Daryl

I couldn't believe my ears.

She wanted me ta come ta her place to have breakfast? For the life'a me I couldn't understand this chick. I knew she had herself a man, well, a boy. I knew I had treated her like shit, and she came to ask me over for breakfast? While I was leanin' against the door, lookin' down at her, I couldn't help but smile to myself as I watched her cheeks burn bright. "Sure" I said, a tad too quick as I shifted back onto both my feet. Taking a sip of my bourbon, I dropped it onto the table by the door an' pushed my way by her so I could close and lock up the apartment.

I followed her inside and left my dirty boots at the door. She smiled at me after, I guess she was glad I wasn't gonna ruin her nice an' clean floors. I was just glad I had remembered what my momma had told me as a kid about women and their cleanin'.

"Hope ya like french toast" she said quietly as she moved about her kitchen. She looked so natural, like she was floatin' from place ta place grabbin' different things. I hadn't had a woman cook for me in only God knows how long, and I had no idea how to act around a girl like that. I didn't even know I was still standin' by the door until she said somethin'. "Go ahead and make yourself at home, Daryl."

I nodded as I walked over to her counter, sittin' down on some barstool she had. Honestly, I had no idea how to make myself feel 'at home' in a place like hers. My whole life I'd been in dirty, beat down shacks in the woods. Hell, I didn't have a bed until I was around 18. Lookin' around only made me see how out of place I really was. She had art on her walls while mine had blood stains from fights with Merle. Her fridge was full of good food from the market while mine had beer and whatever meat we'd happened to catch. The only booze I saw in the entire place was an unopened bottle of wine on her counter while my cabinets were brimmin' with bourbon, whiskey, and 'shine.

"So why were you watchin' me again earlier?" she asked as she dipped pieces of bed into some egg and whatever else. I knew she was talking about when I came home that mornin', not the church. I ran my fingers through my hair before foldin' my hands on the counter. I didn't know whether to lie and say that I wasn't, or to tell 'er the truth and make her think I'm some creepy old man followin' her around.

"The door was open" I told her, lookin' down at my hands in case she looked at me. "I thought maybe someone had gotten in."

The smell of the toast began to fill the apartment and my stomach rumbled in reply. She must have heard because she giggled to herself while flippin' over pieces in the griddle. When they were finished, she put them on a plate and brought them over to a small table on the other side of the kitchen, only to walk away again to get a pitcher of orange juice and syrup from her fridge. Smilin', she crooked her finger at me, tellin' me to come with her to the table. I had never eaten at a table before, not really anyway.

"Well thank you for tryin' to save me from the dust bunnies" she said with another giggle. Usually if people spoke to me like that, I just straight up walked away. But somethin' told me it was okay when she did it, that she wasn't makin' fun of me. "Consider this your reward for a job well done."

"Anytime" I replied as I sipped my orange juice. It had been awhile since I'd had that without anythin' extra in it. I had only had french toast a couple'a times in my life, but they never looked like hers. They were fluffy and just browned enough on the outside, just like a picture. As I was cuttin' off a piece, she quickly put her hands over mine and smiled.

"Wait! I forgot somethin'!" she told me as she bolted from her chair. I watched her as she ran to the shelves, grabbin' two small bottles. I couldn't help but watch as her hips moved, as the muscles in her legs appeared and disappeared. I found myself lickin' my lips before I had even tasted breakfast. Maybe going there in the morning wasn't such a great idea...

Beth

I couldn't believe my ears.

He actually said yes. Well, he said 'sure', but that still counted as a yes. After he locked up his apartment, I nodded toward my door so that he would follow me inside. I walked right into the kitchen to start breakfast while I heard him at the door. I was shocked when he stood there and took off his boots, leaving them off to the side. That was all the proof I needed, he had been watching me that morning as I was cleaning. Why else would he have stripped off his mud-covered boots?

"Hope ya like french toast" I said as I set to finding all my ingredients. While I was collecting everything I needed, I noticed that he stayed standing right by the door, as if he were waiting to be told he could sit down. Everything about him screamed nerves as I looked over at him and smiled. "Go ahead and make yourself at home, Daryl" I prompted. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel uncomfortable. I was trying to do something nice and he just looked...scared.

