a very unique name.”
“‘Unique’ meaning ‘stupid,’ I suppose.”
“‘Unique’ as in ‘unique.’ And distinguished. And really rather lovely.”
His face flushes, and when the light turns green and they can cross the street, she quickens their step the tiniest bit, to get him out of the sun sooner if he’s starting to overheat again.
“And the name ‘Rose’ isn’t all those same things?”
“Swear to god, dude, if you start with the Shakespeare quotes, I’m gonna dunk you in the fountain to cool off and leave you there.”
Armitage’s bark of laughter makes her jump. They come to a pause in the sidewalk so he can laugh it out.
“It wasn’t THAT funny, dude,” she says in the midst of her own giggling (she can’t help it; his laughter is a bit infectious).
“Sorry,” he says, gathering himself. “Haven’t laughed like that in…years, it feels like.” He looks away, smile slowly fading.
“Well, when we get to the café, I’ll tell you some actual jokes, if you want,” Rose says. The smile returns for a second, but Armitage remains quiet.
The rest of the walk to the café remains quiet, actually. All too soon, Rose spots a familiar awning.
“We’re here!” Rose says. Hux looks up at the sign above the door. “Ever been here?”
“Not yet, no,” he says.
“Well, welcome to Tico’s,” Rose greets, pushing the door open, a bell tinkling above as they do. A blast of cold air hits her in the face and she almost blinks at the sudden air shift. Armitage actually seems to pause next to her. She gives him a moment to adjust before pulling out the chair at the nearest table and helping him sit down.
“Three minutes late, Rose…and Rose’s friend.” Rose looks up as Paige walks over from behind the counter, Finn and Rey both busy helping customers at the cash registers.
“I’ll apologize to Kaydel once I get back in the kitchen,” Rose says. “And he’s not my friend. Not really. Not yet.”
“O…kay?” Paige glances between the two of them, clearly confused.
“He almost passed out on his run,” Rose says, keeping it vague. “Brought him here so he could cool down and hydrate.”
“Oh. Yeah, totally.” Paige sits in a third chair at the table, focused on Armitage. “We have a first aid kit, if you need it. Or we can call an ambulance.”
“Don’t require either of those right now, thank you,” Armitage says. “I’m already feeling better than I was.”
“Well…welcome to Tico’s,” Paige says. “I’m Paige, the co-owner and co-creator. Rose is the other half of that duo. Makes the best noodle salad you’ll ever eat in your life.”
“Which I believe I owe you. That and some unsweetened tea. But Paige can help you with that; she’s the tea expert.” Rose stands. “Any allergies I should know about before I make your salad?” Armitage shakes his head. “Be right back then.”
“Thank you.” She smiles at him, nods her “You’re welcome,” and makes for the kitchen.
She’s made dozens, if not hundreds, of noodle salads in the past, for friends, family, and customers alike. Same basic ingredients every time, same quantities, maybe tweaked here and there for preferences or allergies, but her recipe is tried and true.
That said, she finds herself taking extra care putting together a salad for Armitage. Like, double-checking everything, as opposed to just relying on muscle memory. Taking her time to ensure the salad actually looks pretty. (Not that it doesn’t ALWAYS look pretty but…a more arranged pretty. A neater pretty, if that makes sense.)
One sprinkling of crushed toasted peanuts later, Rose deems the salad ready. She places the plate on a tray and lifts it with one hand, an art practiced and honed over the years. When she appears from behind the kitchen, Paige is back behind the counter, Armitage alone at his table, glancing around the café as he sips from a glass of iced tea.
“Paige get you settled with something you actually like?” Rose asks as she walks up to him.
“I didn’t HATE your tea,” Armitage says.
“If I recall correctly, I do believe your initial reaction to it was ‘Christ, is that sweet.’”
“And it was. Doesn’t mean it was bad. Just not for me. This is.” He lifts his glass.
“Well, that should pair well with your salad,” Rose says, picking up the plate with her free hand and setting it in front of him, along with a fork and knife. “At least, I hope it does. I’ve been under the assumption that noodle salad was okay this whole time. I should’ve asked if you wanted to look at a menu. I’m so sorry.”
