Chapter Text
Darcy shoved her glasses up her nose, pushed the long sleeves of her ragged cardigan up to her elbows and continued to paw through the box that had been delivered a few hours before. Some decent second editions, signed biographies, a couple medical textbooks dated back to the early 1900's; all in all a pretty good haul, she could already think of a few clients that would show some interest.
"Leo!" Darcy shouted toward the back of the book store.
Leo's curly, blonde head appeared from behind one of the floor to ceiling shelves. "Yeah, Darce?"
"Where did this one come from?" She pointed to the box of books in front of her.
"Uh, Wade dropped it off. Some estate sale upstate, I think he said."
"Pretty good stuff in here. Need to get Bruce on the phone, few signatures we need to authenticate before I can put them in the case," Darcy mused and continued to catalog the dusty treasures.
Darcy Lewis had run Little Black Books for the past five years. The shop specialized in rare books and the odd antique or collectible. Darcy was intensely proud of her business, she had skimped and saved every penny to her name to open it and now that she had, it was her life's purpose.
Nestled in a small neighborhood in New York, the space was remarkable and had caught Darcy’s eye immediately. Two stories, the bottom became the main part of the establishment. It housed towering bookshelves, all dark stained hardwood with brass rails at the top and bottom for the attached stocking ladder. Deep burgundy carpet runners with gold trim ran along the aisles and stained glass wall sconces that she’d uncovered during one of her many expeditions into the dark recesses of her grandmother’s attic hung on the walls. An old, scarred desk served as the port for checkout, complete with an antique, mechanical cash register Darcy had found at a flea market; she had haggled with the seller for over two hours until she’d gotten the price she’d wanted for that register.
The second story was more of a loft, really, it only had half the footprint the bottom floor did and the perimeter finished off with wrought iron fencing, leaving it open to look down upon what Darcy thought of as her kingdom, with less of a risk of falling to your doom. The stairs connecting the two spaces were located in the back of the establishment and featured an artfully hand carved banister. The loft was used as Darcy’s office and was kitted out with another old executive’s desk from before her time and a couple of old wingback chairs she’d salvaged from a dumpster. She had had an artsy friend reupholster them in exchange for a bottle of their favorite red wine. The loft was where she kept their more spectacular offerings, things that only true collectors would seek out. She also used the leftover rooms as her apartment. One decent sized bedroom, the bed covered in handmade quilts and afghans from her grandmother, a bathroom with an old clawfoot tub, and a last large room with a small kitchenette that functioned as both living room and kitchen.
“You want I should call him?” Leo asked, his familiar Scottish accent washing over Darcy. She liked Leo, he was dependable, funny, friendly, and he loved books nearly as much as she did. He was in his second year at NYU studying English literature, an exchange student of sorts. Leo had come in after spotting a first edition Wuthering Heights in Darcy’s display cases and had fallen in love with Little Black Books. After talking with him for nearly two hours about various literary works Darcy had offered him a part-time job and he’d quickly become a dear friend.
“Yeah, that would be great. While you’re on the phone, you feel like ordering lunch? Thinking Chinese from Bamboo Garden or maybe Thai from that place you love. Whatever you choose is fine, but if you go Bamboo, I demand steamed dumplings,” she murmured as she picked up a dusty old paperback from the box and thumbed through the pages. Something slipped free and dropped onto the surface of the old desk.
“Hey now, what’s that?” Leo asked, striding over to peek over Darcy’s shoulder. “Oh, nice, Captain America card, yeah?”
She picked up the card and turned it over carefully. “It would seem so. Number five, slight foxing around the edges, but otherwise seems in good condition.”
Leo grinned and poked her in the ribs, drawing a yelp. “You know what that means,” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You get to call, Mr. Coulson.”
Darcy turned and gave him a playful shove. “Cut it out, you ass. I don’t have to call Phil.”
“Oh, it’s Phil now, is it?”
Darcy frowned and grabbed up the card, trying to flee to the back of the shop and up the stairs to her office, but of course, Leo was fast on her heels. “Why don’t you just ask Mr. Coulson out on a date, Darce?” he asked.
