on/off. [tag; honey bea]

Was she more Shelley or more Keates?

With his hands in his pockets, Will frowned at the shelves in front of him. Why was choosing poetry so difficult? Had he been so inclined, he would have written it himself but his writing days were over. In fact, he'd been behind a desk far more years than he'd had a pen in his hand. He didn't mind so much. Being an editor meant he could see someone else's dreams get wings. It was ironic, really, that being so heavily involved in the publishing business that he couldn't string a sentence together. It was embarrassing.

Outside the windows of the book shop, Diagon Alley was shrouded in fog. It was low and thick, obscuring the chimneys of the shops from view. It had been raining all week and a cold snap was on the way, submerging the British Isles into sub-zero temperatures. Apparently, the forecast had tacked on the end of it, just in case.

Will had been pacing the same bit of carpet for ten minutes, picking up books, reading the back of them, frowning and putting them back. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter. Bérénice was a sweet enough person to appreciate any gift she was given but he still wanted to get it right. It was far too soon to get her jewellery and it felt inappropriate to buy her lingerie. Will was no prude but he'd definitely winced at the notion. He was in a bit of a pickle. They'd missed Valentine's Day; she was stuck at Beauxbatons and he'd been busy talking his brother off a ledge because his girlfriend had broken up with him. Again.

Will was sure things were fine but it was still niggling at him, gnawing at his stomach, making him anxious and guilty and stressed. He really wanted Bérénice to meet his parents. It had to be third time lucky because the last two women he'd brought home, the relationships disintegrated soon after but  Bérénice was different. He must have looked like a right wally, wandering around, smiling to himself but he didn't give a flying fart in space; he was happy and he deserved to be.

Lost in his own thoughts, he continued to pace. The idea of sending her Shakespeare was fleeting because it was just 16th century dick jokes and she deserved better. Was she even familiar with English poetry? Either way, she was sure she'd like it. God, he hoped she'd like it. It was a Dasher family joke that Will usually bolted in relationships. He went too fast, too hard, too much. At the time, he'd been unable to see it but now he was acutely aware because he could not mess this one up. All of the others were merely practice rounds.

Then it clicked. He was so stupid. He knew the perfect book to send.

In a mild frantic panic, his fingers slid across the cracked spines, his eyes flicking back and forth as he read the titles before he plucked one out. He really was a dolt as he'd forgotten all about Lord Byron. Will visibly relaxed as he pulled out the poem and held it to his chest before safe-keeping. It was so obvious. He was going to buy her a copy of She Walks in Beauty and he was mad it had taken him so bloody long. Maybe he could add something else to it but he'd sort that out later. Pleased and thankful, Will turned around and adjusted his coat, tucking the book securely under his arm and stopping suddenly.

"Honey," he announced in mild surprise, his chocolate coloured eyes momentarily wise. He didn't mean to be rude but this was the last place he'd ever expected to see her. He visibly twitched, his legs telling him to run away but he offered her an easy smile as he fought the reaction. "Hello," he offered, his deep voice warm as he decided to stand his ground. He remembered the last time they'd met rather vividly; she'd been out of bonfire toffee and he'd made a tit out of himself.

They hadn't managed to make it through a single conversation in about a year and he didn't know whose fault that was. Hers, maybe. His, probably. It potentially came down to the fact that he'd never been "friends" with someone he'd previously dated. That being said, she did look a little dazed and he recognised the expression; Honey had book fatigue. He smiled again. It was common and was borne from the frustration of not being able to find the correct book to buy. "Do you need some help?" He asked, nodding to the vast shelves. He already felt more comfortable because she was on his turf now. Or perhaps he had someone else to focus on.


@Honey Bea Flume

Honey didn’t really know how to shop for books; or, she knew the basics -- go into a bookshop, pick a book, buy the book -- but not much more than that. She had looked in Hogsmeade without much luck, but then again she didn’t think she’d know what she was looking for even once she found it. She had never shopped for Harlan before; whatever they had done before this hadn’t really warranted gifts with actual thought put into them. She was much better at the creative gifts: handmade chocolates tailored to their personal tastes, coupons for free things she would have done for free anyway, that sort of thing.

She had wandered into the history section apprently, and even the titles were boring her. Pulling one off the shelf at random, Honey flipped through it, shutting it after a few seconds of glazed over staring at small print and zero pictures. It went back on the shelf — almost in the right spot, but just barely off — and she sighed, not totally dramatically but not quietly either. She tried another one, had it open to somewhere near the middle when she turned at the sound of her name.

