He'd grown comfortable, quite quickly really, with traveling daily to visit Vanessa at her shop. It wasn't perhaps the most... proper of places, considering the nature many of their meetings often took, but she hadn't objected yet and he wasn't about to fuss either. So long as her business seemed unharmed by these dalliances, he'd no reason to suggest anything else.
Though at this point, perhaps dalliance was far too light a term. He'd never much been a man for casual relationships of this vein, perhaps it was just to be expected that he'd grow so fond so fast.
As always, the hat was removed as he stepped in through the door, bringing along with him the scent of incense and gunpowder that seemed to just be a part of him now. At this point, walking in through the door felt so near to coming home, he knew precisely where to reach to rest that hat without looking for it, taking a brief moment to try and locate her from where he stood near the entrance.
"Good afternoon, Miss Ives." Because in spite of all that intimacy and those tender feelings, propriety still took precedence. At first, anyway.
It speaks to how often they have become accustomed to being in one another's presence that Vanessa has already made some modifications to the rear of the shop — to accommodate for those moments when their encounters might take on a different tenor. The cot kept in the back storage room, amidst shelves and additional stock, is not as impressive as the bed in the confines of her own residence, but he has never complained about it — perhaps being too gracious of a man to raise the issue with her regardless.
She has attempted not to harbor too many expectations from him, however, acknowledging that he has other demands on his time, other commitments that he might be seeking. It hasn't occurred to her yet that the reason he continues to return to her, day after day, is that she might be chief among them now.
He does tend to be rather punctual, but even knowing when to expect his arrival, she still experiences a small thrill of excitement when the bell over the shop door chimes and the sound of his heavy footfalls reach her hearing, his boots treading across the floor. Still she doesn't emerge immediately from her position between the shelves, not until he raises his voice to address her — and then she finally slips out to greet him personally.
"Good afternoon, Father." She keeps her hands clasped in front of her, but there is no mistaking the ease of her smile, the subtle appreciation as her gaze drifts over him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?"
Not as impressive, no, but it was more than enough for him. Perhaps he was too gracious, though chances were better he'd had far more objectional spaces to work in than a cozy cot in the back of a shop. He was, after all, not a youthful man, and years now past perhaps saw him more adventurous in his pleasure than he became after marriage. Well, years past up until now, at least.
How easily he heard the smile in her voice, and while his expression had already softened from it's usual grim line before he'd even reached her door, to hear her now caused his features to ease further to a warm smile. That was the hint he was looking for that he ought remove his coat, shouldering off the heavy garment to set it aside with the hat.
"I had found myself in the neighborhood, and thought it would be remiss of me not to visit." At near the same hour every day, despite the fact he'd no job to do within this particular district that might require that level of punctuality. He made no effort to tell a better lie, judging by the tone, he found it almost funny.
"Though just as remiss of me perhaps not to start bringing along more than just myself, when I come to steal away your afternoon."
It is, truly, something of a performance at this juncture between them, where they formally introduce themselves to one another even though their expressions are already fighting to display more familiarity. More than that, the fact that he has conveniently found himself with a lack of commitments in his schedule at the same juncture every day would point to something other than a chance meeting, certainly not spontaneity — and yet she greets him as if it might be so, that she is still surprised by his presence.
"Of course," she murmurs, nearly reaching out to collect his coat before she notices him setting it aside to the same place it always occupies, and the act itself furthers the assurance that this will not necessarily be a quick visit either.
"You say such things as if there were much to steal me away from." Amusement settles in her voice, a soft lilting, and she gestures to the otherwise empty shop itself. There is the off-chance that someone might wander in looking for an item in particular, but most of her foot traffic comes from curious individuals who merely want to browse rather than buy, so once she has the confirmation that he will be staying a bit longer she decides to shift past him, quiet steps taking her over to the door where she can flip over the sign on front so they will not be disturbed. Turning the lock to bolt them in feels a bit more presumptuous, but she swivels back to face him slowly, peering up into his features.
"Would you care for anything to drink?" It seems proper to offer, at the very least; often they divert from any prelude whatsoever and make use of that stockroom rather immediately, but there are moments when she has prepared a tray for them both, and the quiet conversation they pursue is as gratifying as any of his touches. "Some tea, perhaps?"
