The Missing Piece Of The Puzzle - Ch. 3
"We will be meeting Mr. Williams shortly, Lord. May I get you anything? Something to drink or snack on until we arrive at the restaurant?" Marome asked as they exited the stadium. Knowing the American Lord had little fondness for the cold, he led him to the nearest Tim Hortons , which was predictably, packed. Luckily he had managed to reserve a semi-secluded table for the three of them and had had gotten a few RCMP members to hang around in casual clothing...just in case.
Alfred pondered this for a moment before responding. "A drink, thank you. Something a bit warm? With Milk. I don't much know what drinks are available. No tea, please."
"Then may I suggest the Mocha Latte? One of their best, sir."
"You may." Alfred responded, as they entered the establishment.
As the smell of fresh brewed coffee entered his nostrils, Alfred found himself anticipating the arrival of that Latte.
Shivering slightly due to the temperature change (the gel-like film at the door lessened the shock but he still felt a little of it), Alfred followed Marome to a table in the corner that had been roped off.
As they approached, two employees hurriedly removed the stanchions blocking the table before returning to serving the masses.
Alfred loosened the uppermost buttons on his trench coat and took a seat as Marome hurried off to get their drinks.
Sighing as he settled down on the cushioned seat, he removed his slightly smudged glasses and polished them with the end of his coat.
After replacing them on his face, he then proceed to engage in one of his favourite hobbies: People Watching.
The patrons of Tim Hortons were either mulling about, enjoying meals at their tables (in some cases, drinking coffee while standing) or waiting in line. All of them however, were avidly (and loudly) discussing the hockey game. One brunette woman in particular was gesturing rather wildly as she retold the highlights of the game to a red-haired man who had apparently managed to miss it, her voice being heard even above the chatter of everyone else in the place.
Marome came back about a minute later carrying two small cups bearing the Tim Hortons logo with 'Latte' on one of them.
"Here you are, sir. I do hope you enjoy it."
Alfred accepted his Latte with a polite 'Thank You', letting his gaze wander back to the patrons in the coffee shop while taking small mouthfuls. It was rather good, dare he say.
He never really went 'out and about' much back home so just sitting in an ordinary coffee shop filled with ordinary citizens, without a battalion of bodyguards was a new experience for him (well...guards in uniform, that is – He'd been told officers in plain clothes had been stationed in the near vicinity).
Even in his youth, if it wasn't some business function it was one wild, high-end party after another – never was he actually able to blend in. His title and reputation made sure of that.
"Mr. Marome?"
The RCMP Captain looked up. "Sir?"
"Who was the player that slammed...LeBlanc, right? - Number 56, into the barrier? Number 67, I think. I could not see his title all that well."
It had been bugging him ever since it happened. What the hell was wrong with him? He dearly hoped he hadn't caught fever! Or the flu! But he felt fine now...
"Oh, him? That was Mr. Williams, sir."
Alfred paused in shock.
"He was playing rather..tame, tonight. I assume he wanted to make a good impression."
"Oh." Alfred murmured, softly.
"Speaking of him, he should be about done by now. Unless the fans caught him again." Marome sighed. "I swear, they are almost as rabid as some of the team members."
Despite himself, Alfred couldn't help but feel rather...intimidated? But not quite? It was that same shiver up his spine whenever he remembered that glimmer in Williams' eyes.
Why the hell was this man making him so...nervous! Yes, that was it! (Well sort of.)
He took another mouthful of his Latte only to note it was almost done judging by how light the cup had gotten. The drink had also gotten a bit cooler, but not by much .
A long time ago, this would've caused Alfred to pout and then complain, but now he gave a soft sigh. He would have come back here, sometime. Their Latté, at least, was good. Maybe he'd get a bigger one.
Just as Alfred had taken the last sip of his drink, a hooded figure strode in.
Alfred didn't think too much of it, as it was winter, until the figure made his way to their table.
Catching a glimpse of violet eyes and pale skin, Alfred realized it was the player from before – Mr. Matthew Williams. The Canadian diplomat he was supposed to meet.
Suddenly remembering the letter Lord Braginski had given him, he stood up to greet him. But before he could introduce himself, Mr. Williams hushed him.
"Later. Where they can't hear us or we'll never leave." He whispered, making Marome jump.
"Oh, sir. I was wondering when you would arrive." The man whispered, gathering their empty cups to dispose of.
Mr. Williams' distressed groan seemed to be all the answer he needed. Stifiling his laughter, Marome threw the cups in the garbage as the men departed.
"Apologies for the informal...greeting, Lord Jones." The diplomat started after they had entered the carriage. "But, had my identity been revealed, the results would have been ...let's just say I doubt that you would like to be trapped under the stampede."
As he spoke, the hood was loosened and pulled down to reveal a head of platinum blond hair, pale sin and those shockingly violet eyes.
"It's fine...Mr. Williams." Alfred spoke softly, in a slight daze as he studied the other man's features. Had that been done to done to him by anyone else, Alfred knew all too well he would have gotten up and left without another glance.
But that damned weird feeling in his gut made him stay.
"Many Thanks for your understanding." A pale hand grasped one of his and guided it to a pair of full, pink lips.
As the warmth met his hand, Alfred dearly hoped his face did not show how rapidly his heart beat.
Perhaps he should have stayed in America.
