Chapter Text
Finally, the long-awaited summer rooted in.
After months and months of grinding, Fontaine’s city was now more alive than ever. The streets were buzzing, terraces were packed, and the crowd was wandering through the streets even long after the sun dipped below the horizon.
Unfortunately for Wriothesley, the crowd, the noise, and the heat were a triple threat he couldn’t stomach. After grinding through a year of restless military training, finding himself trapped in a city where asphalt baked under the sun during his hard-earned break made him feel like a caged animal.
He craved an escape. He dreamed of retreating to the wild, to a solitude of his own making, itching to grab his surfboard and tame some waves.
That was exactly why, when his comrade Clorinde mentioned her secret summer tradition that included a retreat in Fontaine’s countryside, he was hooked instantly. As uninvited as Wriothesley was, Childe tagged along for the ride, perhaps making the girl mourn her initially promised tranquility.
Either way, it was far too late for regrets.
With nothing but their packs and that reckless sense of adventure that only comes when you're young enough to believe the map is yours to draw, the trio ditched the city life. They hopped on a boat, cut loose from the harbor, and set sail, chasing the horizon six hours south into the deepening blue.
The breeze was warm, and with every mile, the sea air felt fresher, wilder. The scenery shifted from the familiar coastlines they knew to wilder horizons, alive with exotic creatures dancing between the sky and the deep.
When they finally touched land, it was nothing short of paradise: crystal-clear waves kissing the coast, mountains standing tall, and a floral canopy blending the sky into the sea…
Wriothesley was sold the second his boots hit the sand.
"Whoa, I already like this place!" Childe shouted, his excitement increasing as Clorinde led them toward their lodging. They had booked separate rooms in a quaint local inn that was exactly Wriothesley’s vibe. For him and Clorinde, this decision had been born from the need of solitary times.
For Childe, it was another story. The man was certainly looking for some other company than theirs.
Once they dropped their bags, the hunger hit hard. Childe was already complaining, convinced nothing would be open in the middle of the afternoon, but Clorinde’s light smirk said otherwise.
"Don't worry. I happen to know the perfect spot.”
Armed with flip-flops and shades, the trio made a beeline for the beach.
The boys trailed behind Clorinde, following her lead until they reached the promised spot. The restaurant was an open-air sanctuary decked out in rustic straw and sun-bleached wood. The tables bench were deserted, the quiet only broken by the hum of ceiling fans, the chims’ melody, and the hypnotic wash of the nearby waves.
A wooden sign swayed nearby, the name ‘Spina di Rosula’ etched into the grain in peeling gold leaf.
Clorinde gave the bell a light tap to announce their presence, and a feminine figure glided over to greet them.
"Welcome dear custome—Oh! Clorinde!"
Wriothesley had been lost in the view of the ocean, his thoughts miles away when the host recognized Clorinde and pulled her into a friendly hug. He was quickly snapped out of his trance by Childe’s elbow hitting his ribs.
"Man... I think I just fell in love at first sight."
Wriothesley let out a dry scoff, rolling his eyes as he turned. "That happens to you literally every single day, Chi—"
He cut himself off. The words just died in his throat the second he actually looked at her.
That girl wasn't just pretty; she held a kind of light that stopped his pulse dead in its tracks. And when she shifted her gaze toward him, flashing him a smile, he knew it was over for him.
"Excusez-moi," she laughed, her eyes crinkling. "I wasn't expecting to see Clorinde, so I was a bit caught off guard! You’re her friends, I suppose? Please, come in and grab a seat!"
Her smile didn't just brighten the room; it gave the sun a run for its money.
Wriothesley’s brain hit a hard reset. His throat went tight, and his usual cool-guy persona just packed its bags and left. His fingers twitched, ready to rake through his hair, but he killed the urge before it could show. Instead, he locked eyes with her, throwing up a smirk that he prayed looked more effortless than it felt.
The Summer Gods were clearly having a laugh at his expense.
He cleared his throat, pushing his voice to work, though it came out a little grittier than he’d planned.
“I’m Wriothesley. And yeah, we’re her friends. We definitely owe her for dragging us out here.”
Beside him, Childe was still working that silent, fish-out-of-water routine, completely gobsmacked.
Wriothesley’s gaze swept back over her, taking in the effortless way she moved, the warmth in her voice, and that goddamn smile.
The girl repeated his name, letting it roll off her tongue like she was tasting a new and interesting flavor.
