𝐻𝑒  𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙  𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡  𝘩𝑒𝑟  𝑎𝑙𝑙  𝑡𝘩𝑒  𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠  𝑠𝘩𝑒  𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠,  but  then  she  asks  what  he  could  not  stop  learning  about  as  a  kid,  what  fascinated  him?  Oh,  well  that's  both  easy  and  hard  to  answer  so  he  falls  silent  as  his  eyes  fall  thoughtful  to  her  question.  There  is  a  brief  silence  that  is  overtaken  by  the  atmosphere  of  this  place,  but  he  smiles.

At the mention of Lin, a soft laugh leaves her, her eyes dipping briefly to their joined hands. ❝ Oui, we are complete opposites, ❞ she agrees. ❝ Which is per'aps why eet works. She speaks before she thinks while I can think for so long zat I nearly forget to speak. She pushes forward. I 'esitate. Zen... she becomes impatient and pulls me with her anyway. ❞ Affection softens every complaint before it can become one. ❝ I 'ave known her since we were children. At this point, she ees less my friend and more my sister, whether either of us agreed to eet or not. ❞ Her smile grows, though a more vulnerable feeling begins to show at its edges. ❝ To be 'onest, I owe 'er a great deal. Lin 'as a way of knowing when I am pretending to be fine and unfortunately, she 'as nevair respected my desire to be left alone while doing eet. ❞ Lin would call her too emotional for allowing herself to look like this on a first date. She would also be secretly pleased. She draws in a quick breath before Buck's final question brings the amusement back.

𝑯𝒆𝒓  𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏  𝒕𝒐  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆  𝒊𝒔  𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒉𝒆  𝒉𝒂𝒅  𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅  and  makes  his  heart  flutter  more  than  he  thought  it  would.  One  might  think  that  he  was  having  palpitations.  Calling  it  perfect  --  the  smile  on  his  face  gets  bigger  than  it  was  a  moment  ago.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 at her reaction tells Cassandra that he had been waiting for it. Hoping for it, perhaps, beneath all the confidence with which he had presented the place to her. The realization softens her expression before she can hide it, because he had thought about her, about the part of her life she had shared with him and brought her somewhere that belonged to it. For a moment, she tries to remember the last time anyone had done something so thoughtful for a date. There had been dinners, of course. Restaurants, wine, flowers, all the usual gestures people reach for when they want an evening to feel romantic. Nice things, certainly, but familiar enough that she had always known what was expected of her. This is different. Then again, nothing about this date had begun in an ordinary way. Perhaps expecting anything conventional after that would have been unreasonable. Still, she had not expected this. Then his fingers settle between hers and suddenly the hand she had accepted without much thought feels different. More intimate than before. Her heart gives a small jump at how naturally they fit together and at how wrong it feels to trust that ease so quickly. His promise of treasures brings a softer smile to her mouth as she follows him inside. The change in temperature meets her first when they step through the entrance, cool air moving across the skin of her bare shoulders after the warmth outside. Then comes the scent. All of it gathers into a smell she knows at once, familiar despite being thousands of miles from the bookshops she used to wander through in Paris. Her pace slows without her meaning it to. Shelves rise around them, crowded with books in every color and condition. Some covers still catch the light with a new shine, while others have been softened by years of use. The books draw her so completely out of her nerves that her expression opens with a delight she has not worn so freely since childhood.

❝  If  you  ask  the  firehouse,  they'd  tell  you  I'm  known  for  taking  on  a  challenge  or  two.❞  Though  they'd  call  it  biting  off  more  than  he  can  chew,  but  he  doesn't  seem  to  think  of  this  situation  that  way.  Instead  he's  looking  at  it  as  a  chance  to  see  if  there  is  something  real  that  could  bloom  from  this.  If  he  lost  hope  in  having  something  like  his  sister  has  then  it  would  only  lead  toward  a  lonely  life.

