AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Daryl's blue shirt brought out his eyes. Carol noticed his eyes every time he flicked them in her direction. His face never moved from looking at the menu like he was intently reading every possible food choice there was, but his eyes kept flicking toward Carol as she sat across the table from him.

She smiled at him every time their eyes met and he caught her looking at him as surely as he was looking at her.

It was evident that he'd put some care into his appearance. He was clean and well-groomed. His outfit seemed better put together, perhaps, than she might have expected—though she could admit it might not be fair to assume that Daryl, simply given his trade and status as a bachelor, wouldn't take pride in his date-night appearance.

The very thought that they were on a date made Carol's insides feel a little like Jell-O. She found herself smiling, in spite of any nerves she might feel, every time she caught Daryl's eye.

In addition to his appearance, he smelled good, too. He smelled almost good enough to eat, and Carol was ashamed of the fact that something primitive in her body wanted her to get close to him so that she could simply continue to smell him.

She was thankful that he couldn't read minds.

He had been very polite, so far. He was punctual. He'd picked her up at her house—she'd provided him the address—and he'd rung the doorbell at exactly the moment she'd told him she'd be ready. He'd complimented her appearance, and he'd gone a step beyond simply saying that she "looked nice" to tell her, specifically, that he thought the brown and turquoise dress she'd chosen for the evening was "pretty," and he'd gone so far as to comment that he liked "Earthy tones."

Carol had asked him if he was interested in fashion, but he'd only looked at her sideways, laughed to himself, and said that he didn't care that much about fashion, but he was fond of colors, just the same. In particular, he liked the colors that were most commonly found in nature.

He'd asked her, once more, if she'd changed her mind about choosing where they had dinner and, when she said that she'd meant what she said, and would enjoy the whole experience more if he didn't ask her to choose, he'd opened the door to his truck for her and offered her an arm in case she should need a hand getting in.

During the twenty-minute drive to the place that he'd chosen—an average little restaurant that was neither too formal nor too informal—they'd really gotten through only some awkward and pressed attempts at small talk. They'd covered how the day had gone for each of them. Carol had thrown out an anecdote or two about the coffee shop, and Daryl had told her a couple of stories surrounding his attempts to make repairs at a house and to obtain the parts that he needed to make those repairs.

A lot of the ride they'd spent in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Admittedly, Carol had spent a great deal of the ride wondering what she might say—what he might be interested in hearing, or what he might find unimportant and a waste of his time—and she wondered if Daryl had felt equally as nervous as she had to toss out more information.

By the time they were settled at the restaurant table, though, Carol was feeling more relaxed.

She was feeling more relaxed, perhaps, because she could see in Daryl's features that he was nervous. She didn't like for anyone to suffer from anxiety, really, but it did make her feel a bit more confident to believe that they were on somewhat equal footing—at least in the fact that neither of them was absolutely certain how the evening would, or even should, go.

Catching Daryl tossing glances at her, also, did something to relieve some of Carol's concerns. The smiles they exchanged when they caught each other looking, and the blush of pink that came to Daryl's cheeks to think he'd been caught, made Carol simply feel more relaxed.

Still, she'd ordered water without even thinking about what she might want to drink, and she found that she couldn't focus on the menu in front of her. It might as well have been written in Sanskrit. At the rate she was going, she would have to rely on the pictures to order anything.

"I've never been here," Carol said.

"Come here a lot with my brother," Daryl said.

"Is the food that good?" Carol asked.

"Pretty good," Daryl confirmed. "Mostly there's a lot of variety. That means that—if I'm in the mood for one thing and he's in the mood for somethin' else entirely? We can still eat here without too much trouble."

Carol smiled to herself at the sentiment. She flipped a few pages, pretending that she'd paid some attention to what the menu was presenting to her.

"What's good here?" She asked.

Daryl hummed.

"A lot depends on what you kinda in the mood for," Daryl said. "Pasta, burger, salad, Mexican…you got any idea what you might kinda want?"

"I love pasta," Carol mused. "But—I might be in the mood for Mexican."

"If you're wantin' Mexican here, then it's the tacos you want," Daryl said. Carol smiled at how quickly and confidently he answered.

"Yeah?"

"I mean the fajitas are pretty good," Daryl said. "Merle likes those. You might want those, but…I'd get the tacos. Steak or chicken, but…really the steak."

Carol nodded her head.

"You've sold me on it," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'm not tryin' to tell you what you gotta eat," he said.

"No," Carol said. "I didn't think you were. Honestly. I think you're just—giving me your honest recommendation. And it sounds good to me, so I'm going to take it."

"They come in three or five," Daryl said. "Honestly—I'd get the five. Three's not bad if you're just a lil' bit hungry or you already eat, but I'd eat the five if I were you. I usually order a side to go with it, too. Depends on how hungry you are."

"What are you getting?" Carol asked.

Daryl closed his menu and rested it on the table.

"Got a question for you, first," Daryl said. "Confession, maybe. And a question."

There was nothing in his words that told her that she should smile. There was nothing that he said that made her feel like this was about to be something she would enjoy hearing. Yet Carol's body responded naturally to Daryl's body language, and she folded her own menu and leaned into the table. She caught herself smiling, already imagining what he might share with her.

"I haven't been on a date since—longer'n I kept track of," Daryl said. "That's my confession."

"And what's your question?" Carol asked.

"I'm really in the mood for these sweet, hot barbecue wings they've got here," Daryl said. "But they're the kind of meal that comes with wet washcloths to keep you from makin' a mess all over yourself—and sometimes I still manage to fuck it up." He cleared his throat. "Is that the kind of thing that—that'cha frown on during a first date?"