“This looks lovely,” Armitage assures her. “Thank you. …besides, you were boasting about this earlier, so I feel I should judge for myself if this salad is indeed…what were your words…‘pretty fucking delightful’?”
“Touché,” Rose says, unable to hold back a giggle. Though Armitage is laughing too. “You look a lot better. Like, just in the little time you’ve been in here.” Kind of a relief to her, knowing he’ll be all right, and won’t require a doctor.
“Still probably look a mess, though. I WAS just on a very long run.”
Rose takes in the sight of him. He does have a point. His face, though probably not flushed anymore, still glows pink from the sun most likely. And his hair, no longer damp with sweat, has that tousled just-exercised look. (Briefly, her fingers itch to run her fingers through his hair…she wiggles them to try and get rid of said itch.)
“Well, you look less like you’re about to collapse from heat exhaustion, which is good enough for me,” she says in return. “And if you need anything else—spring rolls or anything—just let one of us know.”
“Thank you.”
With one last smile, Rose walks back towards the kitchen, resisting the urge to turn around. Or, when she’s back IN the kitchen, to peek out from the call window. There’s no reason whatsoever for her to be this weirdly nervous over what a still-basically-complete stranger thinks of her food, but there it is.
But orders come in, and preparing banh mi and spring rolls and salad helps distract her some, as does the general chatter between the kitchen and the counter.
During a lull in service, while she tries to get a head start on inventory, she pauses at the sound of Paige calling her name.
“What’s up?” Rose asks, joining Paige at the counter.
“What are you doing back there?” Paige asks.
“Um…working? Inventory?” Rose points at her pad of paper with her pen. “An aspect of my job?”
“No, I mean…what are you doing back there instead of sitting with your friend out there?” Paige asks.
“Wh—Armitage? He’s still here?” Rose peeks around the corner. Sure enough, Armitage still sits at the table she’d left him at…like, at LEAST an hour ago. “Is he still feeling okay?”
“Sa far as I know. I refilled his tea once, then gave him a water with lime,” Paige says. “Anyway, why haven’t you gone back out to talk to him?”
“First of all, I’m on the clock. Second of all…Paige, I just met him today. And I only helped him out because I literally thought he was gonna die for a hot second. Anyone else would have done the same.”
“Yeah, well, he keeps looking over towards the kitchen like maybe you’ll make another appearance.”
“…he does?”
“Yeah. And when he’s not doing that, he looks into his tea and…I dunno, dude, he just looks kinda wrecked. And not from the near-brush with heat stroke—like, emotionally wrecked.”
“…oh.” Rose felt like she’d seen hints of that when she walked him out of the park.”
“So go talk to him.”
“Paige, I’m busy—”
“Oh my god, I know you’re being all proactive and shit, and I appreciate that so much about you. But he’s literally the only sitting customer in the café right now, and in the past fifteen minutes, we’ve had ONE person come in for tea to go. Kaydel can handle any food orders for an hour or two until dinner rush.”
“Really, Paige? An hour or two?”
“Just go.”
Rose sighs, pushes her inventory notes into Paige’s chest and ducks back into the kitchen to rid herself of her apron. Walking by the refrigerator, she pauses to take stock of her appearance as best she can in the grainy reflection.
“You look fine, babe,” Kaydel calls from the other end of the kitchen, giving Rose a thumbs-up from behind her book.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Rose says, flipping her middle finger at Kaydel. Kaydel returns the gesture with a wide grin.
Rose, after one last sweep of her fingers through her hair, walks back out into the café, towards Armitage’s table. He looks up from his water as he senses someone approaching.
“Heard you were still here,” she says, not unkindly.
“Yes, well…” He shrugs.
“You feeling all right?”
“Quite recovered, yes.”
“You gonna be able to get home okay by yourself, or will you need me to help with that, too?” Rose teases.
“That won’t be necessary,” Armitage says, a laugh on his lips as he speaks. Rose sits in the seat across from him. “I don’t mean to take you away from your job, if you’re busy.”
