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Heart and soul,
I fell in love with you.
He may as well be wearing one of those dreadful tank-tops people try to wear in the summer. Seattle has miserable weather year-round, but people will try to kid themselves into wearing practically nothing in July, no matter how much pale, winter-flaked skin they risk exposing to those more sensible citizens.
Anyway, the point is, he may as well be wearing one of those thin, cotton, sleeveless numbers he pretends to ignore in July. Because the heat from Daphne's arm is seeping right through his custom-tailored suit and is practically scorching him.
The kitchen is full of the smell of slow-cooking meat and sherry, but all Niles can smell is Daphne's perfume: Obsession.
How fitting, he thinks.
Heart and soul,
the way a fool would do.
Niles notices the way Daphne cuts the carrot so slowly and carefully, ensuring each piece is uniform in size.
This makes him love her even more, if possible, and then he thinks how ridiculous it is to love someone for the way they chop their carrots.
It doesn't matter. He loves everything about Daphne, the ridiculous things as well as the not-so-ridiculous things.
He loves her.
He realises how foolish it is to be standing beside her so easily, with such a sense of companionship, preparing a meal for a woman who doesn't even exist when he should be preparing it for Daphne.
He thinks for a moment about telling her everything. She deserves the world, after all, and he's certain no man would try better than he to give it to her.
Still. Better to keep one's mouth shut and be thought a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt.
Madly.
“We're chopping in rhythm,” he says after a while, purposefully matching his knife strokes to hers.
“We are, aren't we?” she asks, sounding amused. She starts to bob up and down, and that irresistible perfume wafts over the scent of sherry and meat again.
“Bomp-bomp,” she says, “bomp-bomp bomp-bomp...”
“Heart and soul,” Niles sings, the tap of his knife keeping beat with Daphne's. “I fell in love with you.”
Every. Single. Word.
He means every single word.
Because you held me tight.
He finds himself laughing with her, and for one heady moment he actually dares to lean against her a little. The warmth turns into a full-on electric shock, quite like nothing Niles has felt before. (And this is even so when he remembers that his first encounter with Maris involved a literal electric shock.)
The smile she gives him almost has him keeling over. Her laughter is, truly, music to his ears, and he hasn't felt so light-hearted and comfortable in a long time.
Why, he thinks, couldn't I have found her years ago?
He thinks his time with Maris was wasted time, and Daphne's warmth and scent and laughter doesn't have him feeling guilty about that thought for even a moment.
And stole a kiss in the night.
He's not sure how he's managed to pull this off. Phyllis is gone – though he's sure there will be consequences to deal with later – and now Daphne is opposite him, framed in candlelight, her smile still radiant.
He wonders if she ever has days where she looks less than perfect.
Not to me, he thinks. To me, Daphne, you are always perfect.
She eats delicately. For a little while he matches her movements – fork to mouth, knife and fork together, glass to mouth...
But after a little while he doesn't need to force anything. She chatters comfortably, glancing up at him now and then, never self-conscious or awkward when she notices his eyes on her.
He wonders how she could possibly be so unaware when he's so obviously, utterly in love with her.
He remembers what she said just before they sat down. “You know, Dr. Crane, I have a feeling that before too long, you'll be sitting down to dinner with the woman of your dreams.”
“Daphne,” he interrupts suddenly.
She looks up at him. “Yes, Dr. Crane?”
He clears his throat and raises his glass. “I'd like to thank you for helping me tonight.”
“Oh.” She smiles, pleased, and raises her glass. “You're quite welcome.”
He draws a quivery breath, holding eye contact. His heart drums in his chest. “To the woman of my dreams,” he says, not batting an eyelid. (His hand trembles ever-so-slightly.)
Something uncertain passes through her eyes, but she smiles at him again, and gently knocks her glass against his.
Before she drinks, she pauses. “May she cease to be a dream and instead become a reality,” she says eventually.
They drink, and after a moment their conversation returns to the casual little nothings they were discussing before.
For the moment, Niles couldn't be happier.