PART 30
The restaurant address is jotted down on your hand. Standing in the correct location, your fingers rub over the ink, erasing it. The place is nothing like you pictured—reserved, secluded from the crowd, offering a well-deserved discretion. Considering Grayson's the Sheriff and you're her subordinate, she expects you to uphold the professionalism required for the job. That's why, as you push open the restaurant doors, it's startling to see regular faces and tables in plain sight where locals are recognizable. The scene presents itself dazzlingly: Grayson isn't trying to secrete, and you can't help but smile at the realization.
"Do you have a reservation?" the waiter asks with undue politeness. To be honest, there's still an odd feeling that you'll get into trouble if you dare to say her name out loud, so it takes you a few seconds to settle down and nod, saying the sheriff's title. The man doesn't waver, not at all, he acts as if he's expected you instead. "The sheriff's awaiting you on the last table at the end of the next room. To your left."
The excitement of the encounter frazzled your nerves, in the best way possible. Following the indication, it's easy to center on the remarkable silhouette browsing the menu deliberately. And the bare sight is a powerful confirmation: Grayson doesn't mind being seen with a partner nor does it matter that said partner comes out to be you.
"You're five minutes late," not even raising her gaze, the next page of the menu is flipped again, but a small upward curve on her lips gives away a teasing banter.
Not hearing a sassy reply, Grayson clears her throat, and her attention rests on you for the first time tonight. On how you're dressed, the way your hair's styled, and the very light makeup that turns your usual deer-like gaze into a feline one. Grayson's enthralled by the change and, standing up, takes the coat from your arms to drape it over the back of the chair, helping you take a seat across the table with such fineness in her mannerisms.
"Was it hard for you to get here?" Her fingers press on your shoulders, noticing the tiny hint of ink on your wrist as you shake your head no. "I'm glad to know, it's one of my favorite restaurants. Been friends with the chef for ages."
"So you wouldn't mind choosing dinner for me?" A spontaneous laugh is heard in response.
"Would you like seafood?" Grayson questions, stepping back to return to her seat. "The house specialty."
"I'd like that, very much."
"Perfect."
Notebook and pen in hand, the waiter was ready to take the order as he approached the sheriff, who was not in uniform but was still unmistakable to any diner in the establishment. The young man continues, "And to drink, ma'am?"
"What you'd recommend?"
Fredrich, according to the badge clipped onto his uniform, was quick to reply, "For seafood, white wine's always a good choice." Keeping quiet, you observe the exchange in awe.
"A bottle of Sauvignon Blanc would work?" He nods as if he'd already seen the choice coming, as if he and Grayson have known each other for years and a reciprocal friendship was developed. Fredrich bids farewell, collecting the menus to leave you both alone once again.
"Nice guy." Grayson agrees, but now something shifts, and you know it because she keeps adjusting the sleeves of her shirt over and over, trying to lessen her mind. Better to give her time and not assail her with questions, even when your own mind plays dirty with you too.
"It's been a while since… well, my last date." She confesses with a tinge of embarrassment noticeable on her cheeks, filling you with tenderness. And you can only whisper her name like a chant your tongue adores uttering. "I shut up now, we'll talk about it after dinner."
"I wouldn't mi—"
"Later. After dinner," she reiterates, and sighing, you comply.
As the conversation carries on, questions about her life take place, from what she did before becoming an enforcer to what her hobby was when she was a teenager, and so on. You find yourself intrigued to discover how was the young woman, yet you feel a bit conflicted to know she’s deep buried somewhere. However, when the literature topic arrives, the questions revolve around books naturally: what's her favorite book, what's the one she hates the most, and what's her opinion on psychology, romance, and science fiction? Trivialities, according to the sheriff herself, but your heart keeps shrinking at the thought of a younger Grayson, driven to take on the world as hers. And then, there is this Grayson seated across from you who's glad to respond to your questions.
At the same time, the portrayal of such a woman remains only as a caress of the past. The skin without those expression lines or the years of professionalism and experience can be exasperating to picture, frankly, since there is nothing you would trade about this Grayson. No. The wrinkles around her eyes, the brief pause she takes before responding, the way life has shaped her and work has steeled her is right what builds the woman you fervently worship and desire both in your life and inside your pants.
The food arrives in time to halt your thoughts. Thank heavens. Now the conversation oscillates between favorite pastries and drinks. Again, the topics are a bit mundane when an elephant in the room takes up more space with each passing second as dinner comes to an end. Grayson wipes her mouth with a napkin and finishes her glass, refilling both glasses before finally giving in and talking about what truly matters.
"It was delicious," you word, looking around. Couples are engrossed in foreign, unintelligible conversations; quite ironic how you were concerned hours earlier. Nobody gives a damn at the end of the day, and Grayson seems well aware of it.
"Would you like dessert?"
Shaking your head, a hand lands on your stomach. One more bite and you explode. Grayson lets her guard down, and at the sight of you, she laughs plainly. The sparkle in her eyes, the way she's staring is unlike anything before, as if something has finally ripened between the two of you. It doesn't make sense, considering she has already shown you her possessive and controlling side. Yet, tonight, you're drawn in by this softer woman—the lover, not the officer.
Lovers… Grayson is your lover indeed. And lovers kiss and touch without restraint, gazing at each other as if starving to savor, devour one another when satisfaction isn't fair. Grayson, on the other hand, looks at you with lightheartedness, trying to decipher your thoughts, keen to indulge you tonight, and you are forced to look away; lest the complex Sheriff also turns out to be a mind reader. You want her, need her as a lover.
What is left to discover? So much more, but one dinner would never be enough to put both stories on the table.
