They walked to the restaurant, speaking little and preferring to listen to the hubbub of the city in the early July heat. It was getting dark, the sun beginning to fade down behind the skyscrapers of the city.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's amazing what this city does to you."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Close to it, but not in the city." The conversation faded out. Symposium was in a particularly leafy part of the city, and the trees sloped over them in a roof. The last bits of sunlight were beginning to drip down onto them, golden shafts running through their hair.

"So," Eva began, "Do you have any big plans for the fourth?"

"Not really," he replied. "I usually just spend it with my sister. You're probably heading back up to Meryton, yeah?"

"You remembered."

"Good memory."

"Really good. I must have mentioned it like once."

"It comes in handy."

"Yeah, there's a beach up there that does this great fireworks display. Georgie would love it." Eva immediately realized what she had said, but if Darcy noticed, he didn't show it.

"It must have been nice, growing up on a beach."

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know, I sort of hated it there." Before she could delve into her all-consuming hatred of her hometown, they reached the restaurant. It was a small bistro, one that wouldn't have looked out of place in Paris. Though, considering Eva had never been, she couldn't quite consider herself an expert on the subject. The maitre'd, seeming to recognize Darcy, gave them a smile and a nod and led them to a table near the back. The chairs were wrought iron with wood scattered sporadically around lopsided tables. Old vintage posters covered the walls, save for one, which was monopolized by a large wine rack. It was hard not to consider the room a cliche, but it was pleasant all the same.

"Darcy?"

"Yes."

"Why aren't there menus?"

"The whole restaurant eats the same meal. It changes every night, but Hugo knows what he's doing."

"Hugo?"

"I met him in France. I thought we needed a decent French place near here," he said with an air of complete normality. Eva stared at him. "I'm kidding," he said, laughing. Something gave Eva the impression that he was not.

A waitress brought out the first course, some sort of tomato puree over croutons and feta. It was excellent.

"Why have I never been here?" Eva asked.

"It's a well-kept secret."

"Not too well-kept, the place is packed."

"It's pretty good, isn't it?"

"It's excellent."

"So," he said hesitantly. "Read anything decent recently?" Eva laughed.

"You mean, besides the books I read for you? Yeah, one. It's been ok."

"Pray tell."

"Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures. It's a group of doctors as they progress through med school. All about their own social crap. It's actually pretty decent. You?"

"Just the books for work."

"Pity."

"Why?"

"It always scared me when people never found time to read outside of whatever they were doing."

"Even when their jobs were books?" he asked. She laughed.

"Even then. I remember when you first told me about your job. I thought you were insane. Some trustafarian who just decided he was only going to read books."

"Well, you aren't too far off." Eva looked down into her soup.

"Sorry."

'No harm, no foul." The waitress removed their bowls, then brought the next course, roast chicken in some sort of brown sauce with polenta. Eva took a bite.

"God, what is this perfect thing?"

"Hay sauce," he said, forking a bite into his own mouth.

"Hay sauce."

"Yes, hay sauce," he said, taking a sip of wine. Eva had a hard time not staring at his lips. He had this terrible habit of rubbing them together, occasionally sticking his tongue out to clean them.

"If you'd care to explain."

"I read a book about it and thought I'd mention it to the chef."

"The chef you brought over from France."

"Precisely. Does this confuse you?"

"You confuse me, but that's an entirely different point."

"Pray tell."

"You don't make sense. You glower and smirk and relentlessly make fun of everyone you're around, yet everyone loves you. You make me feel stupid on a daily basis, but you're one of the kindest men I know. You told me…you know, stuff, then you disappear for six months and come back all jacked and ridiculous."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"That's what you got out of that? Really? Besides, I didn't say that. I said muscular," she said, casually sipping her water. "Surely as a writer, you should know the difference."

"I'm not a writer anymore."

"Surely, as someone who spends all day with words, you should know the difference."

"Perhaps," he said, taking another bite. "And, for the record, you're the one who popped back into my life, not the other way around."

"Do we have to talk about this?"

"Not if you don't want to. I spoke to Mike. He said you had a book you wanted to publish."

"No, let's go back to talking about the other thing."

"Is it smut? We do publish erotica under the proper circumstances."

"You were talking to Mike?"

"Is it vampires? Because, you know, we can work with that."

"Darcy."

"I'd be interested to read it."

"I'd be interested to keep it to myself. Why were you talking to Mike?"

"I wanted a coffee."

"You went out to the Den because you wanted a coffee. There are like 37 Starbucks between here and the Den."

"They make better espresso. And the scones are delicious."

"You are entirely ridiculous."

"Coming from you, I take that as a compliment. But I do want to talk about your book."

"I don't really like talking about my book."

