Chapter 4
Liz walks into the restaurant, standing on her toes as she scans the room for Red. She sees many diners, all dressed in casual, mid-day finery, and paying her no mind. Liz purses her lips. Only Red would invite her to a restaurant like this knowing full well that she would be wearing a leather jacket and a blue beanie.
Typical.
Red had left a day in between their last meeting before calling again – Liz tried to ignore how happy she was that he didn't wait a full three days like the last time – and inviting her to lunch to discuss the heist. In a public restaurant. In broad daylight.
Unbelievable.
She had assumed that he had reserved the whole stuffy restaurant or something ridiculous for the sake of privacy (that was something rich people did, right?), thinking there was no way he would discuss secret illegal plans surrounded by potentially eavesdropping diners.
She was wrong.
He apparently didn't think anyone would care enough to listen to their heist plans or, if they did, he obviously didn't care enough to do anything about it. He was happy to sit and enjoy what will probably be a delicious lunch – if the small portions and pristine table cloths are anything to go by – out in the open, where anyone can see him.
Except Liz, apparently.
She continues to crane her neck, struggling to find him in the busy restaurant. She sees the host spot her and start to make his way over to seat her. Great. She was hoping to slink in unnoticed, feeling very out of place in her current attire, every inch the careless, fresh-out-of-college, youth she pretended to be. She doesn't even know what name Red gave when reserving his table and it could be anything. If she could just catch a glimpse of him –
"Hello, can I help you?"
The host interrupts her desperate search, looking at her with undisguised interest. Hm. Well, at least he's not snobbish and rude. He is cute, after all, despite being several years younger than her, probably actually fresh out of college, as opposed to her. Oh well. Perhaps he can help.
"Um, maybe, I'm looking for a, well, he's a, uh, he –"
But Liz is saved from struggling to describe the walking enigma that is Raymond Reddington by the sight of a fedora perched on a hat stand near the back of the restaurant. She swears it wasn't there a second ago but, if it was, it's no wonder she didn't see it. He must have secured a private table if he's all the way back there. She can't see him but there's no mistaking that hat, probably worth more than her monthly rent costs.
The host is still watching her hesitantly.
"Oh, never mind, I see him," she says kindly, relieved, and flashes the young man a smile which seems to dazzle him a little. "I'll just go and join him."
She leaves the stuttering waiter behind, catching a quiet little "oh, okay" before she saunters out of earshot, not sorry to be going. He is sweet but much too young for her, even if an on-looker wouldn't be able to tell. Besides, she's not interested in a boy.
She is having lunch with a man.
(Oh, bad, Liz, bad thought.)
Liz weaves her way carefully through the tables, minding the messenger bag slung across her chest, catching a few stares from elegantly dressed man and woman with her bright blue beanie and wide rimmed glasses, as expected, before she finally rounds the corner to a table situated out of the way in a little alcove. It is still within sight and earshot of a few tables, all of which are suspiciously empty. Perhaps reserving the whole restaurant wasn't such a far-fetched assumption, after all.
"Lizzie!"
His warm, welcoming voice washes over her, as it always does, making her feel much less out of place than she did in the open dining area. Amazing.
He sits in a fancy chair at the beautifully laid table, looking just like all the other elegant, rich diners in the outer area. She sighs.
(He's so out of her league.)
There are only two places at the small table, all the dishes empty, save two goblets of water at each place. Both glasses contain the same amount, however, meaning that Red waited for her to arrive before eating or drinking. Somehow, she's not surprised. He is an unfailingly polite criminal. She smothers a smile.
"Hi, Red," she says happily, slinging her bag over the back of the vacant chair across from him. "Where's Dembe today? Won't he be joining us?"
Red smiles easily at her, taking a moment to watch her remove her beanie, stuff it a little self-consciously in her bag, and smooth a hand over her ponytail before answering.
"Dembe is rather a connoisseur of fine foods and he enjoys watching professionals at work. He's in the kitchen observing."
