Secrets (Yours & Mine)

Who: Dutch and Evelyn
Where: Dutch's place
When: Dinner-times!

Nervous? Dutch? No. Maybe. It wasn't like he found himself here often, after all. He rarely cooked in his apartment, either eating out from Nighthawk's or making the barest of sandwiches for himself, but there he was. Clad in an a-shirt for the moment, Dutch smiled in amazement at his entire situation as he gave the contents of a sizzling skillet a toss, breathing deep of the aroma that rose up from it. If his place had been clean before? It was somehow cleaner tonight, better lit, more welcoming with the radio on low in the living room near an open window that vented the heat of the kitchen out to the streets beyond.

Still, it was strange... he was having a guest, one he'd invited all on his own. Even stranger was the fact that Evelyn had said yes, but Dutch wasn't going to decry the chance. The young woman was sweet, raising up protective urges in Dutch for the first time (aside from Cheyenne) in years now. She'd bought him a delicious bottle of wine, remembering his fondness for it, and tonight? He wanted to share it with a friend. Were they friends? Dutch certainly thought so, or else he might have never made the offer.

Moving to turn the heat down on the stovetop, he tugged the refrigerator open to pull the wine out, gauging the temperature critically as the bottle sat in a gnarled hand. It felt nicely chilled, but Dutch slipped it back into the fridge as he scowled at the clock, moving to grab the new flannel Evelyn had bought him and pull it on over his a-shirt. She was due sometime soon, he knew, but it had been so long since he'd done anything like this that he could only hope he'd timed his preparation of the meal close enough.

Evelyn was apprehensive herself, although for very different reasons. She was very particular that the cab driver pull up directly in front of the apartment entrance... and if it were legal to drive on sidewalks, she would've had him pull up on that too. She wasted no time with paying the driver and getting out, stopping only to uncomfortably glance back at the alley across the street where her still-bandaged wrist had been twisted. But she didn't spare too long on that, hastily opening the door and shoving it behind her.

Stairs, right. She remembered the stairs, she had been very focused on not slipping down them last time. And, at least remembering which floor Dutch's flat was on, she made her way to the top floor in far less time than needed Sunday. Once there, though, Evelyn was a bit unsure which door was his -- she really hadn't been in the most observant state that night. She took a moment to survey the floor, awkwardly cradling a box in the crook of her arm. It was a pie. She didn't have the patience or use of both hands to make one, but her mother had always stressed bringing something to a visit, so she had bought a pie from a bakery. She had no idea if it would work with whatever meal Dutch had planned, but it was apple. Apple pie went with everything, right?

Pacing slowly past some doors, Evelyn stopped by one that seemed right... ish. Re-cradling the box and taking a breath, she raised her free hand to knock on the door... figuring it would either be Dutch on the other side or she was about to make a fool out of herself.

The knock at the door coincided with the buzz of the oven timer, and for a panic-stricken moment the socially awkward side of Dutch warred with the Sicilian side. Did he make his guest wait? Or did he burn his zucchini? He wasted a second mentally flailing, tugging the oven door open as he looked to the door. "Just a sec!" he bellowed as he moved to grab the pan of zucchini, grabbing at it with a bare hand without thinking. A mechanic's hands were strong, sure, but only enough for Dutch to get the pan halfway out before heat flared in his senses. "Sweet shit!" he snapped, forcing his hand to stay on the pan as he brought it up to the counter and let it drop, waving his fingers sharply.

Dutch needed another moment there to try and push the pain down, to work the knot out of his jaw and the anger out of his eyes, but eventually he managed. Grabbing the wine again in the hopes that the cooled bottle would soothe his fingertips, Dutch moved quickly to answer the door, noticing too late that he hadn't really buttoned all of his new shirt up. The sleeves hung open as he tugged the door wide, and he had to chance Evelyn not minding as he greeted her with a faint grin. "Amelia, hey," he said, stepping back to let her in, "Sorry 'bout the wait, come on in."

"Oh, no problem," she broke out a reassuring grin that hid her discomfort well. She did step into the doorway a bit quickly though, glad to be free from the glare of Dutch's neighbor across the hall. Because, yeah, that first door? It wasn't Dutch's. And the lady had greeted her with an ire Evelyn had seen reserved for door-to-door salesman interrupting both the Big Game and dinner. Once inside, she uncrooked the box from her arm and held it out to him. "I brought dessert. It's pie. Apple." Smiling almost sheepishly, she made a little shrug that would've been a general pointing gesture had she not been holding the box out, "It's from... a bakery." As if the bakery box there wasn't a dead giveaway.