"So, you're a fan of the place so far?" She led them deeper into the patio, weaving between empty tables to snag a prime spot near the edge. The view was unreal, but Wriothesley was way too distracted by the rhythmic dance of her anklet with every step she took.
She shot a quick glance at Clorinde, who was looking suspiciously pleased with herself.
“Clorinde always says city boys need a bit of salt in their lungs.”
Wriothesley raised an eyebrow at her, a low chuckle escaping him. "Can’t argue with that,” he admitted smoothly as he slid onto the bench, getting comfortable. “It’s definitely a nice change of pace.”
The ocean breeze tousled his hair, or perhaps it was the ceiling fans? In any case, he welcomed it.
His gaze drifted back to the waitress catching the sunlight as it framed her silhouette. There was an easy confidence about her, a natural charm that drew people in.
Wriothesley leaned his forearms on the table, his full attention now locked on her.
"This is what freedom feels like," she mused, and placed the menu on the table. However, her fingers were what caught Wriothesley’s attention. They were adorned with small rings, her nails painted blue.
When he looked back up, she was wearing this sun-drenched rictus, like she was in on a joke the rest of the world hadn't quite caught yet.
She pulled back, keeping it professional.
"And your name...?" She asked, pivoting on her heels to face an unusually speechless Childe. The poor guy was stuttering, completely tongue-tied, while she breezed through their drink orders without missing a beat.
"Alright, two sparkling waters and a beer for the grumpy city boy, got it!"
Childe choked on his own spit, looking utterly mortified. Clorinde sighed loudly, massaging her temples like the whole scene was a headache she hadn't signed up for.
"I'll be right back! Just relax!" She called out, drifting away with an easy sway. Her wavy ponytail caught the light, glowing just as bright as that yellow uniform she wore.
The moment she was out of earshot, Childe finally found his voice, or more accurately, his ability to hyperventilate. "Did you see that? Did you SEE HER? I'm... I'm moving here. I'm never going back to Fontaine’s city."
"Dude, breathe," Wriothesley advised, his gaze still glued to the doorway she’d drifted through. "You met her five minutes ago. Maybe pump the brakes on the wedding planning?"
"I’m not talking about marriage," Childe shot back, all drama and flair. "I’m talking about fate, man!"
Wriothesley snorted. "Whatever you say, Casanova."
Clorinde, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes. "Focus, both of you. Navia's a friend. Don't weird her out." She shot Wriothesley a particularly pointed look.
Navia.
Finally, he got to know her name. Of course, it had to be as pretty as she was.
He ignored Childe's antics and Clorinde's warning glare. Instead, he leaned back, slouching into an effortless cool. He draped an arm over the back of the bench, his fingers tapping a lazy, rhythmic beat against the sun-bleached wood.
"Relax, Clorinde. We'll be on our best behavior." His lips curved into a smirk that promised anything but.
"There we go!"
A few moments later, Navia was back, gliding in to set the glasses down with the kind of effortless precision that only comes with doing this a thousand times.
Wriothesley hung back until she placed the sparkling water before him, his hand drifting out to catch her fingers with a casual slide as she pulled away. It lasted barely a split second, but there was nothing accidental about it.
Navia flicked her gaze up, meeting those intense blue eyes, but recovered before the silence could get too heavy. She dialed the professional charm back up to a ten with a breezy smile.
"So, have you landed on a main yet, or should I give you a minute? For a reminder, today's plat du jour is garlic shrimps with polenta fries."
Wriothesley held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, trying to decipher if she felt the tiny spark that had just passed between them.
"I'll have what the lady recommended," Childe piped up suddenly, trying to smooth out his voice and slide back into his usual swagger, even if he sounded a half-octave too desperate. "Garlic shrimp! Extra garlic, actually. Gotta keep the bad vibes at bay, right?"
Clorinde didn’t even glance at the menu. She just shrugged. "Same as the special for me, Navia. Your judgment is better than my own here."
All eyes shifted back to Wriothesley, awaiting his order.
"I’d love to spice things up and be different… But yeah, put me down for the house recommendation, too." He paused, planning his next move. "But maybe skip the extra garlic. Got plans where I’d rather not scare the company away."
He left it hanging there, letting her sit with the implication. He didn't break eye contact, just watched her closely, waiting to see how she’d play it.
He held his breath when a languid smile spread across her face.
"I could suggest some places, but I'm sure Clorinde knows all of those already... Right ?" She smiled harder, looking toward her.
Oh, that was a clever move.
