AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I guess you could call this part one of the beach getaway.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
Daryl didn't tell Carol all the details of the trip—just when they were leaving, what she should pack, and when they would expect to get back. He'd cleared the time off with Tyreese without a problem and, then, he'd personally spoken to Andrea and Jacqui—thanks to Andrea's ability to help him get in touch with Carol's business partner—to be able to assure Carol that the business would continue to run in her absence, even if it meant that he would have to pay Andrea, out of his own pocket, to pass up on any extra clients for those days and shift her time to helping Jacqui, which Andrea assured him wasn't necessary, but the promise helped calm Carol's jitters.
The women had been more than happy to help Daryl convince Carol that the trip wasn't going to make the whole world implode. All he had to say was that it was his first—though hopefully not his last—attempt to take Carol away on a romantic trip, and her friends had gone into high gear convincing her that everything was fine for them to take a long weekend and, even, that Andrea could guarantee the house would be fine because she'd swing by and check on things in Carol's absence.
Carol had never been on a romantic trip before.
The honeymoon trip that she and Ed had planned had never happened. They couldn't afford it after they first got married and, from what she told Daryl, it had never happened later because the spark had pretty thoroughly left their marriage by the time they could have afforded such a thing—not that Ed would have wanted to spend the money or that Carol would have pushed him to spend a dime on anything that he could later throw back in her face.
Daryl had promised her that he'd take full responsibility for anything on the trip, and he wouldn't throw a thing back in her face—and then it had been his turn to panic that, just maybe, he'd really hyped the trip up far more than it merited. He'd called it a romantic trip, after all, and he'd barely been able to control his own excitement over the whole thing, but that was because he had such high hopes for the trip. Broken down to its most basic components, it really wasn't that impressive—it wasn't even all that he wanted it to be. It couldn't compete, for instance, with any of the extravagant trips that people took in Carol's books or in his movies.
And just as he'd begun to think the whole thing was a disaster, and as he explained, to Carol, that it wasn't going to be nearly what he was sure she'd want, she'd done the simplest thing she could, and it had stopped his heart from racing wildly in his chest.
She'd reached across the seat, slipped her fingers through his, and leaned enough to put her head against his arm.
"It's already perfect," she assured him. "Because—we're going on a trip together. And you planned it. And it's already the most romantic trip I could ever imagine." She'd smiled at him then—sincerely and all the way to her eyes, and Daryl probably could have run the rest of the way to the beach on the adrenaline that look, alone, sent surging through his system. "It's even better than the books, Daryl. And the movies. Because they're not real. And I love you."
That burst of confidence had carried Daryl through most of the day. When they reached the little beach house, he'd opened it up and let Carol inside to start opening the windows. The owner had said that it was always best to air the place a few minutes just as they arrived. Still, the smell was strangely welcoming. Daryl brought their bags in, and all the food that Carol had purchased and packed in a cooler and a duffle bag so they didn't have to go grocery shopping for their basics—all wrapped in heavy black trash bags in case it had decided to rain on them while they were driving down in the truck—and he had turned the water and the hot water heater on while Carol had put the clean linens, left out for them, on the bed.
All the while, Carol had loudly squealed about every single aspect of the humble little beach house built in the 1950s, and Daryl's confidence had grown with every word of happiness and approval.
He arranged the rocking chairs on the front porch and suggested that, after walking down to the beach for a quick bite at one of the seafood restaurants that was only a mile or so away, they might spend the late evening simply enjoying each other's company on the porch while the weather was good—before they slipped off to the later plans he had for them.
He'd asked Carol if she wanted to drive to their early dinner, but she wanted to walk, so he'd happily slipped his hand in hers and walked with her down to the seafood restaurant. Carol had been thrilled when the all-you-can-eat crab legs had come in a large bucket, and Daryl hadn't had to urge her to eat without regard for whatever belief she often held about the potential of her weight to shift dramatically over night.
As the night wore on, Daryl was amazed at his own body's reaction. He had never before been so strangely calm and so utterly nervous at the same time. It was as though he had split in half and there were two of him rattling around inside his brain and body.
He was nervous about asking her to marry him—everything was planned out for Saturday night—but, at the same time, absolutely everything about Carol calmed him.
He'd heard it a thousand times on his movies—when you meet the one, you just know it. They complete you in a way that nobody else can.
Carol made him feel something that he couldn't even explain. She made him feel, at all times, like he was "home," except that home had ceased to be a physical place and, instead, almost seemed like some kind of higher plane where the two of them existed together in the sort-of-symbiosis that Daryl had recognized growing between them.
