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away just in time for their drinks to be set down in front of them. Owen took a long gulp of his
beer before slamming it down. Jack is a friendly guy and he likes people. God knows I have no
idea why. So, if he wants to talk to you and be your friend, bully for you, but just know that s all
it will be. He has a better friend for everything else.
He has a girlfriend?
The surprise and sadness in Gwen s voice made Owen choke on his laugh. She was so naïve
thinking a man like Jack Harkness didn t have someone. He could have anyone. Owen admitted
that Gwen was cute. The freckles, the gap between her teeth, the haughty way she brushed her
fringe out of her large eyes. But, she wasn t for Jack and the last thing Owen wanted was some
lovesick girl tagging along with them, showing up to all of their sets, and invading their café. He
wouldn t be able to take it.
Do you think someone like Jack is lonely? He can have anyone.
So? Maybe he wants
Maybe he wants you? In your dreams.
You are jealous. Otherwise, you wouldn t be going out of your way to hurt my feelings. You
wish you had all the attention he s getting. You ve been here longer than him, yes? Jack s been
here two days and look how much the crowd loves him. You re nothing more than backup.
You can say whatever you want, sweetheart. Your opinion means absolutely nothing to me. I
just thought you should know that Jack doesn t need or want what you re offering.
As if on cue, Jack headed back through the crowd. Gwen noticed the change of clothes and the
fervent expression on his face. He waved distractedly as he ran by.
Night, Owen.
Good luck, mate, Owen called back, taking a bit of enjoyment at Gwen s sudden paleness.
Jack threw his head back and laughed before disappearing out the door. Owen looked down at
Gwen snidely. Night, sweetheart.
Gwen.
Owen paused. Excuse me?
My name is Gwen, not sweetheart. Her voice was cold as ice, but her eyes were full of
melancholy and need.
Thanks for the reminder, Gwen.
Goodnight, Owen.
He was late. Oh, God, he was late.
Ianto was stood under a tree outside Les Deux Magots, watching groups of people walk by and
sit at the tables, drinking, laughing and kissing. It was 10:40pm and there was no sign of Jack.
Ianto felt foolish. What had happened to his date? Surely he d remembered what time he had
asked Ianto to be there. Unless the American had decided he didn t want to go out with Ianto
after all. Maybe he d found someone better to spend his time with that evening. No, no. Jack
wouldn t have gone through all that trouble to meet him only to stand him up a few hours later.
So, where was he? Perhaps, something had held him up at the club. Yes, that must be it.
Having temporarily eased his worry about his absent date, Ianto looked down at his choice of
outfit for the evening. He had spent more time than he d intended at his studio, but he couldn t
help it. When inspiration struck he had no choice but to go with it. So, because of his artistic
haze, he d had less time to prepare for the evening. He d showered and styled his hair, keeping
the wavy look. He d debated on how casual to dress. Jack had only seen him in suits, but the café
wasn t that fancy. He had settled for casual trousers and a teal, lightweight, cotton jumper that
was slightly fitted. Ianto never thought he had the most impressive, muscular frame, but it wasn t
bad; it wouldn t hurt to hint at it.
After another five minutes he began to fret again. Fifteen minutes late now. Ianto arrived slightly
early, so he had been waiting for a total of twenty minutes. He was sure people were whispering
about the young man checking his watch, who was getting stood up, but kept waiting like a dog.
Club or no club, if Jack was much later Ianto was going to kill him after his own recovery from
death by embarrassment.
Breaking through the stream of Welsh curses he was muttering, was the loud and rapid sound of
shoes hitting pavement. A shiver went up his spine and Ianto took several calming breaths. It had
to be Jack. He counted to three before looking down the street towards the persistent sound.
There he was, only a few feet away. Jack slowed his pace when their eyes met. For a second,
Ianto forgot his distress. Jack looked so handsome. Gone was the greatcoat and suspenders and
in their place were grey trousers and an untucked pale green shirt. It was the look of trepidation
his those striking blue eyes that reminded Ianto of the current situation.
You re late, was all he said when Jack reached him.
Jack looked suitably ashamed and clasped his hands together in a begging gesture. I know and I
am so sorry. Please forgive me.
Ianto raised an eyebrow. Should I?
Jack s expression morphed into that of a Cheshire cat. Oh, yes, you should.
Well then. I ll let you spend some time proving that to me.
I like the sound of that! Shall we sit down?
The pair managed to get an outdoor table and immediately ordered a bottle of wine. Looking
over the wonderful menu, Jack gave in to his need for chocolate and ordered gateau au chocolat
while Ianto opted for the coupe des Deux Magots, both agreeing they should try each others .
Conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Jack found out that Ianto wasn t actually a tailor at
all, but an artist, a painter! He worked at the shop a few days a week to pay for his supplies and
an art studio by the river. Jack was so excited to hear more about Ianto s work that he bombarded
him question after question. Ianto wasn t used to talking so much, not on a first date, but he
found it so natural to tell his story to Jack, especially as he seemed to genuinely want to know
about him.
My father considered me a prodigy from a very young age and spent lots of money on art
classes for me. He had me submit into every contest, scholarship opportunity or open gallery that
he could find. It was quite exhausting really. Finally, when I was about seventeen, I was noticed
and had one of my canvases displayed at a prominent gallery in Cardiff. I got more and more
attention, but I didn t know what to do with it all. I ran off with some mates one night and, well,
let s just say I made up for missed years of rebellion. My father was livid and told me I had to be
serious if I wanted to be a respected artist. What he actually meant was a wealthy artist. In a final
act of teenage defiance, I left home, moved to London and stopped painting for anyone but
myself.
So, how did you end up in Parí? Jack wondered, reaching across the table to taste Ianto s
blackcurrant sorbet.
Needed a change. I was nearing my mid-twenties and still just wandering through life. On a
whim, I submitted a piece to a grant committee and received money to study and paint here.
When that dried up, I stayed on. Got the job at the tailor shop and I ve even sold some work as
well. This is home now.
You ve had quite an interesting life so far, Mr. Jones.
Ianto shrugged. It s been rather normal until recently. Jack gave him a questioning look. It s
not every day that I have American nightclub singers walking into my life.
I should hope not. I would hate to think someone is copying me!
Ianto chuckled. He pushed the rest of his dessert, which Jack was intent on sampling again, to
him. I get the impression that you are a complete original, Jack Harkness.
One and only. Do you want more of this? he asked pointing to the ice cream with his spoon.
You can finish it if you like. Between that chocolate, the wine and this, I can t handle
anymore.
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