A/N: A one-shot palate cleanser that I didn't get to post on Miss Congeniality Day. Set around the time of Reconcilable Differences (not a favorite of mine), between Walk on the Mild Side and Mona/A Moving Episode.
The Perfect Date
Saturday, April 25, 1987
Tony called through the open door to the study. "Hey, Angela. Why don't you take a break?" She had been hunched over her papers, intermittently biting her pencil, for three solid hours. He worried about her back. And her teeth.
"I did take a break. For breakfast with the kids, remember?" She glanced up and adjusted her glasses. There was no looming deadline, but Jonathan and Samantha were volunteering to clean up trash at the nature preserve, followed by an Earth Day picnic, and she wanted to get ahead of the coming week.
"Well, I'm taking a break," he told her, striding across the room toward her desk.
"Technically, you have the whole day off," she laughed. The line between work and life had become so blurry, it may as well have been non-existent. Sure, he had made waffles and gotten the kids to their event on time in appropriate clothing, but it was entirely unclear whether that was part of his role as a housekeeper, father, or member of the household.
"So do you, Madame President." Tony caught Angela holding back a smile as she shook her head and looked away. "It's a beautiful day. Not too hot, not too cold. I was thinking about walking to the farmers' market."
"You do the grocery shopping on Tuesdays, Tony," she reminded him with a tilt of her head. A stray strand of hair slipped loose from her ribbon. He wanted to free the rest of her unruly mane. "I suppose you could pick up some more strawberries, though." She bit her lip, wondering exactly what her mother had done with the fruit between Friday night and Saturday morning. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been better than sharing tea and reflecting on the week after Jonathan and Samantha went to their rooms.
Tony threw his head back and groaned in frustration. Why did she have to be so difficult? He put a hand on her shoulder. "Angela! I'm asking you, as a friend, if you would like to spend some time enjoying a community event together."
"Oh!" Angela turned suddenly, and Tony's lightly calloused fingertips brushed past the neckline of her pink sweater onto her collarbone. He pulled back quickly, but the spark was instantaneous.
I wonder what his lips would feel like on my neck. His strong hands in my hair. His body pressed against mine.
Ever since Inspiration Point, the fantasies were out of control. She worried that her cheeks were as flushed as they felt. Making a conscious effort, she took a breath and pulled her sweater a few centimeters off her chest, revealing a glimpse of her sage green bra.
Stop staring! They're just breasts, and not even big ones. You've seen them before.
The angel on Tony's right shoulder was losing his fight against the demon sitting on the other side. He began his counter argument.
But they're hers. Come on, it's almost like she wants you to look. You'll have some good dreams tonight, yes sir!
Reluctantly, Tony tore his eyes from Angela's chest. He crossed his arms nervously and spun on his heel. "You don't have to go. I just thought it would be fun," he said, peering out the window at nothing in particular.
"Alright," she said softly, standing from her chair. She left everything out on her desk, pledging to return to the task later in the day. "Do you think I need a coat?"
Tony grinned. "Maybe just a light jacket," he said.
Pop-up tents lent shade to overflowing baskets of vegetables, stacked cartons of farm-fresh eggs, and colorful displays of fruits and berries. Craftspeople hawked their wares from tables interspersed between the farm stands. Under one shelter was a woman with a guitar and no audience. She strummed confidently and sang in a breathy alto range. "I had to escape; the city was sticky and cruel. Maybe I should have called you first, but I was dying to get to you."
Angela paused, just ten feet from the makeshift stage. Without a word, she grasped Tony's hand, indicating that she wanted to stay and listen to the talented young singer. The breathy alto seamlessly transitioned to a clear soprano. "I was dreaming while I drove the long straight road ahead. Could taste your sweet kisses, your arms open wide. This fever for you was just burning me up inside."
A few more people started to pay attention, and the singer winked at the sweet couple in the front before starting the chorus. She swayed playfully and slapped her guitar as she belted out, "I drove all night to get to you. Is that all right?"
Tony was frozen. He didn't want to alert Angela to the fact that she was still holding his hand.
"I drove all night, crept in your room."
He swallowed. Was his palm sweating? Surely, she would drop it at any moment.
"Woke you from your sleep to make love to you."
His breath shortened. At first, he didn't believe it. Angela's grasp had shifted. She knew what she was doing.
"Is that all right?" the singer intoned. She had no way of knowing that her question echoed through the heads of the adorable couple in the front.
Angela looked forward, enjoying the music almost as much as the company. Tony's grip was warm and comfortable. He gave her hand a little squeeze, and she shuffled closer, resting her other hand on his bicep.
