#tedlassobiscuits

Ted laughed, taking a swig of his beer. His tongue darted out to lick the excess left on his mustache. Rebecca couldn’t have drawn her eyes away had she wanted to (she didn’t). He cleared his throat, and she brought her gaze to meet his. His eyes were soft in the combined glow of the candle and fairy lights, his pupils large to accommodate the darkness (‘but that’s not the only reason, is it?), and he was smiling. His hair, so perfectly coiffed in Richmond, had significantly less product in it, and it fell easily into his forehead. Reading her mind (as usual), he pushed the errant strands back. Rebecca thought he had never looked so beautiful. She felt her face flushing, and broke eye contact, reaching for her own bottle. 

“Ted, stop looking at me like that?” She wasn’t sure why she phrased it as a question.

“Like what? I’m just lookin’. Still can’t believe this isn’t one of my dreams. You’re gonna have to pinch me.”

She obliged, reaching over and pinching his forearm. He laughed again, but grabbed her hand in his before she could bring it back to her side of the table, covering it gently as he stroked her thumb with his. She felt the touch in her core. She sucked in a sharp breath, knowing it wasn’t subtle.

“Like what?” Ted repeated, quieter than before.

“Like…I don’t know. Keeley might call it ‘heart eyes’ but I don’t think–wait. You’ve dreamt of me?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Ted–” She turned her hand where it still laid under his, meeting his palm with hers. “I’ve dreamt of you too.”

Ted squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you showed up, Rebecca. Been meaning to ask if you wanted to pay me a visit, just didn’t know how. My brain could only come up with inquiries to the state of your ‘Eat, Drink, Fuck’ tour, and I know you’re not my boss anymore, you’ve told me enough times, thank you, it felt wrong asking like that. And besides, I didn’t know if I wanted to know the answer.”

“I called it off. The ‘Eat, Drink, Fuck’ tour that is. Felt too much like self-sabotage, and I left that behind a while ago. A mustachioed man helped. And really, I only ever planned one stop.”

“Yeah?”

“‘Yeah.’” Rebecca did her best to mimic his accent (she thought she nailed it). “Although I might have been wrong, this doesn’t feel like self-sabotage anymore.” 

“Rebecca–”

She squeezed his hand once, then stood, walking over to his side of the table. He turned on the bench so he was facing her, smiling up at her as he took her hands in his own. She swung their hands, suddenly shy. 

“Tell me I’m not misreading things, please?” Ted tugged her hands lightly, and she took it as a cue to straddle his lap, letting go of his hands so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. He had one hand on her thigh, playing with the hem of her dress. The other was low on her back, rubbing gently. She leaned her forehead against his.