“Will.” Dasher, that is, though there was no way she would have confused him for anyone else. She didn’t have a very long list of boyfriends, exactly. She hadn’t run into him in Hogsmeade lately, had assumed he was avoiding it out of unbearable politeness; of course she would run into him here, at the one bookstore in Diagon Alley, but he didn’t walk away. Shit. “Hi.”

She closed the book and put it back on the shelf (a very wrong spot this time) without taking her eyes off of him. He had always had such a nice smile — that dimple — and it was no different this time. She smiled back (despite herself?) and nodded. “I—“ she paused; it would be weird for him to help her shop for Harlan, wouldn’t it? She wasn’t going to assume he knew she had seen Harlan while seeing Will, before the whole ‘girlfriend’ thing had happened; she wasn’t about to ask if he knew, either. It would probably be weirder to insist he didn’t help, right? Merlin

“Yeah? If you’re not busy.” It was mid-morning on a Thursday; the shop was closed but other people still had regular working hours. “What did you find?” She nodded toward the book in his hand before she took a step closer to him and held her hand out so she could look for herself. She couldn’t very well buy Harlan something that Will was purchasing for himself — or she could and never mention it, which seemed more likely — but she didn’t want to give him a reason to run away like he did last time.

Unlike the last time he'd seen Honey, he didn't feel uneasy. Well..sort of. Honey always made him feel slightly off-kilter; her eyes were overly bright, she seemed to be able to pre-empt most of his actions and she didn't seem fazed by anything. She looked good and he refused to use the word "healthy" because he wasn't Victorian. Or a terrible human being.

Will's dark eyes shifted from her face to where she'd haphazardly shoved the book and he smiled absently, while fighting his strong inner urge to put it back in the right place. "Hi," he echoed, his smile still in place as he shifted the book to rest in the crook of his elbow as he slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Oh, never too busy," he added gamely before he blinked. "Oh." Duh.

Shifting, he pressed the book into Honey's hand. "Byron. For -- " for whom? He so badly wanted to call  Bérénice his girlfriend but they'd been taking things slow, despite them basically dating anyway.  Which he was happy to do, even if it was slowly driving him mad that he could only spend a couple of hours with her every other weekend while she was in school. Also, he wasn't a lovesick teenager. He liked  Bérénice  , he liked her a lot, so he really needed to lock it down because she wouldn't hang around forever. He needed to pull the trigger but the idea of long distance stressed him out. Then again, he was pretty certain she was worth it.

"Someone special," Will hedged his bets with an easy smile. He wasn't trying to shield Honey, he was trying to protect  Bérénice , defending her honour in her absence or something like that. He didn't know why he didn't come right out and say it because Honey had never been squeamish about sparing his feelings before now. But goodness, when was the last time a man and sent the object of his affections poetry? The 18th century? He frowned now the book was in the redhead's hand and she was given the opportunity to judge him.

"So!" Will said briskly as he clapped his hands together and cleared his throat. "Who are you buying for?" He asked as he stepped around Honey had surveyed the shelves. He supposed books were a lot like flowers; buy the wrong type and you'd get an earful. But he was comfortable here and he didn't mind recommending books, though he was more used to non-fiction.

With his hands in his pockets, the floorboards creaked beneath his weight as  he flicked his eyes back and forth over the various spines. "Everything good?" Will asked casually, looking over his shoulder out of habit. There really wasn't any reason things couldn't be civil. They lived on either end of the country but besides that, he needed to stop being a baby. He wasn't dwelling on it neither was Honey.

Letting her catch up, his long fingers plucked out a book from its place on the shelf and frowned thoughtfully as he turned it over. "A Guide to Insects, third edition?" He called out to her, holding it up in jest. "To bee or not too bee," Will mused quietly as he flicked through it, completely deadpan.

Will handed the book to her and she held it with both hands, looking down at it. Not recognizing the author, Honey turned it over to look for the little plot synopsis but not finding one she turned it back over to look at the author again with no more recognition for the name than the first time she looked at it. Byron, he said; she had figured out that much, at least. He hesitated then, and she looked up from her inspection, eyebrows raised.

Honey returned his smile, mostly happy that he had a someone special but there was that small part of her that thought he would have been hung up on her a bit longer, even if it had been over a year. She looked back at the book and opened it to a random page; near the bottom was the line A heart whose love is innocent!; Honey closed the book softly and handed it back to Will with a, “I’m sure she’ll love it,” more happy for him now that it was more apparent he had found someone more suitable for him. Innocent love; it was sickening, almost.

She watched as he stepped around her, shrugging one shoulder at his question. “My--” brother, she was about to say -- out of habit? She didn’t think she was trying to spare his feelings -- before remembering that he and Fergie were still friendly, or something equally horrible. “Someone special.” He had been vague; she could be, too.

