She was frustratingly complicated in her simplicity. Frank knew what Laney wanted, and had made every effort to not give in for the simple fact that she wanted it so much. He held her hand, took her on dates, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and left it at that. At least he attempted to do that.

As his mum had warned him, nothing good comes out of an easy relationship. Then again, there wasn’t much easy to theirs. The age difference periodically left him riddled with guilt, and her mood swings were as unpredictable as the weather. Still, there was something about her that drew him in, like one of those fish to the bigger fish with a light on the top. He was just waiting to be consumed. And it seemed Laney had an appetite.

Luckily for them both, she’d somehow been held off. Frank wasn’t going to consider how. The point was… it was Valentine’s Day. And after the laughter he’d endured for it, he was going to make it extra special. Especially since he had only gotten back and recovered from his monthly transformation Tuesday. A late booking required they make it an early dinner. No romantic candlelight dinner this Valentine’s—the reservations were before sundown, after all.

This was the second time he was shaving today. Growling into the mirror, Frank frowned and pursed his lips to the side, attempting to get as close a shave as possible. A short while later and Frank left the bathroom in a huff. After attempting to cut his hair back a bit, he ended with running some gel through to at least tame it a little.

With his outfit in place and gift box in hand, Frank left the apartment and started for Diagon Alley. It wasn’t long before he arrived at Laney’s place, knocking on the door. He waited patiently, straightening his tie and stuffing the present in his pocket for later. 

outfit

This time, she beat Clinton to the door.

Just as she had last time.

But now there was a clear advantage: Laney knew he was coming, and Clinton wasn't home.

Bounding for the lock, a blundering puppy against polished marble, Laney came to a sudden and painful stop some half a meter from the door. Only, it wasn't too terribly painful and she'd practiced it a million times on a broom. Windswept from her own excitement, the young seeker took a moment to gather her graces. It was a very Slytherin way of doing things indeed: a ruthless rush to the finish line, and a fresh coat of paint to cover her tracks.

She opened the door with a careful hand, a cool flick of her wrist, an effortless pull. Staring at Frank from the door frame of her flat might have been de ja vu. It might have been, but it wasn't. Now he was furry and fidgeting, just as before, and he'd even worn the same jacket; but the tie, the patient sense of purpose, and the... bulge... of his pocket were new.

Laney had plans tonight, and Frank was falling nicely into place.

"Looking sexy, scruffy." She reached out and reeled him in by the crook of his arm, pulling him into the door and shuffling around him impatiently to shut it. "Give me a minute, I have to grab my coat."

And then she traipsed off again, and left him standing there.

Frank glanced at the door frame, the hallway, the wall, and back again, acknowledging the noises behind Laney’s door with a cautious raise of the eyebrow. When the door finally opened, Frank continued to glance at the area behind him, finally glancing towards Laney in the doorway. No need to seem overly eager.

“Looking sexy, scruffy.”

A half smile came to his lips as his eyes appraised her outfit, lingering longer than he meant to. A small blush started to grace his ears, a warmth spreading that he was getting more and more used to the longer he was around the quick tongued young adult. “I don’t know about that, but-” Not expecting to move, he stumbled slightly over the entrance, taking in a deep breath of her. That was one upside to his monthly change.

It meant he had a more powerful sniffer to enjoy the sniffs he liked. Of course, it was also equally true for the opposite smells of the world, but he much preferred the positive outlook.

Frank finally caught his balance and moved out of her way as best he could. “You look amazing.” Once again he glanced over it, having all ready noticed by the height of her eyes that she had on heels. “Sure…” Which, while she walked away, he got a good look of—they sure did help shape her legs. A hand went into his pocket to fiddle with a few coins, anything to try and keep his brain off the topic at hand. Or… foot, he supposed.

He rocked back, he rocked forth, and he stopped. And then he repeated it. Finally he took a cautious step in, leaning forward on the foot as if he were balancing to not step on a crack, glancing around and looking for her. “Are you ready?” Didn’t sensible people leave their coat near the entrance? That way, when they left, they didn’t have to go all the way back to… wherever they stashed it. Especially when they had a table reservation.

Smirking in reaction to his praise, she flounced off to find what she was looking for. And it wasn't just her coat she meant to bring along. She could hear his change rattling in his pocket even as she turned a corner and disappeared into her bedroom. Frank's nervous habits were like Ministry elevator music-- but a rare, good kind. Predictable, but endearing. Always there when you weren't listening... and hilariously adorable when you were.

