BEAUTIFUL HOURS
MEETING AU
Beautiful hours move so quickly. -Irene Hunt
His gaze sweeps across the room, searching for a familiar face and a purple beanie. He should have insisted on a brighter location to make it easier; a coffee shop maybe, or the park. They've exchanged pictures, of course, having met on a dating site. But seeing pictures and seeing a real, live person are two different things.
When he spots her in a booth, her eyes already on him, he takes a deep breath, the butterflies in his stomach making their presence known.
God, she's even prettier in person.
She stands as he approaches, and he can't help but notice her wringing her hands in front of her and the nervous look in her eyes.
"Hi, Rick," she says when he's in front of her, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to pull her into his arms.
He'd been on the app for months, swiping right and left with almost reckless abandon. He'd chatted with several matches and been on a handful of dates, but none of them caught his interest like Kate. He was immediately drawn to her, especially her opening message to him.
Choose one: compliment, dad joke, or roast?
He'd picked roast, of course, and her response had made him laugh out loud.
Nice Ferrari. Trying to compensate for something?
Their conversation had blossomed with a natural flow, and now, just a few days later, he feels like a teenager meeting his crush for the first time. He wipes his palms on his jeans and extends his hand.
"Hi, Kate," he echoes, biting the inside of his cheek when she glances at his hand and her cheeks flush. She shrugs and takes his hand, and he's struck by the sparks that fly up his arm, how her firm grip fits perfectly in his.
She nods towards the booth when they let go, and he slides in across from her, his eyes locked on hers. He's about to say something - what, he doesn't know - when a waitress appears out of thin air.
"Can I get you folks something to drink?"
Rick manages to tear his gaze from Kate's to give the drink menu a cursory glance before they order.
He leans forward once the waitress departs, and he studies his date for a long moment, feels his face flush when she looks up and arches a brow.
"Do I have something on my face, or what?" she teases, mirroring his pose, elbows on the table and fingers laced together.
"Sorry, I just…" He trails off and clears his throat, trying to figure out how not to scare her away by being too forward. "So, have you been here before?"
The corner of her mouth quirks and she nods. "Yeah, actually, I bring all my dates here." When his jaw drops, she chuckles and shakes her head. "I don't. I do often come here though. The waitress knows me, so if you try anything, she'll kick your ass."
He chuckles. "Well, I wouldn't. Unless you wanted me to," he adds with a wink, thoroughly enjoying the scarlet flush that appears on her cheeks. "So, what's good here?"
"Everything," she teases with a smirk.
He couldn't imagine a better first date.
Initial nerves give way to comfortable conversation, their few days of messaging providing a solid foundation that they can build on. They talk until the waitress tells them the pub is closing early, wanting to get ahead of the snowstorm rolling in earlier than the forecast had predicted.
"Better safe than sorry," the waitress explains. "It's not supposed to be bad, but it was also supposed to be tomorrow."
The temperature has dropped drastically in the few hours they were inside, and large, thick flakes trickle down from the sky, covering the city in a blanket of white.
Kate tugs on her beanie, taking a moment to adjust it over her ears, and he shoves his hands in his coat pocket and grins.
She's one of the most beautiful women he's ever met, but in that beanie, she's downright adorable.
He wants to see that beanie every day for the rest of his life.
She steps further out onto the sidewalk and tilts her face up, a wide grin on her face as she spins in a circle. He chuckles, his chest warming at the look of utter joy on her face.
He laughs when she stops, snowflakes melting on her hat and eyelashes. He barely stops himself from tucking a stray lock of hair under her hat.
She tucks her hands in her pockets and shrugs her shoulders around her ears. "Sorry, I just…" She chuckles. "I couldn't resist."
"Never apologize. So, uh…" He clears his throat. "I want to ask if you're up for a nightcap, but I guess we'll have to take a rain check."
"Or snow check," she teases. "Or, we could relocate."
"I don't know if anyplace will be open. Unless…"
It's on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitates, knowing she might not feel comfortable with the suggestion.
Kate lowers her head, then gazes at him through her lashes.
Oh, hell.
"I live a few blocks away." He raises his hands in front of him, palms out, a gesture of innocence. "No funny business. I just…well, I'm not ready to say goodnight," he admits.
The corner of her mouth quirks. "I'm not ready either," she agrees in a voice that, were the sounds of the city not muffled by snow, he'd barely hear.
He grins and holds out his elbow. "Shall we?"
She hooks her arm through his and leans into his side. "Lead the way."
"I swear, I would not have invited you over if I'd known the snow would pile up this fast," he insists a short time later, finding her by the window, her arms crossed as she gazes outside.
He sees her reflection smile, just a small lift of her lips, and he offers her a mug of his cocoa, the one he whips up for special occasions.
She turns and takes the mug, her hands gingerly cupping it, and her cheeks pink as she looks down at the toppings, the gingerbread cookie on the bed of marshmallows. "Thank you," she murmurs, gazing up at him.
