Early Fic Draft
Oooooo boy, here we go :D So I've got a pre-series Niles/Daphne AU cooking. We're a long way off from a full fic, but I have a solid draft of the first chapter that I'm willing to share. Nothing's final. I won't publish it on AO3 until the full fic is done because I do not write well when I feel boxed in. But Tumblr is a playground not an auditorium, so I can post it here ;)
Context you would've gleaned from the nonexistent summary: Niles and Daphne met and spent one night together in 1981 when Niles was studying at Cambridge. They never spoke or saw each other again until Daphne begins working for the Cranes. Neither recognize each other 👀
Okay that's it. You're on your own for the rest, though I will nerd out about my writing and formatting choices in a reblog. So if you're curious to know why and how the structure will change between this first chapter and the rest of the fic, check the notes. 👍
(Oh and <hr> is the html code for line breaks on AO3 so those indicate scene changes)
👇 5400 words behind the cut 👇
His hand brushes against the back of hers once, twice — twelve times before he gathers up the courage to take it.
He’ll never forget the smile she flashes him in return.
<hr>
Niles Crane could name the exact day and time his life irrevocably changed. It became locked in his mind the second he laid eyes on her.
“Daphne, I’d like you to meet my brother Niles.”
He’d come over to Frasier’s to get an autograph for his housekeeper. He expected perhaps some awkward chit-chat with Dad, a polite, indifferent introduction to the new physical therapist, maybe some witty banter if his brother was feeling sharp today. He never in a hundred years expected the vision that stood before him.
Daphne Moon was an angel — nay, a goddess. It was the only explanation. Destiny had brought them to the same place at this precise moment in time — two in the afternoon, Sunday — just so they could meet. Niles felt the threads of fate bind them together as he shook her hand. He watched tides turn and winds shift because Daphne, glorious Daphne, had deigned to descend from the heavens and bless him with her flesh and blood existence.
Her hand fitted against his as if they were made for each other, and perhaps they were. Perhaps the gods had sculpted him just for her because he could swear he’d known her face all his life even if he hadn’t yet known her name. Daphne. Daphne. Oh, why had he waited weeks for this visit? They should’ve met each other months ago, years.
“You’re Daphne?” he asked again, just to be sure this was real, that it wasn’t a mistake.
She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Two pm on an unsuspecting Sunday afternoon, Daphne Moon changed his life forever.
<hr>
“I sympathize with him.”
“With my ex who still acts like a child and won’t take no for an answer?”
“No? Maybe. I just mean if I were in his shoes, I would find it difficult to get over you, too.”
“… You’ve only just met me.”
“Yes, but I can imagine.”
<hr>
Dr. Crane’s brother was a dangerous man, Daphne thought. The way his attention snapped to her the second she entered the room, the way he stumbled over his words and even forgot his own wife’s name — he fancied her. And if he wasn’t married and she wasn’t working for his brother, she would’ve gone for him. Daphne thought she’d left her blond hair, blue eyes days behind her. She’d certainly abandoned her thing for bookish men because they were always, tragically, a disappointment.
But then the younger Dr. Crane did things like offering to help without her needing to ask. He talked directly to her and listened attentively to her responses. He even worked to make her feel included in every family conversation and activity, and Daphne found it awfully difficult to guard herself against such kindness.
Good-looking, smart, and well-mannered to boot? Dr. Crane wasn’t dangerous. He was downright devastating.
<hr>
“Let me think… you have a brother, don’t you?”
“…Yes, I do. How did you know that?”
“Oh, I can always tell these things. I have far too many of them myself.”
“I see.”
“Also, I’m psychic.”
<hr>
“Do you believe in past lives, Dr. Crane?”
Daphne’s boss looked up from his breakfast with skepticism on full display even before his unimaginative answer. “No.”
“You don’t think it’s possible for people to live more than one lifetime?”
“No, because I am a psychologist. I deal with matters of the physical world — the real world, if you will. I believe a person can transform themselves and their environment enough to feel as though they’ve lived multiple lives during their one, singular lifetime, but I do not believe in reincarnation.”