He moved along the bookshelf but Honey didn’t follow immediately; instead she snuck a glance as he walked away, lazily bringing her gaze back up when he looked at her, not wholly embarrassed. “I’m good,” she said, shrugging again. “Work’s busy.” It usually was, but she mentioned it anyway, in case it had slipped his mind since. “You?” She assumed he was good and that his work was busy, too, but she was doing her best to be polite (and give him no reason to run away).

She caught up with him and watched as he repeated her movements from earlier: browse titles, pull a book from the shelf, frown. It wasn’t very productive, but she wasn’t as panicked as she was when she first saw him; leaving wasn’t quite as urgent as it had been at the start. “I’m more partial to the fourth edition.” She wasn’t, but she hadn’t caught what else he had said -- she figured it was something about books she didn’t understand -- and had nothing very helpful to add. Maybe he would like it; it wasn’t like insects had ever come up in any sort of conversation that she had any information to rule the book out, anyway. In all actuality a book was probably a horrible (and horribly cliche) idea for a gift, but Harlan didn’t like sweets so she was floundering a bit.

She stood close -- to get a good look at the book -- frowning a bit at the elaborate illustrations of probosces (a word she saw on the page and decided she couldn’t pronounce). “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she admitted, quieter now that she was crowding his personal space. She stopped short of apologizing; he had agreed to help her despite never seeing her read a book so he had to know what he was getting himself into.

"Ah," Will replied gamely with a smile that made his dimples appear. They were having a parallel conversation but he was able to keep tabs on it. Honey had someone special and he didn't begrudge her, in fact, he was oddly relieved. He wasn't the type of person who did mad things for love - he wouldn't start a brawl and he definitely wouldn't crash a wedding - but Honey was the type of woman who incited those types of reactions. She was a bona fide goddess.

Will absolutely believed that Honey was "good" as he nodded along comfortably. "I'm well," he replied in truth. "Dad has finally decided to retire," he added with an easy smile. His parents had really liked Honey, so he didn't feel guilty mentioning them. "So, Write Hand Press is finally mine. I still think they made the wrong decision," he joked in a self-deprecating sort of way. He paced the shelves, stopping every so often as he affectionately stroked the spine of a book with his forefinger.

She preferred the fourth edition and he offered her a grin and a sage nod. "Excellent choice," he mused, looking up at her briefly as she came closer. Will noticed she smelled a little differently than he remembered. Honey used to smell like vanilla and a little zing of lemon but as she crowded him, there was something deeper in her scent - probably her new boyfriend's aftershave or something. It caught him off-guard but it disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

"Books are tough," he sympathised. "They're kind of like buying flowers. There are so many options." One wrong choice and it was game over. He'd made the mistake of buying an ex-girlfriend yellow roses once upon a time, only to find out that those were the types of flowers people bought their grandmothers. How was he supposed to now? With one glance of a diagram detailing the colours of a rare butterfly's wing, he closed it and placed it back on the shelf.

"Maybe a book isn't the right thing to get?" Will ventured gently in a way that he hoped wouldn't spook Honey. She might not read but she was in a book shop so miracles did happen. William definitely was not the person to ask when purchasing exciting gifts. He was thirty going on sixty. He liked comfy jumpers, whiskey and a log fire. He was well past going clubbing (he referred to it as a "disco" once and his sister crucified him for it) but he was a little bit out of touch with the young folk.

"What about a travel guide?" Will finally offered, nodding his head to a shelf not far behind Honey. "Pick a place you'd like to go and find a guide. If he's smart, he'll offer to take you there," he added with a smile, slipping a hand into his pocket. "Best case scenario, a holiday. Worst case scenario, some ideas for dinner," he chuckled. "Failing that, a cashmere scarf. That's always a winner."

“Oh, congrats, Will.” She remembered his grandfather stepping back a year ago; now his father had, too, and he could own his business outright. If his dad was anything like hers (and he was, she had met him) then he’d still interfere as much as he possibly could, but having the business officially was nothing short of an accomplishment. Honey smiled; they had ‘the family business’ in common, if nothing else. “Seems like a good decision to me,” she added with a small shrug.

Books were tough, he said. She nodded; she had figured that much out for herself. “Guess it’s good I decided not to buy him flowers,” she offered with a grin. Buying Harlan flowers had never crossed her mind, and it probably wouldn’t ever again. They weren’t a gift-giving couple, not really, but it was Harlan’s birthday coming up and she had ended up in a bookstore trying to play the part of a good girlfriend.

“Maybe,” she repeated after him, sure that a book was the only thing because she hadn’t been able to think of any other ideas. She glanced along the shelves, figuring she still had a few hours before she needed to be back in Hogsmeade; that should be plenty of time to find something.

