It's a rainy dreary day, even though it's spring, and supposed to be nice. It isn't. So to cope with the overcast oppresive gloom, Becca has decided an outting is in order.

The little cafe she's chosen not only has the best soups of the day, but a mighty tasty selection of desserts, sunshine on a plate if she can't conjure any outdoors today.

She's sitting with her laptop catching up on invoices from her shop while enjoying soup, a sandwich, and whatever sweet will soon strike her fancy. Still it's gloomy, it's sort of drifting in on the other patrons, like a clingy rainy mood residue.

She has something for that, well perhaps for one person any way. She calls over the waiter and tells him, that she'd like to pay for the meal of the next person who comes in.

Rain is absolutely miserable.

If it were up to James, it would be the perpetual inclination of clouds to water the world with an intangible form of osmosis. Either that or they should travel underground. Such methods of hydration are better for everyone involved, really.

In actuality, he's only sore because he didn't bring his umbrella. Or his coat. Or wear the right shoes. Now James' wonderfully green pumas are soaked to the core and some god is damn lucky that he treated the leather last week or they'd be conjuring him up a new pair. Or something. Whatever it is gods do. The point is that James should have checked the weather before leaving the apartment this morning.

His green striped Polo is sticking to his chest and his slightly baggy jeans are riding lower than he prefers and he feels like he's hiking them up every three seconds. Poor James would look light a drowned rat if his hair were longer and hydrophilic.

He pulls open the door to the cafe, completely thankful for the shelter and what's likely to be a great meal. He's a few minutes earlier than he and his uncle planned to meet, but that's probably because he sprinted halfway here. But just as his foot is about to cross the threshold, a gaggle of vally girls approach from behind. So James steps back and flashes them a bright smile while he holds the door open, seizing the opportunity to flirt shamelessly. They don't seem to mind. Their giggles and smiles are rather vapid so he's sure to get one of their numbers.

He returns their shy waves and goes to sit in his own booth so that they can glance at him from across the establishment. His shoes squelch on the way.

Checking the time on his cell phone, James drapes his dark arms over the back of the booth and orders a sandwich, soup, and water. His uncle better not stand him up.

And we have a winner. Becca has been intermittently watching the door. The lucky recipient of lunch for one today, looks wet. At least the fellow can get warm and dry in here, hopefully while enjoying something to eat.

She goes back to what to she was doing on her laptop now that she knows who she's buying lunch for. There is a missing invoice for rose quartz, so she goes back into her email to hunt it down. It was an attachement. She hopes she didn't delete that.

The waiter comes back to check on her, and also to ask if she wishes to be anonymous, or may he tell the young man who bought him lunch. She tells the waiter to use his own descretion.

I'm sorry to say that the waiter has ulterior motives. He's somewhat of a ladies' man himself. Not too young, on the cusp of being just shy of too old, and he could see the way those valley girls were eying the newcomer. It would suit his purposes much better if James suddenly seemed to lose interest.

Thus: "Excuse me, sir, the young woman over there wishes to pay for your meal."

James lifts an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth. "Really?" His eyes glide over to the woman indicated by the waiter.

She's a little bit older than the girls he came in with, James can spot the beginnings of grey on her temples. To tell the truth, he's a little disappointed. Not because of her implied age--he's met his fair share of cougars--but because she doesn't seem to be interested at all.

Maybe people really are capable of just being nice...

If she looks up, James'll wave with a nice smile. He is grateful, after all.

"Tell her thanks," he says to the waiter, who also smiles. Those girls are sure to see the interaction. Mission accomplished.

Becca does look up to see how the waiter handles it, and at the appropriate time she does give a little wave. She has no way of knowing she's just been the waiter's unwitting pawn. If she did know, she might hex the waiter with bad breath for a month, because she would think he's sort of mean.

Is there a reason James' uncle keeps forgetting their lunch dates? Not that James blames him. After all, on a day like this the water is really the best place to be but it would have been nice if the young man had known his uncle was going to skip out. He'd have gone too. At the moment, James is feeling the lack of his skin at his side. If he wants to join his family in the sea he'll have to trek all the way back to his apartment to get it. Rotten luck.

