The second point on the list was 'to be super helpful'. Apparently, a supportive boyfriend was worth his weight in gold. Dempsey had torn out the page, a gesture that he didn't realise his future self would come to value.
"Oh no!" Harry says from the passenger seat as they head back to SI10 from an arrest in Farringdon.
"What?" He idles the car as they wait in a queue.
It's been a week since the date-not-a-date and he's wondering how to ask her out again, maybe make it a Friday thing and come clean at some point when he's proved he is datable, according to Cosmo.
"I need to pick up my dry cleaning, they'll close if we don't get a move on," she glares at the queue.
"I can put a light on the roof," Dempsey suggests helpfully. "If you've the ticket, we can call in."
"No to the light, if someone sees us I'm not sure my need for a dress will qualify," Harry rummages in her bag. "I have the ticket so we could drop by, if you don't mind?"
The dry cleaners is next to a cafe, and naturally they gravitate towards it. She arrives shortly after him, with her clothing draped on her arm. He takes it from her, and, helpfully drapes them over the chair beside him.
"You planning on wearing those all at once?" He's ordered her tea in a pot and slides the tray over, removing his coffee.
"Freddy has arranged for me to meet the son of one of his friends," she replies. "I need the dress for tomorrow night."
Dempsey pauses, mid stir of the sugar, the feeling of loss reminds him of dark airports and hurriedly packed suitcases. He tries not to revert to type. "Huh, bet he's a banker."
"Doctor. Seems nice," Harry swishes the teapot and doesn't look up.
Dempsey feels the rollercoaster buckle, "You know him?"
"We met a few weeks ago, briefly. He's widowed with a three year old daughter. Freddy thought he could do with cheering up. For some reason he asked me."
The coffee burns as flows down his body. He ignores her quip as he has no helpful words, this wasn't in the article. "You think so?"
"I'm thirty. It's not perfect, but I'm running out of choices."
"You always have a choice, Harry," he feels a chill run down his spine.
"We live a dangerous life, Dempsey. I know we look out for each other but anything could happen."
There's a clatter and the waitress appears with a fancy plate of cakes.
"Happy Friday, Harry," he supplies sheepishly. At the time he ordered, it felt right; now he feels like an idiot.
"Dempsey, this is lovely." She looks at the little apple tart with childlike glee.
He's been so good at keeping his feelings inside. He's worked beside her since his thunderbolt, steady and thoughtful in a show of team work that's had the boss less mad, more mystified. All Dempsey can think of is that he loves her and needs her. To touch her and kiss the icing off her lips and have her body next to his. He wants to worship her in the way this other man cannot.
"Huh?" He mumbles as she taps his leg with her foot.
"Where did you go? I asked if you wanted a bite?" Harry holds out the pastry.
Oh, fuck yes.
"It's all yours," he says.
"I'd like you to taste it." The cake is just there and he is obedient and helpful, taking a bite but tasting nothing but bitterness. He remembers seeing a photo of Freddy and her late mother with their wedding cake and wonders if she's repeating history.
Don't date this guy, please Harry.
He drops her at home an hour later; dusk has settled and the streets are cold. He sweeps up her dry cleaning from the back seat and takes it to her doorway.
"You want me to dump this lot on your bed?"
She smirks and he shuffles his feet, "Oh Dempsey, anything to get into my bed."
His heart sinks, "I didn't mean that, I just got in my hands so I can…"
"Thank you, yes, that would be very helpful." Harry backtracks and he takes the stairs two at a time to escape the awkwardness.
He returns, wondering if he could hug her when she surprises him by getting in first. He drops a kiss into her hair and the moment is gone much too soon.
"See you soon, thank you for the lovely cakes." Harry says to his chest.
He can't remember what he said to her when he left. His feet walk him to his car and his hands touch the wheel, but his mind is light years away in a lovelorn state.
Damm, it hurts.