Laney, his sheer opposite, had other sorts of habits.

Stuffing one such fixation into her little purse, she magicked several other items with vague points of her wand to various places in the room. She knew it by heart, having a seeker's knack for taking in scenes. Plus, she spent a good deal of time in there. What with it being the place she... slept... and all.

Finally, she slung on her coat and reached the threshold of the room, extinguishing the light with one more quick flick of her wand. But her hands grasped the door frame, and Laney swung forward like a child balancing on a ledge. A wicked smile came to her face as she heard Frank ask whether she was ready.

"No," she called. Simple and smooth as whiskey over ice.

Disapparating-- still rather a novelty to a nineteen year old who had spent half of her legally licensed life trapped in a school-- she reappeared behind Frank. She leaned toward the back of his ear, but was careful not to touch him. "Yes."

The ‘No’ echoed and his eyes rolled in slight annoyance. They were going to be late. It wasn’t kosher to show up late. Pursing his lips to the side, his hand slid out from his pocket and absentmindedly moved into the opposite breast pocket of his jacket, reassuring himself that his cigarettes were tucked carefully away, and the lighter as well. It was as subconscious as playing with his zipper, moving it up and down, hearing the tink-tink-tink as he bounced lightly on his heels, waiting.

Then again, he didn’t have to wait too long. The crack of apparation made him jump and the soft voice made him relax. Smirking and turning around, nearly stumbling in his attempt to be cool, Frank grasped the doorway and pulled himself up next to her. “Finally.” His hand awkwardly found its way to hers, stepping out past her while attempting to not touch any other part of her.

Once there, he waited for her to close the door before leading her out into the cool, crisp air. With his free hand, he lifted his collar up a little, glancing over to her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” It wasn’t long before they were in front of the little shop—it had been one of the few that hadn’t been booked, plus it looked quiet and quaint. Frank let go of her hand long enough to bound up the stairs. With the door opened, his other hand motioned her in.

After they were escorted to their table, cramped along the back wall, Frank waited and held on to Laney’s chair, giving her a soft smile. The annoyance of her making him wait was gone. Right then, he was busy watching her face, her body, the way she moved. And then, he was sitting across from her, the candle somewhat useless, what with the afternoon sun shining through. When the waiter arrived, Frank looked to Laney for what she might want to drink.

The jump of her taller, shaggy-haired comrade garnered a gleeful if invisible jump from Laney herself. Albeit, a jump of her heart. It was a sensation the self-assured Seeker didn’t feel often, and so she know whether to inwardly wrinkle her nose at the feeling, or to be excited to have felt it at all. Frank’s own attempts to cooly mask himself made her smile, nonetheless, and Laney poked him square in the stomach before he took her hand in his.

They made a strange pair: walking like a proper, innocent non-magical couple through the sun-drenched autumn afternoon in Wizarding London, Laney tried to stir the decidedly quaint air about them by dragging her laced fingers up and down the back of Frank’s hand, massaging the poignant, heated fingers of a writer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She tilted her head to the side, eying him humorously. “Does this mean you’re going to stop snaking away from my advances?” She leaned in a bit, bumping her shoulder into his arm. He was, she noted again, absurdly warm. Warmer than she’d remembered. Fuzzier, too. But she liked it. “Because if so, Happy Valentine’s to you, too, good sir.”

The chosen locale for their Get Laid Day date reminded Laney of a boutique, the sort of place her mother would have taken her when she was just old enough to reach her own fork and knife, to twirl spaghetti and sip from a glass. She fluttered past Frank, all coal-eyed and too little clothing, perfumed with men’s whiskey cologne. Perhaps if she couldn’t convince him to grope her, she could persuade him to drink her up like a bar shot.

Sinking into the chair, her dimples showing with Frank to her back-- the proper gentleman-- she lifted her water glass and took a sip even before he sat down across from her.

“You must have some very serious plans for after dark...” She mused aloud, her eyes sweeping from the window to the candle (through which she swiped her fingers like a cat loitering near a bird’s nest) and finally to Frank. Locking on her gaze, she added, “Another date? Or are you taking me home to mummy?”

Unaware of his... ailment... so to speak, the young woman enjoyed her guessing games. Maybe it was just Frank. It seemed in character, didn’t it? He was worried she might corner him if it were too dark outside. As he should.

Devoting a moment’s attention to the waiter, she ordered wine for the pair of them. Red, for the day of hearts.