Honey turned to look where Will was motioning toward. Back still turned, she grimaced, listening to him explain his suggestion. She thought he was kidding; she gave off a ‘busy-busy-busy no time for breaks’ kind of vibe, and it hadn’t been any different when they were dating. It took her another second to remember that Will had taken her to Florence without any notice, which more or less hinted to travel guides being a serious suggestion. “I’m not really a holiday type,” she said, expression as neutral as she could manage. She and Harlan left town with shocking frequency, but that was to be literally anywhere else than London or Hogsmeade; they weren’t going anywhere for the sights.

A scarf was an even worse suggestion, but she kept her opinion to herself (for once), still not wanting to give Will the reason to run away. “My sheep-shearing family would riot if I bought cashmere,” she said instead, and it wasn’t far from the truth. The Strouds (and the rest of her relations, really) had made plenty of arguments against cashmere, an apparently substandard goat wool.

“I can figure it out,” she said after a beat, assuming he was suggesting dinner and scarves instead of books -- the thing he had offered just minutes ago to help her find -- because he was ready to leave. She didn’t have many (or any) other publisher ex-boyfriends she could ask for advice, which was probably for the best; she’d find a book and she’d find it on her own and if it was terrible, then so bet it. Her backup birthday present could (and would) always be her in her birthday suit.

This wasn’t the most awkward encounter they had had in recent memory, however, and Honey was wary to cut it short so soon; she didn’t think it would bode well for the next time, if there ever was one. “Do you want to get a coffee?” She thought she might have owed him one, anyway.

Will smiled quickly. "Thanks." It wasn't the path he'd ever envisaged himself travelling down, it just sort of...happened. But wasn't that the family business sort of thing? All thoughts of him being a rockstar chef had been extinguished but he was happy. Mostly. He was about to say to Honey that she could drop by anytime but he always thought his job was one of the catalysts to them breaking up in the first place - he was boring.

She grinned and he laughed, shrugging quickly. "I like flowers," he offered gamely but he felt as though he'd missed the point. Will was able to chat about Honey's new guy without feeling wildly uncomfortable but he seemed like he was the complete polar opposite of him. He wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. He glanced at her quickly before he cleared his throat. He had a bad habit of over analyzing things, like a tongue seeking out a sore tooth or picking at a scab. Unhelpful and unhealthy, really.

"I remember." Will's tone of voice was neither accusing or wistful, it sort of straddled the two. In a bid to be more spontaneous (it was horrific), he'd taken her to Florence. Without any warning. It was no wonder she was confused and a little bit mad. He reached out and picked up a guide book to Spain and weighed up his options. It was almost summer. He was a bit too old for family holidays now but he figured they could all have a trip away.

He winced. "Christ," he snorted as Honey revealed a scarf to be the eighth deadly sin. "I'm just going to keep digging myself a hole," he added lightly. "How is Fergie?" Will added as he cradled the Spanish guide in the crook of his elbow as he frowned at the poetry book he was also holding. He hadn't seen her brother in a few months and he had no idea what the younger man was up to lately. As far as a pair of siblings went, they seemed to be split directly down the middle. Honey was creative and vivacious. Fergie had his head screwed on properly. They worked well as a team,

"The Bell Jar," Will announced suddenly as he held out a copy of the book for Honey to take. "You should buy him that." Quickly, he placed the poetry book back on the shelf, having a change of heart because he was too soft. No one bought poetry. Though, Arkadiy's anthology had been a roaring success he had not seen coming. He should probably buy a normal gift. Like lingerie.  "I'm just going to get this," he announced as he strode over to the counter to purchase the guide which was wrapped in brown paper and he turned back to face her.

A coffee sounded innocuous and he offered Honey a wry smile as he remembered the last time he'd bought her a coffee. Will couldn't apologise enough. He misread the signs. Honey was a busy young woman and spontaneity wasn't always as romantic as people made it out to be.

"I'd love to," he said brightly. "Do you know a place?" Will held the door open for Honey and followed as she stepped out. It was actually very sweet that she was being so patient with him. Had the shoe been on the other foot, he didn't think he'd be willing to have a conversation with him.  "So," he began as he adjusted his glasses. "Your new man." He glanced sideways at her before he offered her a gentle smile. "Things are going well?"

Honey opened her mouth to say something when he picked up the guide to travels in Spain, but closed it again after another second. They’d gone to Majorca at Christmas to meet her parents and they had loved him and it had been fine but it was probably the beginning of the end for them; it had been months of dating but it still felt like too much too soon and she hadn’t been willing to try. She didn’t think she should bring it up, nothing more than, “Spain’s nice,” with a nod toward the book.