Her eyes shut, though not before she gives him one final look meant to remind him that she will hold him personally responsible for whatever happens next. At some point, another chuckle escapes her when she realizes how absurd the situation is. She is sitting in a young firefighter's car with her eyes closed because he has planned a surprise for her, and somehow this is what her life has become less than a week after attending an auction she had not even wanted to go to. Lin will completely be unbearable when she hears about this. When the car finally stops, she resists the temptation to open her eyes immediately. She hears his door, then the movement around the car before her own opens and his hand finds hers. She accepts it carefully, keeping her eyes closed. The lack of control should make her tense, but the smile has not left her mouth. If anything, it grows when she nearly asks whether they are there yet and decides she refuses to sound quite that impatient. They walk a short distance before he brings her to a stop. When he tells her to open her eyes and she does so slowly. Her lashes lift, her gaze finding him at first with that proud, hopeful smile. Then her gaze follows his toward the building and the change in her face is immediate. Her lips part as she takes in the painted books across the exterior. The Iliad Bookshop.  Surprise moves across her face first, then more touched than she knows how to hide. She should be able to put it into words. Words are supposed to be the thing she understands. Yet for one rare moment, they arrive too slowly. Her eyes move over the painted covers again before returning to him, wide and bright with pleasure.

𝑯𝒆  𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒔  𝒇𝒐𝒓  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏  𝒘𝒉𝒚  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆  𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆  and  when  she  first  starts  off  he  just  grins.  ❝  So  like  a  delicate  flower..?  ❞  he  teases  as  he  watches  the  road,  but  glances  at  her  from  time  to  time.  But  needing  something  new?  He  gets  that.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 earns him a slow turn of her head, studying him for a second, eyes narrowing as she studies his face, apparently weighing whether she ought to be insulted or amused. The smile at her mouth makes the decision obvious. ❝ Delicate, per'aps, ❞ she says, settling back against the seat. ❝ But I think you would find ze flower 'as thorns. ❞ Fortunately for him, the amusement in her voice keeps the remark from becoming an official warning. She looks back toward the road while he speaks about Los Angeles, about its pull and the way people seem to return even after they leave. Her gaze drifts through the window again, following the buildings and palms as they pass. Perhaps he is right. Los Angeles does seem to ask something of the people who come here, though she has not yet decided whether it wants them to become someone new or only brave enough to admit who they already are. The mention of Hollywood and influencers draws a soft laugh from her. ❝ Though I suppose I should not judge too quickly. I did spend ten thousand dollars at a firefighter auction. Per'aps I 'ave already become very L.A. ❞ By the time the car slows and he pulls into the first destination, she realizes her shoulders are no longer held quite so tightly. Some of the tension from earlier has eased without her noticing. She watches him park, then reaches for her bag, expecting to open the door herself. Before she can, he is already out of the car and walking around toward her side. Her hand pauses near the handle. Of course he comes to open her door. It should not surprise her after the way he had arrived at her house, hand already offered, every part of him trying so earnestly to make the day right. The door opens, bringing the warmth of the city back around her. She gathers the skirt of her dress with one hand, careful not to catch the fabric, then looks up to find his hand waiting for her again. And there he announces that their first stop is lunch and she looks from his hand to his face, amusement touching her expression. ❝ I 'ad gathered zat part, ❞ she says, though she places her hand in his all the same. This time, there is less hesitation. Her fingers settle against his palm more naturally as she gathers the light skirt of her dress with her free hand and steps out of the car. The sunlight meets her bare shoulders, warm but not unpleasant, and for a moment she turns slightly to straighten the fabric at her waist before looking back at him. Then he says he hopes everything he shows her today gives her a reason to stay.

𝑯𝒆  𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆  𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅  that  maybe  he  could  be  giving  off  potential  serial  killer  vibes  -  but  he's  just  enthusiastic,  overly  so.  And  it  shows  with  the  energy  of  a  young  boy  trying  to  impress  the  girl  of  his  dreams  who  sits  across  from  him  in  History.  Maybe  algebra.  Either  way  he's  trying  to  contain  the  excitement  even  if  it  seems  to  be  spilling  out  in  ways  that  Hen  would  call  him  out  on.

𝐈𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄 when he says it might be both. If anything, it only makes the whole thing worse, because he looks far too pleased with himself for a man who has just admitted that three unnamed surprises may come with questionable intentions. She turns her head toward him, her brows lifting as if she is considering the evidence very carefully. ❝ You know, zat sounds less like reassurance and more like a confession, ❞ she says, though the smile at the corner of her mouth gives her away before the words can sound too serious. When he admits he is worried about giving her control of the radio, her eyes narrow again, this time with clearer amusement. ❝ You should be, ❞ she says, as if the matter is very serious. ❝ I could 'ave terrible taste. You do not know. ❞ But again she does not reach for the station. His car, his city, his plan, his music. She had asked to see Los Angeles through him, and perhaps that includes the small things too. The songs he leaves on. The streets he knows without thinking. The places he chooses first because they have already become part of him. So she leaves his station untouched, though her fingers begin tapping against her bag in time with the song. Apparently, his music taste has survived the first test. Then he asks what brought her to L.A and she lets her head turn slightly toward him, the corner of her mouth lifting. ❝ Ze sun, obviously, ❞ she says first, as if that alone should explain everything. ❝ I am very delicate. I require warmth, good light. ❞ It is a joke, though not completely untrue. Los Angeles does have that quality, as if everything in it is already waiting to become part of a story, too bright, too vast, too much to understand in one look. She turns her gaze back to the road, watching the city pass in fragments through the windshield. The cars, the palm trees, the sharp sun on the buildings. It is still unfamiliar, still loud and wide in ways Paris never was, but perhaps that is exactly why she had come.