Catching the glare of the woman behind Evelyn, Dutch scowled right back as he started to swing the door shut. "None of that, Mrs. Ramirez," he chastised, "I'll be by to check your drains tomorrow, promise." The scowl faded as Dutch shut the door, not bothering to lock it after him and turning to Evelyn instead, taking the box from her grip. "Didn't have to do that, Amelia," he protested good-naturedly, "You already brought the wine, after all. But thanks, one thing I can't make is dessert."

He turned back to the little kitchen in his apsrtment, breezing around the place settings at his table and neatly depositing the pie in the fridge, lingering out there to toss the skillet of peppers and onions again. "Feel like a drink? I'm a few minutes off from dinner here," he called out, venturing back after a moment and extending his non-burned hand to her, "And can I take your coat?" It seemed that, for all his very real gruffness, the time between his current life and his former one with the Giacomos hadn't removed any of the etiquette Dutch had once lived by.

"Oh," she blinked a moment, caught a bit off-guard by the surprising propriety. "Yes, of course." She smiled again, recovering herself, shrugging out of her coat with all the proper grace mastered in her high school charm classes. Her clothes weren't flashy, but Evelyn carefully hid that financially poor background with manners alone. "And the wine was a 'thank you' gift," although she had no desire to reiterate what for, "and the pie is the obligatory 'food to be brought over when visiting'." She grinned wryly, "And I'll take you up on the drink there."

She was far more graceful and poised than Dutch could hope to imitate, but in his case the thought and effort counted for plenty. Taking her coat, Dutch grinned as he hung it on the back of the door, fixing a more earnest grin on Evelyn. "Woman after my own heart," he rumbled, moving to the kitchen to fetch glasses and a corkscrew. "Gonna have to pardon my basics here," Dutch amended as he came out with two plain glasses, "Stemware wouldn't see much use 'round here." He had proper wine glasses somewhere, ancient wedding gifts he'd shared with his wife in younger days, but they were wrapped and packed up somewhere. Digging the corkscrew in, Dutch grunted quietly as he popped the cork free and gave it a little, appreciative sniff. "This'll just need a minute to breathe, go ahead and make yourself comfy. I'll grab dinner."

Evelyn nodded and walked over to the small dining set but didn't sit down right away, instead finding herself idly taking in the surroundings now that she was in a proper frame of mind to truly do so. The lighting seemed better now too, it seemed; although last time she had been too disoriented to properly trust her recollection. For a moment a frown drifted across her face as her gaze strayed on the open window, where she could spy the alleyway across the street. Uncharacteristically morbid thoughts entered her brain as she wondered -- if she were to summon the courage to check -- whether any evidence of that night remained: the gun the guy had dropped, old blood staining the ground, or something from her purse she hadn't noticed missing yet... she wondered if her brother had started looking -- she didn't trust him not to try -- and, if he had, if he would actually find anything...

...none of which, by the way, were thoughts well-suited for a pleasant and friendly evening. And Evelyn finally caught herself, and shook them away along with the mood they had brought. She turned her gaze away from the window, focusing her attention instead on the radio as her eyes flicked back to nearer surroundings. The currently aired programme was a mystery, the second part of a multi-part story. A corner of Evelyn's mouth quirked up, recalling the beginning aired last week. She had listened to it in a fitful state, with the rain pattering outside, trying to distract herself from guilt and worry about bailing out on Jessie the next morning... funny how long ago that all seemed right now.

"It smells good," Evelyn called out, again bringing herself out of her reverie, not turning to see if Dutch was still in the kitchen or not. "And, I know it's only halfway through or so but," she finally turned her head in his direction, motioning towards the radio, "my bet's on the jeweler having done it. You?"

"Can't say I follow those things too close," Dutch said from the kitchen, busily straining pasta straight from a pot of water into the skillet that hissed away, "But I'd bet the butler did it. Isn't it always the butler?" He smirked to himself, tossing pasta in with the veggies and quickly pouring a splash of wine over the whole mess. He basked in the wave of aromas rolling up towards him, dropping the heat to let the wine cook away and moving to pour two glasses of the Caleo he'd opened. "I think I owe you," he said as he stepped out of the kitchen, bringing Evelyn her drink, "It's been so long since I properly cooked, felt like I forgot how fun it could be."

