totalwildcard | Causeway Parking Lot to the Mainland; Later Tuesday Afternoon

"I could eat pie," Marc said. The dessert order was obviously the most important thing right now. Not anything going on with hands.

"So we'll get pie," Harley replied. Inanely, but whatever, confirmation was always good. "Pies, more than one kind. Good for energy and to find out how good they are at making them here!"

"I got no problem with that," Marc said. Pies were so much easier to focus on and talk about. Which was kind of a theme for Marc, actually. Go fig.

"To go?"

"To go," Harley agreed, and looked up to try and catch the attention of their little-almost-old-lady-waitress.

Thumb still absent-mindedly moving against his skin.

Marc might need his hand back when it was time to pay. But the bill wasn't there yet. So he could, yanno, leave it where it was. Thumb still brushing Harley's hand. Continuing required less thought than stopping, right?

Something like that.

And their waitress, coming over now, had already made her own conclusions about the two of them, and yet had enough discretion brought on by experience to make no remarks about the handholding, either.

Which meant Harley could just happily continue doing it while putting in their dessert order of "a slice of every damn pie you got, to go, please, thank you so much!" with her usual level of cheer.

Marc glanced towards the dessert display to see what pies were there. Nothing stood out as a problem - not that many pies could but you never knew when a place had some unique signature thing - so he turned his attention back to Harley.

Not their hands though.

"Only one of each?" he asked. "We're gonna have to share."

Or he'd keep letting her steal stuff from his plate. One of those.

Harley chuckled. "Okay, make it two each," she said, and then barely waited a beat before adding, "More leftovers for me."

So there would still absolutely be stealing/sharing.

"I see how it is," Marc said, not at all bothered by this (and only in part because he could fairly easily get fresh baked pies at home). "I'll have to keep my eye on you."

That was barely about the pies.

Oh, Harley waited until the waitress had gone to get their order sorted out before responding to that.

"If it's just your eye, I will be disappointed."

"Gotta start somewhere," Marc replied. "Can't blame me if I like what I see."

Harley immediately preened, with a happy little shimmy in her shoulders.

"I'm not sayin' you shouldn't look," she said, because God forbid that idea be given even an inch of space, "just that I would really like it if it didn't stop there."

"Don't worry, Doc," Marc told her, looking her in the eyes if she let him. "I've got plenty of ideas past looking."

Of course Harley let him. This was easy, absolutely no reason for her to try and hide.

"Good," she said (her thumb rubbing against his hand with a little more pressure, like a faint echo of... something or other), "because you've had some great ideas in the past, and I would just hate for you to deprive little old me of those."

"'course if you've got ideas I'm all ears," Marc said. "Wouldn't want to stifle your creativity."

"I don't think you could," Harley had to reply - but all the same, she leaned forward a little, conspiratorial in both her posture and her smirk. "But since y'asked..." And if he thought he saw a faint bit of hesitation right here in this pause, no he didn't. "If you wanted to earn some big points, you could let me enjoy some pie while you eat something else."

What, it wasn't news that she was a hedonist throughout! Mixing pleasures worked!

(That she was still re-learning how to negotiate asking selfishly in some contexts may have been news, though.)

Shocking absolutely nobody, Marc wasn't a hedonist. But that didn't mean he had a problem with Harley being one. Particularly when he could've guessed her last relationship hadn't had a ton of times when she got what she needed or wanted, regardless of whether he picked up on that hesitation.

(Which of course he hadn't. Because it never happened.)

"We could make that happen," Marc said. "I'm not gonna be responsible if you get crumbs everywhere though."

He could go on ahead and also ignore how Harley sultry smirk took on some brighter qualities at his response.

"I always get crumbs everywhere, it's fine," she replied, waving her free hand. "If you do your part right? I won't notice, or care."

"Can't say I didn't warn you you'll have a hard time keeping still," Marc replied. No smirk, but definitely a quirk of the eyebrows there which held some promise.

"Oh, promises, promises," Harley replied, unaware of the narrative but definitely clocking the correct vibe all the same. "You haven't seen me eat pie, you know. You might have to work hard."

"I can take a challenge," Marc said. "Haven't backed down from one yet."

"That's what I'm counting on."

And if she'd planned to say anything else, too bad: the waitress showed up with their impressive bag of pie, and the check.

And Harley's hand slid casually away from his (with one last casual brush of her thumb as it went), no big deal. "All yours, sweetie."

"Thought that was coming later," Marc replied. He reached for his wallet and put down enough cash to cover the bill and a good tip. "Or was that just you?"

"That's for me to know," Harley retorted, as she was getting up, "and for you to hope to find out."

Marc snagged the bag with the pies in it as he got up to join her. "I dunno. Seems to me right now your dessert is in my hands."

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