milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Bill is downstairs after some breakfast. He sits down at the counter, and before he can even ask, Bar provides him with a loaded plate; eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, a short stack of pancakes, a cup of coffee and orange juice.

Bill grins at the offering, and is about to say thank you when a newspaper appears. Looking at the front page headline his smile falls.

Mardi Gras in Miami

It's not really the headline, but the part underneath that tells how the Saints defeated the Colts 31-17 in the Superbowl that's just killed his good mood.

Bill lifts the paper and shakes his head.

"Aw, c'mon, no. I didn't even know they were playin'."

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She swirls the chunks of pineapple at the bottom of her glass with her straw.

"I think I can spare some time for you," she says, pushing away what little that's left of the smoothie and reaching for his hand. "Let's get changed while you digest."

He gives her hand a squeeze and stands.

"You think y'can?"

He shakes his head, bumping her lightly with his arm.

"I know you will, 'cause y'like me."

She hooks an arm around his as they head upstairs.

"Somebody's cocky."

"Am not, just statin' fact," He says, then pauses and looks down at her.

"Y'do like me, don't'cha?"

She stops a few feet short of the door to the suite, turning to face him.

"Nope."

She shakes her head for emphasis.

"It's not like."

His smie warms, and he gives her fingers a squeeze.

"Okay, not like, which is even more reason for you t'be nice to me."

She laces her fingers with his, biting her lower lip to tamp down her own smile.

"Is that so?"

"It is." He nods.

"There's a rule book somewhere that says so."

A second eyebrow arches to join the first.

"And does this book say why it's a rule, exactly?"

Bill thinks a moment, then shrugs, containing a grin.

"Nope, but y'shouldn't question the rules of the universe, Kate. They're rules for a reason."

"I am nice to you, sheriff."

She rises on her tiptoes, her lips millimeters from his.

"Rules or no rules."

"Yeah, y'are," he admits, eyes on hers.

Feeling the ghost of her breath against his lips, he closes the small distance.

She smiles and leans into the kiss, eyes slipping shut.

Pulling back a moment later, the apples of her cheeks are tinged with pink.

"But it'll be a different story on the beach."

He chuckles and rests a hand on her waist.

"You makin' threats, Miss Warner?"

"Threatening an officer?"

She shakes her head, her fingers drifting to squeeze his wrist before she turns to unlock the door.

"Never -- that's an arrestable offense."

"Good." He nods, following her inside."Wouldn't want t'have t'take you in before I get a chance to show you up."

Rummaging through a dresser drawer, she shoots him a playful look.

"Oh, like you would."

"Would what? Take you in or show you up? 'Cause I'd do 'em both."

He returns her playful look, then searches for something to wear outside.

"Take me in," she says, locating a bikini, a pair of yoga pants and a camisole.

"We both know you're not going to show me up out there."

He pulls out a pair of board shorts and a white T-shirt.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see 'bout that."

Smiling to herself, she trades her jeans and fitted sweater for beach-appropriate attire.

After shrugging into a thin fleece jacket, she steps deeper into the closet to find the football she knows she saw just yesterday.

He grabs a pair of towels, and a couple bottled waters from the fridge.

Standing behind her as she searches the closet, he holds up the things in his hands.

"You got one of your big bags for this?"

"For -- "

She turns to see what he's holding, nearly dropping the football in her hands when she sees he's so unexpectedly close.

"Yeah," she says, breathing a laugh as she holds out an oversized tote.

He sees her bobble the ball, and grins when she gets a hold of it.

"Already fumblin' there, Kate."

He puts the towels and water into the bag, then offers to carry it.

"Only because you play dirty."

She lets him handle the tote without objection and stuffs her feet into a pair of running shoes.

On her way to retrieve sunscreen from a bathroom shelf, "Want a sweatshirt? The walk'll be cold."