“It’s pretty slow right now, so don’t even worry,” Rose says with a wave of her hand. “Besides, not the first time one of us has stepped away from our duties to sit down and chat with someone.”
“Really?” Armitage raises his eyebrows.
“Yeah, we’re pretty relaxed here when we’re not in peak hours. Like, Finn’s boyfriend will come in sometimes, or Rey’s boyfriend, or Kaydel’s girlfriend, and they’ll always step away to share a cup of tea and maybe an order of banh cam with them.”
“Ah.” Armitage stirs his water with his straw, the last remnants of ice melting as he does. “I suppose the same applies when your boyfriend comes to visit?”
“Oh…no, no boyfriend. Or girlfriend, I’m…” Rose shakes her head, huffs out a little derisive laugh. “No, I don’t have anyone anymore.” A pause. “Right now, I mean.” Armitage nods. “…how was your noodle salad?”
“Wonderful,” he says, tone brightening, as though he, too, is relieved by the topic change. “Pretty fucking delightful, even.” Rose rolls her eyes. “Perhaps the best noodle salad I’ve had.”
“If you follow that up by saying it’s the ONLY noodle salad you’ve ever had, I am NOT accepting that compliment.”
“Do other types of pasta salad count, in this case?”
“They do not, and I think you know that already.”
“Then I rescind the latter half of my compliment. The former half still applies.”
“And I’ll gladly accept that former half. I’m very glad you enjoyed it.”
It’s so weird…bantering with him like this. This is the kind of banter that usually only comes easy with the rest of the Tico’s staff (i.e., her family and closest friends). Not with someone she’s known for not even half a day.
“So…how much do I owe you?” Armitage asks, pulling a thin wallet out of his pocket. “For the salad and the tea? And YOUR tea, I suppose, given how much I drank of it. I asked Paige about the bill, but she said you’d handle it.”
“Oh.” Her sister can be a right crafty bitch when she wants. “No charge.” At least, she’s pretty certain this is what Paige meant in leaving the bill in her hands.
“I can’t possibly—”
“I’m not in the habit of charging people who almost die on me.”
“I think you exaggerate my condition just a bit.”
“Regardless, this is my treat.” Rose reaches forward to push his wallet back, her fingers pressing against the top of his hand. “So put your money away right now, Armitage Last-Name.”
“…if you’re certain.”
“Very certain. If you want to pay that badly, you’re welcome to come back another day and try something else on the menu. Or order takeout; we deliver.”
Armitage glances down at her hand over his, and she quickly pulls it back, worried that she just crossed a boundary she wasn’t aware of. If anything, her move deepens the crease in his brow the tiniest bit.
“And if there’s anything else you want today—refill of tea, different flavor, spring rolls—that’s on the house as well,” she adds.
“Nothing else right now,” Armitage says. “…except…maybe just to sit here and talk with you a while. If you’re amenable to that.”
“It’s a few hours until dinner rush, so yeah, I can stay and chat. Ask anyone here; I’m VERY good company.”
“Good to know,” Armitage laughs. “I’ve been told on my better days, I’m not so bad myself.”
“That right?”
“I think it’s mostly the accent.”
“Well, at least you’re honest about it, if not outright blunt.”
“There’s also been a comment or two about a charming smile. Probably looks better on days where I’m not a complete mess of a human being.”
“Oh come on, you’re not that bad-looking,” Rose says. She studies his face again, the last vestiges of laughter. “I think I can see what they mean by ‘charming smile.’ That’s…yeah, that’s a very nice smile. I’d better see that smile in my café again some time.” Armitage ducks his head and covers his mouth, as though suddenly self-conscious of his smile. Rose moves her own to meet his eye. “I mean it. It’ll break my heart not to see that smile again.”
The “see YOU again” goes unspoken, but Rose finds herself meaning that more than anything. Armitage looks up at her. She nods, as though answering a question he hadn’t asked.
“Well then…” He uncovers his mouth. “I promise to return. Can’t go breaking hearts, can I?”
“Pinky promise?” Rose holds a pinky out. Armitage links his pinky with hers, For only being finger wrapped around finger, the touch sends a jolt shooting up through her arm to the rest of her body.
