Dinner For Two
Volare wasn't the most exclusive restaurant Oliver had ever been to, but he'd wanted Hannah to be comfortable in her surroundings. He knew he didn't have to impress her anyway, at least not as much as he would have with someone else. One thing about the blonde, she wasn't a money-grubber.

The spellcaster had brought another small bouquet of flowers, the daisies bright and cheerful against the dark fabric of his jacket, and he brushed hair out of his face as he loitered on the sidewalk in front of the establishment. Difficult not to be apprehensive, if only because this was all so new for him. Hannah still represented a bright spot for him, and now that she was alive again, well...where there was life, there was hope, right? Oliver picked an invisible piece of lint off of his suit coat, made himself not look at his watch. Battled back the apprehension.

'Every single gal needs a little, black dress.'

One afternoon on her couch, while staring at daytime television, Hannah heard that line from a deodorant commercial. She sat upright, small pillow clutched to her lap, startled to realize that she didn't own such a dress and never had. The closest Hannah had owned was a navy blue and white suit she wore to her grandmother's funeral as a teenager. She looked like a lady sailor.

When Oliver asked her to dinner, she knew she needed that black dress. Since the weather was warm, black dresses were marked down. Hannah found a cute strapless one with a heart-shaped neckline. It skimmed her knees and flounced when she twirled. Tiny flecks of silver sparkled in the material. She wore it with patent leather heels, too, bringing her to a staggering height of 5'4". The outfit was dressy for spaghetti dinner, but she didn't care. After that episode when Oliver discovered her in a waitress uniform, she wasn't messin' around.

On her way up the sidewalk, she felt good. A city bus went by and almost blew the skirt over her head, but she recovered with dignity mostly intact and kept walking. "Hey!" she said, coming up behind him, praying to Jesus her heel didn't get stuck in a sidewalk crack.

He turned and looked down, then executed a short bow before extending the flowers in her direction. "Glad you could make it. Wow, you look..." He wanted a cigarette, but he'd made himself hold off until at least after dinner. "You look great." It was a little jarring at first seeing Hannah in such a daring get-up, but after a minute he decided he liked the slinky quality of it.

"They should have our table waiting for us." Oliver opened the door with a flourish and held it for the blonde. "I've seen some good reviews about the place, hope it passes muster for you."

"Oooh, these are pretty," she said, planting her nose in the bouquet and smelling the daisies. The splash of color was vivid against her skin and hair. She kept her face in the petals as they walked into the restaurant. "Chef Boyardi spaghettios pass muster with me," Hannah said. "Unless the food here tastes like shoe laces, I think you're okay." A draft cooled her bare shoulders and she shivered, teeth giving a tiny chatter. She'd grow accustomed to the temperature before long.

"You look nice, too, by the way." Hannah held the flowers in front of her skirt. "Very debonair." There! She'd been dying to use that word, ever since it re-entered her vocabulary by way of supernatural romance novel, the week prior. A few other items made the list of those she must work into conversation, including the word 'swashbuckling' and the phrase 'nest of curls', which could prove tricky.

"Thank you," the mage replied with a somewhat shy grin. The suit he'd finally chosen wasn't his best, but he was making a small effort with her in these new days to be less somber. It seemed as if in the past, every time she'd seen him, he'd been grieving something. He wasn't sure he was wired to be 'happy', per se, but he wanted at least a few of the waitress' occasions with him to be something other than maudlin. His hand alighted on the small of her back, acting as a guide through the more dimly lit interior.

"How was your day at work?" he asked once they'd been seated. "Hope none of your co-workers are giving you much grief about me just dropping out of the sky, more or less. I'm not usually that dramatic about things."