𝑺𝒉𝒆  𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔  𝒊𝒕'𝒔  𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒉𝒆  𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕  𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑  𝒃𝒖𝒕  𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆  𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆,  but  the  smile  says  he's  excited  for  it,  every  minute  to  spend  with  her.  When  she  asks  where  they  begin  he  grins.  ❝  First,  I  thought  we'd  start  off  with  lunch.  I  want  to  take  you  to  one  of  my  favorite  places.  Best  Korean  soul  food  you'll  find  here  in  L.A.  ❞  plus  with  a  name  like  Kingbop,  if  it  failed  to  deliver  they  couldn't  have  king  in  the  name,  right?

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑. Instead, Buck gives her lunch, Korean soul food, and then hides the rest behind surprise, surprise, and another surprise. The way he says it should probably make her more nervous. A whole day planned by a man she barely knows. It should make her wonder if she has made another impulsive mistake but his smile ruins any proper attempt at worry, as there is too much excitement in it, too much open anticipation, and none of it feels careless. He does not sound like a man trying to impress her with something expensive or rehearsed. He sounds like someone who has thought about this, who has chosen pieces of his city and hidden them away for her because he wants her to like them. And she wants to enjoy it. Her fingers shift over the clasp of her bag, letting her gaze move from him to the street ahead as he pulls away from the house. The distance from her house grows, and with it, the knowledge that there is no pretending this is only an arrangement from the auction anymore. This is happening. Yet the panic does not rise to meet it. She watches the road for a moment, the bright wash of Los Angeles through the windshield, the passing houses and cars, the ordinary life of a city she still does not know how to belong to. ❝ Three surprises, ❞ she says after a moment, her tone carefully thoughtful, teasing. ❝ Zat is either very charming or very suspicious. I 'ave not decided yet. ❞ Her eyes move back to him, the corner of her mouth curves, catching one of those looks he keeps giving her at the light, the smile, the color still refusing to leave his cheeks. It makes her own mouth soften before she can pretend not to notice. There is something dangerous about being looked at like that. Not dangerous in the way she would run from, but in the way that makes her too aware of herself. Her hands. Her dress. The space between them. The fact that she had spent the morning worrying over every small thing and now he is looking at her as if none of those doubts belong in the car at all.

𝑯𝒊𝒔  𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉  𝒊𝒔  𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏,  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒊𝒔  𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚  𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.  Gorgeous.  So  much  so  he  has  to  bring  himself  back  to  the  moment  to  offer  her  his  hand  so  he  can  lead  her  to  his  car  so  they  can  start  the  day  he  planned.  A  plan  he  went  through  time  and  time  again  hoping  that  it'd  be  the  perfect  day.  But  he  knows  unpredictability  so  he  hoped  that  nothing  would  go  wrong.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐔𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑 goodbye, Cassandra lets herself lean into it for one quiet moment. Her chin rests lightly against Lin’s shoulder, and for that brief second, the sharp edge of her nerves eases. It is what Lin has always been able to do best, even when she is unbearable about it. She can tease and push and look far too pleased with herself, but somehow she still knows exactly how to bring Cassandra back down before the panic carries her too far. A small, quiet ❝ Thank you, ❞ leaves her and when she lets go, her smile lingers for her friend, softer than the look she had given her only moments before, before she turns back toward Buck. He is still there, waiting and that alone makes something in her chest tighten again. Her mouth curves that is a little too wide to be as composed as she wants, her teeth catching briefly at her lower lip. She lets him lead her toward the car, her hand still in his, and with every step away from the house the date becomes a little more real.  Her heart is moving faster than it should be, faster still as they get closer to the car, and she tells herself this is ridiculous. She has done far more difficult things than get into a car with a man who wants to show her the city. Then Buck says she looks beautiful and the heat in her cheeks blooms at once, stronger than before. Her eyes drop for half a second while her mouth betrays her by pulling into a smile too wide to hide. ❝ Merci, ❞ she says and her gaze flicks over him, quick but not quick enough to pretend she has not looked, her smile lingering at the corner of her mouth. ❝ You look nice, too. ❞  It is a weak word for what she means. In fact, a perfectly useless word for a man who looks far better than nice ... but apparently her mind has abandoned the rest of her vocabulary. When he opens the passenger door for her, she slips into the seat, gathering the skirt of her dress so the light fabric does not catch awkwardly beneath her. Once she is settled, she draws in a deeper breath, trying to quiet the hammering beneath her ribs. The door closes and for a moment she is alone inside the car, watching him walk around to the driver's side and in that small pocket of time, she gives herself the same kind of silent talk, reminding herself of Lin's words: You are going to have a great time today. Don't be nervous.