Rolling his eyes and chuckling, he glanced at the shops on his non-Laney side, deciding that it was easier to not respond to her question of advances than to try and explain anything. Again. Sighing, he finally glanced back to her, after eyeing the cobblestone ahead of them. He didn’t need to trip on top of it all. “It means Happy Valentine’s Day.” Smirking at her, Frank raised an eyebrow. It was like a constant game of keep-away with Laney, and Frank was the object of play.

Once they were in the restaurant, Frank felt a little better. Frank watched with mild interest as Laney swiped her fingers through the candle. “I don’t think you could handle that much excitement in one day. Dinner and meet mummy?” If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know who would come out of that meeting. It was best to avoid it as long as possible.

“I might have something else lined up when your curfew starts.” Smirking at his clever joke, Frank repositioned himself in his chair, moving the box to a slightly more comfortable angle. With the waiter gone, and wine ordered, he could feel himself relaxing. Once he sat down, he felt relief that he wouldn’t trip over something—at least now with his feet. His hands, his words, they were a different story.

Frank unzipped his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, all ready feeling a bit stuffy. For being last minute, he was very pleased with his choice of location. Picking up his menu, his attention diverted to the few sparse items listed. “I applaud being able to get here on time. Quite unlike you.” She seemed to try and cause havoc wherever they were. Sometimes it was fun, intriguing, while others it made him batty.

When the wine came, Frank made the attempt of acting like he knew what he was doing, glancing at the waiter after taking the ‘sniff’ and ‘sip,’ a half shrug escaping him before he laughed. His eyes darted to Laney’s and he took another sip. “It’s not too tart…” Making a motion that it would do, he waited for both of their glasses to be filled up before offering his for a small toast. “To a happy Valentine’s.”

Laney swished her lips to the side, looking rather girly for, well, herself. Her lips were the most feminine part of her, all puffy and heart-shaped, and the color of sinful apples in winter. They were good match for Frank's own radiant smile, the one he was flashing now, in a most splendidly annoying 'got you' sort of moment. "I hope you know I have a policy about first dates and going all the way," she barked back in a loud whisper.

She didn't have, not really, but if she had, it was the opposite of what most girls considered logical.

Laney was not patient when it came to the test-drive. She liked to know the broom well before the game. How else was she ever to win?

"You're snappy tonight, though, I'll give you that." Her pout became a smile, finally, and she tilted her head. She imagined Frank Pratt's mother to be a silver-haired female version of him, completely easy to step all over, and always armed with biscuits and books the delightful things a real mother should have. Laney's real mother was dead and gone, and while not the pushover sort, she'd been heaps more authentic than Olive. "So who's this moonlit date with, Daddy?" Under the table, one of her feet intentionally bumped his leg.

She sat up, all innocence and Un-Laneylike, shrugging at his compliment. "Clinton's taught me a thing or two about being on time. It helps when you can apparate better than your older brother."

She made to take a sip of her wine, but stopped at his proposed toast, and gently bumped her glass with his. A sincere smile danced over her lips, a single dimple lighting one cheek. "To a happy Valentine's," she echoed, and swigged down half the glass without giving so much as a batted eyelash at the thought of going through the usual wine-tasting ritual. "Have you been to Italy?" she asked, pulling the glass away from her mouth. It suddenly occurred she hadn't done enough... hunting... about his book-hunting career.

She had policies now? Frank might have to examine them more closely later. Eyebrows rose and his mouth made a sort of ‘oh’ shape before he grinned. “Too bad this isn’t our first date.” They had gone on numerous little ones, come to think of it. Dinner here, a movie there, hanging out… anywhere. Not as often as he wanted, but then he could only hold her off for so long. She was like a puppy—wanting to hump everything.

Snappy was he? Frank was having fun teasing her, and she called him snappy. That must mean he was getting somewhere. A half grin slipped on his lips and he shrugged slightly.

“So who’s this moonlit date with, Daddy?”

He tried not to jump at the foot bump. His grin dropped as he frowned at her, rolling his eyes, finally smirking once again. That was definitely not one of his favorite nicknames. And so, it just rolled off his tongue. He had been integrated too long with the muggle society, it seemed. “Your momma.” A big grin spread across his face, happy with his comeback. Take that, Miss Quidditch Star.

Then Clinton came up, and he tried not to wince. It seemed such a sore subject, at least for Frank. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be with one of his mates dating his sister… Though, then again, Frank didn’t think his mates really would interact with his sister. Plus, he wasn’t very overprotective—she was an adult now, and made her own decisions. But it would be a bit unsettling for him.

