sundown | a football player and a countess kissing in a tree

[ She finishes the concerto to applause, not unexpectedly, but none so loud as one particular man she had noticed nodding off in the audience.

Francesca isn’t a particularly big football fan ( her chief sport being a highly competitive annual golf session with her family ), and so there is no recognition that reaches her eyes that night, merely a furrow of her brow and some mild annoyance.

There is recognition the second and third time she spots him in the crowd during subsequent concerts, an unexpected recurrence. A bemusing sight to behold, really.

Afterwards, a banquet, and she manages to get a name. Jamie Tartt. She tells herself she’s simply being curious when she takes it upon herself to approach, champagne flute in hand, but inexplicably, it requires the mustering of considerable courage. ]

You didn’t fall asleep this time.

[Jamie feels immense regret about dozing off during that show. In fairness, he'd been up since 4am, trained all day, press, blah blah. The other fact is that he found the music incredibly soothing.

This opinion is uninfluenced by the fact that the pianist was dead gorgeous, which immediately caught his attention. Particularly since after things went to shit with Keeley, he hasn't felt the kind of draw he felt when he saw her up there. Playing piano like a beautiful angel, lulling him to sleep, looking unimpressed when he tried to compensate by whooping and cheering when nobody else did.

For whatever reason, Roy dragged him out of there in a hurry.

And for whatever reason, Jamie comes back again. Twice alone and once with Sam, so he doesn't look completely crazy. He just needs to be completely sure he's feeling what he's feeling and he wasn't just kind of horny the first time. It takes him a few tries to angle for an invite to the "after party" when someone in the inner circle recognises him.

It's his intention to mingle and smoothly introduce himself-- or to be introduced. He isn't expecting her to approach him, so he looks a little surprised and then very sheepish when she recognises him.]

Oh-- you saw that? [He shakes his head, rubbing his neck.] Err.. of course you did, that's why you're asking.

[He offers her an apologetic smile.]

Had to come back to hear the parts I missed, didn't I?

[ Curiosity, Francesca reminds herself. That is all.

But he is very easy on the eyes, even more so close up rather than in the concert booths, she cannot deny that to herself. And why shouldn’t she appreciate beauty? She is already an artist — beauty, in one way or another, is one with her industry. Or so she rationalizes.

Were she younger, Francesca knows she would have had a difficult time of approaching him - but she is not a girl, and this is purely conversation. Maybe some admonishment.

Still, she likes the bashfulness that flits across his face. Knows it for an apology, as much as his presence has been in the subsequent participations. Somehow, though, she had expected something other than the accent she is met with. It is not precisely the kind of patron she’s used to. ]

It wasn’t a question, but an observation, [ she points out, brows lifting, just a little dryly, but her smile is gracious to even it out. ]

Did you enjoy it, at least, Mr ... ?

[There is a momentary look of scepticism on Jamie's face when she asks for his name. They're in London, he plays for AFC Richmond, he's always on the telly or on posters or having his tweets shared. He quickly realises she's serious and for whatever reason, he finds it makes her even more endearing to him. She's a sophisticated lady, obviously. She probably has no business talking to a footballer who falls asleep during piano recitals and needs to schmooze his way into banquets.

He smiles broadly, sticking a hand out for her to shake.]

Tartt. Jamie Tartt. And I know you 'cause your names on all the programs.

[Jamie's nose crinkles when he makes a little joke, giving her a searching look.]

Is it Francesca or Fran? Or Frannie? Or is that just for friends?

Edited (Forgot words) 2025-03-20 11:38 (UTC)

[ Technically, she knows his name, she’s made a cursory Google search, but she has only known it for all of maybe ten minutes, that Google search being made in the ladies’ room when she excused herself before making her way over here. All the same, she clocks that brief expression of doubt, warding off a blush.

Offering him her unoccupied hand, she laughs, a touch uneasily, surprised, but likewise charmed by his forwardness. Oh, he is cute, that nose wrinkle. ]

Francesca is typically what people lead with... unless, you plan to make friends, of course. [ She doesn’t know what compels her to say the last part. It lingers in the air, her stomach knotting from the implicit suggestion, and when she pulls her hand out of his, a zap of electricity passes. ] — ow.

[Jamie's smile grows lopsided when he feels more and more like she might actually like talking to him and she's not just annoyed at him. It's very encouraging, which makes his heart flutter.

