It wasn’t as damn cold outside as it could be—as it would be, in a few more weeks—but it still wasn’t a place to linger for long. Still: Rupert had set himself up leaning against his car, and it felt too strange at this point to duck inside. Like he’d just miss her.

And then she was there, descending the steps of bureaucracy, and crossing the street. Rupert lifted one hand in a short wave, then crossed his arms again. He didn’t step forward to meet her half-way. Let the lady come to him.

>> “I do like a Taurus. As stubborn as a bull can be, there’s something reassuring about all that pigheadedness. They‘re passionate though. I‘m a Taurus.”

That odd shyness in her gaze was creeping into her voice, now—it seemed that Ms. Riley Sommers knew how to deal with a proper asshole, but not a flirting one. His grin shifted into a smirk. “Are you? I’m Leo.”

>> ”So. What does an insomniac asshole do to wind down after a harrowing experience at the DMV?”

“He gets lunch.” Rupert pushed off from the car, and started walking towards the restaurant’s door. There was a slight limp in his right leg as he moved, but he didn’t let it bother him. One hand beckoned for her to follow over his shoulder, but he didn’t turn around to check if she was. She would. “Table for two,” he asked the maître d' inside.

There was something so self-satisfied about the way the welcoming grin shifted to a slight smirk that made Riley want to turn around and walk away. At the same time it made her want to curse herself for her silly rambling about the car, or her sign, or whatever the hell it was she’d been talking about to try and break the initial awkward silence. He was a leo. Riley didn’t know jack about astrological signs other than her own, she filed the information away though. Sometimes she got bored and google-stalked people she knew. Maybe the compulsion to learn astrology would strike her one night, she smiled though, maybe a little too brightly, ”A lion.” she said, raising one eyebrow, ”Huh. Go figure.” She shrugged, let him make of it what he would.

Her question about his activities didn’t go unanswered for very long, either, and as Rupert walked away, Riley blinked at the space where he’d been standing. Lunch. Well, it was about that time, but did he really expect her to follow him? Like a stray puppy he’d picked up somewhere. Riley was an independent woman, she had been most of her life, she wasn’t the type that chased after a man simply because he said a few nice things in line at the DMV, and expected her to come at the crook of his finger. She was the one who did the finger crooking! Maybe that was it though, maybe she really did like his casual indifference.

Why was she closer? Riley looked down and saw her feet moving, quickly enough that she was catching up with Rupert as he loped in front of her. Dammit.

She watched as she caught up and noticed the slight limp in Rupert’s step. Not something she was going to bring up, but she was curious. Old football injury maybe? No, unless he’d been a quarterback in high school, he simply didn’t have the build.

They were inside now, and Riley was surprised to find herself relieved that Rupert had actually gotten a table for two, not required her to pull up a chair to sit with him. Part of her was chagrined, and wanted to snipe at him for behaving that way. He’d been the one to name himself an asshole though, and Riley had been the one to suggest that it was a positive attribute to possess. She draped the strap of her purse over the back of the chair and slid into the seat, you reaped what you sowed, she supposed. Riley had a suspicion though. The asshole was there, he made frequent appearances, but there was more too. It might just be worth it to figure out.


”So.” Riley said, snagging one of the breadsticks from the cup on the table. They were the crunchy ones with sesame seeds. She took a bite and munched for a moment as she thought about how exactly to phrase what she wanted to say, ”You‘re good at this. You definitely know how to make a girl want to figure you out. I’ll bet that’s the last thing you want though. Someone digging around, trying to fix whatever they think is wrong.” Sure she expected an answer. If she got one, would she be anywhere near as forthright with her own personal information. Hell no. Riley smiled that same, slow smile from the line at the DMV.

”I think I like that. What‘s good here?” might as well keep it simple, Riley figured, glancing up over the top of the menu as she skimmed her options.

>> ”So. You‘re good at this. You definitely know how to make a girl want to figure you out. I’ll bet that’s the last thing you want though. Someone digging around, trying to fix whatever they think is wrong.”

