A/N - Feeling overwhelmed, loved, appreciated, and beyond blessed to have the most amazing readers in the world. You guys made me cry happy tears multiple times today :') Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Room Service

Chapter 22

WhatsApp Private Chat

James Potter to Lily Evans

22/10/2021 09:06 a.m.

xxxxxx

James: Good Morning Evans

I know you're still asleep but

Attached: Location

Dinner at 8

Let me know if you need me to pick you up

James Potter to Lily Evans

22/10/2021 09:14 a.m.

xxxxxx

James: I'm looking forward to tonight

Her hair is still a bird's nest, eyes half groggy and bleary with remnants of sleep when she reads the messages from James after waking up. And yet, despite the less-than-coherent state of her mind, just hearing from him, first thing in the morning, brings a smile to her face and a warm glow to her chest; the fact that she'd missed this little habit of his not lost on her. Based on the time stamp, he'd clearly debated sending that last message for a while—though Lily wonders why he bothered. It should be no surprise to either of them by now just how deep in she already is for him—

Wait.

She reconsiders that assessment, eyes blinking rapidly to think better.

Perhaps he really does think he has a reason to be hesitant; perhaps all the whiplash she's foisted upon him this past week has chipped away on his confidence somewhat.

That unsettling bit of possibility gnawing at her mind, Lily kicks off her covers, jumps up from the bed, fingers tapping out a quick response to tell him that she'll meet them at the location at eight, no problem.

And then, with absolutely no second thought required, she adds:

I'm looking forward to tonight as well.

I miss you.

There.

That should be telling enough.

Not wanting to dwell on if or what he replies, she tosses the phone back on the bed and goes into the bathroom to take a shower. Once shampooed and shaved—for no specific purpose at all—she walks out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, and heads for her cupboard to pull out some pyjamas. However, the sudden reminder of dinner tonight stops Lily short in her tracks.

A brief pause, and then she starts skimming through the clothes hung up inside the wardrobe, shifting hangers haphazardly to the side as she tries to decide what's the best attire to wear for a night out with one's crush's parents—who also happen to be one's employers. Eventually, she decides she has the worst collection of clothes in the entire fucking universe of twenty-six-year-olds, and the strangest social predicament to boot, and lunges for her phone on the bed again with desperation.

There's a text message notification sitting on top of the screen that she soundly ignores, and instead pulls up the phone app to dial Mary, who is mercifully also on a leave.

"Hey, Lil."

"Hi, love. What you up to?"

A yawn from the other end. "Not much. I was just going to stay in bed and rewatch The Haunting of Hill House. Why?"

"Well, now I feel bad for asking, but… I need help."

"Oh," Mary's voice grows concerned. "Everything okay?"

"Um, not exactly. I literally have nothing to wear."

"Is that why you've been coming to work naked for the past week? Now it all makes sense."

"Mary!" Lily half-laughs, half-whines. "I need to go out for dinner tonight, and I don't have a single bloody outfit that feels right for the occasion."

"Dinner," Mary says, sounds deliberately mild in her surprise. "A date, is it? Well, that's… unexpected, but good for you, if it helps—"

"Oh, stop. It's with the Potters."

Silence stretches through the line at that huffed response, long and tense enough that she has to call Mary's name again to be sure the girl heard her. "Okay," comes the eventual reply; tone giddy as all hell. Lily rolls her eyes, smile twitching at her lips. "Better be ready in an hour, Evans. I'm coming over."

"I still can't believe this is happening."

"God, I know."

"I mean, I can believe they invited you," Mary adds matter-of-factly, fingers working on the elaborate braid she's attempting to coalesce Lily's hair into, "—but didn't expect you to say yes, honestly. You sure you're alright with this?"

"I am," Lily insists, eyes narrowed into a glare as she watches Mary through the mirror in front. A sigh rushes out of her when the brunette simply slants a brow dryly. "I mean, it's never been a question of whether I wanted to go or not. I've just… been having trouble letting go of the thought that this affects my integrity as a professional. But it's no longer at a place where I can just—let go without trying, you know? Because if there's anything I've learnt this past month, it's that I'm—I'm always a little deeper in with James than I realize at any given moment."

"Oh, Lil," Mary grins, hands falling atop Lily's shoulders as she looks at her through the mirror excitedly. "Do you think you love him?"

"What?" Lily twists around in the chair, eyes wide, heart thundering, mad. "What—no! That's insane! I mean… I know I have been falling, certainly, there's no other way to explain—" she gestures vaguely, erratically, at her head, somewhere around her chest, "—but I haven't known the bloke for a whole month even! I've snogged him, like twice, and…. That's just not enough time. It would be lunacy, wouldn't it? To be in love with him already? Insane. No. No, no."

Mary snickers, clearly delighted. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Fuck." She bites her cheek, looks up with a half-sick expression. "Cripes, Mare, what did you have to go and say that for?! I'm already sweating in my armpits now."

