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Javier looked at her contemplatively. They were rather close, both leaning over his palm because that's what they were studying. “Yeah,” he replied. “I think so, too.” Except now there was nothing to say, and if she didn't pull back first then he didn't want to. What would that say to her? That he didn't like being close? Javier pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear, but it wasn't an excuse just to touch her or anything like that. Honestly. His hand remained stubbornly there, behind her head with his thumb above her ear. “I, uh...” he trailed off.
Thankfully, the oven sensed the impending level of awkwardness the Spaniard was feeling, because right when he was on the cusp of making a fool of himself, it chirped. “Time to check it!” he said, propelling himself off the couch. Manola nearly fell off due to the sudden movement. She looked at him reproachfully before settling down to try to sleep again. “Heh, it smells so good, doesn't it?” Javier rambled.
"Yeah," he said. "I think so, too." She smiled, and then he reached up, brushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her heart beat loud in her ears, and she swallowed hard, eyes flickering up to his again. Was he thinking the same thing she was? She was thinking that she rather wanted to kiss him, to lean in just that fraction of an inch more, and kiss him. But what if it was too soon? Granted, she hadn't known him very long, but she felt like they'd connected.
"I, uh..." he began, as if he had an opinion.
DING!
Damnit. The oven. He practically jumped off the couch, knocking Manola over in the process, and made his way into the kitchen. Kate sighed, half disappointed, half relieved (because she wasn't sure she'd know what to do with herself if he had kissed her), and put her guitar aside, getting up and carefully stepping over the dogs.
"Smells good," he commented, and she smiled. "It does. I think it might be done."
She checked, and it was done, so she took it out of the oven, turning it off and leaving it to cool a bit. "Want something to drink?" she offered. "We might have to wait a few minutes, it's probably too hot to eat right now."
He bit his lip, glancing over to her as he heard her sigh. Kate seemed a little disappointed, and he did feel slightly guilty for that. But he was old-fashioned, and he knew you weren’t supposed to kiss on the first date. And you weren’t supposed to have dinner at the girl’s house either, especially not on the first date. His mother told him that she and his father hadn’t kissed for six months. And while originally he thought it would be easy – after all, he never particularly liked the previous people had gone out with. They were carbon clones of each other; attracted to looks and to the ‘Dr.’ in front of his name.
Javier felt a bit silly, then, because it wasn’t as though Katelyn should be different. But she definitely was. And he fell in love easily, and he couldn’t get a handle on his emotions.
“It does. I think it might be done.”
He perked up, smiling at her. “Awesome!” he said cheerfully, leaning against the counter as he watched her get the food out of the oven. “It even looks good,” he said, pushing himself off the counter.
“Want something to drink? We might have to wait a few minutes, it’s probably too hot to eat right now.”
“Of course. Do you want me to get the cups?” he asked, anxious to make himself useful. “Or I could… pour, or something. Just tell me what to do.”[/font]
"Of course," he said. "Do you want me to get the cups?" She shook her head. "No, you don't have to do that. Just tell me what you want to drink. There's...." She took off the oven mitts and put them away, spinning to look in her fridge. "...Water, milk, champagne, and Coke." She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling as she waited on his response.
Colt came into the kitchen, tail wagging, and Kate smiled at him. "I know, buddy, dinner time for you, too," she said, and stood up straight to feed Colt as Javier decided on a drink.
Oh, God. He had never learned the proper first date etiquette for drinks. He stared at her, wide-eyed. What he had expected, anyway? For her to just presume he wanted a certain drink and pour it for him? If he asked for water, then he sounded like some sort of stale old guy, and only children asked for milk. Champagne was too presumptuous and – why was he so worked up? She liked him. And why would she stop just because he chose the ‘wrong’ thing to drink? A little calmed by this thought, he cleared his throat, another smile on his face.
“Champagne,” he said bravely, because he wasn’t much to drink. (All right, he had never had something alcoholic, unless you counted that sometimes his mother cooked with white wine). “Are you sure you don’t want me to get the drinks? Or the plates? Anything?” he asked, watching as she got Colt food. Manola had already eaten at the dogsitter’s, and Javier was cautious to break her feeding routine as her breed tended to have obesity problems. (Although sometimes he snuck her the occasional treat because how could you refuse her big brown eyes?)[/font]
"Champagne," he said, and she smiled. ""Are you sure you don't want me to get the drinks?"