The cynical laugh wasn’t some practiced part of his asshole dating image; it was just who he was. Much like the rest of his ‘image,’ actually. “Trust me, I’ve got more wrong than anyone can fix.”

“What about you?” He reached across the table, snagging the breadstick from between her fingers. He brought it to his own lips, and took a deliberate bite. Chewed, and swallowed before speaking again. He was a well-mannered asshole. “Are you the kind of girl who tries to fix the lost causes? Or does it just take one to know one?”

>> “What‘s good here?”

“Not a clue.” He handed the breadstick back in a casual gesture, and opened his own menu. “First time I’ve been here. You can never go wrong with eggplant parm, though.”

Hmmm. Maybe she’d pegged him a little wrong. He’d seemed serious in the line when she’d pointed out that most insomniacs simply needed a good lay. If he was as good at the asshole act as he was projecting with the flirting, there’s no way he’d have had that problem. Riley had been serious when she’d pointed out that there were lots of girls who liked that sort of thing, she usually didn’t count herself among them though. This was slightly different. That definitely counted for something, as did the laugh. Nobody laughed like that whey they’d been caught in a clever dating rouse, they also didn’t point out things that had a tendency to make them less desirable. Like the fact that they had more baggage than anyone could fix. Riley didn’t find it less attractive though, she found the candidness refreshing, until he took her breadstick.

Riley didn’t know what it was like growing up in New York with food, but in Chicago, a man simply didn’t come between a woman and her bread. Maybe she’d make an exception though. She’d vowed not to reveal much about herself, this was simply going too well to ruin it by telling the complete and total truth. So as Rupert crunched away on her breadstick, Riley thought for a moment. Working out exactly what it was she could say.

A little disclosure couldn’t hurt, at least not to the end that they were somewhat kindred spirits. At least it sounded like they were, ”I learned the very hard way that you can’t fix a person. They have to want fix themselves.” she said, looking across the table and making real eye contact for the first time. She was making a point. ”You either take someone as they are, or you walk away.” She looked away now, his eyes were hazel.

She hadn’t answered his question, per say, and as he offered the bread stick, she took it gratefully. She’d picked that one for a reason. Taking a bite, she nodded a little idly as Rupert explained that he’d never eaten at this particular restaurant before. ”I love eggplant parm.” she allowed, then sighed a little, ”And it takes one to know one. Definitely.”

The conversation was getting a little heavy, but surprisingly, that didn't bother Riley as much as it should have. She took another bite of the bread stick and grinned a little, "We're like two peas in a dysfunctional little pod, aren't we?"

>> ”I learned the very hard way that you can’t fix a person. They have to want fix themselves. You either take someone as they are, or you walk away.”

Eye contact. She made eye contact. He barely even noticed, though.

They have to want to fix themselves, was it?

He gave a snort, turning his own gaze away for once. “Ain’t that the truth.”

It seemed like he’d been getting reason after reason to change, lately. It had started with that dream. Then Tarin and Lee—who’d forgiven him. Katrina Dumonde, met by chance in a church, ten years earlier than they should have. That brat falling from his mirror into his—what? His dysfunctional life? That brat was not his kid, no matter what body he/she was wearing. That brat was just a... brat.

Reasons to change, but Riley was the first to slap him across the face with that blunt gem: he had to want to change.

>> ”I love eggplant parm. And it takes one to know one. Definitely. We're like two peas in a dysfunctional little pod, aren't we?"

He smirked, raising his complimentary water in a mock toast. “To dysfunction. Bonding disgruntled DMV line mates since driving began.”

If the waitress thought it was odd to walk up on the toast that Riley and Rupert were making, she didn’t say anything and Riley appreciated it. A lot. Then she ordered the eggplant parm. Truth be told, she hadn’t really looked at the menu after he’d mentioned the stuff. Strange how much they had in common.