"Sorry." Mary looks at least slightly more apologetic as she dusts some light blush over Lily's face, soft bristles kissing over cheeks. Why she bothers is a mystery in itself, because there's a permanent flush sticking to Lily's skin anyway. "You're right. He's the literal worst; a right bastard. He could turn out to be a sadist murderer for all you know. I wonder why you're even going on this date."

"It's not a date!"

Mary's movements halt; brown eyes fall on her pityingly. "Oh, brother. Poor Potter's not likely to hear that you love him until he's at least six feet under."

"UGH."

WhatsApp Private Chat

James Potter to Lily Evans

22/10/2021 11:03 a.m.

xxxxxx

James: I miss you too

James Potter to Lily Evans

22/10/2021 08:03 p.m.

xxxxxx

James: Hey Evans

Where are you?

Lily: Almost there!

You've reached?

James: Yeah just a few minutes back

Are you in the cab?

Lily: Mhm

Okay I've reached

See you in a bit

It's not a moment after she sends her last text to James and the cab rolls to a halt in front of the fancy-looking restaurant—The Green Door—that she finds someone opening the door on her side of the car, a familiar, beautiful hand—attached to an equally beautiful forearm—extended towards her. Lily's gaze slides up, catches sight of smiling hazel eyes and messy dark hair and light-green dress shirt, and—oh.

She thanks the driver distractedly, places her hand in James's, and lets him gently lead her out of the car. His cologne this evening is something new, not the one he usually wears, but it's no surprise that it affects her just the same: wholly and ruthlessly. She's rudely smacked in the face right then with the realization that there's nothing on James that she could find unattractive.

"Hi," Lily says, feeling strangely shy, and then silly for feeling shy.

"Hey." His voice, so low and gruff that she has to look at him closer, notice the way he stares at her with slack-jawed awe. "Lily. You look…"

"Rubbish?" she teases, making a show of appraising her own outfit alongside him. It's a sleeveless cream-coloured dress with straps so thin they might as well not exist; the skirt ending above her knee and littered with tiny, pink cherry blossom prints. Paired with similar shaded strappy wedges and a white longline coat that Mary had insisted they leave unbuttoned to show off the rest of her ensemble, Lily feels sufficiently dolled up for the evening. "Yeah, I thought so too."

James snorts, fondness breaking over his expression as he shakes his head at her. "So much like rubbish that I want to live in a trash bin."

"Okay, now you're talking out of your arse."

"No, really—" his hand, still holding onto hers—that explains the incessant buzzing of her skin—squeezes lightly. "You look beautiful, Evans."

And that sincerity has her cheeks staining red. "Thank you. You don't clean up too bad yourself, Potter."

He smirks, like he knows just how much of an understatement it is. "Come on, let's go inside."

Even as she follows him into the restaurant and watches him gesture animatedly as he talks about his parents' reaction to the family picture frame he and Sirius have gifted them—"It was the box that had arrived at the hotel, if you remember," he says, eyes quickly flittering to her—Lily still swims in a pool of affection at the knowledge that he hadn't come outside the restaurant for any other reason than to get a chance to greet her alone.

And so, when she spots their table a few feet away, Fleamont, Euphemia, and Sirius already seated and chattering, she slows her steps automatically.

"James?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any plans after dinner? With your parents or Sirius?"

He's still unassuming, shrugging casually. "Not really. They're going back home right after. And I think Sirius is too knackered from his trip—" And here he pauses, brows slowly threading in the middle, gaze travelling to her, tentative. "Why are you asking?"

She swallows past the nervousness; bites her lip with a sideways glance. "Stay after."

"After?"

She doesn't reply, keeps walking, and it's only a beat later that she notices that he's no longer there by her side; a turn of her head, and he's two steps back, feet halted, frozen to the spot, blinking at her. Laughter bubbles in her chest, threatening to spill—but Sirius's voice smothers the impulse.

"Oi! What are you two doing over there?"

And with no other option left, thanks to his brother having brought their presence to attention to almost the entire bloody restaurant, James unsticks himself from the position and moves to walk normally again, eyes still sharp on her. Lily bites back amusement at his expense, and approaches the table and all of its occupants with a pleasant smile on her face.

"Lily, you look resplendent, darling," Euphemia greets, arms wrapping around her in a warm hug immediately. "We're so glad you could make it."

"As am I. And you look wonderful, yourself."

"Oh, you flatter me," she titters.

"Welcome, dear. Please, sit." Fleamont grins.

She thanks him gratefully, and only blinks in surprised silence when, a second later, she finds James pulling out a chair for her, slotted right between Sirius and the vacant one she assumes is his. With raised brows that he counters with a small smirk, she takes her place around the table, pulse fluttering happily beneath her wrist.

"You and I need to talk," Sirius whispers out of the corner of his mouth before James has even settled.

Lily's heart jumps to her throat, but she can't say she's entirely surprised. "Maybe later, hm?"

A slight narrowing of grey eyes is all the agreement she gets.

When the familiar warmth of someone's presence fills up the chair next to her, she switches gears, paints on a smile. "How was your client meeting, Sirius?"