The toast was sincere on both ends, and Frank took a sip to commemorate it. Blinking at her question, he smiled slightly and took another small sip before setting the glass down, glancing down at his menu. “A couple of times.” They were wizards, after all, and it wasn’t as if apparition or the floo network cost a whole lot. “There are a lot of great ruins to see… museums… places to eat.” After seeing his selection (when wasn’t he eating something raw and bloody these days?), Frank closed the menu and glanced back up at Laney. “Do you like it there?” 

Laney had been so sure she’d just cornered him when...

“Wait.” She blinked. “What?” What did he mean, it wasn’t their first date? They hadn’t bloody well had a date before this one, or anatomy might have remembered it. Unless he meant... Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, nearly sending a steak knife flying from the edge of the table. She paid the utensil no mind, nor did she so much as glower at the waiter who paused, wine bottle in hand, to stare at her. “Are you telling me you brought me here to play chess and discuss hair products over candlelight and pasta?”

Even if he did have imaginary plans later...

This was definitely a date. Laney could be as nonchalant and cold-hearted as the next little Salazar school graduate, but this hurtle he’d set for her wasn’t easy to ignore. It was tugging at her heartstrings, whether she wanted it to or not.

Her arms dropped to their sides and she took in a deep breath, exhaling back into typically terrible posture. Her fingers itched for a smoke, but she ignored them. Her eyes, blazing with annoyance a moment prior, cooled like iron pulled from the flames. She even smiled a little.

“That’s fine,” she admitted, taking a leisurely sip from her glass of red. “I had my fix already. I popped into Scotland this afternoon and hooked up with a student while he ditched classes.” Her tone was casual, her story plain, but what she said was so ludicrous and bluntly stated that no man in his right mind would believe it. Unfortunately for poor Frank, it was true.

Almost. George hadn’t exactly risen to the occasion...

Laney took another sip, this one more hurried, lest she work herself into another fit of frustration. So she didn’t have the Head Girl’s tits. She had a world-class broom between her legs and more money than George’s tart of an ex would ever dream of seeing in her oh-so-bright future.

But she’d made a mistake. She’d taken it a step too far, and Frank, unlike George, did rise to her challenge.

“Your momma.”

Laney almost choked on her wine, her high and scathing cheekbones turning nearly the color.

“Funny,” she murmured, when she regained her composure. She figured the least she could do was laugh on Virginia’s behalf. Merlin knew the woman would be laughing, too, if she weren’t too busy rolling in her grave at the thought of the wench who had replaced her as lady of the house. Lady tilted her head at him. “I didn’t take you for a necrophiliac. Is that why you won’t go down on me?” She spoke just loud enough to be heard by the two surrounding tables, and returned his smile with bright, Quidditch Trading Card teeth.

She was glad to have hit a nerve when Clinton’s name came up. It seemed to be a game now, and they weren’t even on the bread yet.

The conversation turned to Italy (at her prodding), and Laney found herself shrugging, even after her ears perked up at his brief anecdotes. She wondered if he’d ever taken a girl there, and if she’d liked it. “What I’ve seen of it. Usually it’s for matches, or press conferences, and I only get to see the cities at night. Everything’s closed by then, but I do know a thing or two about flying past security...”

Frank rather enjoyed her little tantrum. In fact, he let it go on a little longer than necessary, if only to prove how much she seemed to secretly invest in whatever it was they had going. And it felt good that it wasn’t just one way. Tilting his head and eyeing the knife with slight apprehension, Frank merely smirked and shrugged. “If you know of a good hair product to help my mangy mutt hair-” he did not mean that as a pun! “-I would certainly try it. But no… I meant it’s not our first date. We’ve gone on at least three or four.”

Didn’t she count those as dates? Hanging out, just the two of them, accepting his invitation to go somewhere. Together. Like to the movies, or lunch. It hadn’t been a candlelit dinner on Valentine’s, sure, but they had been dates in Frank’s book. It kind of bothered him that he hadn’t been suckered into her first date policy, though he knew it wasn’t from a lack of trying on her part. There was just a point where you wanted to get to know someone else first, at least for Frank.

Blinking, losing his smirk, Frank raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes slightly. Hooked up with a student. Was that supposed to make him jealous? As if she had done that. “Giving out extra credit?” It was inventive, he did give her that. “So that means we won’t have to worry about your policies and procedures.” If she had her fix all ready, anyway. “Were you giving him a lesson on Charms?” The idea did bother him a little, but Frank knew it wasn’t true.