When he finally sat down at the breakfast bar, I relaxed a little bit. I was kinda surprised at how quiet he is, only because of how crude he tended to be when I normally saw him. He didn't seem to have a problem speaking up if it was in a defensive manner. While I was mixing the eggs and milk together, I looked over my shoulder and saw his eyes bouncing around my apartment. From what I had seen of his from the door, we definitely had different styles in 'interior design'. I couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason he was being quiet. I had to admit, he did look a bit out of place, sitting in his leather in denim in my clean and colorful space.

It was when I was dipping bread that I got a bit more brave. "So why were you watchin' me again earlier?" I asked, purposely avoiding looking back at him. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I heard him shuffling about, so I was glad I had something to preoccupy me. Cooking was like that for me, a temporary escape, and I absolutely loved cooking and baking for other people. When I lived at home, my momma had joked that she was going to move my bed into our oversized pantry just so I didn't have to go so far in the morning.

"The door was open" he replied softly, as if he were embarrassed. "I thought maybe someone had gotten in." The thought of him coming to check on me just because my door was open made my heart race. This man barely knew me, but he had come to my door to make sure that I was aright and safe? As I continued to make our breakfast, I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

That's when I heard his. I couldn't help but giggle to myself when I heard his stomach growl. I plated all the pieces and took them over to the small dining table I had bought when I moved in, and when I say 'small', I meant that it had two seats and a tabletop. I went back into the kitchen and brought out a pitcher of orange juice and syrup before I called him over to join me. I watched him as he walked toward me, unable to take my eyes off him. The way he walked just exuded confidence, his bare, muscular arms hanging by his side. I dropped my gaze to my plate when he sat down, quickly trying to think of something to distract me from my thoughts.

"Well thank you for tryin' to save me from the dust bunnies" I said with another giggle. "Consider this your reward for a job well done."

"Anytime" he replied, cutting into his toast. It wasn't until he was about to pick up the piece with his fork that I realized what we were missing. I placed my hands over his quickly to stop him. No french toast was complete without powdered sugar and cinnamon, so I quickly got up and went to the kitchen to grab some. As I was walking, I could feel his eyes on me, watching me as I collected what I had forgotten. I grinned to myself as I felt my hips sway a bit more than usual, as if they knew they were putting on a show.

My smile softened as I returned, coming over to his plate and sprinkling the two powders over his pieces. "Can't have french toast without all the fixin's" I told him. "It's just not the same."

Daryl

I watched her as she dumped some of the two different jars onto my toast. Havin' her so close put me off my game a bit. With her so near, my hunter senses perked up, particularly my senses of smell and touch. As she leaned over, her blonde hair fell and brushed against my cheek and I couldn't believe how soft it was. It was like silk against my tough, stubbled skin. She smelled clean, like flowers and somethin' sweet. It wasn't somethin' I was used to at all. Many of the women that had been around me and my brother usually reeked of booze, cigarettes, and other men. But not her. She was off in her own category, one I never knew existed until then.

I couldn't stop wonderin' why she was bein' so nice to me. I hadn't given her the best reasons to, but she did anyway. I had threatened her boyfriend, made fun of her, hell, she probably thought I was stalkin' her. What reasons did she possibly have for bein' nice to me? "Thanks for breakfast" I said as I cut myself enough piece. Why hadn't I had more french toast in my life? Maybe it was because it had never tasted like hers.

Hers. Panic shot through me. I didn't even know her name. I remembered when she moved in that her daddy had said it, but I couldn't remember it for the life of me. I just knew her as the girl across the hall, but she knew my name. How the hell was I supposed to ask her without seemin' like a jackass?

"Don't worry about it" she said, breaking me out of my thoughts again. "I'll cook for you anytime. I love having people to cook for." Fuck, she was so nice and sweet and I couldn't even remember her fuckin' name? I was a jackass. I couldn't just sit there, eating breakfast with her, if I didn't know her name. I had to figure out somethin'. Honesty had worked before, I chose the same path again.

"I'm not a jackass or nothin'" I started, grabbin' her attention pretty damn quick. The look in her eyes was one of nerves, like she was afraid of somethin'. "I didn't catch your name before. We weren't exactly introduced properly."

Instead of throwin' me out like I thought she would, she just smiled and laughed. Placin' her fork and knife on her plate, she brushed her hands on her legs and extended her hand to me over our breakfast.

"Nice to meet you, Daryl Dixon" she spoke sweetly. "I'm Beth Greene."