“It’s Hux, by the way.” She furrows her own brow. “My last name. I realize I haven’t told you that yet, and…well, I learned your last name walking in.”
“Armitage Hux,” she says.
“Rose Tico,” he replies.
“…I like it,” she decides.
“You’re one of the only ones who does.”
“I do. It’s a very distinguished name. It suits you.”
“…thank you, Rose Tico.”
“Is this gonna be a thing now? First-name last-name basis?”
“No, I just…thank you. For everything.”
His voice tremors just the slightest bit, and Rose pauses.
“Everything?” she asks.
“For the salad. The tea. For not thinking my name is stupid. For just…sitting here and talking with me. For helping me in the first place.”
Rose can see what Paige was talking about…what she herself had thought she glimpsed when first meeting him but wasn’t entirely sure.
“It’s, um…it’s been a rough few days…weeks, if I’m being entirely honest,” he continues. “I think I just took it out on myself too hard today. With the running. Like…I thought…” He shuts his mouth very abruptly, cutting his sentence off. “Sorry. Not something you should share with a stranger, I know. And I’m more than oversharing, so I’ll just…if you want to get back to work, it’s fine.”
There’s clearly a story there. But Rose doesn’t push. It’s not the time or place for that.
“Well…next time, make sure to take a break or two,” she finally says. “Cool off by the fountain. Enjoy its whimsy.”
“I really should…not every park has a dandelion-shaped fountain.”
“Only the best parks do.”
Armitage sips his water, biting his lip after, mulling something over. Rose probably shouldn’t focus her gaze so intently on said lip bite, has to mentally shake herself out of her reverie.
“If I don’t return here right away…” he begins. “…but I go for another run in the park, and stop by the fountain…would you perhaps want to meet me there some time? Or…we could meet at the park and go for a run together?”
Rose couldn’t stop the silly little smile on her face even if she wanted.
“I take my lunch break at the park more often than not. Almost always by the fountain, sometimes the garden by the fountain. So…yeah, I can definitely save you a seat on a bench. Or…you know…my blanket, like today. I don’t run, but…I’d be happy to join you for a walk some time.”
If his earlier smile was charming, this resulting smile is practically incandescent.
“Pinky promise?” he asks, extending his pinky again. She laughs and wraps her pinky around his. They stay linked longer this time around.
Despite that seeming like a perfectly logical ending to a conversation—a promise of more to come—they do end up talking almost right up to dinner rush. Armitage asks about the café, how she and Paige started it. Likewise, Rose asks about Armitage’s job (between jobs, actually, just left his old one, it’s a whole thing…) (and there, too, is a story perhaps too heavy for today, so she doesn’t delve deeper than he’d probably feel comfortable).
More easy banter. More probably-way-too-soon flirting. Because Rose will admit to some shameless flirting on her end, if only because she’s fairly certain of shameless flirting on Armitage’s end.
When a few more customers begin to trickle in, and tables begin to fill, Armitage and Rose finally leave the table.
“You’ll be okay getting home?” Rose asks.
“I’ll be fine. I live within walking distance,” Armitage says. “If it helps, I could call or text when I reach my place?”
“…smooth way of asking for my number,” Rose admits, fishing her phone out of her pocket.
“That honestly didn’t even occur to me. I simply offered as a way to assuage your concerns for my well-being.”
“Well…if you hadn’t asked for my number, I would have asked for yours.”
“To check up on me or to…?”
“Both.”
At least now, when Armitage’s face tinges pink, she knows it’s not from sun or from heat.
With numbers exchanged, she walks him out of the café, past a couple more people who walk in.
“Kaydel’s gonna kick my ass if I don’t get back to the kitchen soon,” Rose says, “but please do let me know when you get home, and if you’re still okay. I don’t think heat exhaustion or heat stroke can sneak up on you hours later, but…”
“I’ll text as soon as I’m through the door,” Armitage says. “Promise.”
“Pinky promise?”
“Three pinky promises in one day is pushing it a bit. I reserve pinky promises for the most important and sacred of promises.”
While Rose is fairly certain he’s joking, she can’t help but feel…sort of tingly that he considers their earlier pinky promises so important to him.