“I thought you dealt with the intangible world of the mind as a psychiatrist,” Daphne said. Her dry remark earned her another sidelong glare from Dr. Crane before he pointedly returned to his toast and jam. Daphne just as pointedly continued, “I only ask because I was curious if you felt the connection too.”
Dr. Crane turned wary. “What connection?”
“Between your family and me. I’m certain we’ve spent at least one past life together. That’s why I’m so comfortable with each of you.”
“Daphne, I’m glad you feel comfortable, but—“
“Don’t feed me that ‘I’m a psychologist’ line again. Your brother’s one too, and he believes me.”
“Yes, well that’s because Niles is…” he rolled his eyes, “Niles.”
She wasn’t sure what slight he was trying to imply, but she knew it wasn’t warranted. There wasn’t anything wrong or off-putting about Niles Crane. That was the problem.
“I also knew a psychologist back in England who believed me too.”
“Was it one you were seeing for therapy?”
“No, it was years ago. He was still a student then, but he knew enough to keep an open mind about my psychic visions.”
“Hm.” Dr. Crane arched his brow. “Are you sure this student wasn’t more interested in opening something else of yours?”
Now, she glared. “You listen here! Just because he ended up under my skirt by the end of the night, doesn’t mean he didn’t believe me.”
“What the hell conversation did I walk in on?” Mr. Crane asked as he returned from walking Eddie.
“The naivety of youth,” Dr. Crane drawled.
“More like close-minded know-it-alls who refuse to believe anything he didn’t read in a book,” Daphne countered.
Mr. Crane nodded. “Oh, yeah. I had that fight with him last Wednesday during the Mariners game. We didn’t have the right kind of chips in the pantry, and Mr. ‘the pitcher doesn’t care what flavor chips you’re eating’ refused to go to the store.”
“Because the pitcher doesn’t care!”
Mr. Crane stooped down to look his son in the face. “Do you know what happened when I had to eat barbecue chips instead of my usual salt and vinegar?”
“They lost,” Daphne supplied.
“They lost!” Mr. Crane echoed. “A ten game winning streak flushed down the drain because someone didn’t buy me the right chips.”
As his father left for the kitchen, Dr. Crane huffily called after him, “Yes, Dad. It’s all my fault a baseball team playing on the other side of the country lost their game.”
Daphne looked down her nose at him. “And I hope you’ve learned your lesson from that.”
<hr>
She kisses him first. And second. He’s never been quick on his feet, always picked last in gym, but now his mind fails him too. Because she kisses him twice and he cannot fathom the chain of events that led them here. He needs to rewind and study every step they took, understand them, memorize them until he can repeat them exactly.
How else can he ensure she’ll kiss him again?
She hums as she pulls back. “You’re good at this.”
“Good at what?” he asks, dumbly.
“Psychology,” she says with a cheeky smile. “You answered all of my questions.”
<hr>
Sometimes Niles forgot other people existed — and by sometimes, he meant each and every time Daphne entered the room. For those first few seconds, she was all he could see. His mind would drift off into images of holding her hand and bringing his lips to her ear in order to whisper sweet nothings. In those brief fantasies, he’d tell her everything: that the cherry blossom scent of her hair was more intoxicating than wine, that her smile shone brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined, and that her eyes possessed a depth of clarity that put every other gemstone on the planet to shame. If he felt friskier, he’d redirect those imaginary lips down to the crook of her neck where he could learn the taste of her skin while still being nestled in the cloud of her perfume. And when his mind carried him even further down… down… down past her hips — well, that’s when he’d yank himself back to reality before anyone could notice the direction his thoughts had travelled. Thankfully, no one ever did.
Mostly no one.
“Niles, I’m concerned you’re slipping back into some old patterns,” Frasier said to him one morning over coffee.
“Expecting my latte to have the exact amount of cinnamon I asked for is not a pattern, it is a taste preference. Though, the baristas at this café should start taking it as seriously as a dietary restriction so they stop getting it wrong. Surely, they’re just as tired of remaking my coffee as I am of requesting it.”