"You've got a small smear on your lip," Grayson points to the right side of your lip. You wipe the left side and she raises an eyebrow. "Come now, don't make me do that cheesy… thing."
"Cheesy thing? I have no idea what you can possibly mean," you fib, now wiping your bottom lip but still missing purposely the wet spot of wine that you feel lingering on your flesh.
Grayson smirks, not buying your game. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." She moves closer after resignation, fist clenched on the table as her eyes lock on yours and remain fixed for a moment. Her voice drops to the lowest tones. "You ain't fooling anyone, let alone me."
But her smirk is resolute, and you smile back as the napkin she holds reaches your lips, she can't help herself either, and once the smear is gone, her fingers linger on your mouth for longer than necessary. Your chest rises and Grayson notices how responsive your body is to her touch.
"You're beautiful," she lets out, and with your eyes snapping to hers, Grayson gives one last throb on your lips, before finding your hand to grasp it tightly above the table. You curl your fingers with hers. "Did you enjoy dinner?"
"It was exquisite; the company even better," Grayson beams, and instead of pulling her hand away, she traces every line on your palm. "This is the best date I've had in years, truly."
Grayson huffs. "Please, it was just dinner."
"Y'know how to steal a woman's heart, not my fault," you joke around, and Grayson looks at you with piercing green eyes, making you suddenly realize the weight of your words. "I mean—"
She pokes further, flustering you, "That I have, indeed, stolen your heart?"
It's pointless to deny it any longer, is it not? She had promised you would discuss it after dinner. Now is after dinner. So, taking a deep breath, you decide to unveil your feelings first, in hope to make things easier for her. "For a long time," you confess gently, "Tonight has only made my feelings for you steadier."
Daring to follow the same rhythm as hers, you discover the dichotomy of her skin, calloused from the daily civil violence, and soft, because roughness hasn't yet taken a complete hold of her life.
Blinking at your words, she repeats after a few seconds of silence, "It's been a while since my last date," and you let her continue uninterrupted, knowing than more for your satisfaction, she is doing it for her own sake. "Sometimes I'm unsure of my feelings and it terrifies me, given all the pressure I'm under on a daily basis. I might look strong, but sometimes I'm just… weak. I do not wish to eventually disappoint you too."
There is a whiff of sensitivity and vulnerability in her words, and you don't know how to react and such. Is it a warning? Because you're not up for a heartbreak. Is it possible to take a step back at this point? To forget about the finish line waiting at the end of the race... and yet, those ideas sound revolting. Loathsome. As if a part of you would jump into the emptiness if you did.
"Maybe that's what it's all about, huh?" Reaching out, you carefully lift her chin, and forest-like eyes meet pleading, softened ones, offering a prayer of consolation. "We're all a little broken. Trust me, I don't want to fail you either, but here's the thing, Grayson: we're in the same boat, my love."
She gasps. How does a strong-willed woman struggle with such a silly term?
My love. You can get used to the term in the privacy of your encounters.
Grayson takes a deep breath, "I don't only want you, you know?" You smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. The word 'love' no longer scares you, not when you're about to hear it from her. "I've found myself lost in thoughts of you lately. I've never wanted you just for your looks, don't get me wrong, you're beautiful, but I'd never met anyone like you. You make me feel so... You make me feel."
Teeth find lips in an anxious bite, trying to ease the fire that dragons breathe into your body, awakened by the same woman who's been driving you nuts for months, and only now, just now, does she confess that the feeling is quite reciprocal.
"There's no going back."
You shake your head. "No going back at all."
Grayson takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss on your palm, intertwining fingers once again and savoring the closeness of a warm body after a long day at the station. Since you've been in her orbit, you feel like a breath of fresh air.
"Good, 'cause Marcus already knows and has been on my ass since day one."
"What?!"
"Yes?" She asks indifferently.
"It's just…—Very well, in that case, you wouldn't mind if Cait also happened to know about the photo, and the texts... all of it."
Sharp eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "All of it?"
"Yes?" The whole situation turns about to be too witty, especially when Grayson murmurs, summoning Janna's name.
"Let's just try to keep it like this, okay? At least for a while, there's no need to make it public just yet."
"Well..." you try helplessly.
"Oh. My goodness. Who else does know?"
"Vi."
"Vi? You mean Violet?" A deep furrow is at full display. "Vander's kid?"
"She ain't a—"
"You're telling me the owner of Zaun's hottest bar also knows about us?!"
Fuck, she's hot when she gets mad.
"And Councilor Cassandra probably..."
"Oh, for Janna's sake! Of course, Cassandra does too, and soon will Tobias and the entire council and the entire infirmary—Don't look at me like that, this isn't funny!" Silently in an attempt to keep her annoyance under control, Grayson lowers her voice since she's talking to you, her now dearest, which earns you some privilege. God, this is too hot for you to resist. "Does Cait not know to keep her mouth shut?"
You shrug, quietly chortling and it seems to work since she's laughing too at the absurdity of the situation, blushing at your direct longing gaze over her as if suddenly does she realize you might be hungry not for solid food. How many do people already know about the thing going on between you two before you could even put a finger on it first? It's laughable. And irresistible, how it was evident for third parties the way your bodies have spoken on your behalf for months.
Grayson settles the bill and assists you with your coat before you both exit the restaurant. She takes a moment to exchange greetings with some acquaintances who have arrived with their families. As you're recognized by each of them, it's clear that your face is no stranger. Yet, none of them seem surprised by the confirmation of the rumors: you and the sheriff are indeed dating. And they look happy for the sheriff.
Although there was no kiss tonight, significant progress was made. You can already feel the anticipation building within you, and you hope for a more intimate and private date on the next outing, where you can surrender to your desires with no eyes around stopping you from ripping off your clothes and owning each other in bed.