Rupert had been very contemplative when Riley had brought up the point that in order to be fixed, someone had to fix themselves. He hadn’t held her gaze either, this got more and more interesting by the moment. The waitress walked away, Riley wondered what Rupert had gotten, she’d stopped paying attention after placing her own order.

Where did they go from here? That last statement had skirted dangerously close to sharing personal information that Riley was pretty sure both of them would regret spilling. At least at this point. It was quiet and the silence was starting to stretch towards awkward though. Some of the common small-talk options were out too. Riley wanted to avoid talking about professions like the plague. The last thing she needed was to talk about what she did with someone whose good opinion she cared about. She nearly choked on the end of the breadstick. Apparently she cared what Rupert thought. That was a shock.

Yeah. Too much personal information would be a disaster. Better to keep it edgy. She took another breadstick. If he took this one, she’d probably beat him and take it back.

”Back in the line. You said I didn’t have any idea, has it really been a long time?” he’d know what she meant, whether or not he’d be willing to talk about his sex life in the middle of an Italian restaurant was the real question, and the real test. ”Why? Like I said, lots of girls like your type, and you’re not hard on the eyes.”

Eggplant parm. Always a good option, but not the most tempting, when he regularly cooked it for himself. He went for the manicotti, instead, with a side of penne marinara. The menu billed the noodles as handmade in house.

>> ”Back in the line. You said I didn’t have any idea, has it really been a long time? Why? Like I said, lots of girls like your type, and you’re not hard on the eyes.”

A snort answered that first question: a long time, indeed. A smirk answered that little comment of hers. Not hard on the eyes, was he? And they’d already established what a good girl she was.

He leaned back in his chair, with a self-deprecating shrug. “Nasty breakup. Turned out she’d been lying to me from the beginning, I took it poorly, and it—spiraled from there.” That was one way of putting it. He left off the part where he’d shot her, tossed her in the Camps, and contributed to the death of their unborn child. Then shot her again.

“Still, it was one of those things were you might get back together, even with the fireworks... so I waited. Turns out I shouldn’t have. She didn’t.” Another shrug. He took a sip of his water. “I hadn’t tried hitting the dating scene again.” Any brooding left his face, for a smirk across the table. “Seems I’ve underestimated the allure of jeans and a sweater, though.”

“You?” He asked, leaving the question loose. Let her answer it as she wanted.

Riley listened. She listened, she drank water, she ate the second breadstick, and she listened. A bad break-up? That was a reason to take yourself off the market for what amounted to a long time? Riley thought that the way people dealt with break-ups like that was to go out and do everything they could to remind themselves how great it was to be unattached. Apparently not Rupert.

The more he explained, the more Riley felt a little pang of conscious at what she was doing. This chick that had induced the celibacy that Rupert was taking part in had done it in part because she’d lied. There were things that Riley had definitely not intended to tell Rupert, no matter where this ended up going…. There she’d gone, assuming things again. Riley suddenly realized this was a potentially dangerous situation. She had absolutely none of the power. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to be in that position. Somehow, though, it didn’t feel dangerous. A little crazy? Yes. Dangerous? No.

He complimented her again, this time with a smirk and Riley chuckled and shook her head, running a finger around the rim of her water glass and watching the drops of condensation roll down its sides. ”Even if you’re not serious, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how nice it feels to hear someone say something like that.” she admitted candidly. Again, it was strange how it seemed to mean more when she was dressed like this. Like he was seeing her. ”As to the rest. Sometimes fireworks are nice, right up until the point where they blow up in your face.”

He hadn’t put himself back into the dating scene. That was strange to Riley too, it seemed like there was no way to avoid it in New York. Maybe she was confusing the dating scene with the one night stand scene though. The two were understandably easy to confuse.