Liz raises her eyebrows, surprised and skeptical. She thinks it's more likely that Dembe is watching over Red's meal at all stages to make sure no one slips anything in it. That fits with her current profile of Red, appearing completely at ease while really going to all lengths to assuage his paranoia. Poor Dembe, being quarantined to the kitchen to watch his boss's food, how unfair –
"I know what you're thinking, Lizzie, and it's nothing like that. Dembe is quite an enthusiastic chef. You should try his dishes, they're exquisite. His mushroom ravioli with sun dried tomatoes and white wine sauce is to die for. And don't even get me started on his desserts."
Liz smiles, amused by Red's gushing over Dembe. Perhaps their relationship is something deeper than it appears at first glance. She'll be sure to observe them more closely from now on.
"I see. So, he is a willing student of the kitchen, is he?" she questions, quirking an eyebrow at him.
"Very much so," Red says happily. "I'll tell him you were worried for him though, he'll be touched. If you're lucky, he may even make you his famous crème bruleé as a thank you."
"Good, is it?"
"Positively indulgent," Red hums, his voice deep and his eyes dark. Liz stares back at him, entranced. The air warms between them.
(Liz suddenly wonders what would happen if she took advantage of their seclusion at this private table, out of sight, alone, together –)
And then a male waiter materializes out of thin air – luckily a different young man than the one Liz talked to before – and the heated staring contest between Red and Liz comes to an abrupt end. Liz can't help but feel both relieved and disappointed.
She reaches for her water goblet and takes a fortifying gulp.
"Are you and the young lady ready to order, Mr. Kershaw?" the man asks professionally, completely unaware of what he just interrupted. "Would you perhaps like some wine to get you started?"
"Yes, please, Walter," Red says smoothly, turning away from Liz to address the waiter he is obviously familiar with. "I think we'll share a bottle of '76 Merlot, if that's all right with you, of course, Lizzie?"
Liz, who hasn't even glanced at the beautiful menu covered with curly writing, nods easily. "Sure, I'll have a glass."
"Very good, ma'am," the waiter nods and disappears again.
Liz sighs, turning to the menu, on the hunt for something that looks good. She doesn't even know where to begin. But she certainly doesn't want to admit it to Red.
"If I may, Lizzie, I would recommend the chicken marsala with roasted potatoes and red wine sauce. It's delicious, easily my favorite thing on the menu."
Well. That sounds lovely. How convenient. But she doesn't want to admit that either.
"Hmmm," she hums noncommittally. "Thank you for the suggestion. I'll keep it in mind."
Liz pretends to read the rest of the menu thoroughly, already having settled on the chicken marsala. Then she thinks of a way to tease him more. She can't resist.
"Red wine sauce, you said?"
"Yes. Why, are you not a fan of wine?"
"Oh, no, certainly, I am. I love a good glass of red before bed just as much as the next girl," Liz smirks at him over the rim of her glasses. "I'm just sensing a theme with your suggestions here, Red. Not trying to get me drunk, are you?"
Red only grins at her, his eyes sparkling. "Perhaps I am," he murmurs.
Another moment starts to grow between them but is quickly stopped once again by the return of their waiter with their ordered bottle of wine. Liz is starting to feel a distinct distaste for this poor server and his timing. But then he pours her a generous glass of wine and she feels a little more friendly.
"Are you perhaps ready to order?"
"Lizzie?"
"Yes, I am. But you first, please."
"Of course," Red agrees easily, wasting no time in ordering his preferred chicken dish.
The waiter simply nods, making no move to write the order down. Liz tries not to be impressed by that. This order will probably be the least complicated thing he serves all day. He turns to look at her expectantly.
"And I'll have the same, please," Liz says politely. The waiter just nods again before taking their menus and moving off.
"Well, well. You took my advice, after all," Red says to her slyly, regaining her attention effortlessly.