There was a joke there somewhere — something about holes — but it wasn’t the time (he’d just asked about her brother) or the place (the bookstore was certainly not the vibe she was looking for). She smiled instead, shrugged lightly. He had survived her parents but she couldn’t imagine him with her extended family, not really.

“Fergie’s good.” Honey touched a random book with her fingers, doing her best attempt at looking interested in what it was. “Just moved back to London.” She glanced up, wondering if she had mentioned Fergie living with her the last time they had seen each other; she didn’t remember much about that encounter besides how poorly it ended. “Think he’s happy to spend some time away from me,” she finished with a smile.

She looked at the book she was handed, not missing how he passed it off without brushing her fingers with his; she’d never heard of it (not surprising) but she managed to not ask about it. “Right.” She looked at the cover a little closer. “Sure he loves Sylvia Plaith,” she said, mispronouncing the name with a nod. She followed him to the counter, made her purchase when he was done. (She thought she could ask Fergie if he’d heard of the book; she could always return it if it was the wrong thing to get.)

Did she know a place? “Not really,” she said with a shrug. She put enough sugar in her coffee that it lost enough of its distinct flavor; basically, she wasn’t picky when it came to her choice of café. “I usually just pick whatever has the best decorations.” The place with the most pink, usually. She followed him out onto the street and started walking toward the Leaky Cauldron and out of Diagon Alley— there’d be more options outside, anyway.

He brought up her new man — that hadn’t taken long — and she glanced sideways at him, returning his smile after a second or two. “I think so.” Well enough for her, anyway. “But you know how it is, don’t know a good thing ‘til it’s gone,” she said with a smirk and a nudge to his arm with her elbow. Of course, she had been aware of the good thing — Will — when he was there and she had ruined it anyway, but that was beside the point (and not as good a conversation starter).

Honey shrugged, went on. “It’s only been a couple months.” Officially, anyway. Unofficially, there’d been some overlap but— Will’d ask if he really wanted to know, she told herself. “What about you?” She looked down to step around a puddle but looked back over quickly. “Is this the same someone special from before?” The one he left to go find after kissing her last year, though she decided to leave that part out.

Will nodded as Honey spoke of Fergie being "good". Then again, the Scotsman was the type to always land on his feet, a quality the publisher had always been oddly jealous of. He laughed quickly. "Nah," he said evenly. "I'm sure that's not the case at all," he told Honey carefully. She mentioned him moving back to London and his brain clicked into gear. He was vaguely aware of Fergie moving back up north after her incident with the newspaper and he scratched the back of his head anxiously. "Must be nice to get your own space back."

The mispronunciation of the author's name made him smile quickly. The word "cute" wasn't often attributed to Honey. Words like confident, carefree, sexy were but that was pretty endearing. "I'm a bad gift giver," Will responded with a wry smile with poor Honey being on the receiving end of some of his presents. The only time he'd ever really gotten it right was when he'd given her that jumper - and that was supposed to be a gag gift.

"How about there?" Will offered, nodding towards a lopsided tea shop with flowers festooning the window. He caught sight of it as they walked, one hand in his trouser pocket as their pace was leisurely. "Not sure if it's a florist or a coffee shop," he mused. Swags of heavy purple wisteria covered the door and ran along the frame of the window, the smell heady and sweet. It was kind of pleasing, if he enjoyed the old English aesthetic that so many people often got wrong (he did) There were a few white tables outside and music that he didn't recognise caught on the breeze. Folksy and warm.

"That's great," Will told Honey swiftly and he didn't begrudge saying it. It had taken him some time before he finally checked his own vibes and realised that he wasn't what Honey wanted - and that was perfectly fine. At her nudge, he looked down and rolled his dark eyes in jest. "You're not the first person to tell me that," he joked with a smile, both relieved and instantly on his guard that joking about their past relationship seemed much easier now. "Likewise, of course," he added, bumping her with his hip before suddenly realising that he'd never done that to anyone before and instantly felt daft. Awkward.

"Ah young love," Will replied with a wistful sigh, chuckling as he looked up at the sky absently. He really did want to tell Honey that he was completely fine with her dating someone else but he didn't know how to express that without looking like he wasn't. A voice niggled at the back of her head, making him ask her what he was like. Was he taller than him? More handsome? Broader? Funnier? It was a problem he assumed a lot of people had, comparing an ex's new partner to themselves, but he took comfort in the fact that he was probably a lot smarter.

As Honey side stepped a puddle, Will held out a hand, just touching the underside of her wrist for support before he shrugged. "She's lovely." Lovely was a filler word but Berenice was lovely. It wasn't an insult. "She's a teacher at Beauxbatons. Things are good." On the word good, Will paused for a fraction of a second, just enough for doubt to trickle in. He couldn't have been the only one to notice that they seemed to be drifting and that her excitement wasn't the same as it had been when they saw each other.