"I'm positive," she said as she stood. "I can do it, I promise." She made her way back over to the cabinets, standing on her tip toes to get the wine glasses she rarely used. She managed to get them, and ran them under the faucet for a moment, wiping them dry with a towel. She smiled at him as she made her way back over to the fridge, grabbing the bottle of champagne out of it. She opened it easily, and poured them each a bit, handing some to him as she took a sip of hers. She set down her glass, and grabbed two plates, dishing them each up some food.
"So," she said, sliding a plate his way and going to get some silverware. "I hope your expectations aren't too high. My food is really just okay."
Javier nodded, taking his glass of champagne from her. “I know you can do it,” he replied, sitting at the table and putting the champagne beside him. “I was just trying to be helpful. You know... if I needed to be.” He could tell she was independent, which wasn’t a bad thing, except when he wanted something to do to get his mind off the fact he was blundering around and making a fool out of himself. “I’ll wash up, at least,” he volunteered, squirming in his seat as he watched her dish out their food. He wasn’t used to someone else serving him like this.
“So,” she said, sliding a plate towards him and handing him the silverware. “I hope your expectations aren’t too high. My food is really just okay.”
Javi raised his eyebrows, looking skeptical. “Oh, yeah?” he asked sarcastically. “Just like your music, too?” he teased her, a smile on his lips. “I find that you’re much more than you give yourself credit for, Katelyn.”
It looked as if he'd mistaken her trying to be polite for her being defensive, and she felt bad now. "I know," she replied. "I'm sorry, I just... I was trying to be polite, you know? I guess, uh... It came off.... Not so polite." She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly.
"I'll wash up, at least," he said, and she smiled. "That sounds like a fair trade to me."
She sat down with him to eat, taking a bite of her food as she listened. "I dunno," she said, in response to his teasing. "I can tell you for sure that this is about one of the only things I can make well, though."
He watched as she stumbled over her apology guiltily. He raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “That’s not what I meant,” Javier told her, careful that he didn’t accidentally sound short or rude with her. “I totally understand it. I’m a guest and you’re being hospitable. I just get a little antsy, that’s all,” he explained, smiling at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean make you feel bad. Forgive me?” he asked, giving her a playful pout and his best puppy eyes.
“Sounds like a fair trade.” Javier nodded, pleased that he at least got to do something for her, even if it was just washing dishes.
“It’s very good,” he complimented after taking a few bites. “What made you want to come to London?” he asked.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad." She waved a hand to let him know all was forgiven, and then he gave her the cutest puppy dog pout in the world. Her heart sped up a bit, and she felt butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed, and nodded. "I... Yeah, I... I think I can forgive you," she told him, nudging him playfully.
"This is good," he commented, and she smiled, ducking her head down.
"So," he asked, breaking the silence. "What made you want to come to London?"
Well, thank god he could think of suitable topics of conversation, because she sure couldn't. Every time she looked at him, the topics she'd thought up just flew out of her mind.
She smiled at him. "Well," she began, taking a sip of her champagne and setting the glass back down. "You remember the things I said earlier about my life, and my family, and my dad? I guess... That was a large part of it. I mean..." She set her fork down, swiveling to face him a tad as she used her hands to elaborate. "I guess... I just wanted out. A new place completely. And I used to live in the United States. So to me, London was the opposite." She cocked her head. "The accent is usually people's first question. I was born here, lived here till I was five. Never remembered it, but my parents have accents, so... I got it, too."
His pout shifted into a smile as she told him she could forgive him. Javier took another bite of food happily. It wasn’t the normal reaction he got when he did the puppy face, but he didn’t mind the variety. Normally people just looked at him like he was crazy or just rolled their eyes. He didn’t know why they laughed – he had trained the face with the cutest of puppies. By all rights he ought to have been the most qualified puppy-face-maker in the world. The thought almost made him start cackling to himself, but he didn’t because most women didn’t like men who started giggling to themselves.
He was very considerate that way.
“It is,” he insisted, reaching over to put his hand over hers briefly. “Much better than something you can get out of a restaurant. You can’t beat a homecooked meal,” he said wisely, although he really wouldn’t know since he had been living off take-out and his rudimentary skills at following the directions on Kraft Dinner.