Hannah scooted her chair forward and placed her purse and flowers aside. "I wouldn't call it grief, exactly," she hedged. She held onto the edge of the table. "It's more like... pestering. They give me pester." Sliding her hands into her lap, she looked up at Oliver. "They're very curious about you," she went on, rubbing her hands together. "They call you Mystery Man, like in that David Lynch movie, but without the creepy lipstick. And they say... you know..." She cleared her throat and wet her lips. "So Hannah -- well, they say Carrie -- so Carrie, how'd a small-town girl like you meet a man like that? And how much does he make, and what's he drive? Annnnd Sue asks about your performance in the sack, because she's like that."

The corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and he picked up the glass of ice water the server had left behind. Cubes rattled against the inside of the drinking vessel, and he put it back down after a drink. "Maybe next time I should send the flowers to the diner instead, only with no card," he suggested facetiously. "Really get them guessing."

The menus were laminated plastic inside imitation leather cases, and he picked one up to examine the options. There was already a wicker basket containing breadsticks, and once he'd made his selection he took one and broke it in half. Crumbs fell onto his shirt front when he took a bite, and he brushed them away lightly.

"Heard from your online friend Toby? About the job offer?" A small frown, then; "Does he call you Hannah or Carrie?"

She shook her head no. "He's still renovating the space, I think. But he said he wants to open in June, so." Hannah shrugged. "Oh, and he calls me Hannah, because that's how we were introduced." The space between her eyebrows crinkled. "Well, technically we were introduced as Java Is Life and Pixie Strumpet, but you know. He hasn't seen me on paper yet." Carefully lifting her glass, she sipped the water. It was weird how much harder simple things like drinking seemed, when you were terrified of spilling. She set it down and took a breadstick, too.

"What've you been up to?" She tore the bread and bit it. Suddenly, she was quite aware of her lip gloss and how easily crumbs might stick to it.

"Looking at condos, mostly," Oliver answered with a bemused lift of his shoulders. Pixie Strumpet? He'd have to ask more about that later. "A found a real estate agent who seems reliable, she's been showing me some properties. I know that new construction is springing up in Lincoln Park, but I think I'll be choosing something that's already established. It seems to be a buyer's market, at any rate. If you'd like to accompany me some afternoon...?"

He let the rest of the question dangle without finishing it, but a small knot suddenly waved at him from his lower abdomen. He was loath to discuss too much of the future right now, but he wanted to spend more time with Hannah in the weeks to come, including looking over any place he might decide to live. So. This was anxiety. He decided hated it quite a lot. "If you have the time, I mean."

She hurriedly swallowed. "I could come?" Hannah's face brightened. "Oh, I love looking at places! When I was little, me and my grandma used to go to open houses and on the fancy home tours. You know?" She waved her breadstick around. "Where the ladies served punch and lemon squares and let you nose around? We got ideas, and then we'd go to the craft store and try to make them at home." Did that sound stupid? Probably. She immediately regretted saying it, because Oliver probably grew up in a house where people went to tour. Hannah would bet money it was a 'shoes off' house with a foyer and a chandelier and a credenza. Whatever that was.

She decided to leave out scissor adventures with Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

Her enthusiasm was so infectious that he found himself smiling, ignoring any reference to house tours. It was true that after his father's death his mother had thrown the house open as a showplace of sorts, but as her political star rose she discontinued the tours. He had been at boarding school by then, but he'd often seen pictures in glossy, high-priced magazines of Corrinne's glossy, high-priced furniture and heavy carpets. It wasn't until much later that he fully began to realize the depths of his resentment towards her.

"You're welcome to join me if you'd be interested," he said, setting aside his half-eaten breadstick as the waiter returned. "I don't quite have your flair for bright decorations, but I'd be glad to have a chance to get a second opinion. We can arrange something later."

He ordered the linguini with clam sauce, looked across the table at his companion. "Would you like wine with dinner or something non-alcoholic?"

