Disclaimer: All Joss, not mine, no money, etc.

The Best Place in Town

Riley shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  This wasn’t his kind of place at all; it was far too high-end.  The tall windows were draped with plush velvet, artfully tied back.  The intricately tiled floor was polished to such a gloss that it put his shoes to shame.  Never mind that the chair on which he was perched seemed delicate enough to snap under him, or that the table was seemingly covered with silverware.

Moving carefully, trying not to disturb the china or silver, he leaned forward enough to fold his hands on the table.  Waiting wasn’t his most favorite thing, either, and he’d already been waiting for more than fifteen minutes.

Oh, all right, so I got here twenty minutes early, he thought, and touched one of the utensils on the table, nudging it ever so slightly back into place.  He thought he could feel the eyes of the other diners on him, watching him, assessing him, whispering about him – what a good-looking boy, too bad his date’s shown him up, I wonder what he did – and he wished like hell that Lindsey had chosen just about any other place for this meeting.

He stared down at his hands – big, square, capable, and so very out of place here.  He was from Iowa, for goodness sake!  People from Iowa didn’t end up in what had to be the fanciest restaurant in Los Angeles, waiting on someone who apparently wasn’t going to show up.   With a sigh, Riley prepared himself to face the fact he’d been stood up.  High priced lawyers didn’t keep dates – meetings! – with farm boys-turned-soldiers from Iowa.

“Hey, big guy.”

The familiar drawl snapped Riley out of his unpleasant thoughts, and he looked up, mouth open.

There stood Lindsey, sharp enough to cut someone in his fine suit.  His mouth was quirked up on one side, in what Riley had learned was his version of a smile, and he held out one hand to shake.

Maybe they do, he thought, managing to get his mouth closed.  Slowly, he stood, and clasped Lindsey’s hand – not quite as square as his own, but nearly as big and just as capable.

With his free hand, Lindsey waved him back to his seat, then sat down across from him, though the table was so small that it was nearly like sitting side by side anyway.  Tucking his briefcase under the tablecloth, he said softly, “You look kinda stunned, Ri.”

Riley shrugged, feeling even more out of place now that Lindsey was present, if that was possible.  “I guess… I don’t know.”

The good humor slowly leached out of Lindsey’s face, replaced by a cool mask that Riley thought of as his “lawyering face.”  “What were you thinking, meeting here?” he asked before Lindsey could say anything further.  “I stick out more than a sore thumb.”

And just like that, the irreverent twinkle was back in Lindsey’s eyes.  “Oh, come on, Riley,” he said with a quick flash of a grin.  “The Initiative could be a client of Wolfram and Hart, and the firm always takes their clients to the best places in town.”

“But the Initiative isn’t…”

“Hush,” Lindsey ordered, holding up one hand.  The waiter, thus signaled, hovered at Lindsey’s back, and Riley looked away as Lindsey requested the wine steward attend them. 

“You could be, Ri,” Lindsey said after the waiter had disappeared again, “and that’s the whole point.  Besides,” and this time the grin was more a warm smile, the kind he rarely saw, “where else would someone take their best guy on Valentine’s Day?”

Riley sighed, and smiled back; that look of Lindsey’s melted him every time.  “I know, Linds,” he said, a little plaintively.  “And believe me, I appreciate it.  But honestly, I’d be much more comfortable somewhere else.”

Lindsey leaned forward conspiratorially.  “So would I, big guy,” he whispered, smirking.  “So after we’ve had the wine, you’re going to sign the papers I’ve got in my briefcase, we’ll shake hands to seal the deal, leave this stuffy place and head on down to Chili’s.”  His eyebrow flickered as Riley’s jaw dropped again.  “The bartender there makes the best margaritas in LA,” he went on, bending to pull out his briefcase once more.  “And then… well, my place isn’t that far, and I wouldn’t want a client to be out wandering the streets of LA after dark, especially after drinking…” He smirked meaningfully and then turned his attention to the wine steward.

Riley slumped back in his chair.  I will never get over just how devious he is, he thought, resisting the urge to shake his head.  Slowly, however, he began to grin.

Looks like I get to go to the best place in town after all.

***
February 14, 2009
© randi (K. Shepard), 2009