He smiled at Honey regardless. "Long distance," he added, as though that explained things. "It's a bit of a ball ache," Will added with a sigh as he adjusted his glasses quickly. He just didn't want to be part of another case of history repeating itself. Imagine, two girlfriends leaving him because he was too boring.

"Sorry about that," he said gently, looking genuinely remorseful about running out on Honey some months previously. It still bugged him. He should not have dropped in and he definitely should not have kissed her like his life was depending on it.  "I was trying out spontaneity. Remind me to never do that again," he grinned at her with a shake of his head. Honey sent mixed signals but he couldn't say he'd done any better. While he said he was sorry, he wasn't sure he meant it. Arriving at the cafe, he held open the door for her, brushing a fat sprig of wisteria out of the way as a bell chimed to announce their arrival.

"I'm definitely punching above my weight," Will said fondly as he smiled and glanced at her quickly. "Then again, I always do. Here we go," he announced as he dropped into a chair, folding the menu over in his hands and toying with the idea of ordering cake. "But it's your thirtieth this year, isn't it?" He grinned at her, eyes lighting up. "What's the plan for it?"

She smiled sideways at him at his need to help her around the puddle; he’d always been helpful (and she didn’t find it overbearing now) and she’d never mind his light touches. She smiled again as he called her -- his special someone -- lovely. Not that Honey was comparing herself to anyone, but she didn’t think the same could be said about her. Honeydukes was lovely, not Honey.

Again paying attention to where she was going, Honey nodded, chanced a glance over. “Wow, really?” That suited, really, Will dating a teacher. Smart was the descriptor she was avoiding, because it carried the smarter than Honey comparison she wasn’t bothering with. “That’s good,” she added with a smile and half a second of eye contact before she looked back ahead.

She laughed -- ball ache -- and nodded -- long distance. It was rough, and she thought she could sympathize, though Hogsmeade-to-London wasn’t all that terrible a distance -- she could apparate, at least -- but it’d been ages since she’d dated around her village. That’d been convenient, at any rate. “At least you can get out of London every once in a while,” she added, rather unhelpfully.

He apologized for kissing her -- spontaneity, he called it -- and she shrugged it off. “I didn’t mind it,” she said, half truthfully. She had minded at the time of course, thinking it meant something else completely, finding herself more than disappointed when he let on what it was really about. Still, she couldn’t say she had disliked kissing him, whatever the reason. She offered him a look halfway between a smirk and a genuine smile as he held the door open for her, her fingers brushing against his palm as they reached for the same branch to push out of the way.

“Do you?” Honey followed him to a table, a cozy little number that wouldn’t have enough room for coffees if they decided to rest their elbows on it, and sat down across from him setting her purchased book on the window sill, turning the menu over as he did the same. “Don’t remind me,” she said, still looking at her menu but rolling her eyes all the same. She grinned, glanced up. “I haven’t thought about it much.” What she was doing; she thought about turning thirty constantly. Her mum had ‘gifted’ her with vitamins for ‘feminine health’ -- fertility? -- for Christmas when she and Will had been dating; she didn’t want to imagine what she’d come up with now that her clock was tick ticking away.

But Honey remembered Will’s thirtieth, anyway-- or the night of, back at his place. They hadn’t been properly dating then and she’d worked through the more official birthday dinner and drink with friends but she had made time after. She smirked, caught herself and added (to not betray her exact train of thought), “Party, maybe.” Just after the end-of-school-year rush, as usual, and conveniently just after the quidditch playoffs, too.

The waitress appeared then and Honey ordered a mocha -- extra whip -- and a slice of lemon cake, smiled toward Will again as they were left alone. She’d have to admit that she hadn’t expected this to turn out quite like this when they had first bumped into each other; civil; friendly, even. “I’ll have to let you know,” she continued. “The party,” she clarified with a smile, almost sure that inviting him -- with or without his girlfriend -- to a hypothetical (as of now) party that Harlan would also be at -- never mind that it was months in advance and she didn’t love thinking about her relationship’s future -- was a horrible idea.

“You’ve got a birthday in a couple months, though,” she said, steering them away from her getting older. “Has your mum met the new hen?” She asked, not tangentially she thought; his birthday dinner could feasibly involve his girlfriend and parents, if it was anything as low key as she imagined.

On paper, Bérénice was a much better fit for him. They liked similar things, like jazz music and art galleries. They got along well and they had a similar sort of humour. And she was very smart. But he didn't excite her, he didn't excite...anyone. Not her, not Honey, not really any of his employees. Will thought he was a nice guy but what did they always say? Nice guys finish last. They caught each other's eye briefly and he smiled back, knowing that the redhead was trying and that was all that mattered.

