Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

13: his number, hope and a dragon

Rachel suggest going to The Bar for some drinks, since Sam is busy with grading finals, and we're both feeling a bit stir crazy.  I balk at the idea at first, simply because I haven't been there since my run in with Disgusting Frat Boy #47.  She doesn't know about that incident, and I don't feel like rehashing the past, so I agree after a few minutes of her begging.

"We could go somewhere else? The Clamshell? Only difference is the Clam doesn't have a particularly handsome, British, single, Dad-of-the-year working there." Rachel glances at me over her shoulder as she finishes unpacking a box of new glazes that were just delivered earlier in the day.  I pause, purse my lips and shake my head.

"I have no idea who you're talking about." I say with a hint of a smile.

"Liar." Rachel rolls her eyes, and stands up straight. "Come on. I need a drink, and you need to see him. I can tell." She grins and then starts to yank me out the door. 

We walk there quickly, not speaking much.  It's a nice night out, but the sky is threatening rain.  We still walk, not worrying about the weather, both of us enjoying the fresh air.  It's been four days since I last saw or spoke to Tom.  I want to speak to him.  Want to see him again. But part of me is hesitant—cautious.  This is new territory for me, in so many ways, and I want to make sure I know what I'm doing.  I've spent the last few days thinking, and weighing my options, and replaying the kiss and all of our conversations over and over in my head.  And my conclusion is...that I still don't know what I'm doing. Not even in the least bit.

Since it's a Wednesday night, The Bar is pretty dead.  Nothing like the packed house when I was there last time.  I breathe a sigh of relief as we walk up to the building, and I see that there are only a few cars in the parking lot.  Inside, it is dark and intimate, quieter than I expected.  There's a few people sitting at tables, and four or five people at the long bar.  Other than that, it's empty.

I slide up next to Rachel, who takes the first stool directly in the center of the bar.  The wooden seat is cool under my bare thighs, and I yank gently at my cuffed jean shorts as I get comfortable.  The humidity has wrecked havoc on my hair, and so I pull it back into a messy bun so it stays out of my face.  I don't see Tom behind the bar, but instead it's his coworker that I recognize from the other night—the pretty one who had dark hair and impressive cleavage.  Still pretty. Still dark. Still cleavagey.

"Hi ladies. What can I get for you?" She walks over to us, smiling at Rachel.  When she sees me, she does a double take.  I'm not sure if it's because she remembers me from the night before, or she's recognizing me as Baby.  I'm not sure if either is preferable.

"Blue moon, please." Rachel glances over at me.  I haven't had much to drink—not since my camping trip on her deck.

"And a coke, hmm?" Tom comes from out of nowhere, but more likely from the back rooms behind the bar.  I look up, surprised.  I can't help but smile, it's almost a knee-jerk reaction.

"Seltzer with lime." I shake my head.  "I don't want to form a habit." His eyes lock on mine, and they crinkle at the sides as he returns the smile. 

"Chelsea, I've got this." Tom nods to his coworker, who finishes pulling Rachel's beer. 

"You look familiar." Chelsea says to me, setting the beer down in front of my sister.  Tom glances at me and then back at his coworker, a worried look on his face.  I smile and shrug.

"I have one of those faces." I say easily.  My standard response. 

"Hmm." Chelsea raises a dark eyebrow and then looks to Tom.  "Finished in the back, Tom-o? I'm going to go on my break." She asks him and he nods in response as she walks away, her hips swinging as she does.