Oh well.

You know, eating alone is never fun...but James isn't pretentious enough to sit down and assume it's ok to eat his food with the woman. After about ten minutes of his uncle being a no-show, the selkie gets a to-go box. He checks his phone and mentally checks the public transit schedule. He's got time.

"Thanks for lunch," he stops briefly on his way out. The way he's standing is very good at avoiding awkward transitions. If they end up having a conversation he can very easily move to a sitting position. If it's a quick, "thanks-you're-welcome-good-bye" then he's in the perfect stance to start walking again. No expectations.

"You're really just being nice?" He's not sarcastic or probing. Just...surprised. How often are people "just nice"? The concept is really refreshing.

"Well I don't know about just being nice, but the day seems dreary enough I certainly don't need to be a crabapple and make it more sour." She answers.

She gestures at one of the chairs. "I don't bite." He's got the look of someone just stood up, but she won't ask. It's often a waste of energy to dwell on negatives anyway.

He still looks wet. Damp and squishy isn't a fun feeling. She hums a little itty bitty spell to dry him just a tad faster while she saves her work and closes her laptop. It would be rude to invite him to sit and keep working. If he takes a chair she'll even introduce herself.

He doesn't take the chair completely. Just borrows it for a little while. Whatever success the waiter might be having would definitely pale if James were able to walk out of the establishment with a sitting apparatus of theirs. But he doesn't know about that so he's just going to borrow it for now.

He wants to say something along the lines of, 'but biting can be fun'...but the boy does have a basic knowledge, at least, of how the social system here works. Thus, he decided not to say it.

He says, "Thanks," again, with a silly half smile that he likes to do sometimes, "You a writer, or..?"

"Oh, nothing so artsy as that. Just dealing with paid outs and invoices from my shop. It's often easier to do those things while I'm away from the shop, harder to find other things that need attention." The laptop offline and all closed up she offers her hand "I'm Becca." His snile is nice.

"James, nice to meet you...A shop? What kind of shop?"

Because honestly, he thinks that's one of the coolest things ever. Not the "shop" part, but the "she owns it" part. That drive, the fulfillment...it's a nice fantasy to indulge in, sometimes: Having something that's indisputably yours.

"James, nice to meet you." she says.

"It's a metaphysical shop, but drop by if you ever feel like, or need to do any gift shopping. I tend to stock all sorts of little bits and novelties I think are neat." She fishes out a card with the address and her online ordering information.

"What do you do James?"

Hm, nifty card. James flips it over to look at both sides, while he answers, "I gamble," in a matter-of-fact tone and a pleased-with-himself smile.

He stretches himself out underneath the table, careful to make sure that he's not getting in her way or anything. He lounges with his hands behind his head, looking for all the world like the cat that got the canary. Because gambling's really only a means to an end (more gambling, women, and a great deal of shoes), and James is really, really good at it.

"Sounds lucky for you." She says. He looks sucessful, as opposed to down on his luck, well other than not having an umbrella in this weather anyway.

In a way it makes sense, that he's lucky and she just randomly bought him lunch. It makes her giggle.

"Eh," James shrugs, "Takes more skill than luck, sometimes. And a healthy enjoyment of basic arithmetic." He might not have gone to elementary school but the boy can at least count things that matter.

The sound of the rain is soothing. It might be hell to get stuck in but now that he's inside, James can appreciate the subtle beauty of a rainy day. His reverence, however, is broken with Becca's bit of laughter.

James sits up from his recline and wonders with a good natured chuckle, "What's so funny?"

"You are lucky, at least at the moment, I mean I randomly bought you lunch, isn't the cosmos nifty?" Becca is a something akin to a hippy at times.

"Maybe the cosmos thinks I should make it up to you."

James really isn't James if he's not being a shameless flirt. He leans forward with his chin in his hand and his elbow on the table.

"I could buy you dinner sometime and we could put the world back in balance."

Greying at the edges or not, James still thinks she's gorgeous.

Normally Becca isn't one for flirting, or flirty, but James is really somehow charming and disarming. Besides it has been quite a while since anyone's made Becca blush ever so faintly the way he just has.