"Be glad you don't have my flair for decorations," she said, raising her eyebrows and scouring her menu. "I think a Batman Pez dispenser makes a good mantle piece." As for the drink of choice, Hannah pursed her lips and stared at the insert with the beverage selections. What would be the wise choice here? Non-alcoholic. There was less opportunity to humiliate herself with the spaghetti she ordered, or the high heels on her feet. But then she said, "Wine," anyway, thinking it might be unsophisticated to ask for a coke. This was a wine-drinking dress, anyway. "I don't know what kind, though," she admitted, leaning forward and whispering it, hardly moving her mouth.

"It's fine, I'll order." Normally he stuck to scotch, but he wanted to keep himself sober tonight. He asked for a bottle of house wine and two glasses, then watched the server pour with a critical eye. Settling back into the chair, he took a small taste of the alcohol, then pronounced it passable if nothing stunning. He studied Hannah's face across the table, and another smile crossed his face.

"I think this might be the first time I'll see you actually eat," he said, something like wonder evident in his voice.

Hannah's nose wrinkled. "Really? 'Cause I eat all the time!" She supposed she hadn't needed to eat around Oliver before. With the exception of that hour spent together when he got back to Chicago, she'd always been dead around him. Well, that was weird. She became hyper conscious of the breadstick in her hand. "You're not gonna stare when I chew, are you?" Hannah set it on the bread plate and wiped her fingers in a cloth napkin. Instead, she went for the wine and took a sip. It was strong, and unlike most drinks, it left her tongue feeling strangely dry. She made a small smacking motion with her mouth, before she thought better of it. "Yowza... that's the real deal."

"No." He was a little more solemn but the smile manage to remain. "It's just...it's so amazing. And wonderful. That you're here."

He looked down into the dark-red contents of his glass and took a drink, then set the wine aside. "What would you like to do most now that you're back among the living? Right off the top of your head."

Hannah looked up, as if the answer literally rested up there. "Travel!" she proclaimed, bouncing in her seat. "I saw a lot of the southwest on my way to Nevada, but I haven't seen much else." She wet her lips and thought more. "I wanna see... a volcano steaming in the ocean. I want to learn how to ski, or maybe snowboard, and then speed down the side of a mountain. I want to float in the Dead Sea. I want to solve a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune." She unrolled a napkin in her lap, twisting the burgundy material around her finger. "There's other stuff, too. Long-term stuff. Like... I want to own a house with those," she dangled her fingers overhead, "Gingerbread accents. I want a giant dog, bigger than me, a St. Bernard. I want to be a fat old lady that scares kids off her lawn."

She was so bright and energetic that he couldn't help but laugh, and the sound was surprisingly natural coming out of his mouth. "I've done some traveling in Europe and in the Far East. Always thought I'd like to see Greece again as an adult. If you would like, if it could be arranged, we could go there together sometime. Take a vacation or something."

It felt as if this could be a slip, but his emotional footing felt solid enough as he spoke. He had no idea what the long-term future held, and it felt dangerous to promise things he couldn't make good on, but suggesting a trip didn't seem too far out of line. More like hopeful speculation, perhaps. "I'd probably have to get my passport validated again, but it would be an aggravation I'd be willing to endure."

"Oh my gosh, that'd be so much fun. I have a passport," she said, overlapping her collarbone with both hands. If her eyes got any bigger, they might roll out of the sockets. "Sure, it's got somebody else's name on it, but supposedly it works." Hannah was perfectly willing to entertain the idea, even if it turned into a pipe dream. "What would you do, if you went to Greece? Would you rather be a regular tourist, going to see the Acropolis and Parthenon, or blend in and do ordinary things, pretending like you lived there? Or gorge yourself on wine and grapes, like Dionysus?"

Upon reflecting a bit on the third option, she sat forward and added in a whisper, "This is off topic, and it'll probably skew your answer, but did you know in some books, they call him 'the god that comes'? I think they meant because he was foreign-born, but whoa, that's some title."