She continued up the steps with him following her and then slumped into the creaky rolling chair, tipping backwards, and refused to meet her assistant’s gaze. “I know better than to participate in efforts of futility, that’s why.”
Leo plopped himself unceremoniously into a wing back chair opposite her. “I don’t understand.”
Darcy hauled her feet up onto the top of her desk and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Have you seen, Mr. Coulson, Leo? He dresses in hand tailored suits and legitimate silk ties. No polyester or rayon for that man, oh no. I’m pretty sure his shoes are Italian leather...like made by an Italian artisan, like he bought them while IN Italy. I highly doubt he’d be interested in someone like me,” Darcy stopped and gestured from her black rimmed glasses and red painted lips, down at her ripped jeans, threadbare Wonder Woman tee shirt and ratty old cardigan, all covered in dust and cobwebs from being elbows deep in old books just moments before.
“He’d be lucky to have someone like you, Darcy. You’re intelligent, funny, and I shouldn’t be saying this to my boss, but you’re also hot.”
“First and foremost, you have to say that, you’re my friend. Second, you’re also gay as the day is long, sweetie, so your opinion about my assets is rendered invalid,” she replied, flipping the card over and over on her desk blotter.
Leo blew out a frustrated sigh and waved his hand at her as if to brush aside her objections. “Fine, don’t take my word for it. Eventually one or both of you will spontaneously combust due to all the unresolved sexual tension and I'll just get to say I told you so.”
“I’ll make sure our fire extinguishers are up to code,” Darcy supplied with a wry twist to her lips.
Phil sat at his computer and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fore and middle fingers. It had been a very long and hellacious day. Of course, working with Stark always was. It didn't matter that he was an ex-army ranger with an honorable discharge for taking a chestful of shrapnel that nearly killed him or that he held a black belt in multiple martial arts disciplines. Didn't matter that he was fluent in seven different languages or that he had a weak spot for reality television. As long as he was co-owner of SHIELD Securities, Tony Stark was going to be a well-paying thorn in his side. Phil blew out a long breath and picked up his phone, dialing Nick from memory.
“What do you want, Coulson?” A gruff voice asked after the second ring.
“I need to shift assignments and schedules,” Phil sighed. He leaned back in his leather chair and closed his tired eyes. “Stark has decided that he needs to throw yet another gala. We’ll need a full security detail and that means rerouting those currently assigned elsewhere for the event. I want to pull in Barton to run point, if we can.”
“Fuck,” Nick cursed from the other end of the phone. “Bastard is damn lucky he has us on contract or I’d advise you to tell him to fuck himself.”
“You’re the one who wanted high profile clients,” Phil chided his friend.
“Oh fuck you, Cheese, it's savvy business practice.”
“Not that you aren’t a pretty princess, Nick, but the eye patch and leather really do nothing for me,” he snarked.
“Har har. Call Barton, pull him off the babysitting whatever starlet we have him assigned to this week. Send Rumlow to relieve him. Let Clint suggest the team for the gala, it’s about time we let him spread his wings, he’s earned it. If it works out, we’ll have another point man and you can finally take a day off. Maybe start having a semblance of a social life, you know besides being married to your work,” Nick teased.
Phil was used to the jabs at him being overly devoted to the job. He took their work very seriously. Often times, his security force was the last line of defense between the bad guys and the victim. Protect the weak, fight for the little guy (even if they happened to be entitled socialites), these were ideals that Phil supported wholeheartedly, which in turn explained his fascination with Captain America.
Phil had been reading the comics since he was just a boy. They served as inspiration to him, growing up as a rail thin and sickly sort of of kid who seemed to have a bully lurking around every corner. They made him want to be a better man, to fight against tyranny and injustice. The stories spurred him on to join the Army after he graduated. The stories helped mold and shape him into the man he now was.