And he thought he had quite the quick wit and sense of humor. Seeing Laney blush was worth the overused muggle saying. He grinned in triumph, enjoying the playful back and forth bouts. Well, until her next comment. Necrophiliac? Blinking as his face dropped, he quickly glanced around (turning a very similar shade as she had). “I, ah, what?” Focusing on her face, he leaned forward, his voice dropping down so it was more private. Or as much as could be. “I haven’t—It’s not that I won’t, just… Wait, your mum’s…?”

Sitting back against his chair, he felt awful. His joke backfired on him. Luckily Laney had a way of making the conversation moving. “It’s worth a stay overnight… We should go.” He was still trying to think of how to make up for his blunder of a joke. How was he supposed to know, though?! “Cities are always more alluring at night, but the sights to see are just as fun during the day…” Frank could pretend he didn’t hear her offer to break the law.

“Hmph.” She hope he wasn’t going to take her serious. Messy hair was her favorite. “You should leave your hair the way it is. You think I use a lot of girly products while I’m mounted on-- three or four?” That was practically longterm relationship territory for Laney. She couldn’t recall having gone on three or four dates with George, even. Unless one counted detentions or skipping class to sit by the lake. “I think I would have known,” she said defiantly, threatening to send the fork off to wherever the knife had gone in her sharp-elbowed arm-crossing.

Well, this Valentine’s was turning out splendidly.

Puffy and huffy as she was, she suddenly felt a little... foolish? Humbled? Infantile?

Her face loosened into only the tiniest frown, and she let arms drop. And soon the frown became a shrug of a smile. “Three or four dates. You are quite the charming devil, Frank Pratt. So sly I didn’t even know I was on them.”

Where her own assuredness failed, his was only blossoming. When had this dynamic come into play? Was it Valentine’s, or Friday the 13th?

“Birth control charms,” she chanced, rising to the bate, trying to save face by... being Laney. The one he already knew. Not the one who second-guessed herself. She could feel the smile winning, despite her annoyance. It seemed a lasting game between them: who could annoy the other one first, and best, and now Frank was aware of it and playing, rather than falling victim to Laney’s pushy comments and bad influence.

“Dead.” She grabbed for her glass. It was a word she could say casually, even if she didn’t like talking about Virginia. The dying part was never an issue; it was her life that made Laney upset. She’d been so much... better than Olive. How could her father accept such a downgrade? But never mind, she was here, on a date, gaining back her dominance and discussing graves and Italian sightseeing. “You couldn’t have known,” she found herself saying, rather too softly. “Clinton and I, we didn’t really... we don’t talk about it.” She shrugged. “Just don’t go ditching me for her corpse and we’re good, Pratt.”

By the time they ordered, Laney found her appetite was bigger than she knew. She didn’t just want to claim Frank and drag him back to her apartment like a neanderthal. She wanted to pasta with him, and let him tell her about all the dorky historical muggle things to be seen during the daylight in the Mediterranean. “Do they really swarm to that great big ruin of a stadium in Rome? It’s made of stone.”

Frank had learned to live with his crazy mop. Though to be sure, it was a little more crazy than usual… His monthly change made sure of that. He chuckled at her disbelief, scratching the back of his head before shifting in his chair. “What, you go to movies and have lunch and dinner with guys all the time?” Frank was fairly traditional… you go somewhere with someone, alone, and there’s mutual attraction, he tended to consider that a date.

She didn’t seem happy about it, though. Which was kind of cute… that pouty, frustrated look. Was she always such a sore loser?

His eyes rolled before he shook his head, smiling back at her. “You really think I’m charming?” He hadn’t been sly. That wasn’t something Frank had in his bad of tricks. At least, not that he knew… If he tried, it usually fell flat on its face. “Usually, when a guy invites you somewhere, it’s a date…” A laugh escaped him as he raised an eyebrow at her.

His grin tightened for a brief moment, but he conceded her response was a good one. She definitely had an attractive wit. Frank wasn’t the biggest fan of jealousy, and didn’t realize he could feel a small nag of it with so few words. If anything, it made him a little irritated—she was just pushing his buttons. Picking up the wine, he took a sip of it to keep himself from responding. Birth control charms.

“Dead.”

