gold dust woman

“Okay, um... how about... you should definitely not beat me up because I’m a good person. Really good. Like, stairway to heaven good,” she drawled, voice drawn-out for dramatic effect. “I go to fundraiser carwashes, I rescued my dog, and I always use my turn signal.”

Issy chuckled at her response, and listened as she answered. There had been a variety of answers from the people she’d asked, all of which were interesting. “Too busy? Doing what?” She chuckled. Even if people had busy lives with busy jobs, eventually they must feel like something was missing. As much as she knew she didn’t need someone like that in her life, she knew it was reassuring, and nice.

“Working, mostly, but also raising both a huge great Dane and a human teenager,” Stevie explained with a little chuckle. Granted, her daughter was with her dad for summer vacation, but her point still stood. “True love is gonna have to wait until I’m sixty, at least.”

Stevie looked up and over to the side, watching him with a raised brow. “Hey, happy belated birthday. I, uh, got you a gift--” She slid the bowl of complimentary mixed nuts across the bar towards him, finishing the move with a little ta-da gesture. “Nobody should forget their own birthday, but I reckon it probably happens quite a bit.”

“I love a good ol’ grim start to the day,” Stevie teased. “But... probably the first one. I don’t need to be in love with someone to be happy with them. Plus, I’m too busy for the whole love-of-my-life thing, anyway. Hell, I’m too busy to even go to bed on time-- there’s no way I could pay enough attention to someone else.”

“I love your passion, but, y’know, maybe don’t beat me up,” Stevie said, wearing an expression that was trying to look worried, but was clearly just humored. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

“Geez. That’s nuts. I’m not sure if you or the poor restaurant workers have it worse,” Stevie joked, huffing a soft chuckle. The time she’d spent working in the food industry had, luckily, been in the kitchen, so she rarely had to deal with any situations like that. “Are those usually your weirdest calls? Or do they get weirder?”

Stevie hadn’t even heard the knock. It was her great Dane lazily barking at the door that drew her out of her office, where she’d been diligently typing away on her computer for the last couple hours. She swung open the door and took a second to examine the figure standing on her porch before realizing that, no, they’d never met before. “Detective Jones,” she repeated, cementing the title in her brain. “What’s there to talk about, exactly?”

Stevie looked over her shoulder at the sound of a voice, mouth turning up into a little smile when she saw the flower in the woman’s hand. “I guess it depends on why it makes you feel that way. I try not to attach to much to flowers since they’re, y’know, kind of everywhere.”

“What? I’m fine,” Stevie drawled, hand going up to cover the bruise that was already forming on the high point of her cheekbone. Just minutes before, she’d gotten clipped in the face by the edge of her car door as she tried to get out of it, and the mark was quickly appearing. “I can just stick some ice on it and call it a day. --And maybe some concealer, actually. Does it really look that bad?”

Stevie narrowed her eyes at the phone screen, taking in the little profile picture along with the guy’s listed name and age as she considered her options. “Well, it says he’s twenty-one, so based on just like, morals alone, I don’t think I can say either way,” she answered, looking back up. “I like his smile, though. It’s nice, and maybe not one-hundred percent murder-y.”

“Do you actually get dispatched for that kinda thing? I always assumed that the 911 calls about ranch dressing would be dismissed.”

                        Watching the man clean the mess from his daughter’s face reminded Stevie of her own kid back when she was little, and all the accidents and near-misses they’d gone through (for Stevie and Florence, though, it was mostly Tic-Tacs in the nose and applesauce in the hair). Thankfully, Florence was a teenager now, which meant no more weird food-mishaps. “So, really, she’s just being very health-conscious. It’s never too early to take care of your potassium levels,” Stevie joked, shrugging casually. “Ah, no, my dad was not there. It was my roommate, bless her soul. Although, y’know, my dad’s a real seventies kinda guy-- very hippie, very rock and roll. He probably would’ve just told me to rock on and be myself.”

“Okay, pretend money is no option.” He said, mostly because in Sebastian’s life, it wasn’t, it’d never been. “What’s the craziest thing you could think to give someone? Not an airplane or a house or anything like that.” 

“A human hand.” Stevie paused, then shrugged. “But that’s only if you’re talking like, real, actual crazy. Otherwise, I dunno... I guess it depends on the person you’re giving it to. A house is crazy to some people, but to others a pair of show tickets would be crazy. The hand, though... the hand would be nuts to most folk.”

She wasn’t expecting his apology-- usually, people throwing fits or yelling at strangers didn’t really know how to apologize and move on, so Stevie was a bit surprised. Appreciative, but surprised. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s no big deal. Everyone has their moments.” The redhead paused to take a sip of her drink, then looked at the stranger. “Rough day?”

“Right on, turtles. What a talent.” Stevie chuckled and flipped a strand of hair behind her shoulder, considering an answer to his question. “Food, music, Bonanza,” she said, not entirely joking about the last one. “And, honestly, a barrage of other useless trivia. I’m pretty full of it.”

“Sorry-- don’t cry,” Stevie said. She reached out an apologetic hand but didn’t actually touch the other girl, as if she might break her. “Well, y’know, if that was your song, maybe it’s good you’re not together.”