Over the years, Phil had amassed a truly impressive collection of memorabilia, from rare comic book editions to action figures, still mint in box. Even drawings actually done by Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. His latest endeavor was trying to collect all of the Cap trading cards. They were unbelievably rare and those that had survived since the 1940's that he had managed to find were in rough shape, too rough for him to consider purchasing them for his collection.
"Hey, how's the latest crusade going?" Nick asked, and Phil wondered again if his best friend had some sort of telepathy, at least where he was concerned.
"So far, I've managed to find 3 of the 5 card set."
"Had a little help from a certain book store owner slash antiquities dealer?"
"Nick," Phil said, warning evident in his tone. "Please don't start."
"Com'on, Phil, you have to admit she's something else. Snarky, intelligent, hell she looks like the pin-ups from Cap's time, all curves and sass. Bet he’d never have passed up a chance to punch her dance card.”
“Your innuendos are appalling,” Phil scoffed. “You also conveniently forgot to mention the fact that I’m practically old enough to be her father, complete with heart condition. I’m sure a vibrant woman like that would want nothing to do with a dried up vet that still wakes up in a cold sweat a few nights a week, but thanks for your input,” Phil replied dryly. He started pulling up the electronic forms needed for the slew of transfer requests that would need to be documented and sent for authorization. “Now can you let me get back to work, please?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it, but fine. Good night, Coulson.” The line went dead as Phil’s oldest friend summarily hung up.
Just as Phil replaced the receiver in the phone cradle it began to ring shrilly. “Seriously, Nick, just let it go!”
“Um..hi, Mr. Coulson, it’s Darcy Lewis? You know, from Little Black Books,” Darcy stammered.
Phil let out a tiny distressed sound as he expelled all of the air in his lungs like he’d been punched in the gut. He let out a titter of nervous laughter as he hung his head and massaged the bridge of his nose again. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Lewis," he apologized.
He smiled when he heard Darcy laugh, loud and bright. "It sounds like this Nick has been giving you a hard time, Phil." He could hear the smile in her voice. He loved the way his name sounded when it came from the young woman’s lips. It sounded like he was something...special.
"You could certainly say that. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Phil asked although he was loathe to set the incidents in motion that would end the phone call.
"Ah, one of my fellas brought something from an estate sale and when I saw it, I thought instantly of you," Darcy said. Phil’s heart gave a little leap. She had thought of him, he felt the flush as it rose to his cheeks and tried to tamp it down. This was business for her, nothing more, he tried to tell himself. No need to act like an infatuated teenager. "Vintage Captain America card number 5, amazing condition, slight foxing at the edges, but given the age that’s to be expected; other than that, pristine. Thought I'd give one of my favorite guys first go before I officially listed it. Feel like coming in for a gander? I have time Friday, if you’re free.”
“That sounds great, Ms. Lewis. Around six okay?” Phil asked. He felt a little light headed, giddy at the prospect of sharing space with Darcy again.
They had initially met a little over a year prior when she had found a first run comic Phil hadn’t been able to locate for his collection. He’d found it listed on an internet auction site, bid and won. When he’d found out her business was located in New York he offered to go by and pick up the collectible in person, rather than trouble her with effort of mailing it such a short distance. When he’d shown up at Little Black Books and caught sight of Darcy that first time, he’d become instantly smitten. Her hair had been in complete disarray, a messy cloud of chocolate curls. Her glasses were skewed and she had been covered in dust and grime from head to toe, smiling like she was mad while clutching a first edition Moby Dick in her arms. Since that first meeting, Phil had frequently stopped by, using the possibility of her having more Captain America memorabilia as an excuse to see her, talk to her and the more he did, the more he fell under her spell.
“Awesome, see you then, Mr. Coulson,” Darcy said softly. “Have a nice evening.”
Darcy couldn’t contain the smile on her face. Her cheeks ached and she didn’t give a damn. Although she knew that Phil was completely unattainable, that didn’t stop the thrill from knowing that he’d scheduled an appointment for later that day. He’d show up in one of his impeccable suits and she’d get the pleasure of a little ogle and conversation with someone she found fascinating.
