"France is supposed to be the capital of romance. And I've never tried it."
Her brow arched. "Never?"
"It's the truth. I only got rich a few days before joining S.H.I.E.L.D., and I've been busy ever since. Even on breaks, I was alone. Why waste a French restaurant on going alone? Now I'm hoping Miss Hill will give me the chance."
A corner of her mouth tugged upward. "Alright. I'll give you the chance. You pick the place and I'll go back and change."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Women liked to look good. Even agents. Especially when it felt like a date.
Maria Hill excused herself to change into an evening dress. James realized he was underprepared. He hadn't packed any formal wear when he came to Washington. If he wanted to look the part, he'd need something new.
"I'll admit it," James said with a small shrug as they stepped outside. "I don't know the city. Last time I came through here, it was with Tony Stark. Looking around for restaurants isn't really something I do. Got any recommendations?"
Hill gave him a faint smile. "Don't worry. I know a good French restaurant. I haven't tried it myself yet. Tonight's as good a time as any."
James pulled out his phone. "What's the name?"
"Opaline," she said, already trying to flag down her ride.
James moved quicker, opening his car door for her. "No need. I'll take you. Better to know where you live so I can pick you up later."
She didn't argue. He drove her across town to her apartment building. Once there, she didn't invite him inside though, which was fine. He watched her walk in, then turned his attention to the restaurant. A quick search placed it near Lafayette Square, close to the Sofitel Hotel. He knew the area.
The Opaline was easy to spot—a slender, Parisian-inspired brasserie nestled at street level beneath the Sofitel's façade. Its tall windows invited the afternoon light, unveiling an interior that felt intimate and refined. Inside, diners were seated at petite, round tables dressed with flickering candles and fresh blooms. The décor struck a romantic chord, a subtle nod to European café culture.
When James stepped in late that afternoon, the room was hushed and calm, with a few early diners murmuring over pre-dinner wine. The moment felt like an old movie, a poised, elegant pause before the evening's gentle buzz.
A waiter appeared. "Welcome to the Opaline. May I ask how many guests we will serve?"
"I'm just pre-checking the place. Though I'd like to make a reservation for six o'clock." James entered the room. It was open, no partitions. Voices barely heard. Light spilled through tall windows. The bar caught his eye. It felt French, with modernity.
The waiter brightened. "Of course. Our chef is from Lyon. Tonight's feature is Whole Branzino Almondine. Would you like it reserved? They will be gone within the hour."
James raised an eyebrow. "Branzino Almondine? Never tried that before. You know what, reserve four of them."
The man blinked at the number but nodded. James left his name and a generous tip, securing the table and his reserved food.
Back on the street, he went toward another stop—a formal wear. The Kingsman suit he wears as an agent felt too professional for a date. Cortana searched the map using the phone on him, and by some quirk of chance, turned up a Kingsman shop nearby. The familiar brass lettering and the same understated windows; a brand he has come to love since his first purchase. He stepped inside as if crossing into home. Upon entering, the tailor recognized the brand of his suit, gaved the most welcoming smile and did quick work for what he needed for the date, drawing the best black coat available close to his frame, trimming excess so the lines fell clean. It read as evening elegance, yet left him room to move—should the night ask more of him than dinner.
By the time he returned to his apartment, it was barely two in the afternoon. The room was sparse, only basic furniture and empty appliances. No warmth to the room. If Hill did stop by later, it couldn't look like this for someone who has money and elegance like him. James dropped his new suit in the corner, rolled up his sleeves and went to work.
He cleaned, stocked, and arranged until the place resembled a livable space. He ordered a bunch of deliveries so the fridge is filled with fruit, drinks, a few bottles of wine, and proper champagne. Slippers were set at the entry. Bedding laid out. Nothing too extravagant, but enough to be welcoming in the eyes of a woman.
[Preparation efficiency: 87%. Remaining gaps: decorative accents, non-essential.]
James smirked. "Cortana, if she notices missing throw pillows, we're in real trouble."
[Sarcasm detected. Abysmal talent for making jokes, please refrain from embarrassing yourself.]
By 3:30pm, everything was set. He dropped into the bath, let hot water soak the day out of him, then changed into the new suit. At 5:20 he was parked outside Hill's building. He called once, then waited.
Patience was part of the job.
At 5:30 on the dot, Maria Hill appeared. Her hair was pulled up. A red strapless evening gown clung to her curves, fitted close around the bust and waist, plunging deep at the front and open at the back. Red heels lengthened her stride. A pearl necklace and crystal earrings finished the look.
James stepped forward, extending a hand. She placed hers lightly on his. He smiled. "You look deadly gorgeous tonight. I think Washington's going to drop dead just from looking at you."
[Cortana: Surface thought scan complete. Target was pleased with the compliment. Elevated dopamine response detected.]
James didn't let it show, only guided her toward the car. He opened the door for her, she slid inside with a smooth motion. He circled back, dropped into the driver's seat, and they headed for Opaline.
The valet out front held his hand for the keys. James tipped him several dollars without hesitation. Western rituals of service weren't about efficiency, they were about theater. Pay the man, let the car disappear, and move on.
Inside, the Opaline was lit by soft amber sconces. Candles flickered at every table. Patrons leaned close, speaking in whispers. No raised voices, no noise. The kind of setting where you ate slowly, drank slower, and let the room fill in the silence.
James pulled out her chair before taking his own. "They've got a Branzino Almondine tonight. I heard good reviews about it, a specialty it seems."
Hill's lips curved, amused. "Branzino Almondine, sea bass served with a buttery almond sauce. It's something I've wanted to try when I saw this place. A limited item that was hard to get."
She had been smiling all evening, and for once, James couldn't find anything false in it. Just a woman, enjoying the night.