Lin's  POV

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃, she notices the way his eyes travel over her, then find her face again and it does nothing at all to help the careful grip she is trying to keep on herself while the heat rises into her cheeks again, quick enough that she has to fight the urge to glance down at the dress, to search for some flaw. A twisted strap. Fabric sitting wrong. Anything else than to believe the possibility that he is quiet because he likes what he sees. Dieu,...don't be silly. Then Buck says hi, the blush still on his face, holding out his hand to her. It is simple enough. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that should make her thoughts stumble over themselves. And yet, for the length of one heartbeat, she manages to overthink even that. It is only a hand. A gesture. An invitation to step forward...not a promise, not a test, not something she needs to make heavier than it is. She draws in a breath through her nose and looks back up at him. ❝ Oui, ❞ she says, then a small smile pulls at her heart-shaped mouth when she hears how quickly the answer leaves her. ❝ I am ready. ❞

Lin's  POV

𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, she had learned that planning to be calm and actually being calm were two very different things. At the auction, noon had been a time. A plan. A polite answer to a practical question. Now it was inside her house, inside every dress she had taken out and put aside. Too plain. Too much. Not enough. By the third dress, she had to admit the obvious. The dress wasn't the problem. The woman panicking in front of the mirror was. A woman in her forties, old enough to know better, experienced enough to recognize bad ideas ; yet apparently still capable of spending ten thousand dollars on a young firefighter she had met once because her cat had no sense of self-preservation. In the end, it's a white dress scattered with blue flowers, elegant enough that she didn't look as if she had forgotten this was a date, but light enough for a warm day in Los Angeles. Every time she passed the mirror she adjusted some part of herself that didn't need adjusting. A dark brown strand near her cheek that escaped from the rest of her loose hair. The line of the dress at her waist. Her hands kept finding work ; if they stopped, she would have to admit how nervous she was, though Lin noticed every little movement. Lin knows her too well, after all. She knows every little thing Cass does when nerves start taking over and today she has made herself far too comfortable in the living room, sitting there as if she has been granted a front-row seat to the most important performance of the year. ❝ You know, ❞ she says without looking at her, ❝ you don't actually 'ave to sit zere and watch me lose my mind. ❞ Then, she turns away from the mirror, reaching for her small bag, checking inside it for the third time. Nothing she had not already checked twice, but it gives her hands a task and that is better than standing still with her heart moving too quickly beneath her ribs. Suzie sits near the window, tail flicking with judgment, her folded ears making her look far more offended by the world than any creature has a right to be. ❝ And you, ❞ she murmurs toward the cat, ❝ do not start. You are ze reason we are in zis situation in ze first place. ❞ Suzie blinks at her. Unmoved. Unashamed. Completely certain of her innocence.

