Short little tease before the smut. Enjoy!
The next day is hectic. Gym first thing in the morning, since she didn't go yesterday. Lucky for her, there's a gym practically next door to Tanner&Co so it's not too out of the way. Then, when she does get to work, she's informed by her coworker that she forgot to book the meeting room which is in less than half an hour. So, Beth runs around like a headless chicken, cleaning up the mess and then arranging the room to a presentable state when she finally does secure it.
Whilst Daniel's busy, she deals with emails and calls and then when he's out of his meeting, he demands that she sort out some invoices, despite them being at the bottom of the pile of her things to do. Throughout the morning and into lunch, her boss doesn't stop flirting with her and he's got a particular craving for coffee, but not the cheap, horrible kind in the kitchen. No, he wants Starbucks, down the block, so she hauls ass up and down like a yo yo to get it for him, every time he buzzes the intercom.
By the time her lunch hour rolls around, she's spent half of it in Starbucks anyway, so she orders and eats in there, orders a fresh coffee for Daniel and takes it back. Beth gets a talking down for how long he had to wait, despite her pointing out it was her lunch hour and then just because he's feeling vindictive, he has her reschedule all his appointments on Monday, without any reason why.
When five shows on the clock, she wants to cry with joy. It's Friday and it's payday, but she also needs to go shopping, cook dinner and take a shower before Daryl comes over and just the thought of his name makes her melt in her chair. Since her knees are feeling a bit wobbly, imagining what's going to happen tonight, after dinner, Beth takes the time to scroll through her phone and pay all her bills online.
She's nearly done, the clock reading a quarter past five at this point, when her phone chimes with a text.
Daryl: We still on?
Beth: Yeah, how's seven?
Daryl: Perfect. What's your address?
Beth texts her address over and then gathers her things so she can shopping.
Christ, she's dead. Gym, work, shopping, she could just curl up on the sofa and watch television all night and if she's honest, order in again. But no, Daryl is coming over and there's a very real chance she's going to be screwed, exactly how she wants. So, time to get moving. Unpack the shopping, tidy the apartment, cook the dinner, shower and change. By the time she's done all that, it's nearly half seven and Daryl's late. She's thankful though because otherwise, he would have caught her with no makeup on. As she's checking on the food, which is ready to be dished up, the intercom rings.
Beth's stomach explodes with nerves. She's kept herself busy, bullet-pointed her way through the day, but now it's all crashing in on her. This is real. Officer Daryl Dixon is about to come into her home, eat dinner with her, drink beer and then… then… fuck. Literally. She buzzes him in then paces the hallway, shaking out her hands as if she can fling the nerves right off her skin.
Daryl knocks the front door and when she opens it, he's not in his uniform, which throws her for a loop. He dips his chin at her. "Hey."
"Hi." Beth smiles. "Come in."
"These are for you."
In his hands are a massive bunch of red roses, which she noticed abstractly when she opened the door but didn't seem to quite comprehend. Beth takes them in a daze, smelling them and struggling to hold the width of them in one hand. "Wow, Daryl, they're gorgeous. You didn't have to."
He shrugs and closes the door for her, a pack of beers in one hand as he stands in her hallway, looking her up and down with intense blue eyes and mussed, -just-been-fucked- hair. "Was hopin' you'd be in the pencil skirt," he flirts with a tiny smile.
Beth's heart pounds and her face rushes with blood. She has no idea what to say so she whips around and heads to the kitchen. "Lemme just put these in water! Don't even know if I have a vase big 'nough!"
Is it possible to be wet already? Jesus Christ, this man is going to kill her. In the kitchen she roots through her cupboards for a vase and Daryl doesn't talk but she feels his presence as she works on the stems.
"You look good though, real good," he says out of nowhere.
Beth's hands shake but thank God her voice doesn't when she looks up at him. "So do you."
Daryl's mouth flirts with a smile and he leans casually against the kitchen doorjamb, watching her without pretence and looking sinful in jeans and a grey shirt. She threw on a spaghetti-strapped silk top and some jeans and she went without shoes since she's in her own apartment, but now she feels slightly under dressed, especially with her wet hair pinned on top of her head and spilling ringlets around her flushed face.
When the flowers are in a vase she places them on the table in the dining part of her kitchen, smiling up at Daryl as she does. "They really are beautiful, thank you."
He shrugs like it's no big deal but there's a tiny bit of red to his cheeks, that in all fairness could be the heat of the kitchen.
"Here, sit down, I'm dishin' up now." She indicates the chair at the table.
Daryl makes his way over, depositing the beers on the counter as he does and pulling the chair out to sit down. "Smells good, Greene."
"You know, you can call me Beth," she teases as she pops the lids on two beers.
He takes the one she offers him. "Thanks, Beth."
God.
Nearly twenty-three years of having the same name and no one has ever made her feel like that when they say it. No one has ever made it sound like that. She rolls her eyes pointedly at him, sipping on her beer in between dishing up dinner and idle chit chat about work. With his plate in hand, she puts it before him and then sits down with her own.
The lights are on in the kitchen, the standard bright yellow of light bulbs, so it's not exactly cosy, but despite the flare such as candles and low lighting or wine for that matter, Beth is comfortable and relaxed. They eat and they talk, sip their beer and even when they place their knife and fork over the plate, leaving their food to settle, they continue to talk.
"Lemme help with the dishes," Daryl says in a lull of silence.
Beth shakes her head, finishing her beer and collecting the plates. "No, it's okay, I'll deal with 'em."
"Beth." His palm, warm and thick curls around her wrist and she stutters to a halt, their eyes connected and her stomach flipping. "You done 'nough. Lemme take care of it."
It might be the beer. It might be the atmosphere. It might even be his hand on her skin and his eyes, so damn blue. Whatever it is, something makes her put the dishes back down, his eyes following her and something makes her lean down and kiss him.