She bustled around the shop, unable to sit still for long. Darcy shuffled books, redid the display cases in the windows, putting out some of the new acquisitions from Wade’s estate sale finds, dusted the stacks, ran the vacuum throughout the entire bottom floor and then her upstairs office. She dug through the supply closet and found a hard plastic card case, slipping the Captain America trading card between the slides and then wiped it down until it shone and placed it safely into the side drawer of her battered desk. She couldn’t find it within herself to stop and eat, the butterflies in her stomach revolting each time she pondered even a quick piece of toast, never mind a full meal.
“What has gotten into you, Darce?” Leo asked as he perched on the old stool behind the register that was truthfully more duct tape than stool at this point. “Too much of that jet fuel you call coffee?”
Darcy narrowed her eyes at him and took another sip from her mug out of spite as she leaned against the front desk. “Nothing has gotten into me, Leo, I’m keeping the store clean, which, may I add, is part of your job, too.”
“Oh...defensive, something is definitely up.” He chuckled.
She looked up at the clock behind him. “It’s five o’clock, isn’t it time for you to pack up and head out?”
Leo rocked back on the stool, eyes wide. “Defensive AND evasive. Spill, boss, what’s goin’ on in Darcy Land today?”
“I have an appointment at six,” She said and waved her hand dismissively, trying to come off as casual. In hindsight, it was probably too casual because Leo picked up on her faux-nonchalance quickly.
“We close at five, we’re technically closed now...why do you have an appointment at six?” Suspicion laced his normally sweet accented voice.
“He couldn’t come until six, I made a concession to wait.” Darcy shrugged and sipped at her rapidly cooling coffee, not willing to look at Leo and cough up the whole truth.
“HE?!” Leo pointed and shook an accusing finger in her face. “It’s Coulson isn’t it, the card!”
Well, shit. Darcy pulled her hands into the sleeves of her baggy cardigan, crossed her arms atop the desk and let her head fall down onto them with a dull thud. She hid her face. Would it be more telling to have the redness showing or to hide, she didn’t know, but it felt safer to hide.
“That’s confirmation, Darce. Are you going to ask him out? Please ask him out,” Leo pleaded and poked at her shoulder which was met with a loud grumble and garble of something that could have been language. “I understood absolutely none of that.”
Darcy took her head out of her arms and propped her chin on them instead. “I said that I was not going to ask him out, but allowing myself an evening of weak delusionism accompanied with some blatant staring of his fine ass in a suit, Leopold.” God, what does he not understand about out of my league, Darcy thought.
“The full name? Really? Ouch, Ms. Grouchy Britches. Fine, I’ll get out of your hair so you can have yourself a good Appointment.” The capitalization was clearly implied. Leo grinned and stood from his spot behind the counter, grabbed his backpack as he rounded the end of the desk and pulled Darcy into a hug as she straightened from her sprawl. “Don’t forget that you’re amazing, okay?” The bell on the door tinkled as he left.
Phil parked the red convertible on the street, the storefront of Little Black Books in sight. He briefly checked his reflection in the rear view mirror and ran his hands through his hair, patting it down. He let out an exasperated sigh at himself and dropped his head back against the tan leather headrest for a moment before exiting the vehicle and walking the little ways to the shop.
The sign on the door clearly said CLOSED. The hours posted next to it claimed that Little Black Books was open nine to five, Monday through Friday, noon to five on Saturday and closed on Sundays. Phil checked his watch. 6:10. Darcy had told him six, right? He was reasonably sure she had agreed to six on Friday and that was today, now.
Phil cupped his hands over his face and leaned against the door to peer inside. Darkness except for the upstairs. Darcy’s office. He’d been there the last few times he’d stop by, sat in the chair across from Darcy and chit chatted about this and that while drinking ridiculously strong coffee and just enjoying her company. Phil knocked softly against the glass. He strained his ears and heard a scuffle from inside followed by a loud thump and then one of the most creative and longest streams of obscenities that had ever fallen on his ears.