"Well, you know, there's a first time for everything," Liz says cheekily, reaching for her wine glass.
Red smirks at her, picking up his own glass and clinking it gently with hers before she can bring it to her mouth. "Indeed," he purrs, holding her eyes as he takes a sip from his glass.
She blushes.
(Oh, my.)
"Well, I was under the impression this was a working lunch. Am I mistaken?" Liz prompts after another long moment, struggling to break Red's gaze long enough to form coherent words.
Red continues to stare at her for a second even after she looks away. She can feel his gaze on her, a warm, drugging thing, before he nods to himself and slips into his businessman persona.
(Liz can see the change in him easily, another person sliding into place as if a switch has been flipped.)
"No, you're absolutely right. A working lunch it is," Red confirms, straightening in his chair. "Details are coming together well for the heist."
"Excellent," Liz murmurs. "Any chance you want to fill me in on those details? I'm used to running solo on gigs like this. I feel quite left in the dark."
"I'm sorry, Lizzie, that's not at all my intention," Red frowns, leaning forward to convey his sincerity. "It's only logistical things that I've been organizing. I invited you to lunch today for the very purpose of filling you in."
"Oh, good," Liz says easily. She doesn't feel any animosity towards Red for the lack of information. She believes him when he says he was intending to tell her. She just wants to prod him along a little, with the heist date drawing closer every day. "So, what do I need to know?"
Red gives her a little smile of thanks for understanding and takes another sip of wine before answering her.
"We'll rob AM&R Bank at two o'clock in the afternoon on September the twentieth."
Liz almost chokes on her mouthful of wine.
"What? We're robbing one of the most secure banks in D.C. in broad daylight? Are you crazy?"
"Quite possibly," Red grins at her a little madly. "But this is a perfectly sane decision, I assure you, Lizzie."
Liz puts down her glass and pushes it far away from her. Perhaps drinking wine at a working lunch with Raymond Reddington is not a good idea.
She crosses her arms. "Care to elaborate?" she asks primly.
"With pleasure," Red answers happily. "As demonstrated beautifully by your response, the best time to commit any crime is when the ones who would stop you least expect it. This is especially true with a robbery. If the guards aren't expecting a break-in, they won't see one. The human mind is a remarkable thing, as I'm sure you're aware, Lizzie."
Liz purses her lips, mulling over his logic and the obvious reference to her psychology background. She has to admit he has a point. But that doesn't mean she agrees with him.
"All right," she says a little tersely.
Red frowns slightly. "You don't sound completely on board."
"That's because I'm not," Liz answers simply. "I admit that your logic is sound but only in theory. In reality, it simply can't hold up."
"And why is that?" Red challenges, seeming intrigued by her defiance and genuinely interested in her opinion.
Liz stares at him evenly. "If there's one thing I've learned in my studies of the human mind, it's that people rarely do as they're expected. There's so many random variables that you're not taking into account in this situation."
"Like what?" he asks immediately, an odd sparkle in his eyes that pulls Liz forward in her seat, leaning towards him and lowering her voice into something more intimate.
"What if the guard on duty decides to have an extra espresso shot in his coffee that morning, making him more observant and on edge than he usually is? What if one of the cameras needs unscheduled maintenance and it's left tilted two inches further to the left than you originally anticipated, at the perfect angle to catch our faces? What if Amos Rodfield himself decides to show up and inspect his bank that day and we're caught? There are simply too many unknowns."
Red nods seriously, leaning forward to match her posture, placing his forearms on the table, and looks earnestly into her eyes. "Absolutely. We need to be able to control as many factors in this situation as possible if we are to be successful in our operation."
Liz nods, pleased. Good, she's convinced him to see her side of things, excellent, perhaps now he'll –
"Which is why I've planted a guard to be on duty that afternoon, a most trusted friend named Amilo, who, as it happens, abhors coffee. I'll have one of my own men check the cameras and install fake feeds during the morning shift to avoid any unexpected technological mishaps. And, as far as Amos goes, I know his schedule. He'll be on vacation with his young girlfriend Bridget in the Bahamas on the day of the heist."
