thirty-four | a toast to new beginnings

TONIGHT WAS A NIGHT OF CELEBRATION—FOR A PLETHORA OF WINS BUT MASKED UNDER SIMPLY THE FACT THAT DIONNE HAD FINALLY LEFT THAT JOB. At first, when the realisation had properly hit her, it had felt a little bittersweet to be pulling out of that parking garage for the last time ever. For a job that she'd always planned on being a stepping down, she'd gotten a little attached (as much as she hates to admit it). If not for the rooms this door had got her inside of, she'd not have had Patrick Carrigan waiting at home for her. As much as she'd been against making friends with colleagues, Korra had weaselled her way into a special place in Dionne's heart. With a tearful goodbye as the brunette cleared her desk of any of her possessions, Korra had made her promise to keep in touch.

She'd say in her car for a lot longer then she'd meant to when she finally got home, just trying to take it all in. Dionne had texted Patty what happened immediately and she remembered him sending a string of reassuring replies that everything would work out. God, she hoped he was right.

Now, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror wrapped in the fabric of a pretty skirt and a sheer top with her hair done up all nice. Makeup products were sprawled messily across her vanity under the promise to herself that she'd organise it all in the morning (she most likely wouldn't, if she was being honest here).

On the other side of that door sat Patty, waiting sprawled out on her bed dressed in a crisp button up and slightly too-tight dress pants (it's like he tried to torment her dirty mind on purpose). His hair would be nearly parted down the middle, flowing behind his ears in the way she'd grown to love.

She stared down her reflection, trying to repress the panic that had been bubbling up ever since that elevator closed on her for the last time. Again, tonight was supposed to be a celebration. And sure, she was happy (or maybe she should say relieved) to be moving on to better things—the uncertainty of how those 'better things' would play out was eating up space in her mind.

"You right in there?" He called, voice reverberating through the wall. The sound broke her out of her thought prison.

She almost went to not in respond before remembering he could not see her—instead, she emerged through the bathroom door and smiled at him. Dionne couldn't help but feel her stomach be overrun with butterflies at the way his pupils grew when she stepped out. Back turned to him, she dug through her messy shoe-rack for a matching set of heels. "So, where exactly are you taking me?" She asked, for what had to be the hundredth time since he'd told her he was taking her out.

Patty, from the bed, just smirked up at her as he relished in her beauty before him. "I told you," he repeated verbatim what he'd been saying every-time she asked, "I'm not ruining the surprise."

Dionne threw her head back as she spun around to face him, feet comfortably slipped into the highest pair of heels she owned. Even in heels, when he pulled himself off the bed and stood before her he still towered over her slender frame. Still, her added height made his lips easier to access. "Maybe just one clue?" She offered, reaching up to smoothen his collar.

Patty laughed at her determination. "No," he mumbled, bending down to plant a kiss right beside her lips.

She groaned as he stepped past her, in search of his own dress shoes. "Come on," he said, a smile still adorned his lips as he reached out for her hand. "Can't be late."

Huffing at his unwillingness to spare any details, she took his hand and followed him out into the hall. Anticipation building in her stomach as their first real date approached (not that he'd used those words when he pitched it to her). The realisation almost made her falter as they neared the elevator—was this a date? Or was she being presumptuous by assuming it was one?

Patty seemed to notice her shift in energy (it could've had something to do with the way her grip tightened out of anxiousness) and he sent her a confused look. "Is everything alright?"

"Is this a date?" She blurted out, making him falter at the elevator buttons. She hadn't meant for the words to come barrelling out in such an awkward way but all she could do now was stare at her feet and wait for him to say something that would hopefully put her mind at ease (or not).

He reached out for her, tilting her chin upwards so their eyes were locked. "I'd want nothing more then it to be a date—I thought it was assumed that this was one," he told her, eyes soft as he gazed upon her. His stare always made her knees feel like they were made of jelly, ready to buckle under her weight at any second.

She smiled at him as the elevator dinged at them, urging them to climb inside.