Darcy stumbled out from the maze of floor to ceiling shelves, cradling her elbow, her face twisted in what appeared to be a healthy dose of annoyance. He watched her as she strode toward the entrance. Her hair was a mass of deep brown silk, bouncing with each step. Her black glasses were low on the bridge of her nose and her lips painted a deep red. She wore a jean skirt over galaxy printed tights and purple Converse sneakers along with her familiar over-sized grey cardigan. It was open and hanging haphazardly off one shoulder, showing off her tee shirt with...a faded rendition of Captain America’s shield printed on it. Phil had the thought that he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
He tried desperately to school his features, but Phil’s lips twitched until he gave in and smiled so large his cheeks hurt. Darcy quickly unlatched the deadbolt and swung the door open, the bell overhead chimed cheerfully.
“Mr. Coulson, please come in,” She said, still rubbing absently at her elbow.
“Phil, please, and I hope I’m not keeping you, Ms. Lewis. I saw the sign, are you...should you be closed?” Phil stammered, still unable to wipe all traces of the smile from his face, although he’d at least reined it in a bit.
“I’m not going to call you Phil if you don’t stop calling me Ms. Lewis and I made the appointment, remember? Of course it’s okay. Follow me and I’ll show you the exciting find, sound good?” Phil noticed that she was also smiling now and nodded before following her into the bowels of the shop.
The wood creaked as Darcy lead Phil up the back stairs to the floor above. She unconsciously bit her lip and shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose before going back to rub her sore elbow. She’d been in such a rush to answer the door, knowing it was Phil, that she’d tripped on the last stair in her haste and went sprawling to the floor, whacking her left arm against one of the many bookshelves.
“Are you alright, Darcy?” Phil asked from behind her, concern laced the even timber of his voice.
“Oh, m'fine. I may have tripped a little on the way to the door. Nothing broken, I assure you.” They made their way to her desk, awash in the warm glow of the stained glass lamp settled on the hardwood top.
Darcy rounded the desk and reached to pull open a side drawer when she winced in pain.
Phil extended his hand and took a gentle hold of her forearm, gave a slight tug toward him. “Please let me look?” He asked softly. She nodded, the gesture small. She shivered minutely as his calloused fingers grasped the shoulders of her cardigan and slid it off her arms before lifting her injured arm closer to his face. She could feel the light puff of his breath against her bare skin as he twisted her arm this way and that and marveled at the feel of roughness of his skin as he pressed them in certain places and asked her if she felt pain.
He cleared his throat. “You’re right, looks like just some bruising.” Those fabulous fingers rubbed her elbow in small circles and she fought to repress a little groan from slipping from the back of her throat.
“Ready...to see that card, Phil?” Darcy asked, her voice was breathy and sounded foreign to her own ears.
God, her skin is so soft, Phil thought. He didn’t want to stop touching her. Wanted to pull her further toward him, into his arms and...probably have her kick him in the balls for being a creepy old guy.
Phil removed his fingers from her arm and softly let out a deep sighing breath after Darcy turned back toward her desk and delved into a side drawer. He took the time to take stock of his surroundings once again. The looming desk circa the 1950's, stained glass lamp, the little cactus garden, garish hot pink laptop. There were a couple doors, one he knew led to a supply closet of sorts, the other he'd never been shown.
Darcy retrieved a protective case and placed it onto the blotter, turning it and sliding the card toward the edge, closer to Phil.
“Cop a squat, Phil. And feel free to pick it up, I don’t mind you having a hand on the goods,” If only, Phil thought, and then pushed the thoughts aside again as he chastised himself. She sat down in the high backed wheelie chair and smiled up at him.
Phil dragged one of the wing back chairs closer to the antique desk and carefully picked up the protective card case using just the tips of his fingers on the edges of the plexiglass.
"Wow," he said. She had been right on the phone, the card was nearly perfect.
"The dude had used it as a bookmark, can you believe that?" Darcy asked, her eyebrows raised.