Liz blinks.
Oh.
"Do you agree with me now, Lizzie?" Red asks, a slight taunt in his voice as he leans closer conspiratorially, a dark twinkle in his eyes.
Liz stares back at him for a moment, mouth agape, entranced and in wonder at his brilliant mind, before looking down at her empty plate with a huffed little laugh. Impressive. But she can't let him off the hook that easily.
"No," she murmurs, looking up to catch his expression.
She sees his self-assured grin slips in an instant, the corners of his mouth pulling down in an unexpected frown.
How satisfying.
"You can only control so many factors, Red. And as impressive as all those things are, committing a robbery in the middle of the day is still a large and unnecessary risk."
They stare at each other in silence, both sets of eyes flicking back and forth to watch the other.
(There is no anger or resentment between them, only good-natured tension and excitement, a friendly debate to see who wins. Liz loves the feeling.)
"But," Liz suddenly breaks the silence with a careless shrug, moving abruptly to sit back in her seat, secretly lamenting the new distance between them. "It's your heist, Red. So, I'll show up whatever time you tell me to."
She grins teasingly at him. She wants to make it clear that there are no hard feelings between them, at least not on her end.
Red seems to get the message, returning her smile after a searching look and a slow nod, easing back in his seat to copy her posture.
"That's good to know," he murmurs finally. "And, while I accept your reasons for thinking otherwise, I'd still like to perform the heist during the day."
"All right," Liz says easily, taking a sip of wine.
(She was right to save it. She needed her wits about her for that round.)
Red follows her lead, sipping his wine as well, observing her as he does so.
"So, you would never perform a heist during the day?" he asks, the teasing back in his voice, happy that they got through a mild disagreement without serious complications.
"Well," Liz lilts, unable to resist playing with him a little. "Not by choice, no."
"And why is that?"
"I've found that I always perform best at night."
She looks up at him coyly, making her innuendo clear, pleased to see his lips quirk and his gaze darken as he looks at her.
"Oh, I have no doubt," he rumbles.
Liz lets out a breathy laugh and they watch each other in rapt fascination until suddenly their waiter reappears with their identical lunches.
(And she is sure that in that moment they were both contemplating a "night performance" and the thought alone heats her cheeks.)
Red turns to their waiter, making a show out of thanking him for the quick service, using no shortage of flattery as he does so. Liz, grateful for the personal moment, takes a deep breath and attempts to steady her heart rate. Who knew lunch with Raymond Reddington could be this exhilarating?
(Oh, but she is enjoying herself.)
Liz looks back up as the waiter moves off again, feeling a little more in control and ready to tackle whatever disarming looks Red may choose to throw at her next.
(And perhaps throw some of her own. She can't let him have all the fun.)
"This smells amazing," Liz says. And it's true. The chicken looks perfectly done with just the right amount of sauce. Her stomach grumbles. She suddenly remembers that she's only had some buttered toast to eat today and that was this morning.
Red smiles at her. "I hope you enjoy it," he tells her sincerely, picking up his wine glass and holding it towards her. "Cheers."
Liz quickly picks up her glass to clink it against his once again. "Cheers."
They dig in, Liz starting with her potatoes and Red going right for the chicken, cutting it up into neat pieces before delicately dipping it in the sauce.
(He is a methodical eater, Liz notices, much like herself, further reinforcing her suspicion that they have similar minds, detail-oriented and organized. The thought that they have things in common thrills her.)
They eat in silence for a few comfortable minutes before Red speaks.
"So, Lizzie," he begins.
Liz looks up from her half-empty plate with her eyebrows raised politely.
"Yes?"
"Now that work is out of the way for now, should we indulge in some pleasant meal-time conversation?"