Stuffed to the proverbial gills with seafood, they'd walked back to the house, hand-in-hand, declaring that the walk was a good choice because it was the only way they had any chance of getting so much food to even begin to digest a little. Carol made them after-dinner coffee, and they rocked on the porch together as the evening settled around them.
Carol lightly hooked her fingers through Daryl's as they rocked. The air was still, but not as unbearably hot as it would have been before the summer started to die. And Daryl closed his eyes, drinking in the feeling that, for that particular moment, everything was absolutely right in the universe.
Daryl almost hated to finally tell Carol that they needed to change to head to their next destination. She'd gladly changed into one of her dresses—a white and pink one that Daryl hadn't seen before. She'd tried to beg from him some information about where they were going, but he'd simply told her that she didn't get to spoil the surprise, no matter how much she teasingly begged him to tell her.
The place was small, but crowded. It wasn't directly on the beach. Rather, it was a short walk from the beach. Daryl parked with the other cars, and insisted that Carol wait for him to open her door. She did, grinning at him as he offered her a hand and helped her from the truck.
Immediately, she was probably able to guess what was going on. The vintage weekend blast would span the fifties and the sixties, and many people had chosen to drive cars from those years to add to the effect for everyone that had bought a ticket. For a moment, before heading to the building where sounds of decade-friendly music were already spilling out into the night, Daryl walked with Carol through the parking lot to simply admire the cars that people had brought to show off a little.
With the way that she hugged his arm, Daryl didn't have to ask if she was happy with the plans that he'd made for them.
At the door, there was a man who took Daryl's name. Daryl had ordered their tickets—for both nights—over the phone. Daryl could already see that the were turning people away who didn't have tickets. The place was simply too small to accommodate too many people and, though people were welcome to stand outside and listen to the music, they couldn't simply walk up at this point and enter the building.
Inside, Daryl found a spot for them at a high-top table, and he led Carol to it.
"You want a drink or somethin'?" He asked.
She smiled to herself.
"Something—fitting," she said. "Surprise me?"
Daryl already had an idea in mind, so he nodded and accepted her request. He worked his way through the crowd and put in their orders at the bar.
While he was waiting for drinks, he spoke to a couple of people waiting around him and took in the atmosphere around them. The dance floor was marked off to allow people to have room for dancing. It was crowded—maybe a touch more crowded than he would have liked for it to be in an ideal world—and people seemed to be having fun as music piped out from every direction. He could see that, while costumes had not been required in any form or fashion, many people had taken the opportunity to dust off clothing that was appropriate to the eras.
A lot of the people seemed to have arrived in couples, but there was more than enough that rambled about, single, and clearly looking for someone to share a few dances with. The crowd, overall, appeared to be everywhere from their sixties, or older, in age down to their forties.
Daryl wasn't truly surprised, though, at the demographic.
He opened a tab to pay for their drinks, thanked the bartender for them, and worked his way back toward the table where he'd left Carol. She was standing there, waiting on him, with her arm on the table so that she could lean against it.
Across the small high-top table was a man—one of the men who'd come dressed in something like period-appropriate attire—with his gray hair slicked back with some kind of gel. He was smiling at Carol, and was leaning over the table to the point where he was very close to invading what Daryl might have considered Carol's personal space.
Daryl picked up his steps a little and made it to the table. He put his drink down and passed Carol hers immediately. The man looked at him. His face fell, slightly, and he straightened up.
Good.
The smile returned, but it was a different smile now. The man cut his eyes toward Carol like he was trying to read her reaction to Daryl's arrival—like he was trying to see if he still might have a chance.
Carol was smiling at Daryl, and she thanked him for her drink.
"What is it?" She asked, hesitating to take a sip until she'd prepared her brain and mouth for what it was about to receive.
"Diet Coke," Daryl said, "'cause I know you don't like the regular stuff. Cherry syrup and vodka. That OK?"
Carol let out the sweet little satisfied sound that Daryl had come to recognize, ever since Daryl had started loading her bags in the truck for their romantic getaway, as a squeal of pleasure. Daryl had heard other women make a similar sound—for one reason or another—and it had always grated on his nerves like a cheese grater to freshly sunburned skin. When Carol made her sweet little sound, though, it only served to make his pulse hop a few beats faster for a second.
It was undeniable proof that, not only had he done well, but she was overwhelmed with her happiness about every single moment he'd arranged so far. The amount of approval in the sound was enough, honestly, to damn near give Daryl a hard-on from the rush it gave him.
