Fine Line // Eddie Munson x Reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

Eddie was nervous. He was doing a great job of not letting it fully show as he drove to the restaurant in the next town over, but it was evident in the slight crease of his forehead, the quietness with which he drove, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel. 

There was a quiet tension beneath those eyes and behind the smile he wore. 

He had put his hair up for the occasion to look a little neater and was wearing the outfit you chose, tucked beneath his own leather jacket. The effort he'd made further warmed the pulsing heat of goo that your heart had already become. You yourself were wearing a simple deep purple dress, modestly cut and perfect for dinner with your dad.

He'd chosen a French restaurant that he frequented often for business meetings which told you as much as you needed to know about how he might behave tonight. Your dad saw it as a business meeting. He'd have questions, lots of them, and you dread every single possible outcome.

Thomas Carver was old fashioned - that much was obvious. You were his daughter so, as expected, he was going to be protective no matter how absent he might have been these last few years. There was real growth in his behavior during those months your mom had been gone though. He'd made an effort with you again, got you your beloved little pup and was willing to at least give Eddie a shot. It was appreciated, but that didn't mean the shot wouldn't actually be a bullet for daring to date his precious offspring. 

Okay. That was extreme. 

You just really didn't know what to expect tonight and it had you frightened like a kid with a monster in the closet. 

When Eddie pulls up outside, a valet gives his van a once-over in disapproval before catching the keys that Eddie had tossed at him. "Don't scratch my baby." He tells the valet as if his juddering vehicle were the newest model Mercedes. It makes you smile, breaking through the nerves if only just a fraction.

Eddie comes to your side then, settling a warm palm at the small of your back in a silent plea to stay close to him. Glancing up to meet those anxious hues, you offer what you hope is a comforting smile. "You okay? Ready?"

He exhales sharply and nods, moving his hand to your hip to gently squeeze. "Nope. But we're here." He snorts, yet his attempt at humor does nothing to salve the worry in your gut. Nevertheless, you allow him to guide you inside the decadent restaurant. It's all gold embellishments and red velvet, the lighting low for privacy and the scent of expensive food lingering in the air.

After giving the name of the reservation to the maître d', a plump and balding man with a kindly face and thick French accent, he sweeps an arm out in gesture for you to follow him. You go first, leading the way with some renewed confidence that was entirely forced. The restaurant was busier than you'd expected, every chair filled with pruning, judgmental faces that mostly direct at your date.

You hope he didn't notice. 

"Ahh, at last. You're late." The little booth reserved for your party of three looked cosy as you approach, your dad already seated though he stands upon your arrival. He looks at his watch, expression stoic and unreadable. 

Great. Definitely business dad, not loving dad.

"Dad, it's five minutes." You playfully roll your eyes in hopes to lighten the mood before moving in for a quick hug to greet him. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a black button-up underneath. The top button was undone and he wasn't wearing a tie which showed at least an attempt at being informal. "This is Eddie."

The boy in question was fumbling behind you at the introduction, sticking his hand out for your dad to take. "Mr. Carver. It's an honor to meet you, sir." His tight smile showed his nerves. You were flicking your glance between the two of them as if either one might spontaneously combust.