"Why not? You're a brilliant editor. It only makes sense that you've spent time working on your own ideas. Most of the editors have."

"You think I'm brilliant?"

"I think you have potential, and I think your book might as well."

"I just don't like talking about it. It isn't good."

"How long have you been working on it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Ten years?" Darcy swallowed audibly.

"Ten years?"

"See, you're going to laugh."

"I won't laugh."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Have you seriously been working on the thing for ten years? What's it about?"

"It's a boy and a girl. They do stuff. It's dumb. I thought of it when I was in highschool, and I never had the heart to stop working on it. Did you ever do NaNoWriMo?"

"No."

"It's this challenge to write a novel in a month. I did it for a few years when I had the time. I came up with this book, this girl and this boy. It's stupid."

"I don't believe you."

"Let's talk about you, about your past. What's your delicious past you keep hinting about?" Darcy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The waitress cleared their plates and brought the cheese course. Something blue.

"Tell you what," Darcy began. "Since you're replacing my therapist anyway... I tell you my past, I have your manuscript on my desk by the end of the month."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I want to help you. And it can't possibly be as bad as you're saying it is."

"Ok, fine. Tell me. I'm all ears." The waitress cleared the plates and brought dessert. Pineapple panna cotta.

"How far back should I go?"

"Oh, tell me everything," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"My father was the CEO of his company, Williams Industries. You might have heard of them." Eva choked on her coffee a bit. "My mother was a philanthropist. Lovely balance to my father's capitalism. I was an only child, did rather well, was all set to inherit the company, continue the legacy. I went to Harvard, did a year at Oxford. I was in my first few months at the company when my mother died of brain cancer."

"I'm so sorry."

"Me too. My father shut down. I panicked. I ran away. For nearly two years, I ran away. I travelled. I grew a beard. I got dysentery."

"You say this so calmly."

"It's happened. There's nothing to panic about now. I came back a few years later, having told myself I had figured everything out. I told my father I wasn't going to follow his legacy, that he should pick someone else to run the company. He just smiled at me, a sad sort of smile. I remember exactly what he said. He just looked at me, straight in the eye, and told me he was getting married."

"Catherine," Eva breathed. Darcy nodded.

"Catherine. Perhaps the general tone of the story is that I'm not particularly good at sticking around when the going gets tough. So I pulled a Walden. I bought some property on the coast of California and decided I was going to build a house. I knew nothing about what I was doing. But I did it. I figured it out. I still go out there sometimes. It was perfect, but I don't know why. I fell out of life. I didn't talk to anyone I knew. Not Richard. Not Charlie. Certainly not my father. I heard through some gossip papers that they'd had a kid, he and Catherine. My sister." Darcy sniffed. "And I wouldn't visit her. I refused. I don't know why. I know I should have, but I was a child. It was a few years like that. Eventually, Richard showed up on my door. He said my father had died. Heart attack. That I had a sister. That I needed to come home. And I did. I started the company, helped set up a new heir to the Williams empire, though I have managed of keep a few of my perks. I started my own life as a real adult. I have partial custody of my sister, considering her mother is a raging mess. And now I'm here."

"You know, it's amazing how you've said so much and managed to say so little about yourself."

"I keep my cards close to my chest." There was a pause. "But a deal's a deal."

"Did you have any pets?"

"A dog. A collie named Murphy. He died when I was seventeen or so."

"Favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Favorite food?"

"Dessert."

"Favorite dessert?"

"S'mores."

"Favorite vacation?" There was a pause as Darcy contemplated. He smiled.

"Netherfield." Eva cocked her head.

"Which time?"

"Take your pick." There was another pause.

"Darcy?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For dinner. For talking to me. For making me feel like I'm not the only fucked up person in the world." Darcy laughed and raised his glass.

"To being fucked up." Eva smiled.

"Cheers."

Darcy walked home from the restaurant alone. Eva refused an escort home, and Darcy had bid her adieu. The night was dark now, but still warm enough to walk home. His bag thumped against his thigh. How was he supposed to live with this girl? He couldn't get enough of her. She was intoxicating, all consuming. He didn't know how to live without her, and yet... And yet he didn't know how she could possibly stand to live with him. He didn't know if there was anything he could do. He was fairly certain there was nothing he could do.

He couldn't believe he had told her what he had told her. It was for a worthy cause, but he had told her everything. A girl he barely knew. A girl he wholeheartedly loved.

No. He had to bury those feelings. She was just a girl he knew. A girl he liked talking to. A girl he wanted to take out to dinner and spend time with. To sit and read with and grow old with. No.

No. He wouldn't. He wouldn't grow old with her.

He walked home alone, bag thumping against his leg as the evening got colder.

Author's Note: Yay, new chapter. Thanks for sticking with me.

Much love and best wishes,

Zoe