He sipped his own, lingering on his feet as Dutch studied the healing progress of her injuries. "Things okay down at the Drake? I know it's only a day on the new job, but..." he trailed off deliberately, the rest being left up to Evelyn. Her first impressions, maybe, or his own doubts he'd aired before about her safety working there

"They're going pretty well," Evelyn replied, taking a glass and a small sip, as if she would ever say anything but. But it was true, for the most part. She certainly wasn't going to mention something so silly as to feel irked because her boss might've been losing interest in her, especially since it was interest she had never planned on returning anyway. That sort of petulence was best reserved for her sisters or girlfriends... if she dared shared it at all. "I mean... I'm still learning the ropes, but I think I'm picking up the job as quick as anyone can," she added thoughtfully, actually sounding neither conceited nor bashful there. It was a simple fact, one Evelyn worked hard for, and she would neither flaunt it nor apologize for it. "And, even if the guests can be tiresome, it can be a bit... fun, actually." And there was a slightly abashed grin, "I mean... their requests are generally more challenging -- even if very materialistic. But I always like a challenge." And now the grin was just a good ol' grin now, the bashfulness skittering away. Because liking puzzles and challenges was another simple fact Evelyn didn't apologize for.

Dutch laughed richly, shaking his head in denial of that. "See, we're the same there? BUt we're different too. I love a challenge," he explained between swallows of wine, "But people being demanding? Not so much. Sometimes I get a fella into the shop who wants to know why we can't have a fresh axle on in an hour, or why orderin' parts takes so long?" Dutch smirked thinly, keeping the thoughts of violence those people provoked to himself. "Long and short of it? They drive me Bedlam-levels of nuts. I'm not sure how you could stand it all day." He worked the smirk back into an easier smile, shaking his head at himself. "Still, good on you Amelia. I'm sure you'll do damn fine up there, won't be too long before you've got the regulars memorized and everything."

"Yeah, well, I've dealt with worse," she smiled a bit there, although it came off a bit more secretive than she had intended. She had been initially referring to being the youngest of five -- there was just a certain amount of abuse you had to get used to in that case, especially with her older sisters. But then that prickly little morbid mindset popped up, and she recalled dealing with far more demanding and vicious monsters in the workplace. But, again, not a pleasant thought for a pleasant evening. She took another sip from her own glass, flicking her eyes towards Dutch, "Well, I suppose at the very least those customers give you a story to tell? I know at the Drake the staff likes to abuse the guests behind-the-scenes who have been the most abusive." She paused for a moment before teasing, "You were safe from that, by the way."

"Of course I was," Dutch insisted easily, "Most folks don't know their wines, I bet I made your host's day." He chuckled quietly, shaking his head as Dutch assumed they could, in fact, swap workplace horror stories until the sun rose. "You gotten in on that yet, then? Send up used towels when they ask for new ones?" he ventured, finding that he couldn't really guess at what sort of vengeance hotel staff might dream up, "I know that one time, years an' years back, we stuffed a fish into this fella's radiator after he spent half an hour screaming over how long we were taking with his car." Another, steadier chuckle rolled out with the memory as he moved to pull the skillet off the stove, letting it all pour out into a large serving bowl and plating the zucchini.

Evelyn laughed at the image of the fish in the radiator, "Seems a waste of a fish now, knowing you could of cooked it." And whatever he was cooking really smelled amazing, which was a more-than-welcome surprise, "But no, I can't say I have gotten in on that. Of course if I had it wouldn't be wise to admit it, would it?" She watched him prepare the food, feeling bemused that the mechanic had far more flare with it than she did. Oh, Evelyn could cook well enough -- she had taken home economics like all the other girls in her class, and her mother would never have let her move out without a couple of a recipes -- but there was 'cooking' as in preparing food for the sake of a meal and cooking, which she supposed was something only sorts like the Drake's chef and apparently Dutch really had a grasp of.