"Balance is good." She manages around a smile that just might wear creases into her face if it gets any wider. "I mean.....yes, that sounds lovely." Judging by her nod she seems very enthusiastic about the prospect.

(OOC: Go James. LOL)

Charming and disarming has a nice ring to it. If he was super hardcore about getting a tattoo James would probably very seriously consider a warning label with those two adjectives. If they're adjectives. James doesn't know, he's uneducated.

Things are looking up for the selkie, though, a beautiful woman just agree to dinner with him and his shoes are already a good deal less squishy than they were before. As he tests them out, the restaurant is filled with a sound akin to styrofoam rubbing together. It might make some people cringe, but it makes James happy.

"So what's your favorite kind of food? What will you have an die-hard hankering for the first night you're free?"

There's nothing but light curiosity in his voice. He's truly interested. He's also truly going to make a worthy effort at a impressing her when Becca's first available. He might even buy flowers. Who knows?

She's still smiling. "Chocolate is always a hit, dark, not milk though. Italian cooking also always hits the spot, if I'm going to indulge in something stupendoulsy calorific."

James took time to laugh. It wasn't long, it wasn't over the top, but it was healthy. It bubbled up from his chest and, though it wasn't loud, seemed like it filled the entire room. He was mirthful.

"Ah, that's what I always say. The Italian philosophy on food is one of my favorites. If you're going to enjoy a good meal, you've got to thoroughly enjoy it." He has to admit, James likes healthy women, which includes having a healthy appetite. There's nothing more attractive than a woman confident in herself.

"So no milk chocolate, huh?"

"Well if it's hot cocoa, because who doesn't like that." she has a feeling they aren't merely talking about confections here, so she'll throw him a bone. He's so likeable, she'd like to see him again, as opposed to running him off and blowing a chance at that.

James could be talking about any number of interesting subjects right now from the Cuban missile crisis to how twinkies are made. However, the selkie can't remember working out a secret code with Becca before hand so the Cuban missile crisis is definitely out of the question.

But there seems to be some sort of hidden message in her words, so the obvious deduction must have something to do with sex. If she's throwing a bone, James is willing to respond with his own. But best not to be too hasty.

"Indeed," he says with a languid smile. "Heats up quick, though, you gotta be careful you don't get burned."

It was both cheesy line and warning, all rolled into one little package. The boy doesn't go in for long-term relationships, but he's nice about it, at least.

Becca just got done with long term, and grieving, though friends with benefits might be fun. "Well if I got burned, would you kiss it better?"

Some of James' favorite relationships have been rebounds. At the rate this girl's moving, she might make it into the top five.

One of his hands moves in the general direction of Becca. His fingers gently whisper against her skin.

"Just point me in the right direction. I've been told I have a healing touch, you know." He delivers the last sentence with a shrug, but his eyes are less chaste than a physician's gaze.

Her eyes widen, not in a bad way, her pupils have dilated, giving her what could easily be called bedroom eyes. "I can give you directions alright, but the map's back at my place." she tells him softly.

"Well, If we get lost on our way back from dinner," he gently reminds her, "I'll have to take you up on that."

James leans back again, draping his arms over the nearby seats, the picture of nonchalance. He's mulling over an idea in his head, taking a brief second for it to fully develop.

"How's about I surprise you? I could pick you up at your place, pull out your chair for you and everything."

His eye's harboring a glint of mischievous.

She smiles, "I do like surprises." she says happily. "I think I'd enjoy that."

"Good, good," he rubs his chin, "What's your phone number? I'll give you a call."

What's this? James pulls out his phone and he's ready to type. Who'da thunk.

She gives him her home phone, all smiles as she does. She's really starting to think maybe it's more her lucky day than his.

Apparently there's a toothpick in James' pocket because now it's in his mouth, shifting from side to side and quirking up at the corners.

With another squish test of his shoes and a glance outside, he beckons farewell with a half-hearted salute, cell phone in hand.

"I'll see you later then, Becca."

He winks and walks back into the rain.

She mutters a little charm to keep him drier, and then gives a sigh as she watches him go. It could almost be called a dreamy sigh.