sundown | for cable (nathan)

[ Her eyes snap up to his, fully disarmed.

She starts to smile, more automatic than authentic, but it falls, and she simply looks at him. Silently. Thoughtfully. ]

No. Not too cliche.

[ She smiles then, mostly to herself.

Looking down at her lap: ] So you're ... not married?

[It isn't alarming to Nate that she doesn't fawn at the compliment, but she's also not just politely accepting it in an uncomfortable way. Makes him curious.

Particularly when coupled with the question.]

Not anymore. Not for a long time.

[He assumes she's only asking because he's old, so.]

Are you?

[ Unmarried. A divorcee. That's good. Though, he could lie if he was just looking to get lucky, she's not that naive about men, but she suspects that isn't the case. She gets the impression, however wrong she could be, that he wouldn't do that.

It's a fair rebuttal, but one that makes her lips twitch with a private joke. She stretches out her left hand, the ring finger pointedly bare, and smiles shyly at him. ]

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. [ Does that sound pathetic? Oh God. She adds: ] Mostly because I have seven siblings and four of them are married.

[It becomes very difficult not to look perpetually amused by her, but he decides to try meet her energy at least a little. When she extends her fingers to show him, he takes her hand and gently guides it toward himself so he can have a better look. Like he needs to inspect, with a soft hum.]

You look young. What's the rush? [He doesn't want to, but he lets go of her and pulls back.]

How old are you?

[ His hands, warm and calloused. Heat flashes through her, her breath causing. She regrets when he lets go of her, her fingers curling into her palm.

Ah. The question. This could make or break things. She swallows, but answers honestly. ]

Twenty-three.

[It's not exactly a shocking revelation for Nate. He doesn't necessarily skew younger when he dates, but he knows when he's too old for someone. But here he is.]

Fifty-two. [She doesn't ask but he offers, for transparency.]

Sure you've got better things to do than sit here and talk to me.

[It's deliberately self-deprecating, but he feels she's owed an out after the revelation. If only because he'd really like to see her turn it down.]

[ Fifty-two. She doesn't look surprised, really, but the number does weigh on her some. That would be about the age of her father, if he was still alive.

It makes her wonder if this is immoral or just ... weird. She knows very few women that date so much older. God knows the looks they got.

She's getting ahead of herself now. It's just a drink.

She stares right at him for the comment, something of a challenge in her expression. She takes another sip of her whiskey. ]

No. I really don't.

Just my luck. [And he smiles broadly, but tries to mask it by taking a drink. He didn't expect to get this far, now he has to think about how far he wants to get.]

I'd invite you back to mine, but I live pretty far out. Lots of wood, big lake. Think you'd worry I was trying to kill you.

[Which is such a weird thought to plant, but he doesn't seem concerned.]

But it's nice out there. Private. Quiet.

[ Francesca blinks at him. That's not unsettling or anything.

But it's more so the fact he's all but asked her over to his house, and the ripe implications therein. The thought writhes through her stomach, turns her hands clammy. He doesn't know -- of course he wouldn't know.

That she never does anything like this. Has never done anything of the nature he's all but suggested. For a moment, she thinks of bolting. He has the impression she's far more experienced than she actually is, and why shouldn't he? She'd approached him. Not the other way around. ]

Is it?

[ Her mouth is dry after she says it. ]

It is.

[He looks a little confused, but he sees nerves in her expression and hears it in her voice.]

We don't have to go anywhere. Just wanted you to know I was interested. [He manages to balance a firm confidence in his voice with something gentle, with understanding.]

I bought you a drink to get your attention, and I got it. Anything from there is a bonus. One I appreciate, for the record.

[ As soon as she says it, she feels as confused by herself as he looks.

It's visible, how quickly she calms as he speaks, the tenor of his deep voice strangely comforting to her. It's a curious feeling for her to experience from anyone outside her family, let alone an entire stranger, but one she doesn't altogether reject.

Francesca nods, to let him know she understands, and looks back down at her glass.

She's not not intrigued either, she realizes. That's even stranger. It's why she'd made that ambiguous question back. ]

I'm sorry. I'm awful at ... this.

At talking to strange old men at bars? Probably for the best.

[Nate points it out, still gentle. No matter how shy she might feel, she's here and it makes him even more taken with her. Feels a little like the perfect girl just fell in his lap, which makes him slightly wary.

And yet.]

But if you mean flirting? [He leans in just a little, letting his voice dip. A little sly, trying to be encouraging.]

It's working.

[ That's a relief. Her mouth twists, a hint of self-confidence budding. She's not total rubbish at it, then.

Which makes her feel playful.

Archly, with a scrunch of her nose: ]

Good.

[ In one move, she brandishes off the rest of her drink. She manages to down it without a grimace, looking him straight in the eye as the liquid burns down her throat. When she's finished, she turns her head and motions to the server again.

Then, turning back, she leans her elbows on the table in order to rest her chin on her hands. Already, she can feel the whiskey working its liquid courage. ]

Tell me something interesting, Nathan.

[Every time she visibly warms up, Nate feels himself settle into the situation more and more. It's hard not to look admiringly at her when she smiles, but it's getting easier to look her in the eyes.

His brow arches when she knocks back the drink and he follows her lead. More drinks = easier conversation and always leads to good decisions. He's confident he'll be happy with wherever this leads.]

About me or generally? [Both are difficult, actually. He thinks on it before he says what comes to mind.]

I'm a veteran. Served since I was eighteen. And I have a cat. Called Smokey. [He tries to balance between something genuinely interesting and something he just thinks is funny.]

Your turn.