“I’m not talking about your coffee. I’m talking about Daphne.”
Niles tensed, but kept his expression neutral. “What about Daphne?”
“You have a thing for her.”
“I do not have a thing for her.”
“Yes, you very much do.”
“No, I do not.”
“Yes, you do,” Frasier said, “and you better nip it in the bud before it escalates into a problem or worse, something you actually act on.”
Niles was spared from answering immediately with the arrival of his refreshed latte. During the pause, he searched his mind for a way to deflect this line of interrogation.
“You’re wrong, by the way. Daphne isn’t a pattern. She’s a person. A very lovely person who’s wonderful at her job. You were smart to hire her.”
“Niles!”
Well, it was worth a try. He smothered his sigh and drew himself upright. “Frasier, if you have something to say, just say it.”
“Knock it off,” Frasier said.
“Be more specific,” Niles countered. “I don’t take kindly to vague accusations. What pattern are you alluding to?”
“The one where you become a lust-riddled teenager at the first sight of an Englishwoman.”
Niles frowned, trying to puzzle this out but coming up empty. “Maris isn’t English. At least not for several generations.”
“I never said Maris. I said Daphne.”
“— is a pattern,” Niles reminded. “A pattern would have to include more than one person. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” his brother growled. “But I’m not talking about Maris. I’m talking about Cambridge. You came back from college all hung up on some girl you met over there — disproportionately hung up, I might add. A person would’ve thought she broke off a years long engagement with you.”
A heavy weight settled in his stomach. Suddenly, his latte tasted like ash. He didn’t realize Frasier intended to bring up that moment in his life. It might have taken him longer than what people expected from him, but he had firmly left that part of him in the past.
“What does that have to do with Daphne?”
“It’s a pattern repeating,” Frasier said. “Your imagination ran away with you then, and it’s running away with you now. Maybe it’s not because she’s English, but as I know nothing else about that young woman in Cambridge — or, in fact, whether she ever existed—“
“She did,” Niles interrupted, irritation clipping his words. He balled his hands into fists beneath the table to keep himself, if not calm, then at least still. His suit felt too hot for the room and his vision blurred at the edges, but it wasn’t another one of his panic attacks. Just overwhelming, indescribable emotion. That time in Cambridge was so long ago, so long, and yes he came out of it deeply hurt, but he’d put all of that pain behind him years ago. It no longer influenced his life or his decisions.
He said, “I still don’t see why you’re bringing up Cambridge. It isn’t like I ever bothered you with my problems during that time. You were establishing your own life in Boston.”
“No,” Frasier admitted. “But I caught enough, and Dad’s filled me in recently on what I missed. He’s noticed you ‘mooning’ over Daphne and came to me worried that whatever happened while you were at Cambridge is happening again.”
A different shock rippled through him. “Dad’s noticed?”
“Of course, he has, Niles. You’re as obvious as a neon sign on a dark, deserted highway.”
“Oh god, has Daphne—?”
“Not that she’s mentioned,” Frasier said, “but she might not feel comfortable enough to bring it up. So once again, knock it off.”
Niles dropped his gaze to the spoon on his saucer and breathed in. Breathed out. Slowly, his fists unfurled, though without the pressure, he felt adrift. Unmoored.
“Cambridge was real,” he finally said. “Exaggerated, perhaps, but real.”
“Fine.”
But Niles shook his head. “No, it’s not fine. Because lately I don’t know that I did exaggerate that night. I convinced myself I had because that’s what everyone told me, and because….” He swallowed back the thought before it could fully form. “But then Daphne walked into our lives, and I know it sounds crazy, but she inspires these feelings in me… powerful feelings that I only thought existed during that one possibly made-up night. Never has anything else in my life made me feel this way, not even my marriage.”
His brother watched him with a look of compassion and understanding. “And that scares you.”