“Thank you again for everything,” Armitage says, offering her his hand. “I was very happy to meet you, Rose Tico.”
“I was very happy to meet you, Armitage Hux,” she returns, shaking his hand.
He smiles at her, his hand lingering in hers perhaps a beat too long. And for a brief moment, with the way his smile fades (and from the way she thinks he glances at her lips), she thinks he may kiss her…on the cheek, on the lips…doesn’t matter where, she just thinks it may happen…and she wouldn’t hate if it did.
But instead, his hand slips out of hers, and he nods.
“Good night, Rose,” he says. “Hope dinner rush isn’t too bad.”
“Thanks,” she says, blinking. “Good night.”
She tries not to feel too disappointed he walks away with one last smile. Not that she can dwell on said disappointment for too long, what with more people walking into the café.
In retrospect, she thinks as she and Kaydel cook their way through a not-too-awful dinner rush, it’s probably better that he didn’t kiss her. She’s never really understood wanting to kiss someone you only just met, didn’t even know an entire day. Never really believed such an attraction, much less “love at first sight,” like that existed.
…though today was maybe the closest she felt to almost believing it.
***
Armitage comes back to the café.
More than once.
Becomes a regular, actually.
He orders banh mi one day, pho another day, whatever special Rose has concocted for the week. Sometimes, when it’s not too busy, she’ll sit and share a plate of spring rolls with him, ask him about whatever new blend of tea Paige recommended him for today. He always asks to try a sip of whatever blend she’s drinking that day, even though said blends are usually just as sweet as the mango passionfruit hibiscus tea from the first time they met.
They meet in the park, too. Always by the fountain. He’ll ask about the book she’d reading, and if he’s also read it, they’ll discuss it at length. She finds herself bringing an extra bottle of fruit-infused water, in case his run has been harder than he thought. Every now and again, they meet on days where she’s not working, walk leisurely through the park, through the garden, Rose pointing out her favorite flowers to him.
He offers to cook for her, too. Says it’s only fair, given how often she’s cooked for him. (“You order food at the café I own and work at; I’m literally just doing my job, Armitage.”) That said, she finds herself at his apartment, watching him cook the few things he knows how to cook and cook well. Finds new recipes to try his hand at. Though they usually end up cooking those together. Sometimes, she cooks dishes they don’t serve at the café but were staples of her childhood. Sometimes, he asks her to teach him how to cook said dishes.
They talk. A lot.
About a month and a half after the first day they met, Armitage begins to open up about the “rough few days…weeks, if [he was] being entirely honest.” About his old job, climbing the corporate ladder at a less-than-reputable company. His boss, who respected him very little. His father, who respected him even less. “Thin as a slip of paper and just as useless,” he’d heard over and over from both old, embittered men.
He’d had too much one day. One bad headline too many. One realization too many of the atrocities he’d help the company commit. And he realized it was either leave his job or throw himself in front of a goddamn bus.
Rose listens to it all quietly, always keeps a hand somewhere on Armitage (his back, his wrist, his hand, his shoulder) as he speaks…admits to things he’s done that he’s not proud of, things that still weigh on his mind, convince him that no amount of trying to better himself will ever make up for. How the day she’d met him, he was convinced that if he ran hard enough, ran fast enough, ran long enough, it would rid himself of every bit of bad left in him. She wraps her arms around him and says nothing as he cries into her shoulder. Gently kisses his forehead. His cheeks. His eyes, still damp with tears.
Likewise, she opens up to him about her own past. Her family. How her mother and father would work so hard and so long and still make barely enough to put food on the table. How she and Paige helped as best they could with the financial situation, but nothing ever seemed like enough. How she put herself through what little necessary schooling she would need to learn the business side of owning an eating establishment, since she had the cooking part down pat. How even when she and Paige first opened Tico’s, they constantly worried about failure. That they poured every cent and every drop of blood and sweat and tears and soul into building something that would soon become nothing. How she still worries about that sometimes, even when business is good and has consistently been good.