Will laughed quickly before he scratched the bridge of his nose. "I love London," he told Honey gently as he heaved a heavy laden sigh. "I think that's part of the problem." William wasn't really a cosmopolitan kind of bloke. He liked the city. He liked the noise, the business, the people, the food, he just...didn't like her city. And she didn't like his. Her visits to London had tapered off rather drastically. Realistically, Will did have more freedom with his job than Bérénice had with hers but it was a two-way street. When push came to shove, he didn't think he'd be able to leave her home for her.

Two spots of colour formed high on his cheek as Honey's hand touched his but he managed not to panic, the touch was soft and non-invasive. It felt nice but that wasn't really the point. The point was that they were friends now, a huge improvement from the last couple of times where he'd torpedoed things. "Me neither," he added with a quick smile. He did still feel bad about it and his conscience was a little bit clearer since he'd apologised. Sort of. Honey wasn't daft, she knew he still fancied her a little.

Honey's question caught him off-guard and he blinked his big dark eyes in mild surprise. He parted his lips to say he'd been punching above his weight with her but what would that achieve? He decided to let it slide as he cleared his throat and read the menu.

"Oh, come off it," he grinned back as Honey explained that she'd not been planning anything. He liked the look of that cherry bakewell tart before he was distracted. "Oh fantastic," he said quickly as the mention of a party. It would definitely be fun, he assumed Honey had lots of interesting friends. If he was invited, he'd at least have her parents to talk to. He missed them.

He added to Honey's order by choosing the bakewell tart and a cup of tea, offering the waitress a smile before his eyes flicked back to Honey's face. "Oh wow, thanks," the tall man replied, surprised, before offering her a dimpled grin. "I'll clear my diary," he joked, knowing damned well that he would be completely free every evening forever. "I promise I won't try to kickstart a Trivial Pursuit tournament," he added lightly because that had only happened once.

"Oooh," Will winced as the subject of birthdays was flipped around, causing him to wrinkle his nose. "I definitely don't have anything planned," he breezed on. He did feel old and he believed that he was on the wrong side of thirty now. If anything, it would probably be dinner and drinks. Arden would probably be away, tracking mooncalfs and travelling the world. Elijah, if he was coming, would turn up late. In fact, he'd rather just go to the pub.

"She likes her," Will told Honey with a smile. Not as much as she liked you, was on the tip of his tongue but what was that going to prove? It had taken months for his parents to stop mentioning Honey's name in conversation. The confectioner slotted so easily in with the Dashers, it was difficult letting her go. Their cakes arrived and Will added too much sugar into his tea by accident and heaved a heavy, forlorn sigh, because there was nothing more terrible than ruining a cup of tea.

"I don't think she's keen on me, though," he added with a wry smile. Mrs. Bonaccord had never been rude to him and maybe it was all in his head but she kept their interactions brief. He cut into his cake with a fork and took a small bite, turning the plate around and offering Honey a piece of it to try. "It's fine, though," Will added quickly in case Honey started to become concerned.  "She keeps calling me William. It's unnerving," he joked before he pulled a grimace to show he was kidding. No matter what he did, he just couldn't measure up to Bérénice's ex-fiancee.

Honey smiled, looking from Will’s dimpled grin to the rest of his face. “Squeeze me in,” she said, smirking a little. Again, she didn’t think that having Will at any sort of function with Harlan was a good idea but she could figure out how to avoid the real invite later.

“Pity.” The lack of birthday plans. “Somebody should buy you a drink, at least.” Honey stopped short of offering to buy him one herself, silently congratulated herself for knowing where to draw the line.

He went on about his mum and his girlfriend; she liked her. Honey smiled, nearly sincerely happy that he had been able to move on from her, that his mum liked her, too. She nodded along, stopping to thank the waitress as their drinks and cakes were delivered. “Oh really?” Honey set her mocha down and licked her upper lip clean of the whipped cream. “She’s missing out.” She assumed he meant her mum, but wasn’t that a mother-in-law sort of cliche anyway? He was just getting a head start on it before anything was official.

She tried her cake — good, not great — as Will continued, eyebrows raised to show she was still listening and agreeing with how unnerving that must be, jokes aside. She set her fork down and tested it out-- “William--” didn’t love how it felt on her tongue. She nudged her cake plate towards him, returning the favor before swiping a bit of his tart with her fork. “I like this better than the raspberry sort,” she said after a minute, turning the plate back towards him. Bakewells weren’t sweet enough, usually, but the cherry jam in this one made all the difference.