"It's no waste," he assured her, "More an adventure. We sent a boy on down to Chinatown, told him to get us the ripest mackerel they had, he even came back with a pocket full of firecrackers." Firecrackers Dutch had spent an evening drunkenly flinging from his roof, to boot. "And if you ever gotta settle a score? Don't linger on any guilt, Amelia. Most folk 'round the Drake have probably done way worse without feelin' bad, so don't you get remorseful for stickin' a thumb in their tira misu." Dutch laughed as he brought the dishes out to his little table, turning to head back for the remainder of the wine, and finally slipping Evelyn's chair out a touch for her pre-emptively. "Pasta putanesca and asiago-baked zucchini," he announced, "My momma'd be right-proud of me right now. I don't suppose you've maybe got a toast in mind?"

Evelyn's amused smile became distracted as he mentioned those who had done worse at the Drake. Yeah, she knew. She heard things. Some things she probably should have gone to the police with -- even though it amounted to nothing more than hearsay -- instead of impassively pretended to hear nothing. But she didn't mention that: it was a mood killer for one, and she didn't want to worry him for another. Not after he had already warned her about working there.

She walked over towards the table and sat down, thanking Dutch for the chair along the way. Even though it could get a bit ridiculous even for her, etiquette was something Evelyn appreciated, both in herself and others. For her, it was a matter of simple respect. She reached for her glass, spending a brief yet thoughtful moment on her words, and then raised it, grinning, "Well, here's to proud mothers." Not that she was sure just how proud hers would be with her, what with the lying and distance and everything. But Evelyn was in a good mood at the moment, and that little guilt was pushed off towards the future.

Raising his own glass, Dutch had to reflect on just how proud his mother might be. He could recall his childhood, and the look of disapproval that never left her eyes when it came to his father, his older and now-dead brother, or even to him as he grew up. She'd wanted... maybe not better for her family, but more honest work. Work that didn't weigh down the soul. "I'll drink to that," he agreed, toasting with her and tipping his glass back with a smile. "And maybe to ungrateful clients? May we both get less of them," he added with a earnest smile.

"Here, here," she added, having to dial down the light laugh and grin as she brought the glass to her lips. Because laughing or smiling at the exact same time as drinking? Both tasks got botched and whine would've splattered onto her shirt.

Drinking deep as part of the toast, Dutch set his glass aside and grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring a fresh splash in before he grabbed his napkin. "So, don't know the last time I had dinner with someone I knew so little about," Dutch confessed, hoping that sounded less stilted to her than it did to him. "You got family in the city at all? Or did you move here seekin' your fortune?" he asked with a grin, settling his napkin on his lap and spearing a fork into his meal.

Whether it came off stilted or not wasn't Evelyn's main concern as she took a thoughtful sip from her glass of wine, buying herself some time before answering the question. Thus far 'Amelia' had avoided having to answer any questions about where she came from, or families, or other such personal details that overlapped with the life of Evelyn Audrey James. And now the question remained whether Evelyn told the truth, or just dug the lies in deeper? She trusted Dutch despite not knowing much about him either -- if he had wanted to take some sort of advantage of or hurt her he had ample opportunity to do so the night he could've left her for dead. But if she came up with a background story for Amelia here she'd have to commit to it elsewhere -- there were only so many lies Evelyn could keep track of.

"They're in town," Evelyn replied, putting down her glass as she kept to a limited telling of the truth, "I grew up here." While part of it was certainly inspired by not wanting to lie to Dutch, it was just prudent to inject some honesty into her lies. If she were to slip up and mention something about her family? Nobody would question it. But if she had told everyone she didn't have family or that she was from out of town...? That was supicious.

Evelyn picked up her own fork, following suit after Dutch, and glanced over at him a bit curious, "And you? I mean -- I know about... Do you have any other family around?" She took a bite into her mouth, eying Dutch with an expression now a bit apologetic for her question. She wouldn't have asked it normally, knowing he had lost his wife and daughter and was a Giacomo -- obviously he had family here. But it was more a natural segway to get the conversation off her without abruptly changing the subject.

"None I care to see," Dutch answered plainly, keeping his expression from souring as he ate for a few minutes. He wasn't going to let his past ruin this new friendship, especially not if it only ever lurked in his head. Sure, his options for a good future were nearly nonexistant, but a less painful one? At least with a few people he could care about on a personal level? It wasn't an impossible thing. "I... can I be frank, Amelia?" he asked quietly, setting his fork down and mulling over his glass of wine.

