“Alright, alright,” Felix agreed with an apologetic smile. “The stage would suit me–” A pause, a wink. “So, I ought to try auditioning, if only to give myself another opportunity–”
A warm smile, and the sun seemed to set the scene for the two of them, blasting down in a shower of 3:00 heat-and-blue-and-silvery-gold. London was blessing the moment, coating it in sincerity as if Georgia Dahl were not sharing coffee with an Armani-clad jackal.
“Al-though, if I did, you’d have to promise to join me. I’d look infinitely better standing in the spotlight next to you.”
A heartbeat in which everything was absolutely correct. Bright eyes, warm cheeks, young hand over young hand. Aaaand scene! The check slid between them as a man no older than himself leaned in as carefully and delicately as he could, trying to avoid the small collection of empty plates and cups (somewhat successfully).
A fine, oak-cased pen emerged from its place in a discrete breastpocket, signing off on the cost of lunch with two distinct flicks– everything on himself, of course, and without complaint. Felix was glad enough to pay, and proved a generous tipper– beyond even the amount already grafted into the bill itself.
As the two stood up to leave, napkins folded and silverware stacked more appropriately out of consideration for waitstaff, Felix made a point of casting well-timed, furtive glances over at Georgia Dahl. Just a hair of a smile, enough confidence, but enough curled, embarrassed excitement to indicate more than cool, by-the-book fraternization.
It was only at the street, just a moment before they were to part ways, that he finally gave voice to the quick looks and quiet brushing of fingers. Shoulder to shoulder, then turned so they could stand almost chest to chest, one hand reaching up to ghost past the back of her wrist :
“I’d like to see you again.”