"Depending on which story you believe, either his mother was struck by lightning and he was implanted in Zeus' thigh until his birth, or a jealous Hera had him led away by the Titans because of her anger at her husband's infidelity with Persephone, who bore the infant herself. His origins usually remained unclear, but worship of him was fairly widespread, if looked down on, especially among women."

He lifted his eyebrows at her somewhat suggestively, then added, "I think it'd be a combination of seeing the sights and blending in like a native. Athens is a beautiful city, and I remember how stunned I was thinking about how much work it would have taken to construct some of those buildings. I was very young, of course, but some beauty stays with you no matter how old you get. I'd like to see it again, refresh my memory."

Hannah didn't catch that last part. She was too busy cartoonishly blinking, thanks to the in-depth biography of Dionysus. "Do you have cue cards or something?" Setting aside her napkin, she bent and looked under the table at his lap. Mostly kidding, she had the bizarre urge to check anyway. "Okay, that came out of your head."

She straightened. Then her eyes lit up. "Like Athena from Zeus's forehead! See, I know some stuff." Satisfied with herself, she settled back into her chair and drank more wine. A glass of water sat beside it. During the meal, she'd alternate, if she knew what was good for her. Hannah intoxicated in front of Oliver... that could be problematic.

"The best thing I ever saw was the grand canyon," she said, getting back to topic. "It was so big, and I was so small, it felt like being on an alien planet where time doesn't matter at all. It didn't even look real. Like a Hollywood backdrop. Like I could just slip into it and not even be from Earth anymore." She hesitated and focused on the tabletop. "I sat on the rocks and just let their energy come into me for hours. It was right after my grandma died. It came closer to filling that hole in my chest than anything."

Oliver's expression changed a little, and after a moment he reached across the table and put two fingers under Hannah's chin so he could lift her gaze to meet his. "You don't have to hide from me," he said quietly. "I...I know about having a hole in your chest. I think maybe I hoped I'd see part of Amelia's soul when her time came, but if I was meant to I must have missed it."

His mouth lifted into a sad smile, and he withdrew the touch to fiddle with his silverware instead. "But yes, if you ever get the urge to take a sudden vacation, you can let me know. I have too much time on my hands."

Biting her lip, Hannah fought down guilt for mentioning grandmas. She also felt bad for not being there to guide Amelia, like she promised, but Oliver's grandmother hung on for longer than expected, and Hannah couldn't pass up her second chance at life. She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. "Sometimes I get the wild urge for other things. Can I call you those days, too?"

She realized that sounded... way open-ended. Her cheeks pinkened. "All sorts of things, not just... well, okay, those things, too, but like... walks and road trips. We could rent a car and drive all over. I miss my old car. I had a powder blue Gremlin. It had this hula dancer on the dashboard. Her skirt used to fall off." She laughed and gulped her wine.

Oliver laughed too, letting one elbow come to rest on the table, and he said, "Well, we could do that. I don't drive that often, but if you'd like to I wouldn't mind. We could find a scenic route somewhere."

The food arrived, and he watched the waiter set the plates out on the table while drawing an invisible circle around the rim of his water glass. He picked up the bread stick he'd abandoned a few minutes ago, took another bite of it. Once they were alone again, he made eye contact across the expanse of the table. "As for...other things, those things? I think about them sometimes too. I don't really know where I am right now, I guess, and I don't want to assume anything, but there's no saying we won't...that we couldn't talk about those things later."

Hannah, who had wound spaghetti around her fork and taken a bite, stopped and covered her mouth. "Oh!" She set down her utensil and chewed, in a rush to explain herself. "I didn't mean you had to... It was an acknowledgement. I just meant, yes, I have all sorts of wild urges, those kinds included, but I'd like it if I could call you for the other ones besides vacations."

That was a steaming mess of explanation. Dejected, Hannah poked her tongue against her cheek and stared at the spaghetti plate. Now she sounded like a charity case, all, 'Oh please have sex with me,' which wasn't what she meant, and Oliver was trying to break it to her gently that he didn't want to, which managed to sting her feelings, even though she hadn't been asking. Jeez Louise.