There was certainly a moment of silent hesitation, evident in the way Evelyn let her fork hover-halfway between the plate and her mouth. Because few good things ever followed such an opening as 'can I be frank'. Really. If Evelyn thought hard enough to remember the times in her life something good followed that, she was certain the number could be expressed with one hand. But the other thing about people using such a line? It wasn't really one the other person could say 'actually, I'd rather you not be frank' to. Because then wondering what they would say would be just as bad, maybe worse. So, Evelyn put on a brave calm face, put her fork down, and straightened away from the plate a little, "Sure... go ahead." She sounded pretty calm about the manner, but it was impossible for some of that apprehension to not slip through.

Now that'd given him her okay, Dutch suddenly didn't want to do this. Even if the things he'd done were so far in his past, they'd been terrible ones. He'd been good at killing, good enough to strengthen the first early bonds between his family and the DiGiovanni themselves. "You play oblivious pretty well," he said first, "But I think you've heard a'my kin before. The Giacomos, that is. We... we aren't nice folks, by and large. And sayin' that, I don't see why you'd have much reason to believe me? But I'm not a part of what they do, I haven't been for a damn long time now."

She come her face calm, almost placid even. But her mind was positively churning, and only the slight creasing between her brows betrayed that. Believing him -- that he wasn't currently involved with the Giacomo family -- actually wasn't too hard. Sure, she knew his last name, and that information never really left her -- it was always dimly there in the back of her mind. But talking to Dutch, the fact that his last name was Giacomo was easily reduced to an afterthought. He certainly didn't live the high life like one, and -- for her, at least -- he certainly appeared more approachable and not-so-menacing as the Giacomo members she spotted at the Drake.

But, most likely, a lot of that really had to do with him saving her life. Stuff like that painted people in a certain light. Because there were certainly questions, little details that didn't seem quite all there, but she had largely let them be out of trust for the man who had not let her get killed in an alleyway. And Evelyn wondered about them now even though, at the moment, she didn't think the answers would largely shake that trust or gratitude or whatever thing she had going. Such as, if he wasn't a part of anything, why was had he been at the Drake? Or the whole 'I haven't been for a damn long time now' phrase suggested he had been at some point. So did she question him on it, both to get those details straightened out and also for wanting to know more about him? Or did she just continue to let it be, figuring the answers wouldn't affect her opinion either way (or, worse, that they did)?

"I did wonder, some..." Evelyn slowly admitted, observing Dutch as she twirled the fork slightly upon her plate. "I mean, I figured... you certainly live a far way from their part of town?" A corner of her mouth turned up into a wry smile, not really finishing her comment. It had been a compromise, really, somewhere between her two options but not really satisfying either. She may have admitted some curiosity there, sure, but she certainly had touched onto the details that had really stood out to her.

Dutch nodded, smirking over the edge of his glass at Evelyn before he took a drink. "It's by choice," he explained, "The less I've got to do with them, the better. That lot's got a comfortable life, no doubt, but not one I can sustain." There was just too much to live with if he wanted a life of luxury, too much guilt and bloodshed and conniving. Dutch was, quite frankly, feeling too old to keep at such things. "This neighborhood? Well, most folks of that stripe are afraid to sully their shoes down here," he explained with a smirk, "They prefer the Drake, nice parts of Fontaine, all that. I like that they do."

She wanted to ask him about why he was at the Drake, but she still held her tongue. Again, maybe she just didn't want to know. She didn't need to know Dutch's secrets to like him. Hell, there were so many serious questions her brother left unanswered and Evelyn loved him regardless. And there were definitely some girls with unpleasant or shady backgrounds in her boarding house... but Evelyn saw little value into bringing such pasts up in the present. So, yeah, this wasn't an unusual position for her. She didn't comment on the neighborhood though, because if it weren't for seeing Dutch Evelyn would've been happy to not touch this part of town with a mile-long pole. She definitely felt some uncomfortable guilt as she realized that, yeah, she would preferred the Drake and nicer parts of Fontaine as well.

But none of that were things Evelyn aimed to share -- not when Dutch had cooked a (delicious!) dinner and when, aside from this turn of the conversation, Evelyn had been having a pretty good time. So instead she dawned a smile and picked her fork back up, figuring a subject change could be used, "So... I was thinking about what you said, yesterday. And I was looking at prices for car ads and such," she started, the smile becoming easier for her to maintain and turning into a grin as the subject of Giacomo's and Dutch neighborhood was moved away from, "and... I think I've got an idea, for a price."