Honey retraced her thoughts a couple steps. “Still, it’s not as bad as Beatrix.” She rolled her eyes and set her fork down, pulling her coffee in front of her. She said it again for proper effect: “William.” She didn’t understand the need for full names like that, or how some people (women) thought using them was more intimate than nicknames-- Honey smiled, hoped he knew she wasn’t trying to poke fun at him, or his girlfriend. “I think Will suits you more,” she said, nodding once before taking another bite of her cake.

"With pleasure," he added lightly and with a quick smile. By nature, Will wasn't really a very flirty person. He'd been flirted with plenty of times but he didn't really get it until it was too late. With Honey though, things were different. He shrugged quickly. "I'll squeeze you in, then," he joked about the drink, catching her eye and then looking away with a snort.

Honey drank her coffee and Will smiled absent-mindedly. "It's fine," he said again when it was anything but. Mrs. Bonaccord was like that with everyone, or so his girlfriend said. As true as that may be, it didn't really make things any more pleasant. Will was at the strange sort of time in his life where he felt like he needed to settle down. He was almost thirty one now and he hadn't missed the knowing looks of loved up couples with babies. Should he get married? Did he want to get married?

He chanced a sip at his tea and instantly wished he hadn't as he grimaced when he swallowed. He was too polite to ask for another cup because he'd ruined it. "Ooh thanks," with that, he dug into Honey's lemon slice and chewed, nodding in approval before frowning when the redhead said his full name. She didn't like the sound of it and he didn't like her saying it. "Have some more," he offered her as he nodded to his plate, interested by her assessment. Honey was a talented chocolatier but had she ever considered baking, too?

His big dark eyes widened in surprise. "You don't like it?" Will asked with a grin as he went back to removing the crust off his tart. "You wouldn't want to go by Trixie?" He asked, an eyebrow arched before he laughed - that didn't suit her, either. He neglected to tell her that his mother had thought Honey was a prostitute for a little while before he finally managed to convince her that that was, indeed, her name.

He looked up at her quickly and most of his panic was assuaged. He'd realised a long time ago that he wasn't what Honey wanted but that didn't mean she didn't like him. Her approval and validation seemed suddenly important. "I agree," he added with a smile as he poked his tart around his plate.

But this was nice, sitting here with her in a bustling coffee shop. He'd apologised for his previous behaviour but he wasn't sure if Honey knew how sorry he was. Having her - having anyone - in his corner was something he couldn't afford to lose. Plus, he was happy for her that she was dating someone, even for a short time. Will had no doubt that she'd move on but it sort of put his unease to rest. It was like they'd almost come full circle.

Will drank his tea and tried not to pull a face again. "What're you up to for the rest of the afternoon?" He asked, interested. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to help Honey find a gift for her boyfriend but the problem was twofold; one, he was shit at gift giving and two, it was a little bit masochistic.

She hesitated as he offered another bite of his tart, as if she were seriously considering not having another. She had another after another second, then pushed the plate firmly back onto his side of the tiny table.

“Merlin, no.” She glanced sideways to gauge how loud she was talking; no one was paying them any attention so she looked back to Will with a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t.” She tolerated Trixie from one person once, and ‘tolerated’ might have been an exaggeration even then. She’d insist on Honey as long as she had breath. Will laughed and so did Honey, realizing a little too late that this might be weird for them now, to be almost friendly, considering the last few times they had seen each other. It was nice, though.

Honey finished off her cake — without offering Will another bite — and pulled her coffee close again. “The usual.” Running errands, making deliveries, general wandering in the morning until she had somewhere she actually needed to be. “Open the shop in a bit,” she added with a nod before taking a sip of her coffee. Will moved his tea toward his lips again and Honey glanced at his wrist, doing her best to read his watch upside down. It took her a couple seconds (and a little lean in to get a better look) but she got it figured out: it was nearly one.

She set her coffee down with a slight slosh. “Fuck, is that the right time?” She cared less now if she was being too loud, too focused on trying to figure out how long it’d take her to get back to Hogsmeade and ready the shop to open in the nine minutes she had to spare. “I’m so sorry I—“ Honey pushed her chair back, flustered. “I don’t want to be late with the shop.” She paused, halfway out of her seat, and leaned across the table again, this time to kiss Will’s cheek; in her hurry she might have grazed the corner of his mouth; she’d worry about that later.

She straightened up and found (what she thought was) enough money at the bottom of her bag, sticking the notes under the edge of her plate. She looked back to Will, comfortingly calm despite her frazzle. “Thanks, for the book—“ which she grabbed, “—and getting coffee and not storming off.” She stopped and grinned, her free hand on the back of her chair. “This is not me storming off, by the way.” Her grin softened into more of a genuine smile as she turned to leave, offering a final, “See you,” as she headed toward the door.

[[ out ]]