"Certainly, if you like," answers Liz with a grin, amused by his playfully formal attitude. "Or, we could continue to sit in companionable silence until it gets unbearably awkward from lack of speech and one of us excuses themselves to the bathroom in a desperate attempt to get away."
Red chuckles warmly at her. "Yes, we could also do that, although I must admit I would prefer the former."
Liz smiles back at him. "Yes, I would as well."
(She can't imagine even a hint of awkwardness permeating the air between them. She just suggested it to be funny. Red is simply too comfortable to be awkward. Too suave and confident and handsome –)
"So, what should we talk about?" asks Liz, out of both genuine curiosity and an effort to halt that line of thought in its tracks.
Red takes a moment to drink his wine, swishing the liquid around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, clearly pondering her question. Then, having come to a decision, he looks up at her suddenly, his gaze direct and piercing.
"I'd like to talk about you."
Liz blinks in surprise, her fork, chicken and all, stopping halfway to her mouth. "Me?"
Red's mouth twitches. "Yes, Lizzie. You."
Liz puts her fork down and takes a drink before answering, a little confused. "I'm not sure what there is to talk about that you don't already know. I'm a professional grifter. I pick locks and do brush passes and steal things. That's about it."
"Those are your professional qualifications, Lizzie. I know all about those. I'm talking about more personal things."
Liz frowns. "Personal things? Are you telling me you didn't already have your henchman look up everything little thing about me?"
This time, Red's eye twitches instead of his mouth. Hit. "Intel, for the purposes of the heist, mind you, only tell me so much," Red murmurs. "I want to know more about you, Lizzie, as a person, not as a grifter, impressive though that side of you may be."
"Oh," Liz murmurs, feeling a little touched that Red would even be interested in her that way.
(She tries to tamp down the little flutters in her stomach at words "Red" and "interested in her".)
"Well," she says, feeling more at ease now. "What would you like to know?"
Red smiles a kind smile, his eyes warm and attentive. "Where did you grow up?" he asks softly.
Liz smiles back. "Nebraska."
And it goes on from there, Red asking questions and Liz providing answers, opening up more as time passes. Red is an active participant, making it a true conversation, adding comments or occasionally sharing a related story of his own.
(He is a fantastic storyteller, engaging but not overpowering, and she thinks that she could listen to him all day, would like to, in fact. But, for some reason, he's more interested in her right now and that creates a different but equally pleasant feeling inside her.)
Liz does most of the talking, the rest of her meal going cold on her plate while Red picks a little more at his own before abandoning it completely to give her his full attention. And Liz doesn't mind not finishing her plate; she was getting full anyway and she can have the leftovers for dinner tonight.
(And the fact that Red values what she's saying over their delicious lunch of chicken marsala – and he was right, it is fabulous – speaks volumes to her.)
Liz isn't sure how long they talk but she knows she never wants it to end. She's never enjoyed talking about herself very much but with Red, she doesn't feel like something on display to be picked at and dissected, like she does with most people. She can feel his attention on her but it is polite and courteous and interested, a warm, flattering thing. It doesn't suffocate her or pressure her like other people's eyes do and instead gives her just the right amount of welcome to feel safe.
(It's a lovely feeling.)
Liz isn't sure how long they would have sat there talking and sharing and laughing if Dembe had not suddenly appeared by Red's elbow, staring at him meaningfully until Red finished his current story (which left Liz holding a stitch in her side from laughing so hard) and managed to tear his openly adoring gaze from her.
"Yes, Dembe?"
"We must leave now if you are to make your three o'clock meeting, Raymond," Dembe says quietly.
Liz's mouth falls open in shock and she quickly turns to root around in her bag for her phone, needing to see the time for herself. She manages to extract it with minimal struggle and unlocks the screen. Dembe is right, of course. It is half past two. Her and Red have been eating and talking for just over two hours.
(Time flies when you're…well.)