𝑾𝒂𝒔  𝒊𝒕  𝒕𝒐𝒐  𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏  𝒕𝒐  𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕  𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕  𝒊𝒕'𝒔  𝒂  𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆.ᐣ  That's  what  it  is,  isn't  it?  That's  what  she  bid  on,  a  date.  So  he's  going  to  call  it  that  even  though  when  she  repeats  it  with  her  beautiful  accent  he  finds  himself  blushing  like  he's  a  kid  confessing  his  first  crush.  Buck  lets  himself  chuckle  quietly  before  looking  back  at  her  and  he  nods  his  head.  ❝  I  think  it's  the  correct  term  but  if  I'm  wrong  ...  ❞  he  says  with  that  smile  on  his  lips  and  his  nerves  are  dancing  around  in  his  nervous  system.  Though  he  currently  feels  like  his  entire  body  is  a  nervous  system.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐈’𝐌 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 makes her look at him again, because what else would they call it ? A charitable exchange of time ? A guided tour purchased under emotional duress ? She had raised a paddle, won a date, and given Lin enough material to torment her for the rest of her life. It is almost easier when he seems nervous too ; not because she wants him uncomfortable, but because it makes the moment feel less one-sided, less like she is the only person sitting here with her pulse moving too fast beneath her skin. Her gaze drifts for half a second past him, toward the room behind his shoulder, because she is still certain Lin is watching from somewhere with victory written across her entire face. There are probably others too, his family, his friends, people who know him well enough to turn this into a story before the night is over. The thought should make her want to retreat into herself again. Instead, she looks back at him when he offers Friday at noon. He says it so simply and just like that, her impulsive ten-thousand-dollar decision has an appointment. Oh dieu. Her fingers brush once over the stem of her glass, but this time she does not reach for the wine to hide behind it. ❝ Friday at noon, ❞ she repeats and for a second, she considers pretending she needs to check something, a calendar, a deadline, any small excuse that might make her look less available than she is. But there is no point. Her time is her own in a way his is not. A chapter can wait. A page can be written later, or in the middle of the night when her mind refuses to rest. Fires, emergencies, people calling for help, those things do not arrange themselves around a convenient hour. ❝ Zat is good for me, ❞ she says, and the smile that follows is still nervous at the edges but it stays. ❝ I can make Friday work. ❞ Her eyes lower briefly, and the amusement grows a little warmer before she looks back up at him. ❝ And eef you are picking me up, I suppose you already know where to find ze house. Or at least where to find Suzie's tree. ❞ she chuckles, the smile on her mouth pulls a little more easily now.

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆  𝑳𝒊𝒏  𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆  𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕  𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈  on  the  firefighter  than  it's  usually  the  bidder  that  plans  the  date,  but  it  seems  that  Cass  has  an  idea  of  her  own.  One  of  which  Buck  wouldn't  argue  against.  In  fact,  the  idea  brings  a  smile  to  his  face  when  the  suggestion  for  him  to  show  her  L.A  is  presented.

𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 the way his face changes when she suggests he could show her the city. His expression opens with it. He seems to like the idea, really like it, and she can almost see him beginning to plan it in his head, choosing places before either of them has named a day. For a second, she only sits there and watches him do it. That might be the most dangerous part of this, she realizes. Not the bidding, not even the fact that she had spent ten thousand dollars on him before thinking any of it through. It is the way he seems happy about the idea. The way he does not make her feel foolish for asking. The way his excitement comes so quickly makes it harder for her to remain cautious. It pulls at her nerves until they loosen just enough for her to notice how much she wants to smile back. That is the problem, of course. She is smitten ... and she does not like how easily he has made it happen. When he says he would be more than happy to show her around and then adds that she should consider it a date. Her eyes remain on his for a little too long, until the heat rises into her face again and she has to lower her gaze before he can see just how much the word has affected her. It is so ridiculous, dieu. She is not a young girl hearing the word date for the first time. She is a woman in her forties, an author, and she has written enough romances to know exactly what kind of scene this would be on paper. Even so, she lowers her gaze to the wine glass, smiling at the stem as if it can save her from the heat in her face. Her fingers move once against the tablecloth, smoothing a place near her glass that does not need smoothing at all. ❝ A date, ❞ she repeats, softer, as if she has to hear herself say it before she can accept that this is what she has bought herself into. When she looks back at him, the smile is still on her mouth, though it sits there with more nerves than confidence. ❝ Zat sounds fair, I suppose, since I did technically buy one. ❞ she chuckles. It is meant to sound harmless, almost teasing, but her heart refuses to treat it that way. It keeps reacting to him, to the way he looks at her, to the blush on his cheeks, to the possibility that this has caught him off guard too. That thought gives her a little room to breathe but not much, because Lin is certainly still watching from some corner of the room, dessert in hand, collecting every detail for later.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉  𝒊𝒕  𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕  𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒕𝒘𝒐  𝒐𝒇  𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎  𝒂𝒕  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆,  it  made  it  easier  for  Buck  to  relax  and  just  be  himself  even  if  he  could  feel  the  eyes  of  his  sister  and  his  brother-in-law  slash  coworker  staring  at  the  back  of  his  head  .  He  didn't  need  eyes  there  to  just  know  that  they're  probably  now  conversing  about  this  ,  about  him  and  this  situation.  Or  as  it  should  be  called  --  gossiping.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 that the bidder usually plans the date, her dark brows lift a little before she can stop them. Of course that would be how it works. She had paid ten thousand dollars and somehow had not thought beyond the second her hand lifted the paddle. The date had only been part of the auction wording until now. Now he is sitting in front of her, saying he is game for just about anything. Oh dieu. Her gaze stays on him a little longer than she means it to, long enough that she has to lower it before he can see too much. The smile comes back slowly at the corners of her mouth, not because she knows what to do with what he said but because the warmth in her face needs somewhere to go. ❝ Just about anyzing, ❞ she repeats, softer, letting the words sit on her tongue for a moment. ❝ I should probably admit, ❞ she says, looking back up at him, ❝ zat I did not zink very far ahead when I raised zat paddle. ❞ The confession comes with a small curve of her mouth, caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement. There is no point trying to make herself look more composed than she is. She had not planned this. She had not sat there with a list of restaurants or date ideas hidden away in her purse, waiting for the right firefighter to step onto the stage so she could win him. She had reacted and now the consequence of that reaction is smiling at her across the table. ❝ I also 'ave not seen very much of Los Angeles yet, ❞ she continues, ❝ I moved 'ere only recently, into a little 'ouse with more air around it because I thought eet would be good for a new book, but most of what I know ees my street, my desk, ze places I go for coffee and apparently ze tree my cat believes belongs to 'er. ❞ Her smile grows a little more at the end because it is easier to talk about the cat than to admit that sitting here with him still has her heart beating too fast ( and that it has very little to do with the auction now. ) ❝ So per'aps, ❞ she says, tilting her head slightly as she looks at him, ❝ I could use a good guide. ❞