Rupert’s last question was a loaded one for Riley, and she found herself trying to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t make her look like any more of a basket case than she probably already did. She ended up shrugging her shoulders, ”I’m no insomniac.” she pointed out with a teasing little grin, ”But I don’t date a whole lot. I got myself into some bad situations in the past as far as the people I surrounded myself with. I’ve gotten better at that though.” she stopped talking and laughed, low and husky, ”Now I just pick guys up at the DMV.”

She paused, frowning down at her glass before taking a drink, and making eye contact again, "Isn't it about time you moved on?"

>> ”I’m no insomniac. But I don’t date a whole lot. I got myself into some bad situations in the past as far as the people I surrounded myself with. I’ve gotten better at that though. Now I just pick guys up at the DMV.”

He gave a nod as he listened. Bad situations. Bad people. Picking up dates at the DMV. Somehow, though they were probably talking about two different ends of the spectrum... he could relate.

>> "Isn't it about time you moved on?"

It was. There were better answers than that, though. Rupert grinned, and made a snatch for breadstick number two. “I don’t know,” he said, one eyebrow quirked. “I might need a little help, there.”

The waitress returned with their plates in tow: her eggplant was served.

There it was. The pivotal moment. Riley could see it, like a Robert Frost poem. A very clear, defined fork in the road. If she stopped all forms of encouragement now, they would each pay for their food at the end of the meal and go their separate ways. Rupert would probably think she was some sort of tease for all the flirting she’d done, but in the end, nobodies feelings would be hurt. Then there was the less traveled path. At least for Rupert the way less traveled path.

It might have been the grin, or the fact that he snagged a second breadstick, but Riley laughed, a warm answering grin spreading across her features. ”I’m almost positive I know just the thing to help you in that department.” she said, just as much warmth in the words as there had been in the grin. Then the waitress arrived with the food. Bonus to her tip for timing. Seriously.

The food smelled excellent, though, and Riley took note of what Rupert had ordered. It looked good, but not as good as her eggplant parm. Riley was almost surprised to find that she really was hungry. The conversation had distracted her and as she cut the first piece with her fork and popped it into her mouth she ‘mmmm’d’ appreciatively and started eating in earnest.

Just like with the bread, the women Riley had grown up around in Chicago had developed relationships with food that no man could touch. Somewhere outside the world where only she and the eggplant dish existed, she hoped that Rupert didn’t mind a woman who was unafraid to eat, because at the rate she was going, the food wouldn’t be there long.

”This is awesome.” she said.

>> ”I’m almost positive I know just the thing to help you in that department.”

Well if that wasn’t... encouraging, he didn’t know what was.

Riley set upon her food like some women set upon bubble baths. It wasn’t a ravenous thing; it was a leap into the cozy and comfortable. As a man who appreciated food himself, Rupert let the lady eat in peace, cutting pieces off his own dish. The manicotti was decent, but the penne—the menu hadn’t been lying. There wasn’t anything quite like noodles, hand made by an actual Italian chef. One of these days, Rupert needed to get back into that habit. Store bought just wasn’t the same as something freshly rolled by your own two hands.

>> ”This is awesome.”

He slipped a bite of penne into his mouth, and gave her a too innocent look. “You should try mine.”

He didn’t mind the eating. At least it didn’t seem like he did. Riley was pleased with that development because otherwise they’d have had a major problem. A major problem. Glances up every now and then showed her lunch date as thoroughly centered on his food as Riley was on her own. Leave it to a random DMV pick-up to know how to pick a restaurant.

She commented on how good the food was, and Rupert pointed out that she should taste his. She shrugged her shoulders and struck out with her fork, spearing a couple pieces of penne and snagging them off the fork. Hey, he’d taken her breadstick. Two pieces of penne were fair payment. Riley chewed and almost went slack-jawed. That would have been gross, though, and this pasta was good.

”That’s homemade!” she exclaimed with mild delight at the obvious fact. ”I can’t remember the last time I had real, homemade noodles.” Riley looked down at her plate, there definitely wasn’t any of the breaded eggplant left, just a few noodles and some random crumbs that had fallen off while Riley ate. ”Uh…I’d offer you a taste, but I kind of ate it all.” she said with a smile.