Phil shook his head and set the card down, but let his fingers linger over it. "It's magnificent. So what were you thinking of asking for this one, Darcy?"
Just then Darcy's stomach let out an extremely loud and fierce growl. Phil chuckled as Darcy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Busy today and I didn’t have much time to grab anything. Do you mind if I call for a pizza?”
“Not at all. I’ll get out of your hair, it’s bad enough that I’m keeping you at work late, but I’d hate to think I’m standing between you and dinner as well.”
Darcy’s hand stopped halfway toward the phone and she leveled her warm, brown eyes on him. “You could...stay...if you wanted. You don’t have to or anything, but if you’re hungry, you know,” she trailed off.
She was inviting him to stay for dinner. Cool it, Phil, he thought to himself, she's just being polite. Probably doesn't want you to leave until she makes the sale. Savvy business practice, as Nick would say. It didn't stop him from smiling widely and enthusiastically accepting the invitation though.
Darcy seemed to calm a little and her familiar smirk curled her lips. "Pepperoni okay? I'm also partial to Hawaiian unless you have an aversion to fruit on your pizza."
"I'm fine with whatever you decide, Darcy," Phil supplied.
“Cured meats it is, then,” she said and an unexpected chuckle popped from Phil’s throat. It earned him another of Darcy’s shy smiles before she dialed seemingly from memory to place their order.
Inside her brain, Darcy was jumping up and down and frantically high-fiving herself. She’d asked Phil to stay for food...and he’d accepted. It was probably more out of pity than anything, but she still felt she could count it as a win. It meant that she got to spend just a bit more time with him, learn more about him, maybe.
Darcy leaned back in her old wheelie chair and took a deep breath before blowing it out in a quick gust. “So, it’ll be here in about twenty minutes.” She felt so awkward, she was so terrible at small talk. She started to twirl a lock of her hair around her fingers. Phil just offered her a kind smile. “Uh, so I have to ask, the suits and ties, is it an all the time clothing choice or only for whatever you do for work? You’re a spy or something, aren’t you? CIA? NSA? FBI? Spill it.”
Phil chuffed out a little laugh. “Work, but I promise I’m not a spy, nothing that exciting. I do actually own other clothes.” Phil seemed to take that particular line of questioning as an invitation to finally become a bit less formal. He reached forward to unbutton his suit jacket and shrugged it off, depositing it in the empty chair to his right. His tie followed soon after and he then proceeded to unbutton the first couple buttons at his throat along with his cuffs and roll up his shirt sleeves to his elbows.
Darcy’s eyes widened a fraction and her mouth went dry. As delectable as she thought Phil Coulson was in his usual finery, the sight of him out of it...was downright criminal. With the jacket off she could make out strong, broad shoulders and muscles corded his bared forearms. The sprinkling of hair now open for view at his throat set her heart racing. She was certainly getting more of an ogle than she had bargained for and filed it all away for further reflection at a later date...alone...in her bed.
Darcy shook her head to clear her thoughts and hoped Phil didn’t notice. “You know, we’ve done business together for, what, about a year?” He nodded. “I feel like I should know something about you, but instead, I’m about to share a pizza with a practical stranger. I think the only thing that I know for sure about you, Phil, is that you love Captain America.”
He sat back in the chair, crossed an ankle over his other knee and tented his fingers together. “Well, I hate to think of you eating with a stranger,” Phil shot her a wink so quick Darcy thought she’d imagined it. Sweet Jesus, was he flirting with her? Please, oh please, let him be flirting with her. “I work in private security. I co-own SHIELD Securities with my best friend Nick.”
“Security? Like rent-a-cops and stuff? How do you get into that?” Darcy asked, her interest genuinely peaked.
“Not “rent-a-cops”, Darcy,” he corrected her, chuckling under his breath. “We provide bodyguards and security details for private clients, not malls. Most of us are ex-military, I was an Army Ranger, medically discharged after an incident overseas. Nick is ex-CIA. He’d started the firm a year before my discharge and after I got back stateside, he nagged me mercilessly until I caved and became his partner.”
