It's a rainy, windswept day in South Los Angeles when a woman all but barrels into Parse Peralta's detective agency, the door shutting behind her more as a force of the wind than her own doing.
Parse, who had been minding his own business reading a newspaper at his desk, is surprised, but doesn't say anything as she huddles herself against the door. She looks distressed enough, considering her dark ensemble looks to be comprised by just as much water as cloth and her hair is a wet tangle, so he lets her stay there for a moment. His eyes work their way downwards, from the ceiling to her shoes, before he works up the energy to address her. "Yes, hello? Consultations are usually booked in advance, but it's been pretty slow lately so I'd be happy to give you a walk-in discount."
That seems to get the woman's attention, and she looks up in surprise, mouth slightly ajar. "I apologize?" The man laughs lightly in response, and she's distinctly aware now that she's not standing inside D-Light's, the name on the neon sign outside, but a comfortable front lobby of some other, much more formal business. "I thought this was a convenience store."
Parse understands now; the bodega's right next door, and it's not the first time somebody's mistaken his sticker-laden door with old Santana's humdrum snack shop. "Oh no no," he says, setting down his paper and taking a proper look at the woman, "the convenience store is right next door. This is my agency. Parse Peralta, at your service."
She feels like a right idiot- California's weather has not been kind to her so far, and this is just another slight against her in the grand scheme of things. "I'm very sorry," she says, head bowed slightly in apology. "That's my mistake. I should just..."
"It's quite all right," he insists, standing up now; the more he talks, the more she can hear the slightest hint of an accent from across the pond. It's barely audible, probably from years of repression or being actively trained out, but it's there. "Truly, I'd prefer the company on a day such as this."
"I have a fiancé," she blurts out, surprising both of them. It's not as though she's a defenseless woman who needs to dissuade men with her relationship status- but at the very least, it gets a laugh out of Parse.
"I'm sorry!" Despite his apology, he continues to laugh, bracing himself against his desk. "I-I'm not propositioning you, I swear! I'm a man by the law, I would never!"
She tilts her head, and looks back around the office. That makes sense; he doesn't seem like a hardboiled detective, even if he had claimed it before, but then again more naive men have made the same assumption of her as well. Upon further inspection, a few books on a nearby bookshelf hint at a background in criminal law and psychology, only further enforcing his claims.
He seems to notice her curiosity, and his laughs die down into chuckles. "It's...it's on the door as well," he wheezes, finally calming himself down enough to return to room volume. "That is, somewhere under the stickers, I think." Just as he says, there's P. Peralta Detective Agency in mirror font on the back of the transparent door. The sheer number of cats and hot dogs stuck to the door must have made it impossible to see from the other side. Bad marketing sure, but hardly malicious intent.
She breathes a sigh of relief, letting her guard down just a bit more than before. She doesn't trust him completely, she's not an idiot, but at least he's not a complete liar. "Thank you for the explanation," she says sincerely, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "And I'm sorry for the outburst. I'm actually a private investigator myself." Technically it's more a truth than a lie; she hopes that's enough to dissuade him from prying further.
"A like mind," he says with a winning smile. "Although I suppose no amount of investigation could inform you that the bodega is right next door? I jest," he adds upon seeing her face flush in embarrassment. "Actually, would you like a cuppa while you're here? I doubt you want to go back out in that," he waves a hand at the door, "when you were so keen to come inside in the first place."
She hesitates - she's still not too sure about intruding, and it would be easier to hide out in a candy aisle than have his full attention on her the whole time - but eventually relents. Really, this man is too disarming for his own good. "But only for a moment," she calls out as he heads into a back room. A laugh is his only reply.
He comes back with a tea kettle and a box of assorted tea bags. "You can choose first," he offers her the box as he flips the tea kettle open to show transparent, untampered but properly heated water. "I recommend the Twinings earl grey, but this chrysanthemum is sweeter if that's more your cuppa."
There's no real reason for him to be so accommodating, but he is anyways. Perhaps he understands the natural suspicion of an investigator, being one himself. Regardless, she nods. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." He smiles, pouring the water; her tea is some fancy foreign brand judging by the label on the teabag, not something she'd expect from an out of the way private eye. "Now, you mentioned before that you were a private investigator, correct?"
"Correct. I'm only in town for work, to be honest..."
After that, she almost assumes that he'd try to force her to drive the conversation- but she doesn't, and surprisingly enough, he doesn't either. She only speaks on what she's comfortable with, and he fills the rest of the silence with his own experience. It's not much, and he admits that he had just moved from England himself so he doesn't have a firm grasp on American laws, but he's learning. All in all, Parse is...amicable. A bit too much so for a complete stranger, but so long as he doesn't overstep and ask her too many questions, she doesn't mind overlooking it for a moment of socialization.
It's about fifteen minutes later that she becomes acutely aware that the sound of rain on the windows has lessened. Parse offers her a jammy from a tray, but she shakes her head. "I really shouldn't overstay my welcome," she adds upon seeing the frown on his face. "Although perhaps I can stop by again so long as I'm in the area."
Parse's face lights up and he looks past her. "Ah, of course! You must be in a hurry. Please don't mind me, Miss Misora- the rain should have let up by now."
"Right. Thank you." She has the common courtesy to nod her head in a half-bow as he rises from his seat to show her to the door, and to repeat the action after he opens it for her. He's right; the rain hasn't dissipated completely, but it has settled down to the point she can probably walk to the hotel without losing her purse. "I really appreciate it, Parse- I mean it."
"Don't mention it." He flashes her a smile, immaculate as the rest of him seems to be. "And don't hesitate to come back around some time. Even if you don't need help on a case, I could always do with company for tea."
"Right, I'll definitely keep that in mind." As she trudges back into the LA night, she thanks her lucky stars she ran into a man on the same side of the law as her, and wonders what sort of snacks make good thank you gifts for english men.
It isn't until she's several blocks away that Naomi Misora wonders when she told him her name.