Archives for the Date December 13th, 2019

Pas De Deux – A  Moodboard (Three Part) One-Shot (Part 2)

gotham-ruaidh:

@iamnottrisha​ – thanks for organizing!

@taamagams – thanks for creating this beautiful moodboard!

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

She’d fretted all night.

What to wear the next day.

What the hell was going on between her and Jamie.

How intense his eyes had been.

How sweet the baklava had tasted when they shared it.

The heat of the kiss on her cheek after he’d walked her
home from Sahadi’s.

Adso’s happy meows as he devoured Jamie’s leftover lamb.

She could barely focus on her lessons that day – and the
students certainly didn’t mind when she decided to show a National Geographic
documentary about whale sharks. She watched it six times with her classes,
hoping that the simple purple dress she’d found at the back of her closet would
be good enough.

They’d agreed to meet at four thirty – ninety minutes
after classes ended.

So just as Claire buttoned up her coat, Jamie knocked on
the door of her office. He was dressed nicely – black pants, dark blue
button-down shirt, gray peacoat draped over one arm.

Claire smoothed invisible fuzz from her coat. “Hi,” she
smiled.

“Hi,” he smiled back. “You OK to take the subway for a
bit?”

She nodded, pulling her purse over her shoulder. “Lead
the way.”

He did – a quick walk to Atlantic Terminal, and then they
waited for the 2 train on the Manhattan-bound platform.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she
teased.

The train arrived, and he followed her into the car,
taking a seat next to her. Boldly he took her hand.

“We’ll be switching to the 1 at Times Square. Maybe that’s
enough of a clue.”

She squeezed his hand. “Well – in the interim, can you tell
me about your family?”

Through Brooklyn and lower Manhattan, he did. And she
did.

His stories about Greenpoint in the 1980s – the Polish
restaurants, the longshoremen, the Saturday afternoons digging in the backyard
for bottles and pottery shards discarded around the old turn-of-the-century
outhouse.

Her stories about Canada and Brazil and Tanzania and
Australia, roaming the world with Uncle Lamb and his anthropology students.

Their stories about living in New York, and their
students, and how their beloved neighborhoods had shrunk with gentrification.

At Times Square they exited the train and crossed the platform,
still holding hands. As the 1 train approached they watched a man playing “Under
The Boardwalk” on steel drums. Jamie drew Claire closer to his side.

The 1 train they boarded was an older model – individual
orange and yellow molded seats stacked against each other. Claire squeezed in
between Jamie’s broad shoulders and the sticky metal wall.

“Are you hungry?”

She turned to look at him – noses inches apart. “I can
always eat.”

“No food rules I should be aware of?”

She smiled. “No. Just good food.”

He glanced out the window – the train rolled past the
ceramic tiles of ships at Columbus Circle. “I know a good place. Nothing fancy.”

Claire lay her hand on his knee. “I hope you know I don’t
need anything fancy. You don’t need to woo me, Jamie.”

He met her eyes then – firm and clear. “Yes I do, Claire.”

She opened her mouth to reply – but the train jerked to a
stop. Jamie stood. She grabbed his hand and followed him onto the platform at
Lincoln Center. Marveling at the mosaics of musicians and acrobats and opera divas
singing arias on the station walls.

Five minutes later they were seated at a bustling
restaurant, browsing a menu of American classics.

“We’ve got plenty of time before the show,” Jamie said
softly, reviewing the wine list.

“Are you going to keep it a secret until we go across the
street?” she teased.

He looked up. “Let me just enjoy the fact that I can
surprise you.”

When the waiter arrived, she ordered a medium-rare cheeseburger
and an Old Fashioned. Jamie smiled so broadly as he ordered a steak and a
Manhattan.

“No salad for you, Claire?”

She rolled her eyes. “Rabbit food. In many of the places
I lived with Uncle Lamb as a girl, if you couldn’t peel it or cook it, you
couldn’t eat it.”

“And you’ve kept those habits, even though you’ve been
back in the U.S. for how many years now?”

“Eleven.” She paused as the waiter returned with their
drinks. “I never wanted to be one of those women who feel compelled to watch
every single thing that they eat – to survive on green juice or whatever the
hell they pay all that money for.”

Jamie raised his glass. “To being independent-minded.”

She clinked her glass against his. Sipped her drink.

“I assume that doesn’t bother you, Jamie?”

His brows creased. “What are you talking about?”

She swallowed. “That I’m…different. That I have my own
opinions.”

“What? No, Claire.” He reached across the table and took
her free hand. Caressing. “Don’t even think about that being something negative.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that I’m divorced?”

He set down his drink. “No. You can tell me whatever you
want, Claire, whenever you feel comfortable, and I promise you it won’t bother
me. It does bother me that whoever he was, he was stupid enough to not
appreciate you in the way you deserve.”

“But – ”

“Are you trying to push me away, Claire? Because I
hope you can tell that I’m trying very desperately to get to know you, and
share my world with you. And I want desperately for you to do the same. However
much of yourself you want to share with me, I’ll gladly take it.”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what it is between us,
Jamie. But I’m open to it. I’m open to you.”

He released her hand. She heard his chair scraping against
the floor – and then he gently took both of her hands. Her eyes flew open – seeing
him kneel before her, in the crowded restaurant, not caring about the wait
staff or the people gawking from neighboring tables.

“My heart is open to yours, Claire. Please know that.”

Tears slipped from her eyes. “I do,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hands. Rose. Leaned over, breath hot against
her cheek.

“Good,” he whispered.

cajon-desastre: “Because loving is the best we do.” — Ted Mosby. How i met your mother

cajon-desastre:

“Because loving is the best we do.”

Ted Mosby. How i met your mother

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davereed: unclefather: Why is this so funny??

davereed:
unclefather:

Why is this so funny??

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