The torrent of words had Oliver blinking in the aftermath, and after a second he felt a slow blush creeping up his neck and then over his face. There was another waiter taking the order at a table a few spaces away, and he directed his attention over there while he contemplated how it felt to have embarrassed himself in front of her. He didn't care much for that either. The spellcaster cleared his throat, drank some cold water. The ice cubes were down to slivers now.

"I misunderstood you." Like that wasn't obvious. He went into the inside pocket of his jacket, took out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out to put it in his mouth. "Or maybe I was just projecting. Wishful thinking." He frowned as he lit up, his brow furrowing with thought, and as he exhaled smoke he added, "I want to say so many things to you, but I don't know if I'm the man you...if I'm the person you need. I'm not very good at being fair, but I don't want you feeling obligated. I just..."

He should take back what he'd said, reel himself in before he made it worse. He hadn't intended to say anything so flagrantly ham-handed. "Sorry."

"Don't say you're sorry!" Hannah held her fork, a fingertip touching the tines. She needed an object to fidget and didn't have a cigarette. The moment grew more painfully awkward by the second. Other people's dining noises tinkled around them. "Oliver, I think you're..."

She looked around for rescue and blew out a frustrated breath. "You know what I think? Half our problem's that we don't say what we actually mean. We try to muddy it up, to keep from embarrassing ourselves. I dunno about you, but that's very un-Hannah behavior. I don't usually give a crap what people think. So I'm laying down the law."

She smacked the table. The salt and pepper shakers jumped. "From here on out, I'm saying exactly what I mean, even if I humiliate myself in the process. Oliver, I think you're beautiful. Really, really beautiful. I think about having sex with you a lot. I know we're just friends. That's probably a good idea, because it's almost like we have to get to know each other from scratch. And maybe we'll realize we're better off friends. But I'm a big girl, and if we get crazy and have sex one day, with no strings, it's okay. And if we don't, that's fine too. I can get it someplace else... darnit." She set the fork down like an exclamation point.

"I think I need some water." Hannah picked up her glass and drank. She wished she could splash some on her red face.

He laughed again, and it was a more relaxed sound this time as he took the burning cigarette out of his mouth and picked up his wine glass with his other hand. Still trying to find his feet a little, but more comfortable than he had been just a minute ago. He blew out a breath of his own, then nodded. ""Then I'll say what's on my mind too."

He gave himself a minute, eating a couple of bites of his dinner. The food was actually quite good, and he placed the utensils back down on the plate when he felt as if he might be able to articulate himself. Another drink of water first, though.

"I think I had some idea that we could pick up where we left off," he admitted. "And then I thought about it and I realized that things have changed, maybe not in a bad way. I do want to get you know you, the 'human' you, and maybe you won't like everything you discover about me, but I'll take that chance." The right corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk, and he lowered his voice so that he wouldn't be overheard by the other patrons.

"I think about having sex with you too." It was a confession, and he touched her hand where it rested next to her plate. "A lot."

"Really?" Hannah upturned her palm, so his fingers touched the inside. She remembered those hands, how they made her feel alive, and how she felt her heart jump in its ribcage when Oliver made certain sounds. Impossible, but as good as beating anyway, like a phantom limb. Before she did something silly, like swoon, she cleared her throat and said, "I mean, of course you do!"

A little smile bowed her mouth like a doll's. She picked up Oliver's hand and kissed his fingertips. She glowed, a girl with a secret nobody in the restaurant knew. "Good." Releasing him, she went back to her spaghetti.

His fingers tingled where her mouth had pressed against them, and he looked at them with a half-smile before re-claiming his fork. His stomach felt as if it might have unknotted a little, which was a welcome relief. If he and Hannah did have to get to know each other from scratch, he was fine with that. They already knew quite a lot about one another, intimately and otherwise. It was a good start.

A start that he was perfectly fine with.