Daryl stared at the man leaning on the table. He expected the Fonzie-wannabe to understand Carol's happiness and to slip into the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs, but he hung around like he belonged at the table.
"Sorry—do we know you?" Daryl asked. Daryl didn't like the man's expression. He knew when he was being sized up, and he didn't appreciate the practice—especially not when he could size the man up, just as quickly. Fonzie might have more money than him, because he certainly looked the type, but he was no physical match for Daryl—and he certainly was no match when it came to how much he could possibly be interested in Carol.
Still, Daryl felt the silent challenge crackle in the air between them, for a second, before it dissipated.
"Name's Rob," he said. He looked around. "Place is crowded and—when I see a beautiful woman by herself…I guess it's only natural to ask if she has room to share."
"She ain't by herself, Rob," Daryl offered. "She's with me—as you can see."
"Rob just wanted to use the table," Carol said, happily drinking her drink and somewhat swaying with the music.
Daryl laughed to himself. He was almost certain, given her expression and tone of voice, that Carol naively believed that.
"Course he did," Daryl mused. "I tell you what, Rob—you can certainly use the table. We're gonna dance."
"You don't want your drink?" Carol asked.
Daryl's drink was a beer. He'd drank part of it at the bar, immediately upon accepting it from the bartender, and he drank down another part of it in a long swallow.
"I'm sure Rob won't mind watchin' the drinks," Daryl said, "as long as he's holdin' onto the table."
Carol took another long draw on the straw in her drink and accepted Daryl's outstretched hand. He led her into the space designated for dancing, and rearranged their hands to be more comfortable. He did his best to find some kind of rocking step to go with the song that was playing.
"Tell you the truth," he said, "I can't dance for shit. I'ma say sorry in advance."
"I can't dance either," Carol said. "Never really had a reason to, but…it's not like we're trying to win the world championship. It's just for fun." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And it's kind of nice to have an excuse to hold onto you in public, and to have you holding onto me."
Daryl hummed.
"I won't never let go," he offered. He laughed to himself. "No damn matter how much that shit might piss Rob off."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Carol asked with a laugh.
"Like you ain't known he was tryin' to come on to you," Daryl mused.
"He just wanted to use the table," Carol said.
"And if you believe that, then I got to keep a double careful eye on you with all these hungry ass wolves prowlin' around," Daryl said.
"Wolves?" Carol asked, amused.
"After my best girl," Daryl said. His face ached. He shook his head. "I don't like it."
"You don't?" Carol asked. She was teasing. It was clear on her face, but there was something else there. Daryl felt it tugging—pulling something inside him—like a magnet inside of her had linked up to a magnet inside of him.
"No," he said sincerely. "I don't. I don't want—nobody tryin' to swoop in when I'm not lookin'. Take you away."
"That's not going to happen," Carol said, more sincerely than she'd said the other words. "I'm not fickle, Daryl. Besides—what about…all these vixens?"
"Vixens?" Daryl asked, amusement bubbling up in him again.
"I saw the woman at the bar," Carol said.
"What woman?" Daryl asked.
"That you talked to," Carol said.
"I didn't talk to no woman at the bar," Daryl said.
"You did! I saw you!" Carol looked at him, incredulous but still slightly amused. Daryl laughed to himself and thought back.
"I mean—you talkin' about just now? She was just waitin', too. For her drink. Said somethin' about—how much fun all this was. That's all. It weren't no kinda conversation."
"And Rob asked me if he could share the table. Told me he liked my dress because he'd been worried he might be overdressed," Carol said.
"He was flirting with you," Daryl insisted.
"And she was flirting with you," Carol countered. Daryl swayed her, out of step with the music, to distract her and she laughed at him and gripped him hard like she'd been scared for a second that she might lose her feet.
"I didn't hardly even notice that woman was alive," Daryl said. "Didn't even remember her. Couldn't pick her out now if I tried." He leaned his forehead against Carol's forehead, and smiled to himself at her satisfied hum. "Not a single damn person exists," he offered. "But I didn't like him after my best girl."
Carol dropped a hand from around his waist and brought it up to touch his face. He accepted the kiss she offered him, stilling their poor attempts at dancing long enough to fully enjoy the kiss.
"I came with you," Carol offered, the soft quality of her voice sending a shiver up Daryl's spine that made her laugh quietly as she continued speaking. "And…like the song says? I won't forget who's taking me home, or in whose arms I'm gonna be."