Carol's heart beat a little wildly. Its manner of behaving was entirely out of line for a simple conversation about messy wings as suitable fare for a first date.

"I think that—it's acceptable to have whatever you want to eat," Carol said. "You're not going to mind if I eat five tacos, are you?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Why would I mind?" He asked. "You sure you just want water, though? They got all kinds of drinks here. Daquiris, margaritas, beer."

He illustrated the latter by holding up his own beer.

"I haven't had a daquiri in ages," Carol mused.

"You oughta get one," Daryl said. "You like spinach and artichoke dip? We can split some while we waitin' on the food."

"Are you trying to fatten me up?" Carol asked.

Daryl furrowed his brow at her, but quickly wiped away the expression.

"It's a date," he said. "We oughta—what do they say? Eat, drink, and be merry."

Carol smiled to herself.

"And then—do I eat all of this and…you go home and tell your brother what a pig I am?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You got no worries about that," he said. "But if you don't want it, we don't gotta have it."

Carol felt like he was sincere. She wanted to believe that he was—that he wasn't going to judge her the way that Ed might have and the way that Shane always did when any of them ate in his presence.

"I'll split the dip," Carol said. "But—only if you split some dessert with me at the end."

Daryl smiled at the challenge.

"Deal," he offered. He got their waiter's attention—which wasn't hard to do since the young man had been somewhat hovering since they'd sent him away the last two times. They'd barely ordered before Carol's daquiri came, followed by an appetizer that could have been a meal for two.

The dip was cheesy and delicious. Almost immediately, Carol could feel something like a cloud of carb happiness settle over her. In addition, there was truly no look of judgement on Daryl's face. He asked her how she liked the food, and he asked her how she liked her drink, but his concern seemed to truly be only about whether or not she was enjoying herself.

She felt herself slip, a bit more, into a relaxed state.

"You just have one brother?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

"If you knew Merle," he mused, "then you'd know that one's enough. What about you? That woman at the café—was she your friend or sister…or?"

"Andrea?" Carol asked. She laughed to herself. Daryl nodded and shrugged at the same time.

"I guess that's her," he offered.

"Andrea," Carol confirmed. "And I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," Daryl said. "Hell—I don't care. She's your…?"

"Friend," Carol said. "Friend. One of my best friends. Maybe she's—she might actually be my very best friend."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"You got any siblings?" He asked.

"I'm the last one standing," Carol said. "I don't even have any family. Not—I mean—I've got some cousins and such, but nobody I'm close to. I really got separated from all of my family a long time ago. My biological family. When I married my husband, that really put distance between me and everyone. Then it was like…they were either all gone or I never made the move to try to cross the space back." Here stomach twisted and her heart fluttered when she noticed the concerned expression on his face. "Shit," she muttered. "So much for light dinner conversation. You didn't sign up for that."

"No, don't worry about it," Daryl said quickly. "I didn't sign up for anything in particular. Wanted to get to know you, right? Share a meal with you. I didn't say the whole damned thing had to be sunshine and puppy dog tails. Is that what you'd be expectin' of me?"

Carol shook her head.

"Not if that's—not if it's not what we're talking about," Carol said.

"So, you don't have biological family," Daryl said with a shrug. "So, me an' Merle's the last left of our family. If I got cousins, I don't even know 'em. So—maybe I get it, you know?"

"My friends are my family now," Carol said.

"Friends are good to have," Daryl mused. "You mentioned your husband. But you ain't married now."

"Divorced," Carol said. "Ironically, the divorce was the best thing to ever happen to me."

"You seein' anybody else?" Daryl asked.

"Outside of this date? I'm like you said…I can't remember the last time I went on a date," Carol said. "I really stay busy with the café. I've got my friends. I'm always trying out little hobbies, and I love new little adventures. I haven't really had time for dating."

"You ain't had time for it, or you ain't found…someone you wanted to date?" Daryl asked.

Carol tasted her daquiri. He seemed to genuinely care what she might say. On the other hand, she wondered how much of his curiosity was driven by his concern over whether or not there would be another date—and how much of that interest really only had to do with whether or not there would be something physical, again, between them.

"Maybe a little of both," Carol said, careful not to land too hard on either side of the line. "What about you?"

"That one's easy," Daryl said. "I got the time. But—I guess my brother would describe it best by sayin' that…I'm kind of picky."

"Picky, how?" Carol asked.

Daryl smiled at her. He raised his eyebrows, and then he turned more attention to his dip covered chip than the food really merited.

"I don't like playin' games," Daryl said. "And I don't like—wastin' people's time or havin' people waste mine. I guess…I'm not interested in just anybody. I'm only interested in the right woman."

Carol laughed to herself. There was a certain amount of confidence in Daryl's words, but there was something else there, too, that she couldn't quite name. It almost sounded like anxiety, in one way, and melancholy in another.

"How will you know if she's the right woman?" Carol asked.

"I just believe that's the kind of thing that you just know," Daryl said. "In your gut. It's like—a natural thing that you know. But there's a catch."

"What's the catch?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. He slid the chip basket, with the tip of his finger, in her direction—prompting her to eat more. Feeding her, really, in his own way. Carol accepted a chip, and loaded it with dip, entirely without apology.

"It's like everything else in nature," Daryl said. "You gotta really be listenin', and you gotta trust it—even if you sometimes know you're just about blind and runnin' on nothin' but pure damn instinct."