"That's not quite what I meant," he countered smoothly, ignoring Childe's snickering and Clorinde's weary sigh.
"Wriothesley, behave," she warned, her voice flat but firm. She turned to Navia then, offering an apologetic smile. "Don't sweat it. He’s just high from the journey."
A burst of laughter escaped her lips. "Oh, don't you worry about me, Clorinde! I’ve handled way worse tourists than this." She winked playfully. "If they ever make your life too hard, you know you can always find some peace in here!"
Paying them no mind anymore, Navia turned on her heel and drifted toward the kitchen.
Wriothesley leaned back into the bench, a smug grin plastered across his face. Childe whistled lowly.
"Ouch, man," he chuckled. "You tried, but that was one cold shoulder."
Clorinde rolled her eyes again. “I told you not to weird her out.”
"On the contrary," he countered, his gaze tracing her path. "I’ve got a hunch she actually enjoys messing with me."
Clorinde just groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm going to need another drink. A much stronger one.”
The conversation resumed. It was easier to talk now that the initial shock had subsided, allowing for a flow of dialogue between the group.
Minutes later, Navia reappeared, plates stacked high on both forearms. The mouth-watering scent was even better up close. The spread hit the table: crisp polenta fries, juicy shrimp, and vibrant greens.
She served everything with ease, making sure not a drop was out of place. "I really hope you enjoy it! Just give me a shout if you need anything else; I'm here to help!"
The food looked incredible, smelled even better. But Wriothesley’s appetite was currently losing the war to a much more interesting urge: keeping this little game of theirs alive.
"Thanks, Navia."
He held her gaze. A flicker of triumph hit him the second he caught her pupils dilating.
Childe dug in with gusto, moaning appreciatively. "Holy hell, this is insane! I’m literally proposing to whoever made this."
"Glad you’re loving it!"
Navia smiled to the ginger-haired boy.
"I’ve also got a spread of desserts back there. Homemade by me!” She added, throwing the line over her shoulder as she turned away. "...In case you’re feeling a little adventurous this afternoon."
Wriothesley watched her saunter off, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Homemade desserts. An open invitation to be "adventurous."
She wasn't making it easy. Or maybe, she was making it exactly the kind of entertainment he’d been craving.
Clorinde rolled her eyes. "I recognize that look. You're going to make this summer difficult for everyone, aren't you?"
"Only for you, Clo," He grinned, finally picking up his fork and spearing a plump shrimp. "I'm just here to enjoy the local cuisine, that’s all."
The conversation flowed naturally as they ate. Childe couldn't stop raving about the shrimp, theorizing about the chef's secret spices with the dramatic flair of a true foodie.
"I'm telling you," he insisted, gesturing with a half-eaten shrimp, "it's saffron. And maybe a hint of... Paprika?"
"Or maybe it's just good cooking, Childe," Clorinde deadpanned, expertly dodging a stray droplet of sauce he flicked her way.
Wriothesley let himself sink into the banter, feeling the city stress and the weight of army training evaporate with every bite.
Between the inviting sounds of the waves, the slow music from the restaurant's radio...
Now that felt like summer.
Wriothesley took his last bite and slumped back, letting out a satisfied exhale. Childe followed suit, looking equally done in.
"I'm stuffed. That was absolutely divine."
Clorinde drained her glass and set it down with a click. "Admit it too, Wriothesley. Beats the hell out of the mess hall, doesn’t it?”
"Miles ahead," he agreed. His eyes wandered around the room, naturally gravitating back to where she was. She was behind the bar, buffing a glass, keeping tabs on them. She flicked her gaze away for a second, leaning in to whisper something to the girl in the chef’s whites beside her, no doubt sharing some piece of gossip or observation.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
She was interested. Now it was just a matter of who would break first.
It didn’t take long for her to come back to check on them.
"I'm happy you have enjoyed your meal," she commented while stacking the empty plates. "How about you finish that adventurous journey you promised yourselves earlier?"
Once done with the plates, she hoisted a chalkboard and presented it to them. On it, beautifully written with colorful chalk, were words such as "Melt-in-your-mouth lemon tart", "Caramelized apple crumble with vanilla cream", or the bestseller "The Sunset Sorbet".
She paused after reading the list, letting the sugar-coated options make their way to their brains, waiting to see what they’d bite on.
Wriothesley barely glanced at the chalkboard. He was too busy watching her, the way her lips shaped the words, the playful spark dancing in her ocean-blue eyes…
Childe, however, was already vibrating. "Ooh! All of them sound amazing! Can we get one of each to share? Actually, scratch that, I want that Sunset Sorbet. And the crumble. And maybe some of that lemon tart..."