“It doesn’t not scare me,” Niles admitted. “If those feelings aren’t a result of a lonely imagination, if they do exist in the real world, then what does that mean for me and Maris?”
“It may not mean anything,” Frasier said. “Passing attraction happens. If you’re building it into something more, then perhaps that’s your mind’s way of saying there’s an issue in your marriage that needs to be addressed.”
Niles considered this. “I suppose Maris and I have felt disconnected lately. Rather than soothing, our shared silences just feel long.”
“There you go. You simply need to find a way to reconnect.”
It did sound simple enough. Whether it was accurate or not was a different matter, but Niles didn’t have it in him to analyze this any further. He needed this topic of conversation to end, so he accepted his brother’s advice. “You’re right, Frasier. Thank you.”
His brother smiled and began a not-so-humble reply — but at that moment, the door opened and Daphne entered the café. Just like that, Frasier and their conversation disappeared. Niles shot to his feet as his tongue automatically formed the words:
“Good morning, Daphne. Care to join us?”
“Oh, good morning, Dr. Crane,” she answered with a smile.
Niles basked in the warmth of that smile while steadfastly ignoring Frasier’s stern stare. Later, he would remind his brother about the rules of good manners and how a gentleman should always stand whenever a lady entered the room.
It was only the polite thing to do.
<hr>
“Are you sure this is right?”
“Trust me, you can do this.”
He looks over at her without shifting the cue stick. His blue eyes make it difficult to breathe, let alone think. It’s so tempting to slip around his back and help him, even more tempting to toss the stick aside and kiss him right now. But she wants to see that grin again, the one he gave her when the first ball rolled in only this time the success will be all his. She wants him to experience that rush. She wants to experience that rush through him.
Leaning over the table, close but not close enough to touch him, she whispers, “Go on. Take the shot.”
After another pause, he finally pulls his eyes away and refocuses on his aim. He shoots — crack! — the cue ball spins down the table and neatly bumps the four into a side pocket.
“You did it!”
“I did it.” For a moment, he only gapes down at the table. Then slowly, he grins: big, bright, and beautiful just like she hoped for. “I don’t believe it. I really did it!”
“Yes!” She tackles him in a great big hug that knocks the air from both of them. It was worth it, it was so worth it, to make him try on his own.
And afterwards, she still gets to kiss him.
<hr>
Shadows obscured the edges of her vision while gusting rain pelted against the windows. The unfamiliar mansion with its stone floor that must be as expensive as it was cold completed the picture to make the night feel strange. Otherworldly. For tonight, they existed outside of reality.
Perhaps, that’s why Daphne’s thoughts turned traitor. She’d been tip-toeing closer and closer to the line all evening, aching to feel something other than disappointment but keeping her wits about her enough to not kick off a disaster. But then Dr. Crane began to speak about love, and his wistfulness against the backdrop of such an unreal night was too much for Daphne to bear.
“Love is a funny thing, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s exciting and passionate. Sometimes it’s something else. Something… comfortable and familiar.”
I hope we were lovers in our past life. The thought sliced through her mind without warning. Immediately, she felt ashamed. What a terrible thing to think while Dr. Crane spoke so fondly of his wife. Daphne had no business inserting herself into this picture. She’d clearly forgotten herself.
It was the break-up’s fault — or more like Eric’s fault for doing the breaking up. Her heart was bruised, the throbbing pain still fresh. Of course, Daphne would wish for the kind of love Dr. Crane shared with his wife. Who wouldn’t in her situation? A comfortable and familiar love to sink into sounded beautiful right about now.
“I hope some day some man will feel that way about me.”
Dr. Crane chuckled. “Oh, Daphne, don’t worry. You are a very special person, and some day a man worthy of you will come along.”
Oh, how she deeply regretted being trapped in this storm with him… and yet how grateful she was to not be anywhere else.
“… Just as soon as the gods create him,” Dr. Crane finished.
She laughed, relieved the firelight would obscure any blush. Part of her wanted to know how he managed to always make each compliment sound so unique, like he’d crafted them especially for her, but the smart part of her knew not to question it. Dwelling on such a thing would only invite trouble.