He nodded when she asked if he remembered what she had told him. He wasn’t likely to forget it. Javier had a low tolerance for people that abused their children, but Katelyn seemed to have at least marginally forgiven him, so Javier granted the man the same mercy. And, anyway, it wasn’t his place to make judgments. He took a sip of his own drink and put it beside him, watching as she turned to him.
“You’re from the United States?” he asked, widening his eyes. He hadn’t had her pegged as an American at all. “That seems a rather long way to go just to get away from your family. But I used to want to live there. I had a favorite state and everything,” he told her. “That makes sense,” he said, referring to her accent. “I mean, accents aren’t inherited from your location but rather the people you’re surrounded with,” he rambled, taking another bite of food.
"It is," he insisted, and then he put his hand atop hers. Oh, those butterflies in her stomach were fluttering wildly now, and she glanced down at their hands. Okay, so, she panicked a bit, and pulled her hand away. She instantly felt bad.
Then he asked her about the states, and she nodded. "It's... Very different. I lived in California, and it was not all the time, and the people were awful, and I'm so glad to be here now."
The people in London were MUCH nicer, and she was glad. The climate was nicer, too, though it was sometimes very chilly. Besides, if she hadn't moved there, she never would've met Javier - who so far was the best thing to have happened to her.
Granted, she'd only been there for a few months, but she had a feeling it was going to be amazing now that he was here. He was sweet, kind, funny, and rather gorgeous.
"Besides," she said, hoping to redeem herself from earlier. "I like it cause you're here."
Javier looked down at his now empty hand. He slid his hands back into his lap, deciding not to question her about the sudden motion. Maybe he was being too forward? After all, this was just dinner and it was only the first date. Maybe hand-holding was reserved for the second or third date. Or maybe she just needed both hands to eat and drink. He gave a slight nod, deciding that that was the most logical and really the only reason she must have pulled away. (Well, he could hope, anyway.)
“Oh. I see,” Javier said, putting his head in his hands. “I used to want to visit Michigan so badly that I kept dropping these little notes around my house so my parents would be subliminally convinced to visit Michigan.” He grinned, shaking his head a little. “We never went though. My parents can’t speak English fluently. We did go to Mexico. It was very heartbreaking to be so close to the US, and yet… so far.”
He was rambling again. He took another bite of food, deciding that it would at least get him to shut the hell up.
“Besides,” she said, “I like it cause you’re here.”
Javier was thankful that he had already swallowed, because he was certain that if he was still chewing he would have choked to death in her kitchen. “Thank you,” he said sheepishly, a blush across his face. “I’m glad I met you. Well, not so glad that Colt had to get sick for us to meet,” he said, cutting himself off before he rambled.
"Oh, I see," he said, voice sounding rather discouraged, and she waited until he finished his story about the states until she tried to fix it. She finished complimenting him in regards to being glad she'd met him, and he smiled, thanking her.
Then he blushed, and dear god it was adorable.
"Thank you. I'm glad I met you."
Now it was her turn to blush, looking down at her lap as he said something about how it wasn't good Colt had gotten sick.
"Well," she said, taking a deep breath, and putting her hand atop his. "I think it all worked out rather well in the end." And it had, hadn't it? Here she was, on a date with a cute Spaniard, who happened to be a vet, and happened to seem to like her, too. It was possibly the best and most nerve-wracking thing that had happened to her since moving to London, and she had to admit she was glad it had happened.
Javier looked at her, then at their hands. “Yeah,” he said a little breathlessly, trying to will the awful red color from his cheeks. “I guess it did work out,” he agreed. He was, after all, on his first date since moving to London. And he had never gone on a second date with a woman, much less did he ever think of the possibility of a third. And Manola seemed to like her, and Colt was a very well-mannered dog. And even if the first date wasn’t like he had always tried to make them, it was still perfect. Or, at least as perfect as he could manage.
He finished the last of his drink and the food, waiting until she finished her own to stand. “I’ll get started on those dishes,” he said, a little awkwardly because he was very content to remain sitting with her. (Still, he couldn’t stay at her apartment all night – especially not on the first date, no matter how liberal they both were.) “Where did you learn to cook like that? Your parents?” he asked politely, taking the dishes to her sink and beginning to wash them. It was something he could do well, at least. Javier’s mother had always forced him to set the table and to wash the dishes.
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