"Mr. Preston!" Hope's voice rang through the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover Building as soon as Preston stepped out of the elevator. She leapt from the bench you and she were sitting on before you could stop her, and much to the dismay of a nearby security guard, began sprinting across the marble floor towards the current Director of the FBI.
But Preston's face split into a wide grin as he looked up from his phone, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and he wasted no time crouching down to scoop her up. "Agent Hope!" he greeted with equal enthusiasm.
You gave the security guard an apologetic look and then met Preston halfway through the lobby with a smile.
Despite Hope's usual reticence around anyone except for you, she loved Preston. You couldn't say you were entirely surprised. Preston seemed to have that effect on most people. Your daughter was clearly not an exception to the rule.
"Thank you so much for asking me to lunch, Mr. Director. It's truly an honor," you teased.
Preston rolled his eyes, and Hope reached her arms out in your direction. You took your daughter back from him and propped her up on your hip while she leaned her head on your shoulder.
"You're damn right it is," he answered breezily. He motioned for the two of you to start heading out of the lobby, nodding to the security guard as the three of you walked by and out into the sweltering DC air. "You know how many people would kill to be you right now? How many people have emailed me asking for just thirty minutes of my time?"
"Calm down, Pres. You're not a Kardashian."
"You're right. I'm better."
You laughed, and Hope wiggled in your arms—the telltale sign that she wanted to walk. You put her down and took her hand before continuing to walk down the street beside Preston.
He watched with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Where are we headed?" you asked.
Preston pointed down the street. "Just around the corner. A new cafe opened up that's right up your alley. They've got a bookstore in-house. Thought you'd like it."
And you did. Once the three of you settled into a table in the corner (with a full view of the bookstore portion, as you requested), and after Hope tore through an almond croissant with a bowl of mixed berries, you sent her off to look through all the books the cafe had to offer.
And Preston huffed a laugh to himself as he watched Hope stride right by the children's section (where another young boy around the same age as her was sitting on the ground reading a Dr. Seuss book) and towards the middle grade section.
"What?" you asked, taking a bite into your panini.
"She's definitely Gumby's kid. That's for sure."
"Okay, first of all, was there ever any doubt about that?" you replied with a raised brow. "Second of all, I'm the one that raised her. She got that from me. Third of all, don't call Spencer that."
Preston snorted and settled back in his chair. "I call him 'Gumby' to his face. He's never complained."
"He's too nice to tell you not to. You know that."
He laughed lightly again. "Speaking of the Doctor, how's everything going with him?"
You hesitated. "Great," you answered after a few beats.
"Very convincing. What's going on?"
"Nothing—"
"Sweetheart, I'm on call every hour of every day. I've got maybe twenty minutes tops before I get called back into the office. You really wanna waste our first time being able to hang out like this on lies?"
YOU ARE READING
Futile the Winds || s.reid
Fanfiction["Perhaps the cruelest twist of fate yet was that even the family you'd finally made for yourself was still one that you could not keep."] *** Five years and five months. It has been just over five years and five months since the reader and Spencer...