He needs to be careful not to move too fast he thinks, she's a widow from what he's read and she's fine. So fine. Regal and dainty and fancy--- she won't like it if he comes onto her like a girl at the club.]

That was the plan, yeah-- [Jamie starts, but he cuts off when there's a zap and after the initial pull back, he reaches to touch her hand apologetically.]

Sorry. S'the velvet-- probably. Or sparks are flying. [He scrunches his nose again. Whoops.]

Friend sparks, I mean. [Unless?]

[ His hand is touch when he reaches for her, and her heart lurches in her chest, as much for the warmth and his boyish smile as the wayward comment, eyes widening. Well, that's ... that's something. Her cheeks tinge with color.

A little cough follows, head ducking to her shoulder, trying to think of something to say to that. What she should say. Crap. Oh God, she hasn't flirted in years. She's not used to this. Clearly. Her eyes flicker up to his, searching. She takes a pretty ample swallow of the champagne, then simply... goes for it. ]

There was a plan, then?

Well.. [Jamie starts, trails off and anxiously scratches his cheek before he decides to lay it out.]

I like the music, obviously. You're amazing at it-- and passionate-- and I felt that. [He gestures at his heart but his hand drops and he shrugs.]

This is mad, you're going to think I'm nuts. But when I saw you the first time-- and we made eye contact? I just.. felt like I wanted to see you again, y'know? But I didn't know how to reach you, 'cause you're not easy to find outside of here.

[ She’s not entirely accustomed to the frankness with which he speaks, at least not lately, not about something like this, and it’s a little unnerving ... but also refreshing. She prefers things to be straight forward, even if it is presently disarming and she looks like a deer caught in headlights.

She’s been out of the game a very long time. Even then, she’d hated dating. Positively loathed it. John had fallen into her lap, and they had married shortly after in a very small chapel wedding with only family.

Francesca wonders at this stranger, his open expression. Slowly, a smile comes to her face. ]

Well. [ She returns, swallowing. ] It does sound a little mad.

[ Her heart thumps in her chest.

She blurts out: ] Did you want to have coffee with me? I mean. If you drink coffee. At night. Or .. tea? [ Shut up shut up shut up ]

[It could be concerning that she agrees he's acting mad, but Jamie is a doctor of Body Science and he knows how to read a woman (who is very clearly smiling invitingly at him). Her mutual interest seems to fluster him a little.

He used to be a lot smoother, but maybe that's because he cared less about making a good impression and it was just a numbers game with girls. He's grown out of playing games and playing hard to get, so he's nodding vigorously at her invitation.]

I drink a lot of thinks-- yeah. Love to drink them with you. [God.]

D'you want coffee now? We can go get a coffee now-- or we could have a coffee at mine. [He holds up his hands at chest height as if in surrender or something.] Not trying to make a move like that-- I just have a really nice coffee maker.

[ Well, he’s in good company. Francesca has never been smooth. Ever. At least when it came to dating. Unless you count pure disinterest as smooth, she hasn’t been interested in dating before or after John.

She hasn’t been interested in anyone since.

His offer to join him at his home makes her eyes widen once more, surprised, to wonder if she should be insulted by his forwardness — but he quickly smooths it over. She titters. ]

Yes. Yeah. Coffee would be nice. Lovely, really. I would like to see your .. erm, coffeemaker. [ She’s blushing, good lord. Like some school girl and everything. Nonetheless, her eyes sparkle when she lifts them to his in embarrassment. ]

I mean, I could use it after the performance. Um. Is it nearby?

[Jamie is delighted when she agrees to come over, though he still feels mad. It also feels right to him and he pushes down the nervous energy and chooses to just enjoy where this takes them.

He doesn't live far but with London traffic, there's a bit of time to idly chat in the car. He is terribly proud of his shiny Aston Martin but he's sure it's not much of a flex to Francesca, not after looking her up. As fancy as his car is, he still has tchotchkes such as a little rubber ducky and a soccer ball hanging from his mirror.

They pull up to his home and he leads her in, nattering about how often footballers move cities. It tracks that his home is decorated and furnished as if it came that way, but there's elements of his personality throughout it.

He holds his hand out to her.]

Can I take your coat? Make yourself at home, I'll pop the heater on.

[He gestures at the couch, which is plush and covered in a fuzzy blanket and pillows.]