[ Her eyes linger on him while he considers what to say. The liquor has kicked in. She doesn't feel quite as self-conscious as a few moments ago. And he's very fit. She can see the muscle shift under his skin. ]

Smokey? [ A smirk plays on her lips, assuming the cat must be grey or black judging by its name.

Now her turn, she bites her lip as she thinks. Most people find the seven siblings to be shocking enough, but she'd already offered that factoid. ] My sister and I were born exactly a year apart. And I started playing piano when I was three.

[ The next batch of drinks hit the table. She gives a passing glance to the owner, then returns her gaze right back to him. ]

When did you retire?

Yeah. Was supposed to be a barn cat but he moved in. Cats.

[Cable shrugs, but he's obviously fond of him. He listens with interest, realising he glossed over the amount of siblings she has. He refrains from the reactions she's probably heard a million times, save for one:]

Bet you've never experienced silence the way you do now. [His lip quirks, offering a small smile.]

About fifteen years ago. Injured. [And he doesn't offer much more than that.]

Do you still play?

[ She nods. He doesn't offer and she doesn't push him to, figures it's none of her business. Though, she concludes the scars must be from there.

But - he was listening. That warms her. ] You have no idea. The silence is lovely. But, every so often, it can be just a little too quiet. [ Not often. She enjoys her family in spurts. ]

Whenever there is a piano available. I can't exactly fit one in my briefcase. Trust me, I've tried.

You have a barn?

Not in the traditional sense-- not for cows, I mean. But it's a big property and I grow stuff and make stuff so you get.. rodents.

[Which he suddenly realises is not something he wants to talk to a girl about when he would like her to come see it sometime.]

Keyboard doesn't really have the same feeling, right? Like going from steak to burgers.

[ just gonna ignore the rodents bit thx ]

Not really, no. [ Francesca is feeling very buzzed now. And equally warm and fuzzy.

And horny.

Her eyes fall to his hands, admiring them, perhaps too openly. ]

What do you make?

[It is obvious what she's looking at, even if he wasn't observant. He wonders what she thinks of when she looks at them. The imperfections? Or how they'd feel on her?

It's not like he hasn't been thinking about how soft her hands were. How soft other parts of her are.

He takes a drink.]

Woodworking, mostly. Furniture. I like to make stuff. Like to fix stuff too, cars. Stuff with motors.

[He feels terribly awkward because he doesn't want to brag, but adds:]

My truck was a hunk of shit when I got it. Nice to bring it back to life.

[ She often feels awkward and floundering in conversations so he's not alone.

They're skilled hands. Dangerous, too, something whispers. He's a soldier; she had her suspicions by the way he held himself, and something else inexplicable about him, and he had confirmed it. The thought ghosts up her spine.

She breaks out of her trance, just long enough to meet his eyes, those nerves from earlier tempered. ]

I'd like to see.

The truck?

[Oh? ..Ohh. He's not stupid, but he's a little stupid. But he gets there.]

Sure. How about I give you a ride home?

[He doesn't want to end this early, but he also doesn't want to sit around longer. Be nice to stretch their legs. Maybe he can sweet talk his way into a tea at her place. Or take her to get an ice cream. What do people her age like?

If she doesn't decline, he'll move to pay their tab.]

[ What do people her age like? Well, fucking usually.

She agrees to the plan and doesn't oppose him paying the tab. He's probably traditional. If the owner gives them a dubious look as they leave, Francesca pretends not to notice.

She was raised with four brothers, so she's appropriately impressed by how much he's fixed up the mass of metal sitting on the sidewalk. It does take hauling herself up with his help to get into the front seat. ]

It's nice out tonight. [ If he catches it, there's a suggestion baked in there. Maybe they should go on a detour.]

[Nate feels the eyed on him as he leaves with Francesca, feeling both the weight of scrutiny and smug. Because he's leaving with a beautiful woman, so he stays winning.

The truck is classic in make, but it's cleaned up well. The interior is sleek and comfortable and he's obviously quite happily installed various things on his dashboard to modernise it. This includes the bluetooth that picks up his classic rock playlist, so the soft sound of Street Cafe by Icehouse is what fills the silence.

There's a subtle tightening of his grip on the steering wheel at her suggestion. He has diligently been driving her home, but it's not a big town and he becomes aware that he actually doesn't want to come to a situation where they part ways for the night.]

I know a place.

[He says it softly, sparing a side glance toward her before looking back at the road. His hand resting on the gear stick shifts, brushing the backs of his fingers innocently over the side of her thigh. It should have been obvious, but at that moment he realises just how badly he wants to fuck her.

They pull down a secluded road, the scenery becoming less suburban and more like some sort of nature reserve. There are lampposts every so often, which makes him hope she doesn't think he's a serial killer when he pulls up alongside the lake.

He flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, thinking before he shifts closer without fully leaning in.]

Do you feel safe out here? With me?

[ The road bleeds on and on. She wasn't lying about the beauty. She doesn't think she would ever leave this place unless she had to. As they drive, she keeps the window halfway down, the air outside damp from the recent rain shower.

Francesca doesn't know exactly how far she wants this to go, only that she wants it to go. Until he parks and turns to her, and her mind is made up.

~~She's going to fuck this old man.~~

There is a charge in the air, a heaviness that insulates them in the truck cabin. One she knows, but has never before experienced. Not on her end. She's been in cars with men before, boys compared to him. But she'd never really wanted them to do more than politely kiss her and see her home.

Her voice is soft. She had spent almost the duration of the drive studying him, his profile. Her eyes linger on his mouth now. ]

Yes.

[ She moves closer still, closing more of the distance, and chances reaching for the hand lain closest to her. Running her fingertips over his knuckles, his hand massive under hers. She makes a little noise, imagining it between her legs, around her hip. ]

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