The ride was quiet. There just didn't seem like there was very much to say.

Charlie ran her fingers absently along the stitching of the dark leather seat, the growl of the engine creating just enough noise that she couldn't get ensnared too easily in her own thoughts. As they rolled down crowded Bourbon Street, she watched in amusement as a number of people whipped around to stare at the car.

Neon lights slid like water over the dark paint on the hood, the curves of the car's body sensual and dramatic.

"This is new," she finally said, lifting a hand to indicate the car around them.

Remi shifted gears, slowing down and making the growl of the engine mellow to a purr. He nodded. "I took a liking to the new McLarens. I had it shipped from the UK months ago."

"Isn't seven cars enough?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

He grinned, pulling into a parking garage. Charlie crossed her arms, waiting as he found a place to park.

The car finally stopped, the engine dying gently before he leaned across the space between them, mouth slanting over hers before she had the chance to pull away. Her fingers slipped around to the nape of his neck, playing with his soft hair. When he pulled away, he whispered, "Come on, Charlie, you know enough doesn't really mean enough."

Charlie rubbed at the corner of his mouth with her thumb, removing the lipstick that had smeared across his skin. "You can have too much of a good thing."

His gaze dipped back to her mouth. Lower. That grin turned to something nearly diabolical. "I beg to differ, cher."

She bit at the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to just have him right there in the car and skip dinner completely. The heat in his eyes told her he was thinking along the same lines.

So she stepped outside, letting the cooler air of the parking garage settle her thoughts. She walked out toward the middle of the aisle, waiting for him to join her. A laugh might have come from him as he got out of the car, locking it before he draped an arm across her shoulders.

He was tall enough that, even with her in heels, she didn't feel like he was dragging her downwards. Grayson was only a little taller than her, and walking with his arm on her shoulders had always been uncomfortable.

It wasn't with Remi. He tucked her into his side, claiming her, but not leashing her.

She tilted her head to study him as they left the parking garage and he directed them back toward Bourbon Street. They strolled along with the other pedestrians, neither of them in any particular hurry. It was early enough that there wasn't an overwhelming number of drunk tourists to avoid.

A small smile tugged at her mouth when he slid his hand down to the small of her back, guiding her toward a familiar sight.

"Nice enough?" he asked as he opened the door to Galatoire's, more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Charlie shook her head at him, walking into the French Creole restaurant. She was a little overwhelmed by the roar of conversation for a moment. Then the smell of lemon, spicy sauces and something savory made her mouth water. She looked around with curiosity as Remi spoke with the hostess.

The dining room was crammed with small, square tables covered in white linen. Red-backed chairs were filed in around each table. Light fixtures hung from the ceiling, fan blades swirling lazily overhead. The walls were green and white, the floor made of small white tiles surrounding green tile florets every few feet. The place was completely packed.

Charlie watched, brow furrowing as the waitstaff had to practically squeeze themselves through the narrow aisles, masterfully balancing trays or sliding past one another as they relayed orders to the kitchens. 

Now she really couldn't picture having a simple dinner with Remi. This didn't exactly seem like his kind of place, regardless of all the suit jackets and fancy food.

She started when lips touched the shell of her ear.

"It's a little noisy down here," he said, then grabbed her hand as they followed the hostess up a set of stairs Charlie hadn't noticed before. The noise diminished, making her sigh in relief.

The hostess led them to a room with dark green walls lined with framed, antique maps of Louisiana. As Remi pulled a chair out for Charlie, the hostess said, "Your server will be with you in a moment." She handed them their menus, then left. A young woman came and filled their glasses with ice water before finally leaving them alone.

Aside from a few other people talking in low voices, the room was blessedly quiet.

Charlie sat, eyes still drifting around the room as Remi took his own seat beside her. His back was to the wall.

She turned her gaze to the menu, eyes skimming over the words. She blanched at a few of the prices out of reflex but didn't say anything. Remi undid the buttons of his jacket, smoothing his tie before he leaned back slightly. He watched her with a faint gleam in his eyes. She couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed.

"Why do you always sit like that?" she asked to break the silence.

Remi looked down at himself, perplexed.

She shook her head. "No I mean... I just noticed you always sit facing a room. You stand that way too."

Understanding brightened his eyes, but before he could answer, their waiter appeared. He introduced himself and asked, "What can I start you off with?"

Remi looked at Charlie expectantly. A smile twitched at her lips that made him narrow his eyes. Ignoring the waiter, she said, "You know, the first time we...did something like this, you ordered for me."

Of course, the last time they'd done something like this, she'd signed an NDA and more than once questioned her ability to make good decisions. That dinner had changed her life completely. 

The thought added a certain gravity to tonight.

The waiter shifted impatiently as Remi cocked his head, a smile beginning to play at the corner of his mouth as well. He looked down at his own menu, frowning thoughtfully.