Lin's  POV

𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍 when she stands, but that does not mean she misses a single word of what is said. In fact, it is worse because every sentence arrives without the mercy of her being able to stop it with a look. Love story. Garden of roses. For one second she considers whether it would be too obvious to disappear beneath the tablecloth and stay there until the auction is over. Her eyes close for half a breath. Dieu. Lin never just leaves, she has to press the bruise of this moment with a smile on her mouth, then walk away as if she has not just set fire to the air around them. She only opens her eyes again when she feels that touch on her shoulder, giving her friend a look that is calm enough on the surface, but it says everything Lin deserves to hear later of how impossible she is. But she is also Lin. She had dragged Cass here, watched her bid ten thousand dollars on a man she had met once, then somehow known when to step back.

Lin's  POV

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍, Cassandra does her best to ignore the grin spreading across Lin's face, though it is nearly impossible when it sits there so openly, saying far too much without her friend needing to put any of it into words. Oh Dieu. She is not looking forward to whatever conversation will happen after this. Lin will have questions. Lin will have theories, then stitch all of it together into something. So she keeps her attention on him instead because somehow looking at the young man feels easier than meeting Lin's grin, even if it also makes the heat in her face worse. Her expression shifts when he says he almost didn't come, but that it was for charity, for the kids. That earns him a little more ground in her mind before she can stop herself from giving it. There seems to be no performance in it, no need to make himself sound better than he is. He simply says it and that makes it harder not to like him for it. When he tells her there is no need to thank him, that he was only doing his job, she knows he is right but Suzie is not just a cat to her. To him it had been a call but to her it had been the moment someone had helped her keep one of the few things that still felt like hers in a place, she had chosen but it still feels foreign. Her eyes widen a little when he mentions a bus inside a building. For a moment she almost forgets her own embarrassment because what does that even mean ? Her gaze flicks over his face, then toward Lin's curious tilt, pressing her lips together to keep from asking...not now. A good story, real or absurd or somewhere between the two, is still a good story, and she has always had trouble resisting one and Los Angeles, apparently, is determined to make even her imagination look modest. Taking another sip of her wine when he mentions the donation and how much it will help, she again sees her chance to lean harder into that explanation. Children, hope, a good cause ; all of it makes sense. When he says he feels as if he owes her something for it, she hears Lin nearly drown herself in her wine beside her. She does not even need to turn her head to know exactly what kind of thought has just crossed her mind. Her eyes cut toward Lin with a warning that should come with its own legal paperwork because if even one word leaves that mouth, Cassandra will not be responsible for what happens under this table. However, by some miracle and perhaps one remaining thread of self-preservation, she manages to swallow the comment instead of the wine.