About past relationships that really burned her, left her feeling less than worthless, always wondering what she did wrong to push them away. Even when seeing, in retrospect, that the faults did not lie with her, but with them…how SHE was done wrong. And how it made her wary of love for the longest time, for fear that she would just have her heart broken again.
Armitage takes her face in his hands and assures her of everything her sister and friends and therapist have told her already. But coming from Armitage, the assurances hit very differently. Perhaps because they come from someone she can feel herself slowly falling in love with, no matter how terrifying that prospect is.
Once again, she wishes, hopes, that he’ll kiss her. That when he says, “You are not less than worthless…you are absolutely worthy of love and of being loved,” he would follow it up with “…because I’m in love with you.”
He does kiss her cheek. Low enough to almost brush the corner of her mouth. Assures her that she is loved by many.
Of course not. Too soon. Far too soon for what she wishes. But maybe one day…
***
One day on their walk, despite the sun shining in the sky, Rose feels drops of water hit her skin. And she and Armitage are far enough away from the fountain that it isn’t the usual spray.
She ignores it at first. Until the drops come faster and heavier, to the point where Armitage notices.
They run, hand in hand, off the path and towards the first tree with enough cover to possibly shield them from the rain. Only thing is…
“Well, if we’re not gonna be wet from the rain, the fountain will fix that for us,” Rose laughs, the familiar misty water from the dandelion fountain hitting her back. Because while the tree blocks rain from above, it can’t block mist from the side.
“We can at least wait it out here until the sunshower passes,” Armitage says. As he speaks, an errant raindrop from a tree leaf hits him in the eye, making him flinch.
“God, and I spent so long on my hair today,” Rose grumbles, reaching up to brush her fingers over the herringbone braid that was the source of her aching arms this morning. “Ugh…I tried to hard to make it artfully messy; now it probably looks just plain messy.”
“Your hair is lovely,” Armitage says, taking her hand to pull it away from her hair.
“…yours is, too,” she says. Raindrops cling to the end of some of the ginger strands, sparkling like little jewels in the sunlight. With the almost golden sky behind him, he looks almost…she doesn’t have words. Or breath.
“…I’m sorry.”
She blinks at his sudden apology.
“What?” she asks. “What for?”
“It’s probably too soon,” he says.
“For what?”
“For…” He squeezes her fingers, not having let go of her hand. “I didn’t mean to fall so fast, but…I think maybe I have been since the moment I met you.”
“You’re…what?” Rose almost can’t believe what she thinks he might be saying. Almost doesn’t want to hope for it.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, so quietly his words almost get sweat up in the rushing water of the fountain. “And if I’m not, I’m well on my way to getting there.”
She blinks. Reaches up to wipe away a raindrop sliding down her cheek.
“I know we haven’t known each other that long,” he continues, “and…I’m sorry if it’s too much to hear, especially with…I know you’ve been hurt in the past, and perhaps it won’t mean much saying it, but the last thing I want to do is hurt you, I’d rather hurt myself before hurting you, and if this is all too much, please just tell me to shut up and I’ll never speak of this again and…”
His words trail off as she reaches up to touch his face. To brush away the raindrops and mist clinging to his skin. He closes his eyes and leans further into her touch, lips brushing against her palm in a faint kiss. She reaches up with her other hand to cup the back of his neck, before she leans up to (finally) kiss him properly.
Her fingers brush rainwater out of the hairs on the back of his neck. She tastes rain and mist on his lips. From behind her eyelids, all is golden.
He breaks the kiss to look at her. Like he can’t believe that just happened. That she kissed him. That she…
“I’ve pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for the past month or so,” she says. “Probably longer than that. Just wasn’t ready to admit it to myself until then.”
“You…yeah?” Rose giggles at his lack of articulation, brushing her lips against his again briefly. Then again, more firmly. Another longer kiss as he gathers her into his arms, nearly crushing her to him.
***
A couple years later, they take their wedding pictures in front of the dandelion fountain. Rose’s dress and Armitage’s tux both get a little damp. They don’t even care.
They dance their first dance to When the Day Met the Night by Panic! at the Disco. Because it really is uncanny how perfect that song ends up fitting how they themselves met.