"Maybe the foie gras," he mused, "or the sweetbread."

She made a low hissing noise and he grinned, eyes still glued to his menu.

"The soufflé potatoes," Charlie said to the waiter. "And he'll have..." she looked at the menu, "the escargot? Or maybe the duck crepe."

"The okra gumbo," Remi corrected. He glanced at the waiter. "The house pick for wine."

The waiter kept his face admirably blank as he nodded and walked away. Charlie nearly wanted to laugh as she turned back to Remi. "The house pick?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "I don't know anything about wine."

Now she did laugh. "Good. Neither do I." Jazira was the wine-lover. Charlie couldn't tell the difference between cabernet and merlot.

Charlie took a sip of ice water, watching him expectantly. His chest lifted in a sigh, but he seemed inclined to forget her original question. Or maybe he was just more comfortable with the silence. "You always sit with your back to a wall," she prompted.

Remi raised an eyebrow carelessly. "Do you know how Bill Hickok died?"

"I...what?" She blinked a few times, not sure what he was getting at. When he just continued to wait for her answer, she said, "He was murdered, right?"

History had never really been her strongest subject. 

Remi leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Hickok always made a point to sit with his back to the wall. He was famous. He'd put quite the notch in someone's belt if they could manage to kill him."

"Okay," Charlie drew the word out, amused. She supposed he was more infamous than famous, but didn't feel like playing with semantics.

Leaning forward, he lightly touched his first two fingers to the side of her head. "One night in Deadwood, Wild Bill sits with his back to the room while he's playing cards. Just once."

She shivered as his fingers brushed against her hair, pressing a little more firmly against her skull.

"Bang," he whispered. 

Charlie let her gaze fall away from his, her fingers once more finding the stem of her water glass. It was icy cold against her skin, beads of condensation shivering down the sides of the glass as she touched it.

It sounded exhausting, living life with your back always up against a wall. Terrifying.

She took in a slow breath, realizing that the idea did scare her. Remi brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and she let her gaze return to his. He didn't look particularly moved by the fact that he always had to watch for someone who wanted to kill him.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Her brow furrowed, lips parting to ask how he could smile after saying something like that, but then the waiter returned with their appetizers.

Remi ordered their dinner, though Charlie barely heard him as she stared down at her plate.

What was she doing?

What was she doing letting herself...

Letting herself what? Fall for someone with a target on their back?

She didn't think she was falling for him. Not yet, anyway. She liked him, for the most part. She was certainly attracted to him. But that didn't mean she loved him. It didn't even mean that she could love him. Or that he could love her.

"Charlie?"

The sound of her name jolted her from her thoughts, her breath freezing for a moment in her throat. Remi was watching her with an inscrutable expression.

"Don't you get sick of it?" she asked quietly, picking her fork up to poke at the food sitting before her. "Don't you get tired always looking over your shoulder?"

He tilted his head in consideration before he shrugged. "Live long enough one way, and it just seems like life."

Bullshit. That was such bullshit. No one got used to living life always being hunted. Then, Charlie blinked in realization. She watched as he turned his attention to the appetizer in front of him. 

A hunter had to watch its back, but that didn't mean it was prey.

And there was certainly something appealing about that.

"How did you get that scar on your back?"

The question startled her so much, she nearly dropped her fork. He gestured toward her chest before taking a sip of water. "The one below your shoulder."

She knew which one he was talking about. She just hadn't realized he'd noticed it.

When she still didn't answer, he leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you get to ask questions, then so do I. It's only fair, darlin'."

She snorted at that. Nothing about him was fair. She took a small bite of the potato soufflé, fighting a smile when he sighed impatiently. "Chainlink fence," she finally said, giving him about as much of an answer as he'd given her.

A huff of displeasure came from his nose. He scowled lightly, but simply speared another shrimp, apparently not going to press for more of an answer.

They both let the silence grow thick and strained between them.

Maybe he wasn't the only one who didn't really know how to do this.

Their appetizers disappeared quickly as they both just ate, neither willing to pick up the thread of conversation just yet. Charlie let her attention wander around the room, wondering if it was worth it to experience this sort of life, or if she would regret every moment of this sometime down the road.

Their waiter came back, whisking the empty dishes away, just to replace them with their dinners. Charlie stared down at the chicken clemenceau in front of her.

"How did you know that I don't like fish?" she asked, her voice somehow sounding very far away.

Remi looked up from the ribeye he had ordered for himself. He lifted one shoulder. "I didn't. I don't like fish."

The coincidence sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't look up, afraid she'd accidentally show him something vulnerable without meaning to. Maybe this had been a bad idea. It was hard enough for her to open herself up. It was more difficult when he couldn't be bothered to even meet her halfway.

Grayson had never really paid attention to what she liked or didn't like, either. And while she had already made a whole slew of new mistakes with Remi, she didn't intend to make any old ones.

