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"Hello, sir. I assume it’ll be the same as usual?"
Harold looked up at the waiter and nodded, then went back to reading his book.
A few moments later, the waiter placed a plate of Eggs Benedict and a glass of orange juice in front of Harold.
"Is your friend joining you today?"
"My friend? What—"
"Yes, the one you stood up. Twice."
Realizing that the waiter was talking about John, Harold thought that, from the outside, it might have looked that way, especially the first time.
"What’s good here?" John asked Harold after sitting down across from him at the Lyric Diner.
Harold replied sternly, "That won't work, Mr. Reese."
John asked in a genuine-sounding tone, "What won’t?"
"Your interrogation technique."
Harold knew his interlocutor was well-versed in those techniques, so it was only natural for him to be suspicious, even setting aside his paranoia.
John almost pouted as he retorted, "What’s good here? It’s an innocent question."
Harold found that hard to believe, though, and countered, "No question is ever innocent coming from you. You’re trying to figure out whether I come here often."
Harold thought he saw a hint of hurt in John's eyes as he continued, "Armed with that knowledge, you'll try to figure out where I live."
"You’re paranoid, Finch."
The hurt in his voice was real this time, but Harold didn’t deny it. He replied, "With good reason."
He then took some bills out of his pocket as John insisted, still wearing his half-smile. "Maybe I just don’t know what’s good here, so I’m asking the regular."
Harold didn’t let himself be swayed. He replied coldly and tapped the menu twice before pushing it toward John. "Enjoy your meal, Mr. Reese," then got up and left.
Harold realised he had actually been a real prick.
Of course, John wanted to know more.
But not for any ulterior motive; he just wanted to learn more about the man who employed him, who probably knew more about him than anyone else did.
Now that he knew the man better, Harold understood that. It was all the more admirable that John had stayed and continued to work with him.
"Anyway..." The voice of the waiter, who hadn't left yet, snapped Harold out of his thoughts. The waiter continued in a confidential tone: "I don't know what you told him the second time before you left, but in any case, he looked absolutely delighted after opening the menu. He had a smile to die for."
Fortunately, the waiter was called away by other customers, sparing Harold from having to reply. He frowned, recalling the conversation he’d had with John.
John joined him after speaking with the judge, and the two exchanged theories about whether he would be an ally in the future. Just as Harold was about to stand up and leave, John said to him in a low voice, "Thank you."
He was looking to the side, which was extremely rare for him.
Harold paused and looked at him.
"I beg your pardon?"
John blinked and looked at him, saying, "For giving me a job."
After a moment of silence, showing that he knew what John had said was meaningful and that he wasn’t taking it lightly, Harold did something he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He pushed the menu toward John and said, "Try the eggs Benedict, Mr. Reese."
This time, it was Harold who looked away before adding, "I've had them many times."
He knew John would understand what he meant without him having to say it.
Clearly, that was the case if he believed what the waiter had just described.
Yet, John hadn’t jumped at the chance.
He hadn’t come to disrupt Harold's meal at the diner or try to coax an invitation out of him. That was precisely what had encouraged Harold to trust him. Or, at least, to take the first step in that direction.
Harold had never doubted John's trustworthiness, but entrusting him with his personal matters was a different story. Even Harold's secrets had secrets.
Everything changed, however, when John took care of Harold after he’d been drugged. Although they never talked about it, Harold remembered everything, especially how honorable John had been.
Back at the library, John stayed behind to look after Harold while he was still coming down. As John followed Harold into the library, he said softly, "It'll be out of your system in a few hours."
He walked past Harold and handed him a pack of water bottles. In a gentle voice, he added, "You should really drink this so you don't get dehydrated."
Still under the influence of the drug, Harold asked disappointedly, "You're leaving?"
John replied, "No, I'll stick around and keep an eye on you." Then, draping a blanket over Harold’s arms, John added, "You should really get some sleep."
Harold couldn’t help but ask, "You don't want to talk?"
John grimaced.
"You might regret it in the morning. You’re a very private person, remember?" Even under the influence of the drug, Harold could see that his secretiveness was hurting John, though he didn’t understand why.
He pressed on.
"Come on. Ask me anything."
But John didn’t budge. He rubbed the back of his neck, turned away, and said with a soft smile, "Good night, Harold."
John had him at his mercy when he was at his most vulnerable, and even though Harold probably could have put on a good show, there was no doubt that the other man could have pried whatever he wanted out of him.
Not only had John not tried, but he also hadn’t seized the opportunity when Harold was practically begging him.
Now, with time and perspective, Harold finally understood. All those times John had asked him questions that seemed innocuous but were really meant to get to know him better, not to use the information against him, gain the upper hand, or even take control. John simply wanted to get to know Harold better.
Harold told himself that maybe it was time for him to turn the tables.
To risk changing the dynamic of their relationship.
He took out his phone, hovered his thumb over John’s number for a moment, and then pressed "Call."
John answered on the first ring.
"Hello, Harold."
"Hello, Mr. Reese."
Mr. Reese.
What an idiot.
"Do you need me?"
"Can you meet me at the Lyric Diner at my usual table?" Harold replied.
"Did the machine give out a new number?"
John thought Harold was calling him just for that, of course.
But Harold was about to change that.
"No."
"Then why do you want me to come?"
Harold took a deep breath.
"To have lunch with me...please, John."
The silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes about John’s surprise. Harold, aware of this, gave John time to respond.
"I'd love to, Harold. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. See you soon."
"See you soon, Mr. ... John."
*********
Fortunately, Harold had his book; otherwise, the fifteen-minute wait would have seemed endless. He immersed himself in his reading and, although he had trouble concentrating at first, it was the waiter’s voice that made him look up from his book twenty minutes later.
"Hey, mister, check out that smile. It's the same one he had last time. I told you, a smile to die for."
"I see..." Harold murmured.
Yes, he could see the smile on John’s lips as he caught Harold's eye and walked over to his table.
Mesmerized, Harold barely heard the waiter murmur, "Lucky guy..." as he walked away.
Yes, he was lucky, but sometimes luck was something you made happen, and as John sat down across from him, Harold thought to himself that he’d love to be able to bring that smile to his face again and again.