They went to dinner at the quietest restaurant Dean could think of. Sophie was visibly skittish out in public and he wanted to keep that anxiety to a minimum. It was an old, family-run Indian place. With a sweet old Beta couple that ran it. Un-intimidating.
It took a couple asks to get Sophie to pick her own food. But eventually they got there.
And for nearly an hour they ate and talked, discovered a mutual love for old action movies, a mutual anxiety around dogs, and a mutual desire to get out and see an ocean beach one day.
"I've summited a couple mountains," Sophie said, "Before. But doctor said it isn't safe at altitude anymore…with the epilepsy. So I've decided I want to try beaches now."
"If this works out," Dean promised, "I'll take you. We'll go to whichever ocean beach you want. Spend a whole week there. And when we get back I'll help you find a gig at a news station. Good?"
"That sounds good," Sophie agreed.
"Perfect," Dean handed her a dessert menu, "You're not one of those girls who doesn't eat sugar. Right?"
"Historically?" Sophie asked, "No. I baked. A lot. Recently? There was a desire to keep us looking as lithe and slim as possible…so I haven't had any of that for a while."
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the anger in his chest.
"It's okay," Sophie said, "Really. Just promise you won't take me back there?"
Dean took a deep breath before continuing.
"I promise," he assured her, "That'll never happen."
They got home late. Sophie was dozing against his shoulder on the drive.
It was all so unbelievable, so surreal.
He found her.
She was real. His true mate. Here. In the front seat next to him. About to see his house for the first time.
Sophie roused at the sound of the garage door.
"Home," Dean said, helping her out of the car and grabbing her bag.
"It's nice," Sophie said, "the garage part anyways…"
"That's my work truck," Dean said, gesturing at the new-ish GMC parked next to the Impala.
Sophie nodded absently, rubbing her eyes.
"It's been a big day," Dean said, "Let's get you inside and do bed."
She took his hand and followed.
Dean suddenly became intensely self conscious. His house wasn't anything to write home about. Semi-detached. Three bedroom. Two bath. And the guy he bought it from had updated everything recently. So nothing looked woefully out of date. But it wasn't exactly exciting. Goodness knows not compared to Sam and Jessica's gorgeous condo in the city. Dean wasn't great at interior design. He'd readily admit that. But he kept it tidy. And he was proud to own rather than rent.
"Kitchen is through there," Dean said, gesturing to his left but heading straight forward, "Living room is at the front and so's my office. Guest bath is at the top of the stairs. Spare room to the right has a bed, other one I use for inventory so I keep it locked just for my insurance. I can show you tomorrow if you're interested. Towels are in the hall closet. I've got shampoo and soap in the bathroom from when Sam and Jess visited, but we can get whatever you want tomorrow."
He led her up the steps and turned for his bedroom.
But she didn't move, didn't make any attempt to find the right door or get ready for bed.
"You okay?" He asked, putting hands on her shoulders.
"Could I…" she paused, "Could we…you know…instead of…"
She gestured vaguely at the door to his bedroom.
"You want to stay together?" Dean asked. Trying not to betray how excited he was.
"If that's okay?" Sophie asked.
"Of course baby," he said gently, stroking hair back from her face.
She didn't flinch at his use of a term of endearment, and she leaned into his hand.
"I feel safe with you," she said, following him into the bedroom, "You smell right. Safe. Homey. Good."
"Go ahead and get cleaned up and changed," Dean said, putting her bag on his dresser, "You said you take a lot of meds right?"
Sophie nodded.
"I'll grab you a glass of water and meet you up here when you're finished okay?" He said, "And no pressure tonight. Got it? We're here to bond. Not for you to please me."
"Okay," Sophie smiled.
"Good girl," Dean murmured as he walked out. He smelled a spike in happy pheromones at those words. And he started, just a bit, to let himself believe this was going to work out.