Tom Holland & Peter Parker Imagines & Preferences (book 2)

KIngS and QUeeNS (part 6)

She doesn't want to visit the art gallery, doesn't want to face the mother of her (possibly old) friend. She doesn't think she has the right to work for her, not after how much she's upset Tom. She doesn't want to make him any angrier.

She's explained so to Nikki, who simply scoffed, waved her hand, and insisted she came anyway. Promised she'd talk to Tom and sort things out.

That was two weeks ago.

"It's great, Dad! Three days in the studio, four at the gallery. And the pay is like double what I was making before," Y/N sighs happily, thankful for Nikki and hoping Tom won't hate her forever.

Adam was due home a month ago, was meant to take Y/N and Olivia out for lunch. Yet here they are, four weeks later and he's still in Portugal.

"When are you coming home?" Y/N finally asks through a sigh, eyes drooping as the late evening begins to roll in, the sky dark and the moon shining. She looks out at the city lights, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, fluffy socks keeping her toes snug.

Adam sighs from the other end, brows knitting slightly and he pinches the bridge of his nose. Y/N knows that look all too well, knows what it means. He's silently thinking of how to let her down easy, how to tell her he won't be back just yet. How he's so close to finishing this book.

She's heard it all before.

Y/N sighs and shakes her head. "You know what, don't worry. You're home when you're home, and that's all that matters," she shrugs her shoulders, trying to roll off the hurt that consumes her in waves.

Tapping on the door catches her ears and she lets out another sigh. "I gotta go, dad, pizza's here," she waves a goodbye, Adam blowing a kiss through the FaceTime call and ending it.

She places her phone to the coffee table and grabs her purse, wandering toward the door and flicking on the kitchen light on her way. Wrapping her hand around the cool metal of the door handle, she swings it open with a small smile.

Darrel, the pizza man, stands at the door with a grin, grey hair wisped back beneath the pizza baseball cap. "Evening, Y/N," he greets her, tugging her pizza out of the thick travel bag he always has and pulling the two-liter bottle of Coke out from under his arm.

Y/N greets him back and pulls out a twenty, exchanging the money for the food and they bid one another a good evening as Y/N closes the door. She places the pizza box and Coke on the kitchen counter, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and placing it beside the bottle.

She flips open the box, that sweet smell of chicken supreme filling her senses and she lets out a giddy sigh. Before her fingers can even touch the heavenly meal, an odd scratching on her front door catches her attention.

She pauses her movements, head-turning, and brows furrowing as the consistent scratching continues, a soft whine shortly following. Y/N shuts the lid on her pizza and wanders to the door, swinging it open in curiosity and confusion.

Another whine sounds through her ears when she finally sees who, or rather what is at her door. A gorgeous grey staffy stares up at her, eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. Y/N looks past the dog, not seeing an owner, and she drops to her knees, staring at the dog with squinted eyes.

The staff leans its paw on her knee, tapping it as they struggle to keep their stability and Y/N wearily tilts her head at the dog, catching sight of the brown, leather collar and a small silver plaque that hangs from it.

Y/N pinches it between her thumb and forefinger, twisting it so she can see either the owner's number or a name. She gets the latter. "Tessa," she breathes, the dog huffing at the mention of her name from the stranger's lips. Y/N scratches the back of Tessa's head, reaching behind her ears and the dog nuzzles her nose into Y/N's hand.