So, she simply thanked him and called him a good friend. Then, she rose up to kiss his cheek. She’d still intended friendship for it, but the second the kiss landed, familiarity flared within her. His voice, the smell of his skin, even the impenetrable shadows in the room hit her with such a powerful feeling of déjà vu she thought for sure she was experiencing one of her visions.
But no images flashed behind her eyes and the déjà vu left her heart racing for longer than any vision would. She tried and failed to tell herself it meant nothing, and so that traitorous voice piped up instead. You were right, it beckoned. That tingling spark of familiarity was proof she and Dr. Crane had been together in a past life. Maybe it had even been during their lifetime just before this one. It would explain why she felt their connection was so strongly.
And who knew? Maybe they would be allowed to spend their next life together, too.
<hr>
“I think we’ve put your jumper through enough tonight.”
“But you’re cold.”
“They’ll be here soon enough.”
He doesn’t trust that’s true. They’ve already been waiting on the stoop for thirty minutes, and her teeth are chattering. They would be warmer inside somewhere or even walking around again. The thought crosses his mind to invite her back to his room. It’s a thought he desperately wants to voice out loud, but even after how the rest of the night has gone, it feels too forward.
Well since she won’t take his sweater, he does the next most gentlemanly thing and puts his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. She readily snuggles into his side for three whole seconds of heaven before she abruptly stands up. His disappointment flash freezes into shock when she settles back down on his thigh.
“Maybe it’d be warmer if I sat on your lap instead of the concrete.”
A nod is all he can initially manage. He has to look up to see her from this position, and his stomach tightens at the realization. He could get used to seeing her towering above him.
His tongue unsticks to let him speak. “I heard movement also helps. Maybe if we kiss again….”
“Good idea,” she says, already leaning down.
<hr>
Without any city lights, the view outside the window was too dark to look at the landscape whizzing by. Thirty some years of these hellish road trips, and Niles still wasn’t sure if being unable to see out the window helped or hurt the motion sickness.
Helped now that he was an adult. Unfortunately, nothing had solved the issue when he was a child.
Eddie pattered over to the bench where he and Daphne sat. The dog crouched like he intended to jump up, so Niles slowly, but firmly, nudged him with his foot.
“Shoo.” Niles spoke quietly to try to avoid waking Daphne. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and Niles was loathe to ruin such a perfect tableau.
Eddie had no such qualms. He issued a low growl.
“No!” Niles hissed. “You’ve given her enough trouble today.”
“I think he saved my bacon actually.” Niles hid his disappointment as Daphne straightened up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Him and Mr. Crane’s quick thinking.”
“I wouldn’t give Dad too much credit. It was his fault for putting you in that position.” He watched her yawn, momentarily distracted by the tantalizing curve of her neck, but he shoved those thoughts away. “You can continue sleeping if you want,” he offered. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Daphne shook her head. “Oh, you can’t have me drooling on your shoulder.”
“No, you can drool on me anywhere — I mean, you haven’t drooled at all.” Niles held out his shirt. “See? Bone-dry.”
It earned him a smile, but still she didn’t lie down. “Where are we?”
“Still an hour away from home. Assuming Dad hasn’t taken us off on another adventure.”
Daphne snorted. “Another reason I should stay awake, so he can’t drive me across anymore borders.” Her words fade into another yawn she failed to stifle. How was she this stunning even while yawning? She looked ethereal.
Niles said, “Really Daphne, take it from someone who spent too many childhood summers stuck on the road, sleep is the only way to survive the long drives. Don’t worry, I won’t let Dad take us so far south we hit Mexico.”
She rewarded him with another smile. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“I don’t!” He forced his voice to calm down. “I don’t mind, and I promise I won’t jostle you. I’m very good at holding still.”