"I drove all night!" the singer continued, vocalizing freely while she danced with her guitar. Applause broke out when she finished the song. The couple in the front was shoulder-to-shoulder as they clapped and smiled at each other. "That's an unreleased Roy Orbison number," she explained. "I got a bootleg cassette of it yesterday and couldn't get to sleep until I learned the whole thing."
"She's really good," Angela whispered to Tony. He pulled out his wallet and put a couple of dollar bills in her tip jar. As the two of them moved on, others stepped closer.
"Should we look for those strawberries?" Tony asked.
"Oh, yes. Maybe we can have a healthy dessert tonight."
"Or," he started, "I could get a dozen more eggs and make an angel food cake to put them on."
"Ooh," she said excitedly. "You know what else would be good?"
"Whipped cream!" they shouted together. A few heads turned their way, and they recognized Joanne Parker, who had a miserable-looking Walt in tow.
"Angela! Hello!" she called, waving obnoxiously until they approached. "How interesting that you two are here together. Now tell me, Tony, are you on the clock?"
He squirmed, catching Walt's chagrined expression at his wife's nosiness. Then Angela interceded. "Oh, Joanne! I needed to get some fresh air. Tony was smart enough to suggest we walk over here."
"Gee, if I didn't know better, I'd think this was a date." Joanne gave her frenemy one of her patented fake laughs. Walt rolled his eyes.
"You are just too much," Angela replied in an equally false bit of cheeriness. "Now we really must be going." She turned to Tony. "Let's get some flowers, too. For the house."
"Bye," Walt muttered.
"See ya around, man," Tony said, slapping Joanne's beleaguered husband on the back. There was a chill in the air between the two women, who did not bid each other farewell. Joanne let out a miffed harrumph as Angela walked away from her.
"Sorry they didn't have any pink roses," Tony said, arranging irises in a vase. Angela put the strawberries in the refrigerator. "Oh, leave the eggs out," he advised. "The whites will whip up fluffier."
"Oh, it's a shame you have to throw away the yolks," she said, thinking of the poor chickens who laid their green and brown eggs.
"Ay-oh, I'm not throwing them away!" he objected.
"What do you do with them?" she asked.
"I save them to use in other recipes," he said, almost offended. "Hollandaise sauce, carbonara, meatballs, custard. The kids ain't watching their cholesterol yet, ya know."
Right on cue, they heard the front door open. Sam and Jonathan were fighting again. Tony shook his head and picked up the vase. "I'll deal with them if you want to run away," he offered.
"I was kind of hoping to hang around while you made the angel food cake," she said, following him to the living room. He placed the flowers on the console behind the couch.
"What's the problem?" he demanded.
Jonathan spoke first. "Sam thinks she loves the planet more than I do."
"I was picking up cans and bottles when you were still in diapers, squirt," she said.
"She's got a point there, pal," Tony agreed.
"I'm the one who knows stuff about nature," Jonathan pointed out.
"You're right, darling," Angela said. "You could both learn from each other."
Sam and Jonathan groaned and trudged upstairs before their parents could force an apology out of either of them. "Five-minute showers!" Tony called after them.
Angela smiled to herself as she looked across the room at the bouquet. Mona burst through the kitchen door like a dervish. She had a half-eaten strawberry in her manicured hand. "I put the eggs away. No need to thank me!"
"Mother! Tony left those out for a reason. We're making angel food cake. With strawberries, if there are any left."
"Oh, I prefer devil's food cake," she said, plopping herself onto the couch and finishing the berry. Tony held his palm open for the stem before she could discard it God-knows-where. "Don't mind me. I'll stay out of your way until it's ready," she promised, picking up the TV remote.
He put his clean hand on Angela's lower back and guided her into the kitchen. "Go ahead, sit on the counter," he instructed.
"You don't want me to help?" she asked.
"It's safer when you're out of the way," he teased, taking the eggs back out of the fridge while she washed her hands. "You don't know how to separate an egg do you?" he asked, genuinely doubtful of her ability.
"No, but I can learn," she ventured.
"OK. Let me get everything ready." He had a plan to quarantine the in-process egg whites in a small bowl before adding the whites to a large mixing bowl and dropping the yolks in a zip-lock bag. If she broke a yolk or dropped a shell, he'd be able to salvage the recipe.
"I'll watch you do a couple," she decided, suddenly experiencing performance anxiety.
Tony expertly cracked a shell and transferred the contents of the egg back and forth between the halves over a bowl until the whites had all slipped away. He let the intact yolk fall into an open baggie. "A mere bag of shells," he remarked, amused by his own wordplay. "Try one."
"I don't know," she said. "Do one more first."