"Why do you think I keep Moira around?" he suddenly said. When she looked up, he gave her a small, bitter smile. "I'm not the only one making sure I don't catch a bullet. I take a number of precautions to make sure I don't wind up dead before I have to."

Charlie blinked in surprise at that. He met her gaze steadily, though his hand had turned into a fist on the table. It took a lot for him to say something like that, she realized. To admit that he wasn't invulnerable.

How many people had he said that to?

She carefully speared a few peas as she mulled that over. Did it matter that he was saying these things to her? She had seen him vulnerable before—cut and bleeding, barely able to stumble across the threshold.

Judging by the muscle ticking in his jaw, it did matter.

That sent a warm flutter through her stomach that she wasn't entirely pleased about. It was a dangerous flutter.

Maybe that's what she liked about it.

A satisfied sort of smile stole across her mouth before she could stop it. Remi scowled at her, picking up his knife to attack his steak, like it was somehow at fault. Still smiling a little, Charlie cut into her chicken, taking a few bites before she said, "In the neighborhood I grew up in, there was this old guy who literally yelled 'stay off my lawn' at all the neighborhood kids."

Remi's eyes flicked up to hers in surprise.

"I had this friend, Tanya, who lived right next door to me. And the shortest way home from school—"

"Let me guess," Remi said, amused. "Through the old man's backyard."

Nodding, Charlie shrugged the shoulder bearing the scar. "Most days we could slip across no problem. We'd been doing it for years." She frowned as the memory was pulled to the front of her mind. "One day in our...senior year, we got out of school a little earlier than usual."

"You ditched?" Remi said with mock horror, green eyes glimmering with mirth.

Charlie huffed a laugh. "Maybe," she replied primly, then shook her head. "Yes. It was toward the end of the year and it was just study hall anyway." When he shook his head in disapproval, she batted her hand against his shoulder. "Would you just listen?"

He set down his utensils and leaned forward. "You have my complete and undivided attention."

Her mouth went a little dry at that. It took a moment for her to track down her previous thought with him looking at her in the way he was. Like he really had nothing better to do than listen to stories from her past.

"Um," she took a short breath, shaking her head a little, "it's not really much of a story anyway. We were walking across his yard when all the sudden the backdoor slammed open and he came hobbling out, screeching at us. Scared us half to death."

Charlie's hands slipped down to her lap. "Tanya was a lot faster than me, plus she did high jump in track, so she got over the fence no problem." She couldn't help a wry laugh. "I was never a clumsy kid or anything, I just didn't play any sports. And the hole at the bottom of the fence seemed like a much quicker way to get the hell out of there."

Remi winced slightly in sympathy, and she didn't stop him when his fingers moved to her back, down to the spot the scar traced along the bottom of her shoulder blade. Goosebumps prickled down her bare arms as his fingers slid along the scar, moving along its path with an exactness she hadn't expected.

"When we got home, I had blood all down the back of my shirt," she said, her voice small. "I got in trouble for that more than anything else."

She remembered the bruises across her ribcage and how she'd later had to try and clean the scratch the chainlink had given her by herself. Remi's expression turned dark, like he'd guessed the end of that particular story. She supposed it wasn't such a very hard thing for him to imagine.

Or understand.

Charlie poked at the remnants of her chicken, suddenly not very hungry.

"What happened to Tanya?" 

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. She went to school out-of-state on a scholarship and we fell out of touch. We just...went our separate ways."

"It's hard to keep on the same path with anyone for too long," Remi said quietly.

Charlie looked down, wondering if that was a warning of some sort. But the near-pensive expression he wore made her think it was more of an observation.

How many people had left him to walk his path alone?

Neither of them said any more after that. There was nothing else she wanted to say. Nothing else she wanted to know. Every now and then, she could feel him watching her, but he didn't seem to have anything else he wanted to say either.

It wasn't an uncomfortable sort of silence this time. Actually, it was kind of nice. Remi's presence didn't seem to demand anything more from her than she was willing to give.

It was a novel feeling. One she admitted that she enjoyed.

Finally, the waiter returned and Remi asked for the check. Charlie's eyes darted up to meet his, but his attention was on her throat. On the diamond necklace he'd given her. She lightly touched the warm stones and his gaze came slowly up to hers.

"Nice enough?" he asked, waving a hand toward the table between them.

Charlie bit her lip, a blush warming her cheeks. The waiter returned, giving her a moment to think—to decide—as Remi paid.

Then they were alone and Remi was standing over her, offering his hand.

Charlie stared at his callused palm for a second. Did it mean anything more, if she took his hand? Did it mean something more than even she realized?

A glance up found his eyes narrowed with impatience, his mouth a thin line as she made him wait. 

But...he did wait.

Charlie placed her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. She rose up onto her toes, brushing a kiss against the side of his mouth.

"Nice enough," she murmured.