"Oh?" Dutch asked between bites, finishing a mouthful of food before he set his fork aside. "You've gotta low-ball the prices in those ads, Amelia," he advised, "The seller's trying to turn a profit. I've had guys bring in wrecks for salvage and ask for close to what a running car would cost. So if you can put up with me buttin' in? Lay a price on me, I'll see how far we can stretch it." He was more than willing to do some legwork on her behalf, too. If Dutch could find her a reliable car? She'd be so far removed from the circumstances he'd saved her from that he knew he could sleep a little easier at night.

Evelyn was torn between being frugal and offering a price for a car that was decent. As far as prices go, she wasn't sure how much of it was labor costs and how much of it was parts and how much of it was the actual, real, value of the cars. "Two-hundred, two-fifty?" Evelyn tried, taking another bite as she looked over at Dutch. She figured that was a price tag should do without having to resort to the bank account. It certainly wasn't money she would be able to cough up in the next week but it wasn't something she thought would take her until the summer to save up. Evelyn was pretty good with her budgeting.

Dutch nodded, chewing stolidly as he considered the price range. A new car was out of the question, but the used market was more than workable for him. There was even a chance that when the Giacomos were done with whatever cargo they had in a car, they'd be happy to be rid of it. And with a new license plate and registration? Evelyn would be set. "I'll do some asking around tomorrow," he offered, "Got a few friends around town who work in supply shops, they can let me know how the market's looking. As long as you're not needing it too quick, I think I'll be able to line something up." He focused on the last of his meal intently, eventually looking up to Evelyn again. "Are you lookin' for anything specific? Not a truck, I'm guessin'," he joked, pouring himself another splash of wine and sliding his plate to the side.

She shrugged a bit. "Nothing too fancy or flashy." Even if she could afford it she wouldn't want it. Evelyn was of the opinion that, honestly? Flashy more-often-than-not distracted from the main point than accentuated it. "Something that works, obviously," she smiled, "get me from one end of the city to the other? And something that looks well kept, even if it's lower end." That part was important to her. Just as much as being flashy distracted from the point, so would dents and rust and the like. She briefly debated, just for a flight of fancy's sake, seeing if it would be possible to get something that could do a road trip. Evelyn didn't have anywhere in particular she wanted to go, but for her entire life she had never been out of the city limits. It was tempting to ask, but ultimately silly. She figured with her price range she should really, in the end, be happy with whatever Dutch could manage. "And there's no need to worry about needing it too quick. Still have to save up for it, right?"

"Well, you could get a loan if you did need it quick, but I'd advise against it," Dutch warned with a shake of his head, "If you can round up the cash on your own? You know it's yours and you don't owe anybody anything. That's a good feelin' when you've got it." She'd do this right, Dutch was confident of that. Evelyn seemed to have a sharp mind, and aside from a brush with danger she couldn't control she wasn't oblivious to the dangers of the city. Of course, the things you couldn't control were the risky ones. "But no worries, I'll find somethin' respectable. Even have my boys give it a once over just to make sure it's runnin' right. Now..." he trailed off with a grin, "You still got room for pie? Lord knows I'm no good with leftovers."

Oh, he didn't need to worry about Evelyn's appreciation of not owing people and of doing something herself. She would rather wait years to get something with her own money and through her own means than get a loan, or inconvenience someone else, or risk being at a disadvantage to someone else only to get something a week from now. Period. "I have room for pie," she smiled wryly, "But I didn't make it. So I can really attest to how it compares to other pies... but I guess that also means I can't be held responsible for its taste, can I?" She took one of the last few bites, chewing thoughtfully, bemused, "Although if there are still leftovers. I don't think the guys on your crew would begrudge an apple pie -- whether the taste is comparable or not."

Grabbing his own plate, Dutch rumbled with laughter as he rose from the table. "Got a point there, you definitely do," he said as he spoke over his shoulder, "I've seen those boys dig into three day old donuts like they were manna from heaven." Dutch stepped into the kitchen, disappearing behind the door of his fridge as he grabbed the pie. "And no offense to the bakery, but these are the only leftovers my boys'll get. If they found out I could cook? Don't know that I'd ever live it down, boss or no," he said with a smirk, grabbing a clean knife and slicing into the pie. "It almost makes me want somethin' more like what you do, 'cept I'd go stir-crazy waitin' on people all day."

