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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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."

"Play dirty? I was just standin' here."

He gestures down at himself as proof.

Glancing at the window, he remembers that they have to get through snow to reach the beach, and nods.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

"What would you do without me?" she teases as she adds the sunscreen to the bag and hands over a navy hoodie.

"Don't even wanna think about it," he says with an easy smile, accepting the hoodie and pulling it on.

Hefting the bag, he looks at her expectantly.

"We ready then?"

"Yeah," she says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as she steps around him to open the door. "We're ready."

He heads out with her, back into the bar and then out the back door.

Putting an arm around her as they walk through the cold, he picks up his steps a bit to get them through the cold and on to the beach.

Her lips curve into a small smile when they reach the inlet a few minutes later.

She pauses to toe off her shoes, welcoming the feel of soft, sun-warm sand beneath her feet, and peels off her jacket.

He waits until they find a spot, then sets down the tote bag and tugs off his hoodie.

"S'beautiful out," he says, looking out at the water, then turning his gaze to her. "Beach is nice, too."

She spreads out their towels, ignoring the warm flush spreading through her that has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the look in Bill's eyes.

"Charm's not going to help you catch this," she says, taking the football from the bag.

"Well it's a good thing I don't need it, then."

He gives her a smug smirk, then walks down the beach to put some distance between them.

"You wanna set the rules? Even though I know you'll be breakin' 'em first chance you get."

Chuckling at his exaggerated swagger, she shakes her head.

"I'll let you do the honors, so I'll be sure to keep myself in line."

"Alright, we'll keep it simple t'try an' keep you honest."

He throws her a grin and thinks up a quick set of rules.

"First one to drop three loses. no dirty tactics like tryin' to distract me, an' um... loser gets a consolation prize."

"I think I can handle that," she says with a laugh, adjusting one strap of her camisole with her free hand. Her fingers slide to her nape to double-check the silky knot of her halter, and she takes a couple of steps back.

"Warm-up doesn't count," she calls, sending the ball toward him in an easy arc.

He nods in agreement, holding his hands out to catch the ball.

"Just lemme know when you're ready for the real thing."

He sends the ball back with the same kind of high, soft arc.

Her muscles loosen with every flex and release, and after a handful of passes, she catches the ball and cradles it between her palms.

"The question might be are you ready for the real thing?"

He rolls his shoulder; it's feeling good and he's ready for the game.

"Show me what you got."

"I've got skills you've never seen, sheriff."

She sends a satisfactory spiral his way, her attention subconsciously shifting to his shoulder.