Of course their first real date would happen for the good of a con. She should have seen this coming.
XXX
Sophie rolls her eyes at him half-heartedly as they wait in line at the Italian ice shop. What? Nate mouths to her, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Sophie gestures between the two of them and then throws her hands up in the air (she's trying to convey how ridiculous this thing between them is, but Nate purposely misunderstands).
"I hate waiting in lines too," he says, leaning in close to her and snaking his fingers around her wrist. She frowns at him. Nate just gives her a crooked smile in response, and then, because he knows Meredith can't see them inside the crowded shop, he kisses Sophie's cheek. "But," he murmurs, and his eyes go dark, "I'm always willing to have a little patience if it's something that I really want."
Sophie tries to suppress the shiver that snakes its way up her spine, because she doesn't want to see Nate's smug grin, but she fails miserably as soon as his fingers begin tapping against her pulse point. Nate she mouths to him, her eyes half begging him to stop, because the middle of a con is not the right time to be teasing her like this. Nate smiles at her innocently and then turns to the counter to order their ices.
After he's done, they move off to the side together, filling each other's personal space while they wait for their order to be filled. Sophie lets her fingers tangle with Nate's, and then she breaks the silence. "Have you ever been to Paris, Gus?"
Nate nods, and then remembers that Meredith's listening and cannot actually see him. "Yes, I have," he says softly, and the corners of his mouth quirk upward. "I have a lot of good memories from my visits to Paris...and some scars as well."
Sophie bites her lip to hide her smile. "My, my, what were you up to?"
"I was chasing this woman-" across rooftops, through dimly lit museums, gilded mansions, and the worn out places of my heart.
"She sounds wonderful," Sophie interrupts.
"Really? I was leaning toward infuriating." Nate slides his hand across Sophie's back, trying to remember exactly where the scar that he gave her rests.
"Sir?" A teenage employee holds the cups out to Nate and then walks away. Nate turns to Sophie and slips the cup of ice into her hand, his fingers brushing lightly against her knuckles. "Duchess," he says, and she can feel the rumble of his voice deep in her chest.
"Oh, thank you," Sophie murmurs, and she trails her fingers along the buttons of his shirt (because she can only take so much from Nate without retaliating).
"Shall we?" Nate asks, and his eyes are a dark, stormy blue again, and he's offering Sophie his arm.
The bell on the Italian ice shop door rings merrily as it swings shut behind them, and they step out onto the sidewalk. Sophie turns to look back at the shop, and tightens her grip on Nate's jacket when she remembers something from before (before she felt the need to help random strangers, before she had a family). She glances up at Nate, and she wants to say Remember that little Italian ice shop you chased me into on the island of Sicily? Remember how I kissed you in order to distract you while I stole your wallet, and how you tasted like peppermint and raspberries? That was one of the moments when I realized that I might love you.
But now's not the time.
"Let's just sit right over here," Nate says, pointing at a table, and as they sit down Sophie can still hear the chords of a love song being played somewhere behind them. The shiver that ripples up her back this time is not because of Nate's teasing, but because of the sudden gust of cool air that whips up around her and breathes down her neck. He watches her carefully for a moment, and then stands up, placing his coat around her shoulders as though it's an act he performs all the time.
The jacket smells so much like him, and Sophie lets her fingers run along the lapels lightly before pulling the coat closer to her body.
XXX
"Did you ever play catch with your father?" She so desperately wants to hear the real answer, because she wants to know every inch of Nate (his arms, his chest, his fears, his heart, and his past).
"No, no. We uh, we went to Fenway pretty much every year. Went to a lot of games. He loved baseball." There's something in his eyes that tells Sophie it's the truth, and she smiles softly at him.
"You had that at least," she says, because all she can think about is how Nate put his father on a boat bound for Ireland and never looked back.
XXX
"You really are beautiful," he says (the words sometimes I forget that get stuck in his throat) and she can tell by the look in his eyes that this is not part of the con.
XXX
"Listen: I picked you." Nate's fingers rest gently against her elbow, stopping her. "I didn't pick the others. Hardison, Parker, Eliot. I picked you. All right?"
Sophie smiles, and leans in to kiss him, her fingers tracing the top of his jacket pocket. If this was years ago, the kiss would be a ploy, and Sophie would dip her hand into his pocket and pluck out his wallet, but this is now (and besides, she knows where Nate hides his wallet in his bedside table).
He tastes faintly like lemon, and when he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers, his eyes remind her of the stormiest, bluest sky. Sophie runs her tongue over her lips and watches his pupils dilate before she finally turns toward the taxi cab where Parker is waiting for her. Nate opens the door for Sophie, his fingers catching on her hip as she brushes against him. "Soph," he says softly. She slides into the taxi and smiles up at him just before he closes the door. "Nate," she says in response, and she hopes he can hear just how much she loves him.
As Parker pulls away from the curb, Sophie turns in her seat so she can watch him through the tinted glass.
He smiles after her until the cab is out of sight.