Darcy laughed. “I can’t imagine anyone ruffling your feathers, Phil. You always come off as very cool and collected, a stone cold bad-ass. Is it completely uncouth of me to ask about the “incident”? You don’t have to tell me. I...never really know when to stop poking and I have known boundary issues.”
The smile melted from Phil’s face and his eyes clouded over, he seemed to be staring off in the distance at nothing, but he did answer. “Remote trigger improvised explosive,” he said, pausing to look up at her. Darcy couldn’t help but notice the lost look still in his eyes. “My unit was escorting a diplomat for peace talks, should have been a quick and easy mission, but some people didn’t want our guy getting to where he was needed. We were attacked, herded really,” his inflection was flat, the lack of emotion almost making him sound robotic. “The bomb was set off when my Humvee was driving past, it flipped the vehicle and tore a side to ribbons. My friend James was thrown from the vehicle and then pinned down by it after it rolled, he later lost the arm that was crushed. I took a load of shrapnel to the chest. It took a total of five surgeries to get the shrapnel out of me and repair the damage to my heart. I coded twice on the operating table. The rest of the unit dug in for the firefight that followed the detonation and held on until backup arrived. James and I were the worst off. Everyone else escaped the day with scrapes, bruises and one hell of a story to tell.”
“Jesus Christ, Phil,” Darcy breathed. Her eyes were wide with shock. “You’re okay, though?” She couldn’t push the worry from her tone.
Phil seemed to come back to himself and offered her a small shrug. “These things happen during war. I, uh, I’m mostly okay these days. Heart meds, doctor appointments, typical old man stuff,” He gave a self deprecating smile, just a small up turn to one side of his lips and then changed the subject. “Enough about me, what about you? I also don’t relish the thought of eating with someone I know so little about.” His familiar wide smile reappeared.
“Ah, well, my story is very boring. No explosions, no diplomatic relations. I was raised by my grandmother after I lost my parents in a car wreck when I was young. I worked in a frozen yogurt shop and a grocery store during high school. I worked as a barista, a public library clerk, and a waitress through college. I’ve saved every penny I’ve ever earned or found on the street to put into this place.” She smiled. “See? Not exciting, mister Army Ranger. The largest deal I have in my past was petty thievery in my teens, breaking and entering rich vacationers homes, but the lesson was learned before I started down a path I couldn’t change, thanks to Gram.”
He rolled his eyes fondly. “That dedication is nothing to scoff at, Darcy. I’ve also heard that the teenage wild streak is quite common,” there was that wink again, Darcy was sure of it. “When did you realize you wanted to do all this?” Phil gestured around the shop with his hands.
“Gram can be blamed for that one, too. I was shipped off to her quickly after my folks died. I barely knew her at all. She lived on the east coast, we lived in Seattle. I think before she took me in, I’d met her twice and both times I was too young to remember. So, I show up on her doorstep with a suitcase holding everything to my name, a five year old doesn’t have a lot in the way of worldly possessions,” Darcy grins at Phil before forging on. “And she sweeps me up in the biggest, warmest hug, plies me with hot chocolate, the real stuff, made on the stove with milk and heavy cream, none of that powdered shit,” Phil laughs loudly at that and Darcy thinks about how she loves that sound and how grateful she is that he no longer looks so sad. “And then she hustles me into the library and changes my whole life.”
“Gram’s house was this old Victorian, there were antiques everywhere and she had a library full of floor to ceiling shelves, just like here, and they were overflowing with books. She taught me that old things were beautiful and valuable and should be cherished. Most of that education happened in that room, surrounded by first and second editions of literary classics.”
When Darcy looks up Phil is still smiling at her, but he’s leaning forward in the wing back chair and his gaze has...intent. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re remarkable?” Phil asks, his voice soft and low.
Darcy’s eyebrows shoot high on her forehead and her lips part slightly. Oh god, he IS flirting with me, she thinks, don't blow it Darcy girl. She was about to reply in kind when a loud crash of broken glass sounded through the room.