[ If she looks at all uncomfortable, it’s not necessarily because of the fancy car, though the rubber ducky puts her more at ease, and they end up talking much of the drive to his house. She makes an idle note to mentions she knows basically nothing about football.

The Bridgertons, being old (ancient) money, don’t take to flashing it often. Her own ride is an older Subaru SUV that had often made the drive between Scotland and England. She likes his flat, even if it’s sparsely decorated, eyes scanning around to take it all in as he flicks on lights. It’s smaller than anything she can remember being in since she was a child taking piano lessons with her teacher. Kind of cozy.

Francesca sheds her coat for him, stopping midway to the couch and looks back at him. She’s been wearing heels for the last several hours and her feet ache. Balancing a hand on a coffee table, she leans down to take them off. ] May I? [ He did say to make herself at home. ]

Edited 2025-03-23 22:53 (UTC)

[Jamie is new to this lifestyle, enough that a lot of it is novel and that he has happily used it to get girls before. Strangely, he's never really felt that self conscious about his upbringing. He's proud of it. He's a fighter. With Francesca, it's a little different. She's fine in every sense of the word and he finds himself utterly terrified that he'll fail to meet her standards or that they'll just have nothing in common to keep them together.

But there's chemistry, and he believes in chemistry. To the extent that he's charmed by just the question she asks and everything she does.]

If you're doing that, I'm taking this off.

[Jamie hooks his finger into his bowtie to pry it off. The velvet coat follows and he drapes it over a chair.]

How d'you have your coffee?

[He asks, padding toward the kitchen when he does. He leaves it to her to decide if she wants to join him or get comfy.]

[ With a laugh, she has no choice but to give him an appreciative once over as he strips off his coat, her heels coming off in the same heartbeat, sighing her pleasure. That’s better.

Her eyes linger on his ass before she pulls her gaze away. Of course he has a nice body; he’s an athlete. And she doesn’t think he would mind being checked out. ]

Black, please, [ she calls after him, and sits on the sofa, drawing a leg beneath her, making mental notes as her eyes drink in his living room.

She makes an effort of sitting there and waiting, she does. But in the next instant, she’s up on her feet, following him into the modern kitchen, barefoot. The truth is, he’s too pretty for her to let him out of her sight.

She’s quiet, though, has always been the quietest in an expansive family, so he may not realize she’s in the doorway, watching his back. Gently, she speaks, peering toward a photo on the wall. ] Is that your team?

[Jamie is quite certain he feels her eyes lingering on him and he allows himself to bask in it without showboating. Much.

It is a nice shirt, so he uncuffs and rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. One tattooed, one bare. Might as well let her see them, she will eventually.

He sets about taking out cups and fiddling with the machine. His vanilla latte is quite the opposite of her order but, like with all things this evening, he isn't going to pretend he's not a boy who likes a sweet treat.

Jamie jolts in surprise when he realises she's joined him, since he's unbuttoning his top buttons and thinks he looks suss. Still, he's quietly pleased when she joins him, arching a brow at her.]

You're like a little mouse, aren't you? [His eyes follow her as she peers around, briefly distracted by the coffee. He glances up again, smiling broadly and nodding.]

That's us, yeah. [With the coffees in his hands, he joins her to look at it. He leans in a little closer so he can tease her.]

You don't know a single one of 'em, do you?

Edited 2025-03-24 08:02 (UTC)

[ Francesca may look delicate, but she’s a Turkish coffee kind of girl. The stronger the better.

The pride is noticeable in his voice. She glances at him, taking the proffered mug — there’s something about Richmond on the body of it. She doesn’t take a sip yet, steam rising to heat her face. This close, his cologne perfumes over her. She takes a deeper breath, enjoying both that and the smell of fresh brew.

When he teases her, she gasps, feigning offense. ] I will have you know I do, actually. I know him. [ Defending herself, she points at the tallest person in the photograph. In the sea of smiling men, he’s the only one who isn’t smiling. ] His name is — Zara? Or something?

[It's a bit surreal to be standing this close to Francesca after admiring her from afar for so long. Now she seems far more real than an ethereal, piano playing fairy princess and that's somehow even better.

He's standing so close to her he could touch her and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with the desire to. Her hair smells nice this close and he wants to press his face against it. Her skin looks soft and he wants to trace his fingers up her arms. Her lips are a nice, full pout and they look like they need to be kissed.