"Sure but watch closer this time." He picked up an egg and caged her against the counter. Butterflies slammed against the walls of her stomach as she witnessed the process again with his biceps around her shoulders and his chest against her back. She was afraid he could hear her heart pounding as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Good job," she said in a strangled voice. Tony's hands were still clean and dry after separating two eggs. He discarded the second shell, then poured the egg whites into a larger bowl and pulled back, putting a few inches of space between their bodies for a moment. He rubbed her arms encouragingly. "My turn?" she asked, trying and failing to sound normal.
"You can do it," he murmured. "I'll help." He put another egg into her palm and held his hand over hers, cracking the shell against the counter.
"Oh!" she yelped. "What do I do now?"
He threaded his fingers in between hers and pulled the shell open, swaying back and forth as he transferred the yolk over the bowl. "Easy as pie," he said in a low voice that rumbled through her chest. "We'll do one more together," he decided. It was too tempting to stick close, not to mention staying in control of the baking.
Half a dozen eggs were separated before Tony had to recuse himself. He positioned himself at the end of the counter and calmly walked Angela through the steps. "I'm getting it," she said excitedly, just before crushing egg number ten into a gooey mess. "Damn it. I don't know my own strength," she said.
"That's ok," he said, tossing the contents of the bowl into the sink. He yanked a spare egg from the refrigerator. "Would you like to try again?"
"I'll just watch," she decided, wiping her hands on a paper towel and hopping onto the counter.
"You got it." Tony hummed the chorus of the song they had heard at the farmers' market as he finished the eggs and proceeded to the next step of the recipe.
"Pretty catchy, that song," Angela commented. "You like Roy Orbison?"
"Oh sure," he replied, launching into a spirited rendition of "Oh, Pretty Woman." She beamed, appreciating his performance even more than the professional singer's. A gasp caught in her throat when he openly ogled her and sang, "No one could look at good as you." His gaze rested on her crossed legs when he spoke the line, "Mercy!" and she felt a shiver.
It's a good thing she's wearing pants. I'm barely holding it together as is!
Does he really think I look good? No, those are just song lyrics. He's a natural entertainer. It means nothing.
I wish I could have danced with her, but what would Joanne Parker have thought?
A strange mixture of contentment and desire coursed through Angela, distracting her from the task she was supposed to be studying. She wasn't going to remember the recipe, but maybe she'd be able to separate an egg if necessary. A refresher wouldn't hurt.
"There we go," Tony said, closing the oven door. He set a timer for thirty minutes and approached Angela. "You gonna stay up there the whole time?" he asked, reaching for her waist. She shook her head and put her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to help her down to the floor.
"Thanks, Tony," she said. Neither of them made a move to let go. He looked intently at her and leaned forward slowly, giving her a chance to back out. Time crept along at half-speed.
Oh my gosh, he's going to kiss me. Do I have coffee breath? Oh, who cares? I want this.
She's going to let me kiss her, isn't she? Jesus. It's the middle of the day. Everyone is home and the windows are wide open. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Who said that? Where did the angel and devil go? Isn't someone supposed to be stopping me from doing this?
Is he having second thoughts? Just put your lips on mine! If you don't kiss me, I'm going to have to do it, and I really hate going first.
"Mom, do you recycle paper in the office?" Jonathan asked. Tony and Angela dodged each other and attempted to act normal.
"Yes, sweetie," she answered. "There's a company that picks up all our wastepaper and shreds it to be recycled."
"How about cardboard?" he continued.
"The building has a separate dumpster for cardboard," she responded.
"You know what's even better than recycling, pal? Reusing things," Tony informed the boy. He picked up the empty egg carton. "We can start plants in these."
Sam came through the swinging door next. "I use them to sort jewelry," she said.
Mona smirked as she joined the rest of the family. "Did you know you can soundproof a room if you get enough of them?" she asked, picking up the empty egg carton.
"Would you?" Tony growled.
"I'll be back!" she said. "Just adding to my collection," she advised, slipping out the back door to her apartment.
"Why would she need to soundproof her apartment?" Jonathan asked.
"I'll tell you when you're older," Sam said. "Gee, maybe I should start collecting egg cartons for my room," she said, just to get a rise out of her father.
Tony grumbled. He loved his family, but they had the worst timing.
"I'll go pack up my work," Angela said. "It can wait until Monday." She had barely made it through the kitchen door when her mother appeared and hustled her into the study.
"What were you two doing in there?" Mona hissed. "I kept the kids out as long as I could."
"Nothing! Nothing. Just separating eggs," she said, flustered. She swept her desk clean and shoved all the paperwork into her briefcase.
"Did you and Tony have a nice date?"
"It wasn't a date! We just took a walk and bought some ingredients."
"And flowers?"
"For the house!"
"Well, next time Tony wants to kiss you, make sure he knows he doesn't need an excuse," Mona advised, leaving her stunned daughter alone to think.