He takes a cautious sip of his cocoa and leans against the window. "I'd be happy to walk you home if you want to leave," he offers, hoping that she declines, that she insists on staying with him.
She mirrors his position and takes a drink, and even though the lights in his apartment are dim, he can see her watching him in the reflection. "I want to stay," she finally admits in a quiet voice.
"Good," he sighs. He looks out the window, at the thick flakes coming down, stopping the city in its tracks. "So. How do you feel about board games?"
She smirks and raises a sharp brow. "I am pro-board game. But I have to warn you," she continues, "I'm pretty competitive."
He grins. "I think we'll get along just fine."
She shivers when a gust of wind finds its way under her collar, and she hooks her arm through his, leans into his side for warmth. "It's gorgeous out here," she breathes.
"Not as gorgeous as you," he murmurs.
She chuckles. "Smooth," she drawls, nudging him with her shoulder.
After three rounds of Scrabble, he'd stood up, stretched, and - failing to hide his hurt pride over losing twice - had suggested that they take a break and go for a walk. So they'd bundled up, and now as they stroll through a nearby park, she lets out a content sigh.
Normally, her cop instincts would be screaming at her to go home, that she's only talked to him for a few days, and met in person just few hours before. She shouldn't be planning to go back to his place. And she definitely shouldn't be wondering what's under those clothes, whether his hands would be as soft against her bare skin as they were helping her into her coat.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
His question takes her by surprise, and she stops, looks up at him when he turns to face her.
"Do you want me to go home?" she asks, prodding, hoping with every inch of her that he says no, he wants her to stay for a very long time.
The corners of his mouth turn up and he takes her hands in his, tugs her into him so he can wrap his arms around her back. "I really don't," he admits, his gaze dropping to her lips.
Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips and she watches as his eyes darken. "How convenient," she breathes as he leans closer. She slides her hands up his arms and loops her arms around his neck, lifts herself to her toes. "Because I don't want to either."
His mouth is soft against hers, his lips warm, and the kiss they share is much more tender than she'd anticipated. But as soon as his tongue prods the seam of her lips, she opens for him, moaning as heat blooms between them.
His hands travel down to the flare of her hips, and his fingers dig into her jeans. "This okay?" he murmurs, lifting his mouth from hers just enough to form the words.
She nods and surges into him, pressing her body against his, swallowing his moan with the stroke of her tongue. She could kiss him forever, she thinks, but another gust of wind reminds her that even though the park is empty, they're still outside in the snow, and if the night goes where she hopes, they need to be inside.
She slows the kiss, ignoring his whine of protest when she finally pulls away, and she brushes her fingers against his cheek. "We should go back to your place."
He almost trips over his own feet in his haste.
"Do you ever regret it?"
Kate looks up from her perch at the kitchen bar, smiles her thanks when Rick hands her a glass of wine. "Regret what?"
Rick sits next to her and twists so he's facing her. "Leaving Stanford, changing your major. Any of it." He trails his finger down the stem of his glass, and Kate flushes, her body responding to the very clear memory of what his fingers are capable of.
She clears her throat and takes a large drink to bring herself back to the conversation at hand. "Not really. I do sometimes wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed in law," she admits. "Would I have gotten that prestigious internship, where would I be working, that stuff. Would I be a partner yet," she adds with a quirk of her lips. She wouldn't - even as ambitious as she is, a partner at 27 would be tough - but she might be well on the way.
"Would you have worked with your parents?" Rick asks.
She shrugs. "I'm not sure. Dad, probably not; he switched to academia after Mom's injury." She looks up at Rick, sees him nod in acknowledgment.
She'd shared earlier how her mom had been mugged and stabbed shortly before Kate returned to Stanford for the second half of her first year. The mugger had nicked her spinal cord, so there was a real possibility of permanent damage, and Kate had decided to transfer to NYU after finishing the school year to be close. And, since the mugger was never caught, she switched from pre-law to Criminal Justice, decided to pursue a career in law enforcement instead.
Her mom had made an almost-full recovery, thank goodness, but has been left with chronic back pain and a slight limp. Considering they'd initially thought she might never walk again, that's an outcome they can live with.
She takes another sip of wine before finishing her answer to Rick's question. "I probably would have worked with Mom, at least for a little while. Not sure we could do it long-term, though," she adds with a chuckle. "We're both too stubborn for our own good."
Rick chuckles and nudges her knee with his, his laugh and touch sending warmth through her. "I'm sure you would have worked out fine."
She snorts. "You wouldn't say that if you knew my mom."
"Well, maybe I should meet her and find out for myself."
Her cheeks warm and she curls her fingers around the stem of her glass. "Maybe you should," she agrees quietly.
Rick doesn't answer, just moves her glass out of the way and holds out his hand as he stands.
She shivers under the heat of his gaze and takes his hand, lets him pull her up from the table. His arms circle her waist and she drapes hers over his shoulders, lifts herself to her toes as he bends down to kiss her.