Would it be too hasty to refuse a drink? They'd certainly moved far faster to the stockroom more than once before, and his mind wandered there quickly. That being said, however, there was the desire to make it quite clear that he valued more than just the physical intimacy, as far as she was concerned. And truly, he was in no rush. Neither did it seem was she, as he heard her move past to flip the sign as well as the telltale clunk of the bolt moving into place.
It'd be obvious that he'd ponder the answer to this question for a moment or two before answering, "A cup, I believe. It was a lengthy walk, and I've become a touch parched." Not entirely unwelcome nor necessarily unwarranted did the temptation for innuendo arise, as he looked for a seat.
"I had hoped perhaps, should you be willing to entertain me, to sample things far sweeter than tea today, before I return downwards." It was too hard to resist, this time spent with her stripped away years from him, and all too quickly did his mind and tongue betray that youthful desire.
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For Vanessa
Though at this point, perhaps dalliance was far too light a term. He'd never much been a man for casual relationships of this vein, perhaps it was just to be expected that he'd grow so fond so fast.
As always, the hat was removed as he stepped in through the door, bringing along with him the scent of incense and gunpowder that seemed to just be a part of him now. At this point, walking in through the door felt so near to coming home, he knew precisely where to reach to rest that hat without looking for it, taking a brief moment to try and locate her from where he stood near the entrance.
"Good afternoon, Miss Ives." Because in spite of all that intimacy and those tender feelings, propriety still took precedence. At first, anyway.
no subject
She has attempted not to harbor too many expectations from him, however, acknowledging that he has other demands on his time, other commitments that he might be seeking. It hasn't occurred to her yet that the reason he continues to return to her, day after day, is that she might be chief among them now.
He does tend to be rather punctual, but even knowing when to expect his arrival, she still experiences a small thrill of excitement when the bell over the shop door chimes and the sound of his heavy footfalls reach her hearing, his boots treading across the floor. Still she doesn't emerge immediately from her position between the shelves, not until he raises his voice to address her — and then she finally slips out to greet him personally.
"Good afternoon, Father." She keeps her hands clasped in front of her, but there is no mistaking the ease of her smile, the subtle appreciation as her gaze drifts over him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?"
no subject
How easily he heard the smile in her voice, and while his expression had already softened from it's usual grim line before he'd even reached her door, to hear her now caused his features to ease further to a warm smile. That was the hint he was looking for that he ought remove his coat, shouldering off the heavy garment to set it aside with the hat.
"I had found myself in the neighborhood, and thought it would be remiss of me not to visit." At near the same hour every day, despite the fact he'd no job to do within this particular district that might require that level of punctuality. He made no effort to tell a better lie, judging by the tone, he found it almost funny.
"Though just as remiss of me perhaps not to start bringing along more than just myself, when I come to steal away your afternoon."
no subject
"Of course," she murmurs, nearly reaching out to collect his coat before she notices him setting it aside to the same place it always occupies, and the act itself furthers the assurance that this will not necessarily be a quick visit either.
"You say such things as if there were much to steal me away from." Amusement settles in her voice, a soft lilting, and she gestures to the otherwise empty shop itself. There is the off-chance that someone might wander in looking for an item in particular, but most of her foot traffic comes from curious individuals who merely want to browse rather than buy, so once she has the confirmation that he will be staying a bit longer she decides to shift past him, quiet steps taking her over to the door where she can flip over the sign on front so they will not be disturbed. Turning the lock to bolt them in feels a bit more presumptuous, but she swivels back to face him slowly, peering up into his features.
"Would you care for anything to drink?" It seems proper to offer, at the very least; often they divert from any prelude whatsoever and make use of that stockroom rather immediately, but there are moments when she has prepared a tray for them both, and the quiet conversation they pursue is as gratifying as any of his touches. "Some tea, perhaps?"
no subject
It'd be obvious that he'd ponder the answer to this question for a moment or two before answering, "A cup, I believe. It was a lengthy walk, and I've become a touch parched." Not entirely unwelcome nor necessarily unwarranted did the temptation for innuendo arise, as he looked for a seat.
"I had hoped perhaps, should you be willing to entertain me, to sample things far sweeter than tea today, before I return downwards." It was too hard to resist, this time spent with her stripped away years from him, and all too quickly did his mind and tongue betray that youthful desire.