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My fingers freeze mid-thought. His team? That sounded so…proud? Like they were his kids winning a state championship. Marble Man, huh? Maybe to the people I knew. But this different side to Marble Man Fitz was very much not made of stone.
The next morning, I sit on my usual bench at the dog park down the street from our apartment, sipping a hot tea and bundling further in my layers. It’s a bristling March morning - we managed to escape the end of February’s short snow storm with only a few days stuck in place. The infrastructure in Texas for winter weather is minimal, despite some sort of storm happening nearly every year. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Fitz, with events rescheduling left and right as people couldn’t drive on the roads to get anywhere.
Just as that thought crosses my mind, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my plaid pullover. I fish it out, watching Bex run like a fucking psycho across the mulch, no particular aim in sight.
FITZ WESTFALL
Having a ball.
Long fingers hold the tape measure in front of a tan-face doberman, whose mouth is full with a bright tennis ball.
PIPER DELMONICO
What a cutie. Solid A for doggo.
I send it, and hear a ping from somewhere behind me. Weird.
The three dots immediately appear.
FITZ WESTFALL
I know I am. Color me flattered.
Fitz Westfall is flirting. That was flirting, right?
PIPER DELMONICO
In your dreams, Marble Man. Also, rude of you to assume I’m up this early.
I hear the ping behind me again, and swivel in my seat. There’s no way.
As I scan the dog park, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I haven’t seen Fitz outside of a suit since high school, I’m not entirely sure what he looks like in normal clothes.
PIPER DELMONICO
Where are you this morning with that handsome boy? Assuming boy, but that could be entirely sexist of me.
Ping.
FITZ WESTFALL
Dog park. Yes, boy, Roscoe. Why? Care to join?
Fuck. I stare at my phone.Now or never, Delmonico. My heart beating faster, I press the dial button, and the phone rings once.
“Uh, hello?” Fitz’s gruff voice answers, and I hear it twice - once real time, and then delayed over the phone. I turn my head, trying to figure out where it’s coming from.
“Hey, what dog park are you at?” I try to keep my voice casual as I stand, gripping my tea tighter in my other hand. Bex stops running at my movement, but promptly resumes as a chihuahua saunters by her.
“One over by my house.” I spot him. Or rather, I spot his hair from behind, his elbow outstretched as he holds his phone to his ear. Even from this far, I can see his bicep is tight against the gray sport-tek jacket he’s wearing. I quietly make my way that direction.
“I was serious, if you want to -
“Join you?” I slide onto the bench next to Fitz, whose normally blank expression is very much colored with shock. His eyes flit between the phone to his ear and me, and then, at the same time, we both put them down. “Swear, I’m not stalking.”
My instinct is to reach out and hug him - this man that’s made me laugh more than a few times recently. But I restrain my overly-affectionate urges and settle on a wide smile. To my surprise, he smiles back. It catches me off-guard, the flash of white teeth, the crinkles at the corners of his green eyes.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” He holds a coffee cup in one hand over the side of the bench, the other putting his phone into the pocket of his joggers. He gives me an appraising look, and I can’t help but flush, thankful I at least ensured my hair wasn’t a rat’s nest before leaving.