Now he felt like a jerk. How insensitive could he be? Not that he had known. That would have taken some seer psychic ability. Or stalker-like interest in his date… Still, it wasn’t a good feeling he had. Teach him to sprout off some over-used muggle saying. He grimaced and looked down at the table, attempting to find the words to soften his blunder. He could understand not wanting to talk about it. That wasn’t the most cheery of conversation starters, after all.

Her attempt at a joke only made him smile halfheartedly, watching her face quietly. He had questions about it, but he couldn’t ask them. If she didn’t talk about it, then… she didn’t talk about it. And dinner in public certainly wasn’t the place for that sort of vulnerability.

“The… Colosseum?” He nodded slowly, smiling slightly. “It’s got such a rich history, though. And it is made of stone… and still stands. Well, most of it.” History had been his favorite class at Hogwarts, and he had continued to learn about it beyond school. “It draws such a wide variety of interest. I mean, there were the games! Men lived, died, fought… all in that pile of stones.” He realized he was getting a little too excited, and felt a small blush coming. Sipping his wine again, he shrugged. “It’s beautiful at night as well, though.”

“What, you go to movies and have lunch and dinner with guys all the time?”

"Oh, yeah, I'm a regular expert at muggle culture and keeping my clothes on," she countered. Still, there was a hint of sweet resignation in her voice; what had been frustration a moment ago was quickly becoming... something else. If this was how Frank rolled, she supposed she could give it a try. He remained perpetually cute, in that scruffy, almost-dorky, completely-unaware-of-his-own-attractiveness way. There was always time to corrupt him later.

Laney's idea of dates weren't really dates at all. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time a man had asked her on a proper date. In school, there'd been nowhere to go, and often as not she had landed in detention during Hogsmeade weekends. When she wasn't confined to the castle, she was traipsing around the village with Malynda, looking for new ways to get in trouble-- or pulling George into shadowed alleys, always upping the stakes. And as an adult... well... there was still a quidditch pitch and locker rooms in her life, and those were major contenders. Particularly when one made a living working with overzealous alpha males.

Frank seemed more bothered than Laney was when it came to the topic of Virginia; still, she didn't shy away from letting him know it was a topic over which she didn't care to linger. She merely shrugged, and let him feel like an idiot for a minute before steering them in a gentler, safer direction.

“The… Colosseum?”

"Mmm, that's the one." Such a big name for such a crumbling shithole. Laney sipped idly and smiled, and then fished into the bread basket and tore into a hot loaf, dipping it a chunk of fresh Italian pane in peppered olive oil. She grinned wickedly at his seeming excitement for ancient history. "Keep going. I think I finally know what gets you off." She nodded her head briskly, and took a bite of bread. Swallowing, she added, "I'll let you be my tour guide the next time I'm in Italy. I can picture your apartment now-- a bunch of photo albums hidden under the sofa, with you and your huge smile looming in front of all of these rocks and ghosts."

Regular expert now? Chuckling, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re learning, anyway.” Slowly but surely… Did she really have such a hard time keeping her clothes on? She was eager, that was obvious, but some part of him wanted to think she wasn’t that excitable all the time. Otherwise, he was just a countless number, right? Good Merlin, he hoped she kept track of numbers. And that he wasn’t that high of one.

They really were opposites, in relationships at least. Where Laney didn’t date, Frank did, and where Frank didn’t venture, Laney preferred to traipse. Was it so wrong to get to know someone you were going to—that you might—well. Frank thought it wasn’t a bad thing, enjoying conversation for the sake of conversing.

It was just as well that Frank didn’t know of Laney’s opinion of the Colosseum. Or any other pile of stones that he might prefer to visit over a crowded beach. A blush crept over his cheeks as he pursed his lips, frowning slightly at her. “It doesn’t get… me off.” His voice softened, quiet as he glanced to the side, shifting in his chair. Frank didn’t know how she was able to talk so candidly about sex, especially in public. With people nearby who were listening.

He wouldn’t mind being her tour guide, though, no matter how much she embarrassed him. Or so far, at least. Chuckling, he shook his head and tour himself off a piece of bread, enjoying a bite before responding. “You think I keep them hidden under the sofa? They’re easier to access than that. Besides.” He held his arms wide open, grinning at her. “How can this not look good in front of ancient ruins?” Another bite, and he followed it with some wine.

Frank leaned forward a little, rubbing at his cheek. The stubble was all ready longer than it had been. To distract from that, however, he remembered the present that was digging into his thigh. Leaning back in his chair, his leg straightening out, Frank was able to fish out the box. “Do you not enjoy visiting ruins and museums, then?” His hand held out the box over the bread.