"Good, thanks!" He nods, effortless in his transformation, too. "Honestly, this is more of Prongs' thing—talking to people and being nauseatingly cheerful, I mean—but at least this bloke didn't cuss me out in French when I tried to negotiate with him. I consider that a win."

She tilts her head, unable to tell if he's kidding.

"Yeah, that really happened," James adds with a smirk from her other side, as if entirely capable of reading her thoughts. His eyes glitter, bright and soft. Is she the only one who notices how close to her his chair has ended up? Is this deliberate? "Not that I blame the man though. Sirius was trying to rile him up."

"I was not!" scoffs the other. "Can't help it if he got so touchy about every small fucking thing."

"Language."

"Sorry."

James leans forward. "You ended up eating his croissant off the plate, mate!"

"It had been lying there for over twenty minutes."

"How the hell did you even get promoted?" Lily laughs.

Sirius grins wolfishly. "Beats me."

"Have you always wanted to work in hotel management, Lily?" Fleamont asks, and she waits to swallow down her bite before replying to him.

"Well, I wanted to be a singer when I was in middle school," she admits sheepishly, pink-cheeked and slightly self-conscious under all the gazes trained on her. "But it was a fancy I quickly grew out of, and by the time I started Uni, I knew hotel management felt like the right fit. Haven't regretted that decision so far in, thankfully."

"Very glad to hear that." Euphemia smiles, pleased. "We're really incredibly lucky to have you. I can easily picture you managing a hotel by yourself sometime soon."

"Oh," she breathes, throat swelling with a mixture of pride and happiness. "That's very kind of you to say."

The food arrives soon after, and conversation floats around the table with ease. As Sirius regales Euphemia and Fleamont with plans for his new bedroom in their soon-to-be ready apartment, a light brush of fingers against Lily's knuckles, planted on her lap, almost makes her jolt up in surprise against her seat. She looks down, then up, finding James's quietly intense gaze pinned on her.

She arches one brow: what are you up to?

"You didn't tell me you sing," he whispers, head leaning close to her ear, sprinkling goosebumps behind her neck when his warm breath kisses up her skin.

"Well," she says through a falsely even tone, "there are quite a few things you don't know about me, Potter."

"Ah. And are you planning on sharing such things with me after?"

Lily chews on a smile; hates and loves the smirk curling over his lips. Perhaps the latter a slight bit more. "Only if you ask nicely."

Delight expands in golden eyes. "Oh, I'll ask, Evans. I'll ask so nicely thatyou'll be surprised."

She holds his stare for a moment longer, and then turns back to her food, heart strumming.

There's no doubt in her mind that he means it.

"It was so lovely to meet you, dear," Euphemia says around a half-hour later as they stand outside the entrance to the restaurant once more. When the bill had arrived at the table after dinner, not one of them had so much as let her reach towards her purse, halting her protests and putting up counter-arguments so strong that she'd been left chuckling and flushed by the end as she'd nodded her assent. Now, even as Lily tries to concentrate on the farewells bestowed upon her by the Potters, a different sort of redness sits atop her cheeks at the acute awareness of what's to come. "You must keep in touch beyond just boring old hotel matters, alright?"

"I will," she promises, squeezing the woman's hands gratefully. "And thank you. For inviting me tonight, and for—" a pull of breath, and courage, "—for giving me some clarity."

Euphemia's expression softens. "Of course. There's nothing more important to me than his happiness."

This time, Lily does not correct her. "You are a wonderful mother."

She beams, hazel eyes sparkling.

"Are we ready to go?" Fleamont, slipping an arm around his wife, smiles through wine-affected cheeks. "Lily, we would love to have you over sometime."

She chuckles. "I'll see what I can do."

"Perfect." Then his eyes seem to land on someone beyond her shoulder. "James will drop you home."

"Yeah, sure." How he manages to sound so casual, then, while her own stomach seems to be floating somewhere north of her chest, Lily will never know.

"Happily," sniggers Sirius, passing by them. Thankfully, everyone ignores him.

A few minutes later, she watches, thrill and tension threading up her limbs alike, as the three of them—sans James—slide into the waiting car a few feet away after hugs and kisses and promises to call more often have been exchanged. And then the car accelerates down the road and out of view.

"Ready to leave?" James asks, turning to face her.

Lily tries to keep her voice steady. "Yep, sure. Just let me book a cab."

"Cab?" He repeats, lips pressed thin, eyes shining amusedly. "Evans, we're not going in a cab."

"I don't live close enough for us to walk, James. And I'm not quite accustomed to a limousine yet."

"Good, because we're doing neither." He rolls his eyes. And then, before she can smack him over the head for being so insufferably cryptic, he puts her out of her misery by cocking his head slightly towards the left. Curiously, Lily follows the movement with her eyes, and notices, there, in the parking space—no. "Sirius's bike."

She eyes the thing.

The black, shiny body; the smooth, leather seat; the gleaming handlebars; the intimidating bulk—every fucking inch of it undeniably cool.

"Oh."