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IT HAD BEEN SO LONG SINCE SOMEONE HAD TAKEN HER SOMEWHERE NICE, THAT SHE'D FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH SHE APPRECIATED A NICE RESTAURANT. She'd most definitely forgotten what it felt like to be, for lack of better word, spoilt. With an array of exes who'd given up any effort after the three month rule, she prayed Patty Carrigan would be the exception.

Harmonic music played over the speakers, that of some symphony performing a rendition of a classic melody she couldn't quite remember the name of. The smell of deliciously fresh Italian food filled every crevice of her nose—the aroma enraptured her and she couldn't wait for her dish to arrive. There wasn't much noise; with the room being so sparsely occupied and everyone so spread out, she could hear the clatter of knives and forks against plates very clearly over the music. A quiet restaurant isn't something she'd realised she needed until she'd been seated by the French waitress. With so many of their meetings being inside loud clubs, it'd been nice to sit in front of Patty at a table with a pristine table cloth and non-alcoholic beverages.

Words simply wouldn't stop pouring from either of their mouths—from silly childhood stories to insane fan interactions, Patty wasn't sparing her from any detail of his life. She loved the way he would tell stories, making her feel as if she'd been right there next to him. Their brief stint as 'just friends' (before the whole blocking situation) hadn't given her nearly enough time to learn the ins and outs of what made him tick. Especially because for most of that time, they were too focused on dancing around the obvious tension between them.

"You look gorgeous tonight," he said after their meals had been delivered, reaching across the table for her hand which she gladly gave him. "I know I already said that but I wanted to remind you."

She couldn't help but bat her eyelashes at him, staring bashfully down at her plate of carbonara. "What happened to the Patty who constantly tried to antagonise me at every given opportunity, hm?" She said, looking up at him to smirk.

He shook his head, a faint laugh escaping him. "Would you rather I keep calling you out aggressively on Instagram?"

"It sure did keep things interesting," she replied, thinking back to the not-so-subtle references he'd made to her under his photos. It was a wonder it took Timothee as long as it did to fully catch on to what was building between the pair.

"Ah, yes," he hummed, "I sure do miss Jordan sending whatever click-baity article you'd written about me to the group-chat."

"You loved the attention," she muttered, smiling as she took a loud sip of her lemonade. "And by the way, I never click-baited."

Patty rolled his eyes playfully, which earned him a kick from under the table. "Sure, sure," he grunted, reaching down to rub away the indent her pointed shoe had left on his shin. "Went from abusing me online to in person, do better Stanley."

She laughed, a hearty laugh at that. She'd not realised it until they were on good terms but he brought out the little kid still trapped in her. In ways none of her exes had quite been able to penetrate her tough exterior. Something about being around Patty made her feel like a little girl again—it allowed her to let lose and show off her immature side. "Hey, you deserve it," she told him, giggling to herself at the way he playfully glared at her (though she could tell he was biting back a smirk).

This nicely transitioned them into tearing into their food—with a constant interlude of Dionne moaning about how delicious it tasted. "How did you know I love Italian food?" She inquired, twirling her fork through the stringy pasta. "I don't think I've ever mentioned that to you."

Patty shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Lucky guess?"

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she studied him. "You've been talking to my sister, haven't you?"

"Can't a man just make a great guess at where to eat?" He retorted dramatically, huffing loudly to really sell it.

Dionne shook her head. "I know it was suspicious that she kept asking about you when I hadn't mentioned you to her in ages."

"You talk to your sister about me?" He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly pleaser with him.

"I think you talk to my sister about me," she retorted, shovelling a big mouthful of white pasta into her mouth.

Patty raised his hands. "I cannot confirm nor deny."

"Oh, so now you're media trained," she said sardonically, a playful glint in her eyes.

Patty scoffed, staring back down at his own food. He couldn't believe they'd finally made it to the dinner he'd been wanting to take her on since that night in Vegas. Here they were; no complications or drama, just two people enjoying each others company and a meal. And not only that, he got to take her home later and enjoy her some more—what else could a man want (besides a Premiership, he supposed).

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💌 KARLA YAPS !

say it with me 2 more chapters + the epilogue are left (ahhhhhh)

it's midnight so it technically counts as daily updates & i like waking up to notifications. you're welcome for a peaceful chapter for once lol <333