Red nods, gently dismissing Dembe, and takes a moment to shift back into his business man persona. Liz watches quietly, lamenting the return of Raymond Reddington and the departure of Red.
He turns to look at her. "Well, Lizzie, I'm truly sorry to say it but I do have to be going."
"That's all right," Liz says, trying not to let disappointment bleed into her voice. "I didn't realize how long it's been. I can't expect to steal any more of your time."
Red shakes his head at her. "You of all people should know, Lizzie. The word 'theft' implies that you took something I wasn't offering. And that was certainly not the case."
Liz blushes lightly at his words, feeling quite light-headed at the clear insinuation.
(And perhaps it's best that they part ways now; she's not sure how much more overt flirting she can take without breaking out into childish giggles. How much wine has she had anyway?)
Red raises a hand to signal their waiter, who was apparently waiting nearby, unnoticed by Liz, and he hurries towards the table.
"Yes, Mr. Kershaw?"
"Walter, could we have the rest of the young lady's meal to go, please?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Kershaw. I'll be right back, sir."
Red thanks the waiter who, to Liz's surprise, whisks her plate out from in front of her and takes it away. Well, the service in this restaurant is certainly something. At the eateries Liz frequents, they usually just toss a flimsy box in her general direction. What a change.
Liz takes a breath. "Thank you for such a lovely afternoon, Red. The meal was delicious and the company was…better." She smiles at him, trying to make her feelings clear.
"You're very welcome, Lizzie. I assure you it was my pleasure. We'll have to do it again sometime."
(And Liz thinks she might hear a bit of a tremble in Red's voice as he says this, just a hint of uncertainty. It's so unfounded that it's almost laughable.)
"Oh, I think so, yes," she says with a kind smile.
He smiles back at her gratefully and they just look at one another until the waiter re-appears, placing a small take-out bag on the table in front of her. She thanks him profusely and, once he's gone, finally moves to stand. Red follows suit.
"Well, I expect I'll be hearing from you?" Liz inquires cheerfully.
"Oh, yes," Red hums, looking into her eyes. "I'll give you a call."
"Excellent," chirps Liz, finding it hard to pull her gaze – and body – away from Red and his magnetic presence.
(Well, she has to leave sometime, doesn't she?)
"I'll talk to you soon then," she says happily, and he simply nods at her. She turns to leave.
Liz makes her way back to the front of the restaurant, weaving through the tables in same way she came in. The only difference is that this time, she can feel Red's eyes on her back until the door closes behind her.
Liz kicks the door of her apartment shut with a sigh, heading right for the kitchen to drop her bag of leftovers off in the fridge. As it happens, she's not hungry, even after a full day of errands and shopping after leaving Red at the restaurant. It's early evening now and she can always eat later.
She turns on some lights as she makes her way through her apartment, growing dim in the evening light, and tosses her bag on its usual chair, somehow managing not to stub her toe on any furniture as she goes. Amazing.
Liz enters the kitchen and sets the bag of leftovers on the counter, reaching in and feeling around for what should be a small box of chicken marsala, only to be confronted with what feels distinctly like two boxes.
She frowns.
Liz pulls out both boxes and sets them on the counter, squinting at them in confusion. After a moment's deliberation, she opens the box on the left to reveal her entrée. So, then what is in the other box? Did the waiter perhaps give her Red's leftovers as well? No, Red's plate was still on the table when she left. So, what –
She carefully opens the mystery box and gasps aloud. A huge slice of tiramisu sits there, looking absolutely delicious. The scent of coffee meets her nose seconds later and her mouth waters. Liz loves tiramisu. How did Red –
Ring, ring.
Liz jumps, a little startled, and goes running for her discarded bag, her phone's muffled ring tone luckily still audible from inside. After a brief struggle involving her car keys, a pair of earbuds, and her lockpicks, Liz finally manages to extract her phone and glance at the screen before pressing accept.
Unknown.