He refrains, taking a triumphant sip of his coffee when she gasps. He nearly chokes on it when she points out the absolute worst person. That absolute fucking miserable prick who is towering over Jamie. Jamie sets his jaw and presses his lips together in a pout she will get used to seeing, but it's not her fault so he tries not to be a cock.]

Yeah. Zara. Got too old to be any good and he retired. Nice bloke. [Flatly, but politely.]

Shall we go sit down then?

[ Francesca looks triumphant herself about being able to recognize at least one player. Up until she, with a smile cut short, catches the soured look on his face.

She takes a sip just then, filing away her curiosity about that reaction, because she misses that silly smile he wore just a minute ago for her, even if the pouted mouth looks very kissable right now. Maybe especially so. She wants to try to get to know him.

He’s drop dead gorgeous, really, frustratingly so, but she isn’t the type to jump into bed with someone. She hasn’t had sex in years, in fact. The thought makes her heart twinge, to even be considering it. To be wanting it so badly.

With that in mind, she puts some space between them when they sit, looking over her cup at him. ]

I don’t know anything about football, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, I know that is a British crime. Try not to call the police.

[Jamie can't help but notice the distance she puts between them, only because he's over-analysing everything. She's a proper lady, though, maybe it's not appropriate to sit thigh to thigh with a strange man.

Still, he craves closeness with her as soon as he doesn't have it. It feels like it would be perfectly natural to drape an arm around her shoulders, but he doesn't.

He smirks over his cup at her, then shrugs.]

I didn't know anything about piano playing until I saw you. I didn't even want to go, my friend brought me the first time.

[Might as well be honest.]

Maybe if you saw someone brilliant and beautiful playing footy you'd be more interested.

[Now for a well-timed sip.]

[ It does feel unnatural to sit so far from him, a niggling feeling of loss, especially when they spent upwards of an hour in traffic together. She just needs to try to reel back the desire to sit in his lap.

Or on his face.

She hums back at the observation-slash-suggestion, just stifling a laugh. He’s naturally funny. Instead, she dryly smarts back. ]

Your friend has good taste.

[ Roy Kent, man of sophistication. ]

Now that I think about it, it’s possible. Would you happen to know anyone who would fit the bill? [ Her eyes are big and innocent and very interested to hear his suggestions. ]

Edited 2025-03-24 09:14 (UTC)

The way I see it, we've got two options. I get you tickets to a match, you've got minimum 22 players to pick from. Myself included.

[He touches his chest to emphasise this. Jamie gesticulates in such an animated fashion that his coffee wavers around precariously.]

Or, you let me take you to a game together so you've got someone to tell you what's going on.

[Jamie leans in, a cheeky look on his face.]

Then you'll have 23 to pick from, myself included.

Edited 2025-03-24 09:44 (UTC)

[ He leans in all conspiratorial and Francesca would later say she was powerless but to do the same, enchanted, compelled to be closer to him. She can’t keep her eyes off him.

Her nose crinkles all cutely in reply. ] Well, I think I already know who I would choose. [ At this point, she gives him a look that could be called coquette. Are they flirting? She hopes she’s doing it right. ] But maybe I should keep my options open?

[Every time Jamie worries that he's overstepping or laying it on too thick, it seems like she matches his energy. Like they're already synchronising.

He leans in just that little bit more, his eyes bright from laughing and scanning over her lips to her eyes. He licks his own lips, shifting again. All these tiny movements happen in microseconds but his thoughts and his heart are racing.

She's a widow that he cornered and lured back home to get her alone. He can see she's interested, her body language is receptive and he's aching to close the distance, but he stills himself.]

Can I kiss you?

[As is thematic for the evening, he feels mad. He's so close he can smell the coffee on her lips and he desperately wants to taste it.]

[ She feels it, too. The heat, the buildup, the tension. It’s been a long time for her, years upon years, but her body and her heart recognize the signs, the feelings stirred within her, responding to his closeness, his scent.

Still, Francesca holds her breath when he asks, her chest constricting, fingers clasped tightly around the cooling mug of caffeine. She licks her own lips, then melts, wondering at the way he asks permission, how thoughtful it is.

Timidly, soberly, she nods, a half second before she sidles closer to bridge the distance, desperate for it. ]

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