"One item, Childe, unless you want a sugar crash to ruin the night," Clorinde cut in, shutting down his wallet-draining enthusiasm before it even started. "I’m going for the Lemon Tart. Need something to cut through this garlic."
"The crumble it is for me!" Childe chirped, bouncing in his seat like he’d already had too much espresso.
Which left Wriothesley.
His eyes flickered from the board back to her face, holding her captive in his gaze.
He could go for any of these, but that wasn't the point, was it?
"Once again, I’ll leave it to the baker’s discretion," he declared, voice smooth and intimate.
He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, the picture of feigned nonchalance.
The ball was in her court now.
Navia smiled, taking the lead with the authority of someone used to handling indecisive groups.
"You are aware that you're leaving me the tough decision, aren’t you?"
She let out a melodic laugh.
"Fine. Brace yourself for a surprise, then.”
His smirk widened.
"Haven't you heard. I live for surprises."
Her confidence didn’t waver, and that just made him want to lean in further. Watching her saunter off again, he felt that familiar spark of curiosity flicker to life, though it had nothing to do with the sugar and everything to do with the mystery she was weaving around herself.
Clorinde’s exasperated sigh was just rhythmic static in the background now. Whatever dessert Navia was crafting, Wriothesley had a hunch it would be just as intoxicating as she was.
The reality did live up to the expectations.
Eventually, she returned and set the plates down in front of their rightful owners. She turned to Wriothesley at last.
"A café gourmand," she announced, her tone light and playful. "Since you’re so fond of surprises, I thought one dessert wouldn't quite satisfy that ego of yours."
She slid the tray toward him. It was a masterclass in miniature, featuring a bite-sized version of every dessert on the menu, all anchored by a shot of steaming espresso.
The sunset sorbet was the showstopper, swirling with vibrant streaks of ruby, mango, and passionfruit gold.
Wriothesley stared down at the plate.
This wasn't a dessert; it was a canvas. And in a way, she had offered him a small, handcrafted glimpse of her soul, disguised as a simple assortment of sweets.
"Whoa..." Childe breathed, crumb halfway to his mouth as he stared at Wriothesley's plate with pure envy.
Wriothesley lifted his gaze, locking his eyes with hers. The easygoing amusement had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine appreciation, edged with something deeper, hungrier.
He shifted in his seat, his full attention on the artistic arrangement before him, but he could still feel her eyes on him. He picked up the small spoon, deliberately bypassing the other treats and went straight for the swirling sunset sorbet.
The first taste was an explosion, just as vivid as it looked. Tangy passionfruit and sweet mango hit his palate, the sharpness of the raspberry cutting through perfectly.
It cooled, refreshed, and awakened the senses all at once.
He savored it for a moment, letting the flavors linger on his tongue, before meeting her gaze again.
"This is dangerously addictive."
Navia chuckled softly. "It's supposed to be a refreshing twist to wake up sleepy heads. Seems like you've had a fair share of city stress lately, hm?"
Just then, a new wave of guests flooded into the restaurant. The calm atmosphere shifted, and Navia’s focus tightened.
"Excuse me, duty calls."
Wriothesley just nodded. Without missing a beat, he polished off the rest of the sorbet, tackling the plate like it was the best thing he’d eaten all year.
He was so deep in it he didn’t even realize he was being clocked until Clorinde cleared her throat, shaking him back to reality.
"What’s that about?" She whispered, dropping into his orbit with a sly look. "Making heart-eyes at my friend?"
His shoulders went rigid. "Mind your business."
Childe let out a low laugh, scraping the last of his crumble. "Man, you’re even more hooked than I am."
"Hooked on the caffeine, maybe," he muttered back, pushing away the empty plate. "Don't overthink it."
He could feel their eyes on him, dissecting him. Childe was having none of it. "Right. Caffeine. Totally. Not the cute waitress with the amazing desserts who clearly digs your whole mysterious bad-boy routine." He grinned like a wolf spotting an opening.
Wriothesley leveled him with a glare, the kind that usually made his underlings stand at attention. "Drop it, Childe."
Clorinde broke in, her tone suddenly stern. "Hey. Whatever you're thinking... Tread lightly."
Her warning was clear, and he respected her concern, even if it annoyed him.
"Relax. It’s just a harmless summer crush.”
Isn't it?