Windows on the World (OLD VERSION) [BEING REWRITTEN]

[¹⁶] ᵈʳᵉⁱᵈᵉˡ, ᵈʳᵉⁱᵈᵉˡ, ᵈʳᵉⁱᵈᵉˡ

"Comparing you to Richard Gere."

"Why...?"

She stayed silent for a moment. "You win."

"I wasn't aware there was a competition between us."

"There isn't anymore. Like I said: you win."

"What do I win?" He asked genuinely.

Maybe she'd spaced out again, because Phoebe wasn't thinking when she leaned further in until her lips touched his cheek for less than a second. That fleeting moment was enough to make Walter go numb.

When he came back to his senses, he made nothing of it, though, and shrugged it off like nothing significant had happened. Like Phoebe hadn't just left a faint burgundy stain on his skin. Like her curls hadn't tickled his nose and made him visualize the most perfectly perfumed flower.

"Thank you for not being a Grinch," she told him.

The movie ended shortly after that. Walter handed Phoebe the gifts he'd gotten for her one by one. The man had gone overboard, as usual, but she had learned to stop reprimand him for it the moment she'd learned that he did it because had a generous nature, not a boasting one.

He'd thrown stuff he believed to be popular with people her age, a set of jewelry, and some things for Dana, too, who would probably see them as a bribe. The most unexpected thing she received that night though, was an invitation to a Hanukkah dinner. With Walter's family. With his parents.

What the hell had that silly kiss on the cheek brought on? Was it the kiss's fault? Had she missed something?

"You want me to meet your family?" She had asked him, wide mouthed, with a knot in her throat.

"We always try to get together on the fourth night." He didn't seem to notice her quandary as he kept on speaking. "Thought it would be a good chance for you to see what a Jewish household is like."

And given that her family wasn't currently in its most tightly-knit times, he hoped that wouldn't stop her from enjoying on the season's hospitality and still enjoy of the holidays.

So on the 26th, when the sunlight was beginning to hide behind the artificial, architectural mountains, the pair found themselves outside a mansion-like townhouse in Park Avenue.

Walter felt leftover warmth from the oven through a bread cloth as he held a challah made by Phoebe, who had not wanted to show up empty-handed. For that same reason, she carried a bag with gifts bought in the knick of time.

He looked over the impeccable state she was in. A khaki skirt stopped just before faux suede boots of a similar shade started. The blue tweed overcoat that she'd bought two sizes too large, concealed the rest of her outfit.

"You know? You didn't need to put a front for my family. Just be yourself."

It felt only logical to dress up to meet Walter's loaded family. He was wearing his best suit, best tie, and best yarmulke, looking like a polished, shimmering figurine. So why wouldn't she try that approach?

"I am myself, only wrapped in a nicer package."

He couldn't argue that the package was rather nice. But he surprised himself by realizing that he liked laid-back Phoebe-the real Phoebe-more and more each passing day.