Evelyn smiled, bemused by the sentiment. "To each his -- or her -- own I suppose," she called out, standing up and collecting the empty plates from the table. She only had one to really do it with, sure, but she was more than proficient at stacking the two empty plates and bringing them one-handed to the kitchen. Never one to be comfortable letting someone else do everything for her, Evelyn figured she'd at least help out in that small way. Plus, carrying plates was kind of habit by now. "Where would you like me to put these?" she asked, standing in the kitchen's entrance-way.

"By the sink's fine," Dutch answered as he slid cuts of pie free on the flat of the knife, plating each in turn. "I'll clean up out here later, it'll give me somethin' to do before bed." He didn't want to rush to the bottle once she'd gone, after all. Dutch was feeling normal, level even, despite the familiar ease of the knife in his hand. Old skills... he mused with a thin smirk, turning to hand a plate to Evelyn. "You okay with the wine? I'm pretty sure I've got some milk, probably goes a touch better with this." Not that Dutch'd be having any; the Caleo Salento had started his thirst up whether he liked it or not.

"The wine's fine," Evelyn replied, placing the dishes in the sink. The mentioning of milk briefly brought her mind back to heading over to Jesse's. Although that thought certainly brought some comfort, it also brought some worry in regards to whatever her brother's plans were, and that comfort felt odd as she stood in the same apartment from the night of the attack. "We'll be turning it into a real dessert wine then," Evelyn finished, forcing some humor into herself as she came back to Here and Now. She had noticed that, while she had enjoyed the wine, Dutch had certainly enjoyed it more. But she didn't mention it.

Dutch smirked, shaking his head a little as he took his plate and moved back to the table. "We can try," he agreed, "Lord knows my pa must be rollin' in his grave though, knowin' I'm having pie with this wine." His father, like so many of his kin, had been a proper Giacomo; old world sensibilities, delusions of elegance and refinement that fit poorly on hired killers and numbers runners. "He can just keep rolling 'til he gets the spins, so far as I'm concerned," Dutch said with a smirk, spearing a bite of pie onto his fork and mock-toasting Evelyn with it. "Here's to you," he toasted as he took his first bite, smiling in approval. Not the best pie by any means, but it was more than serviceable.

"Well, I know the sommelier will say otherwise, but I think that as long as it's appreciated you can have a good wine with anything." Although whether Evelyn was properly appreciating the wine or not could be debatable from an outside perspective. While she certainly liked the taste of the Caleo Salento, she honestly could have been just as happy with from a cheaper bottle. And a large part of her speculated that the appeal of many of the Drake's bottles lay in the price tag moreso than in taste. Of course, Evelyn certainly didn't come from a background of fine wine connoisseurs either. But she had done some taste-testing and learned quite a bit about wines for the purposes of waitressing at the Drake. Because the sommelier being busy or momentarily unavailable meant the guests demanded the server to answer everything.

Cutting her fork into a part of the pie, Evelyn gave Dutch an amused apolegetic look as she chewed it. It certainly wasn't a bad pie, per say. But Evelyn could probably do a bit better had she the patience and hand-power to bake one. And it certainly didn't compare to her mom's. But she wasn't going to stop by home and with a bandaged wrist and ask her mom to bake a pie on such short notice with no reason. Her brother might be able to get away with not explaining bruises and gunshot wounds, but Evelyn suspected the same didn't apply to the youngest daughter in the family. Taking a sip of the wine, she smiled over at Dutch. "I hope you're toasting the wine to my honor and not the pie," she joked.

"Well, it's not a bad pie," Dutch joked, feigning consideration, "But I don't think it's deserving of a toast, or worth usin' for one." Still, he didn't seem to have much hesitation about eating it, cutting through another bit hungrily as he watched Evelyn sip her wine. "And if you ask me? Gettin' to the point in life where you seperate what wines go with certain meals means you've gotten a lil' damn bored," he added with a more certain smile, "There's gotta be more worth thinkin' on, right? Lord save me if I ever hit that point."

"I don't think it's saving per se, but I could whack you with one of these pies?" Evelyn offered, keeping her face deceptively straight as she took an innocent sip of wine. Not that she had ever come close to whacking anybody with anything -- not even a classic slap or water in the face for a cheating boyfriend. Not that Evelyn was incapable of standing up for herself -- she could more than deliver a verbal beating when pissed enough.