”Sorry. You didn’t miss out. Not considering you‘re eating that. “ She said, leaning back in her seat and folding her hands over her stomach with a satisfied sigh. ”Don’t mind me while you finish. I’m just going to digest.”

There were a few moments of companionable silence and Riley steepled her fingers, tapping them on her stomach as she thought, "Now what?"

>> ”That’s homemade! I can’t remember the last time I had real, homemade noodles.”

Rupert grinned back at her simple delight. “Now you really will have to try mine,” he smirked. “Though I can’t remember the last time I rolled my own pasta.”

He finished his own meal quickly. Not because he was hurrying—simply because there wasn’t much left. The lazy quiet that passed between them was surprisingly comfortable, for total strangers. Almost total strangers: he knew her last name, and he knew that the woman liked her food. That was more than he could say after some nights in college.

>> "Now what?"

“Now,” Rupert said, “it’s the lady’s move.” He spread his hands wide, palms up. One of his eyebrows arched playfully. What did the lady want? He certainly knew where this day was headed, if she left things in his hands.

Oh, that’s what Rupert had meant. Riley didn’t feel bad for having taken the pasta off his plate, not after how good it had tasted. He seemed to think that his personal, homemade pasta was better and Riley raised an eyebrow, ”You’re confident. That’s very telling. Obviously you cook, because nobody who can make their own pasta is a novice. Seems like I might be good at bringing out talents you’ve let get dusty.”

He finished eating rather quickly, something that actually made Riley feel a little better about herself. Rupert hadn’t been too far behind her, it was always a little strange to out eat full grown men. After he finished, though, he didn’t do a very good job of answering her question. For someone who’d dominated the encounter so far, he sure was putting the ball in Riley’s court now. Those face up palms, that quirked eyebrow, it kind of made Riley want to throw her pasta plate at the man in front of her. Instead, she took a third bread stick and crunched it thoughtfully.

On the one hand, Riley didn’t know anything about the man sitting across from her. Well, other than his first name, and that apparently he made great pasta. That had never stopped her in the past, though, and she’d already decided that no matter how many chances he was inadvertently giving her to walk away, Rupert wasn’t dangerous. At least not in an ‘it puts the lotion on its skin’ way.

She’d already taken the less traveled path once, and Riley knew that if there was one thing you didn’t do, it was piss off Robert Frost.

”Well.” she said, finishing off the breadstick and chasing it with a gulp of water, before leaning back and studying the man across from her again, ”I’d invite myself for a drink, but I don‘t drink, so I guess that kind of screws the pooch of pretense. ” she said in lieu of mincing words, ”At any rate, can I hitch a ride?” Let him take it as he would.

>> ”Well. I’d invite myself for a drink, but I don‘t drink, so I guess that kind of screws the pooch of pretense. At any rate, can I hitch a ride?”

Rupert mimed a hat tip. “It would be my pleasure, Riley.”

The pooch of pretense, lacking though it may be, was met at Rupert’s apartment door by Flipsy. The little tan and white poodle took an instant liking to her new friend. Ms. Sommers, after all, still smelled like food.

The apartment itself was clean. Relatively. To the right, the kitchen was immaculate. To the left, a pile of CDs and CD cases sat on the coffee table in his living room. A large pile. He’d discovered Bowie in his Springsteen case, and the sorting had gone down hill since then. Down the hall to the left, the bathroom was still in good shape from a certain mirror-walker’s slave labor. The toilet seat, for once, was down. There was something incredibly disturbing in knowing that, at any moment, a young woman (half of one) could peer in through his bathroom mirror. Across the hall, the bedroom was—thankfully—freshly cleaned. This morning had been laundry day; that meant that, for once, there wasn’t clothing scattered all over his floor.

Hopefully, they could fix that.

“Come on in,” Rupert said, holding the door like a true gentleman.