She moans when he deepens the kiss, and before she can react further, her back is against the table and his lips are making their way down her neck. "What about you?" she gasps, burying her fingers in his hair.
All she's wearing is his shirt, the button-down that he'd discarded in their frantic mission to lose their clothes as quickly as possible. It isn't on her for long, though, not with the frantic work of his fingers, and she moans when his hands slide along her bare skin, his touch setting her on fire.
"Rick," she gasps, their conversation forgotten as he lifts her onto the table and trails his mouth lower.
"Why'd you become a writer?" she asks much later in his bed, her head on his chest, finger tracing doodles on his skin.
He grunts when she reaches his side, a ticklish spot she'd discovered earlier. He grabs her hand and laces their fingers together. "Like telling stories," he says with a shrug that moves his whole torso. "And I was lucky that people liked them enough to buy."
"It's more than that," she argues, propping her chin on his sternum and looking up at him. "Your books always have hope. No matter how bad it gets, how dire the situation seems, the good guys always prevail." She shrugs. "They're comforting."
He looks down, a tender look in his eye, and smirks. "Is that so?" he asks in a low, teasing rumble.
She rolls her eyes. "Yes, I like your books. Don't let it get to your head."
Before either of them can say anything else, there's a low grumble from her stomach. "Oh my God," she mutters, her cheeks going hot with embarrassment.
Rick laughs and sits up, grabs her hand, and pulls her off the bed. "Come on. I'll make you some food." He hands her his discarded shirt and tugs on his boxers, then drapes his arm around her waist and leads her to the kitchen. "What are you in the mood for? I stocked up for the storm."
She leans into his side, losing herself to his warm, comfortable embrace. If she really wanted to, she could figure out a way to get home - the snow's mostly stopped falling, and the streets, while messy, are passable. She would've gone into work if they'd called.
But he hadn't hesitated to invite her to stay as long as she wants, hasn't shown any desire to have her leave.
The amazing sex probably has something to do with it.
It is more than their physical chemistry, though; they're comfortable together, their conversations flowing like they've known each other for years instead of days. They've talked about a variety of topics, both serious and trivial, and aside from one argument about the best installments of various movie franchises, they've been on the same page with everything.
Banned from helping, she slides into her seat at the kitchen bar, and props her head in her hand. She lets herself relax, lifts her lips in a small smile as she watches him prepare what he claims is the best BLT she'll ever have.
If she isn't careful, she could fall for him.
His hand hovers over the board, and she just reaches for her wine and takes a long sip as her eyes roam over his face, at the tip of his tongue poking through his lips, the furrow of his brow.
"You give up yet?" she asks after a long minute, stifling a laugh at his concentration.
He shakes his head. "No," he insists, "I can find a place for them."
"Okay." She drains her glass and stands. "While you do that, I'm going to find something to eat." When he barely even looks at her, she rolls her eyes. "And then I'm going to take off all my clothes and run outside, then have hot monkey sex with the first person I see, right there on the sidewalk."
"Sounds good."
She chuckles as she wanders into the kitchen and refills her empty wine glass. After a moment she hears a loud grunt of frustration, and his footsteps approach her. She smiles when his hands palm her hips and tug her back into him. "Well?" she teases, tilting her head to the side when his lips touch her neck.
He hums against her skin. "You win," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist.
She turns around and loops her arms around his neck, raises her mouth to his. "What do I win?" she whispers, nudging his nose with hers.
He smirks. "Whatever you want."
The weekend goes too fast.
Two days of conversations, movies, board games, snowy strolls, and a couple of snowball fights - not to mention great sex, and a lot of it - pass before she knows it, and as much as she hates to, she needs to burst the bubble on Sunday.
"I have to go," she murmurs, cupping his jaw, leaning down to kiss him where he sits on the floor.
His fingers curl around her ankles, and he cranes his neck to meet her mouth with his. "Are you sure?"
She chuckles. "Unfortunately, yes. I have to work tomorrow, and I need clothes." She scrapes her thumbs across his two-day-old scruff, feels her face warm as she remembers how the scruff feels against her bare skin. She presses her mouth to his again and again, unable to stop.
It's only been two days, but already, she can't get enough of him.
He slides his hands up her legs and cups her knees, brushes his lips to the inside of her thigh. "Can I see you again?" he asks, hopeful.
She grins, manages to resist the urge to stand up and dance. "There's nothing I want more," she admits, kissing him once more before extracting her legs from his grip.
"Tomorrow night? After work?"
She winces, already dreading the upcoming long shifts. "Ugh," she groans as she stands, "I wish. I'm working doubles all week. Saturday?" she suggests.
He pushes himself off the floor and grabs her hand, tugs her into him, leans down to nudge her nose with his. "I can't wait."
A/N: Parts of this fic were posted on my Tumblr for a Fluffy Friday mini-series in February 2022, and it just wouldn't leave my brain until I expanded it. Any mistakes are mine.