Darcy does not move. He is frozen. He's…dumb. Watching Elizabeth through the glass. It's raining (still, always.) Elizabeth stays under the drizzle, lazily strolling on the pier.
Instead of coming in. Of talking to him.
Instead of coming in from the rain, laughing about the noise. Darcy would buy her tea, coffee, anything hot. They'd drink it. Behind them the three local teenagers would still be noisy, playing on the pinball machine. An Avengers pinball machine, ancient when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.
Elizabeth doesn't come in.
Darcy can't work. Can't focus.
He is acutely aware of her presence. Outside, a few steps away, taking pictures. The crates, the semaphore, bright red against all the greys.
It rains harder.
Elizabeth hesitates. She looks in the café direction (in Darcy's direction.) She knows he's there, she saw him. She can't see him watching, not from where she waits.
Darcy averts his eyes anyway.
The rain is pouring now.
Elizabeth comes in.