He braced himself in demonstration and waited for her to lay against his shoulder again. But Daphne scooted down the bench and resettled herself to lay her head in his lap, instead. Niles stopped breathing. He didn’t dare glance up front to see if his father or brother had noticed. Their disapproving stares would only distract him, and he needed to keep his eyes on Daphne, only Daphne, so that he could properly marvel over this miracle.
“It’s certainly different from flying across the country,” she murmured.
“What?” Niles blinked. “Oh, the drive. Yes… different.”
He failed to form a complete sentence, let alone a coherent reply, but it didn’t matter. Daphne had already fallen back to sleep. Her hair cascaded over his hand causing it to twitch. He ached to reach up and run his fingers through her hair, but he settled for toying with the few strands that had draped over his thumb.
He’d truly convinced himself he’d made up that night in college. He’d had to believe it was made up so he wouldn’t spend the rest of his days grieving for a love as short as it was powerful. But Daphne… Daphne…. She rewrote everything he thought was real. One night with her and he knew he’d fall just as deeply in love. Of course, he didn’t have the freedom to spend a night with her — shouldn’t even wish he did. Still the minutes they’d carved out together added up would amount to the same thing. In fact, they were long past a night’s worth of minutes by now. And in every precious interaction, he’d wished for time to slow down in a way he hadn’t since he was twenty-two years old and unable to look away from a different, enchanting brunette.
Perhaps Frasier was right, and he simply had a thing for Englishwomen.
Or, a far more terrifying thought, maybe finding love that set the world on fire wasn’t so impossibly rare as Niles had forced himself to believe.
<hr>
It was a risk to invite him along for the evening. He could have been anyone: a secret murderer, an arrogant sonofabitch, a Thatcher supporter.
But this night was made for taking risks, and so far she hasn’t regretted a thing. Not even when her impromptu date pulls her into an abandoned classroom.
“Why did you need in here?”
“For these.” He partially unrolls maps from a collection on the wall until he finds the one he’s after. “Here we go.” He pulls the map all the way down to lock it in place. Her eyes take in the familiar yet foreign shapes displayed.
“What is this?”
“America.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“Because if you want to move here someday, then you need to choose where you’re going to live.” He spreads his arm out over the map. “Anywhere you want. It’s your pick.”
The dizzying flush of freedom that washes over her is second only to her dumbfounding awe. He’s been listening to her offhand remarks that closely? Maybe she still doesn’t know who this boy is, but she knows what she’ll do with him later. She’ll shove him against whatever surface is nearby and snog him senseless. He can even get as handsy as he likes. She won’t stop him.
“You found me a map of America so I can pick where I want to live someday?”
“Not exactly found. I already knew this map was in here…. Is this okay?”
Okay? Forget hands. She might drop to her knees for him tonight — but right now she forces her attention back to the map and considers a different set of options for herself. “You like travelling, right?”
“Me? Why?”
“You’re a foreign exchange student so that must mean you’ve travelled a lot.”
“Oh. Yes — well, some. Mostly in the U.S, though.”
“Good, so then you have to help me decide. Which states are your favorite? Which ones should I avoid?”
“Oh! Right, let’s see.” He jumps into explaining the major cities, the sites he’s seen, where he goes to school when he’s not studying abroad. She listens closely, absorbing the words deep into her skin so she’ll remember every single detail.
Including the way his eyes light up when he describes home.
<hr>
“So, it’s been one year since you’ve moved back to Seattle, then?” Daphne said.
Dr. Crane nodded. “Indeed, it has.”
His father said, “That means one year of being free from Lilith.”
“Well, a few weeks longer than a year for that.”
Mr. Crane looked hurt. “And you didn’t let us throw you a party?”
“No, strangely I would prefer not to celebrate the anniversary of my marriage ending with a big party.”
“No one said it had to be a big party.”
Daphne opted to cut in before Dr. Crane’s frown could turn into a proper blow up. “You know my anniversary is coming up as well. It’ll be one whole year since I left home to move to a new country.”
The younger Dr. Crane immediately crossed the room to where she was setting the table. His swiftness caused a hitch in her breathing typically reserved for when she opened the door to greet him. “Really?” he said. “What day?”