Dutch laughed in rough amusement, shaking his head at Evelyn. "I'll hold you to that, if we ever hit the day where I leave dear old Royale Street behind," he agreed, knowing the day would never come. This was Dutch's life now, it had been for so long... He stopped the depression before it could take root, sighing quietly and succeeding at keeping the somber thoughts off of his face. "'Fraid I won't be much for company too much longer, though," he warned, "I've got a pretty full day tomorrow, especially if I'm gonna start some lookin' for you. Not that I'm tryin' to rush you out the door, mind you."

"Understood," she smiled, putting down her glass and getting back to work on her slice of pie. Before the last couple of bites she glanced back up at Dutch, "And... don't let the car search put you out of your way -- especially not on my account." Some, even though not all, of the drive behind Evelyn's independence thing was that inconveniencing others for help left a sour taste in her mouth. "I've gone my life without a car, and the idea of owning one never even occurred to me until Wednesday. So I can certainly wait a bit longer." It might've been a bit odd, following Evelyn's revelation that she know the parts of a car and how it worked and all that. But she was too concerned with stressing that Dutch really didn't need to go out ofhis way to initially notice that as she returned to finishing her pie.

Another laugh slipped out as Dutch listened to her gently-worded protests, his eyes aimed down at his pie as he flaked the crust away with his fork, picking up a piece between roughshod fingers and biting a bit off. "Amelia, I really hope you don't take this wrong," he warned, eating the other bit of crust before he looked up at her. "But for a long time now, I've been in a spot where I wasn't no good to no one. Couldn't help folks except for givin' my boys a steady paycheck, you know? And I... I think I get where you're comin' from." He assessed Evelyn in that moment, eyes intent and settled on her. "I get wantin' to prove something to the city, or yourself. I've been there, even. And if I can help you on the way? I'd like to, and I promise I won't tell a soul that I did," Dutch finished with just a hint of a smile.

The reply got a begrudging smile out of her, although she still felt a bit uneasy -- maybe guilty, even -- on having him do all the work there. But she didn't press the issue, forcing a reminder that she was going to pay him, at least. And, if things went well and she saved enough, she might be able to give a bit more than her estimate. And, maybe... if doing that wasn't enough, there was always the account as a last resort... Even if she liked that option less than doing so with her own earnings, it appealed a bit more to her than not doing so at all. "Well," Evelyn said, placing her napkin upon the table and standing up, "if you tell a soul, I might have to tell your crew just who cooked dinner and how delicious it was."

She got the smile to stretch wider with the faux-threat, making Dutch snicker as he rose from his own chair. "I get the hint, Ms. DiGiovanni," he teased lightly, "And I can keep a promise, not to mention a secret." Lord could he keep a secret. "'Course, there's none to keep yet. So let's just wait until I actually manage to line somethin' up, then you can blackmail me to your heart's content." He'd never joked about things like that before, but Dutch also hadn't been around someone who didn't know in a long time. A little levity wouldn't hurt, right? "Want me to ring up a taxi?" he offered, "It's early enough that they'll still be sweeping these neighborhoods, but maybe I can save you the wait."

When he mentioned keeping secrets, she seriously considered telling him her real name. The man had saved her life, the least she should be able to do was tell him her real name. Hell, especially if her brother was looking for the mugger and his search did get him somewhere... like maybe to the doorstep of the man who had helped her. Dutch's place was across the street from the alley after all..

But before Evelyn could finally summon up the courage to come clean, Dutch was asking about a taxi. She thought about that for only a moment. "Sure," she replied, "that'd be great." Normally Evelyn would've insisted on hailing herself a taxi -- one of those manifestations of her independence (or stubbornness, depending on who was being asked) that she recognized as pointless but often did anyway. But as soon as she walked out of this apartment she had no desire whatsoever to wait around outside to hail a taxi.

"Consider it done, then," Dutch said as he tipped the last splash of wine into his glass, taking it with him as he moved to the phone and started dialing the taxi service. He was glad she'd agreed to this, otherwise Dutch would've spent the entire time watching from his window to make sure she got into a cab safely. This way, at least, held some assurances. And those were hard to come by in this city. That was something he knew all too well. If he could get just one, a simple one that she'd make it home safe? Dutch would mark it as a win.