Her heart flips in her chest.
"Hello?"
"Lizzie."
"Red," she breathes, not realizing how she sighs his name until she's already done it.
"Is this a good time?"
Liz can't help but smile. Polite criminal. "Yes, perfect actually, I just got home."
"Wonderful," Red says and she's sure she can hear a smile in his voice. "Did you, uh, get a chance to get settled?"
"If you mean look in my bag of leftovers and find the tiramisu, then yes, I did," Liz can't help but get straight to the point.
"Ah, yes, that's rather what I meant," he sounds a little hesitant, though Liz can't imagine why. "Did you, uh, are you, well, do you –"
It takes a second for Liz to understand what he's trying to ask. "Oh, yes, I love tiramisu!" she hurries to reassure him. "Yes, I could hardly believe it, it's my favorite, how did you do it?"
Red gives a relieved chuckle, so deep she thinks that her phone might have warmed a little in her hand. "It was just a lucky guess. I know you're a fan of coffee, at least in the morning, since I had some with you in your apartment last week, so I figured it was a safe bet that you'd like tiramisu. And I just slipped a note to Walter when you weren't looking, that's all. I'm surprised you didn't catch me, to be honest."
"So am I," murmurs Liz, truly impressed that Red managed to perform what was basically a brush pass right in front of her without her noticing. "Well, thank you very much, I can't wait to dig in."
"You're very welcome, Lizzie, and I'll let you get to it in just a moment. I was just calling to see if you'd like to practice a little tomorrow."
Liz frowns to herself. "Practice?"
"Yes, for the heist," he answers, excitement now clear in his voice. "I was just thinking it might be a good idea to see how we work together under pressure before the big day. Just to be safe, you know."
Liz has to admit it's a good idea. She hasn't done too many joint gigs – since she definitely prefers to work alone – but with the few partners she's had, it's never quite worked out.
(She has a funny feeling that Red is different though. In more ways than one.)
But, it can't hurt to practice, as Red says.
"All right," she agrees eagerly. "Do you have anywhere specific in mind?"
"Not really," he says idly. "I figured I'd get your opinion on that since you're no doubt more experienced in the field than I am. Of course, we could always meet at outside your apartment and wander until we find an appropriate location to steal a little something. Or is that too spur-of-the-moment for you?"
He sounds genuinely concerned that this won't be to her liking, apparently oblivious to the fact that that's exactly the sort of thing Liz had so much fun doing with her friends in high school. Besides, what better way to test themselves as a team than not planning a thing, all the while knowing that the actual heist will be planned down to the last detail?
"No, no, that's fine," Liz assures him. "Spontaneous crime is my favorite kind of crime, as it happens, however did you guess?" she quirks her mouth up in a teasing grin even though he can't see her.
"I seem to be on a winning streak today," he hums.
Liz presses her phone close to her ear. "One could almost say you're getting lucky."
Red's delighted chuckle at her innuendo fills her whole body and she laughs breathily along with him.
"One can only hope," he murmurs, making her smirk. "So, I'll see you tomorrow morning?"
"Yes," Liz says, happy at the prospect of seeing him again so soon. "Does nine-ish sound okay?"
"It's a date," he murmurs.
"Excellent," she hums. "I'll see you then."
"Good night, Lizzie. Enjoy your dessert."
"Good night, Red, and thank you again."
Liz hangs up, breathless and tingly, and does nothing but stand stupidly in her kitchen for a second, a ridiculous grin on her face.
Oh, Red.
Then she gets another whiff of the tiramisu and snaps out of it, turning to grab a fork from the drawer next to the sink. She wastes no more time digging into the tiramisu, spearing a generous forkful and putting it in her mouth, closing her eyes with a tiny moan as the coffee flavor explodes on her tongue. As she swallows, already helping herself to another bite, she catches herself having the oddest thought.
She wishes Red was here to share dessert with her.
Oh.
Oh, she's got it bad.