“I’d have to check my passport again, but I think it’s the eighteenth.”
“That’s fantastic! We should throw a party.”
Mr. Crane raised his hand. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“No one threw me a party,” the eldest Dr. Crane complained.
“You just said you didn’t want one.”
“Not for losing Lilith. For moving back home.”
From beside her, the other Dr. Crane said, “Key phrase there is ‘back home.’ Not to a brand new country.” He turned his attention back to Daphne, and she pretended his clear, blue eyes didn’t just cause her to forget if she’d placed a fork down at that seat of the table or not. “So, what kind of party do you want?”
She shook her head. “That’s very kind, Dr. Crane, but you really don’t have to throw me a party.”
“Nonsense. This is a momentous occasion that deserves to be celebrated. I can at least take you out to dinner — we can,” he swiftly clarified. “The whole family can take you out to dinner. I can make a reservation. What kind of food would you like? Italian? French?”
“Steak,” Mr. Crane called out.
Without taking his eyes off her, Dr. Crane replied, “No suggestions from the peanut gallery, Dad.”
“I repeat,” his brother said, “no one made reservations for my anniversary tonight.”
Mr. Crane said, “How are we supposed to have done that? You just told us it was your anniversary ten minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry if I assumed my family would remember such an important date without my prompting.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
“Also, I told Niles this morning, so really the arrangements should’ve been on him. Niles?”
But Dr. Crane had tuned out the argument in order to help Daphne set out the knives for tonight’s homecooked meal. He asked again, “So, dinner to celebrate a full year here in America?”
Daphne bit her lip, but there was only one answer she could give him. Only one answer she wanted to give him. “I’d love that. Oh thank you, Dr. Crane!”
She threw her arms around him for a hug, half in gratitude and half to hide the blush that formed when he said, “It’s my pleasure, Daphne. Believe me.”
An entire year spent in America and she’d managed to adjust to the time change, the flow of traffic, and counting out payments in dollars instead of pounds. But nine months of hearing Dr. Crane say her name and still her heart skipped a beat. Damn past life feelings.
“Honestly,” he added after she’d pulled away, “it’s a celebration for all of us. We’re very lucky to have you in our lives.”
Well she couldn’t very well hug him a second time to mask her blush, so Daphne settled for swatting his arm, instead. “Dr. Crane, you shouldn’t pull out all the compliments yet,” she teased. “You won’t have anything left to say at the dinner.” She hurried on, “Anyway, I’m the lucky one. If your father hadn’t hated every other physical therapist, I’d never have met any of you.”
“Perish the thought,” Dr. Crane said so earnestly and immediately that Daphne had to laugh.
Perish the thought, indeed.
<hr>
His face throbs from his forehead down to his cheekbone. He lies flat on his back in the damp spring grass, and he would probably be embarrassed over that if he wasn’t shocked senseless.
“Are you all right?”
The most beautiful face he’s ever seen peers down at him. It’s the same impossibly beautiful face he spotted just before a brutally immovable object knocked him to the ground.
“Am I dead?” It’s the only explanation for the angel kneeling above him. He’s died prematurely, and God has granted him this one last gift of a stunning escort into the afterlife.
The angel smiles, and he thinks how well it compliments her warm, brown eyes. The depths of the world are kept within those eyes, every fathomless secret of the human race, and those large, feathered curls glowing red-gold in the streetlight are her halo.
“You’re wide awake and alive,” she says brightly. “That’s good news. What about your vision, is it blurry?”
How is he supposed to judge that when all he can see is her?
“I don’t know.”
“Not to worry. It is dark out here. Just stay still until I work out if you have a concussion, all right?”
He nods and is punished with a scowl.
“I said stay still!”
“Sorry.”
“What’s your name?” She runs her hand gently over his face, just above his eye. His heart pounds at her touch, confirming he is, indeed, alive.
“Niles.”
The angel smiles again. “Hello, Niles. I’m Ellen.”
/
END (of chapter 1) (semi-finished draft)
