It was propped up against a glass of orange juice sitting on the kitchen counter, my name written in bold Sandburg script across the envelope.
With a sigh, I grabbed it and tore it open to pull out the card, grimacing a little once I got a good look at it. There in black and white were two old guys in turn-of-the-century bathing suits, sitting on a bench near a boardwalk—Coney Island, some place like that. One of them was big and fat and bald and wrinkled, the other one was little and skinny and wore wire-rimmed glasses. The big guy was staring vacantly towards the camera; the smaller one was turned towards him, his hand curved over his mouth as if he were yelling.
With a distinct feeling of gallows humor, I opened the card to read the message—and despite myself, I grinned. It read:
"Will you still need me,
will you still feed me
when I'm sixty-four!"
Beneath that, Sandburg wrote:
"Ha ha! Serious on the feeding thing!
Happy Birthday, Jim! I've given you something only you would appreciate—a Sandburg-free day! Do whatever melts your butter—I'm gone and I'll see you tomorrow. I've arranged for you to have breakfast at The Apple Tree. Philo's working and he's got your order—granola with wheat germ, soy milk and prunes—just kidding!
Blair"
Of course, not "Love, Blair." That would be asking too much.
So, I thought bleakly, this is what it's come down to. Sandburg thinks the best thing he can give me for my forty-second birthday is his absence.
Son of a bitch.
I drained the glass of juice and trotted upstairs, that damn Beatles song now permanently attached to my brain. I had half a mind to skip the breakfast deal, but I knew if I did, Sandburg could get his feelings hurt.
These days, I tried not to do that.
Because even at his most annoying—like yesterday when he was down in the basement doing laundry and singing Abba songs at the top of his lungs, knowing full well I could hear him clearly—I still loved him. Even when he was right about a case and I was wrong and he took every opportunity over the following two days to rub my nose in that fact, I still couldn't imagine my life without him in it.
And even when he went out on a date and didn't come home until the next morning, I still wanted to take him to my bed and tell him his roaming days were over, that he belonged to me and I to him—end of story.
And yet—he thought I would be blessed by a day without him in it.
Breakfast was good, but I didn't enjoy it. Eating there alone held no attraction for me. Philo, the guy who usually served us, was his cheerful self, bubbling over with good wishes as he served me. I'd rather no one knew it was my birthday, but it was obviously too late—Sandburg had seen to that. So, I plowed on through scrambled eggs with chorizo and tabasco sauce, potatoes with green bell peppers and onions and then finished with a pecan roll bearing a small candle, eating it all with a clear sense of duty and not a lot of pleasure. It seemed even my favorite breakfast wasn't immune from the Sandburg influence—in other words, it just didn't taste as good without him telling me bite by bite how bad it was for me.
I missed that. I missed him.
After trying to tip Philo—he said Sandburg had already done that, generously—I headed outside, at loose ends about how to spend this time. The truck didn't need anything fixed or cleaned; the guns had been recently oiled and I'd just re-certified at the range. Now, if Sandburg had been with me, we would've gone fishing or kayaking, maybe caught a movie.
And it's not like we did everything together—just almost everything. I guess I could see his point about thinking a day without him would be a novelty. No doubt he thought I'd be calling Yvette or Babette or Rockette or whatever the hell her name was over at the Muni building and asking her out for dinner. I'd mentioned her once to Sandburg, about two weeks ago, and ever since he'd been telling me I should connect with her.
As I stood outside beneath the restaurant's front awning, I had just started to think that maybe he was right—dinner with a beautiful woman was better than the nothing I was now facing—when I caught a familiar movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to get a better glimpse but whoever or whatever it was had slipped out of sight.
Actually, I could have sworn it was Sandburg.
Shaking my head over this bout of useless wishful thinking, I turned in the opposite direction and started walking towards the waterfront. Ten minutes later I was descending the steps that led down to a little spit of land that the city of Cascade optimistically called a park. It had a tree-lined path down the middle, with benches and barbecue grills on either side. At the tip of the spit was a seating area that looked out towards the Sound, the city skyline curving away to my right. The day was pretty nice, a little on the cool side with a breeze coming out of the southwest.
Sandburg and I came here often—it was a comfortable walk from home and on warm summer nights, we'd bring a radio and dinner and listen to the game while the sun set.
Today, I had the place to myself. I sat on the bench closest to the water and watched the boats for a while, feeling restless and strangely off kilter, like I was playing hooky from work instead of enjoying a day off. I glanced at my watch a couple of times before I realized what I was doing—then I got annoyed at myself. This day was all mine and I was wasting it in useless self-absorption.
Yeah, but was it all useless? Had I reached a place in my life where looking forward only brought a weary resignation and looking back only brought pain? I didn't ask to be a forty-two year old balding cop with superior senses, but that literally summed up my life.
Except that I had one thing going for me, one thing that made it all make sense—Blair Sandburg. All those times when I felt uncertain that my existence was worth a damn, all I had to do was think of him—at the fountain, coming back to life beneath my hands; in Sierra Verde, the very anchor to my sanity; and at the microphone, giving up his future to keep me accountable for that which had been given to me.
If he wouldn't compromise that responsibility, then I couldn't, either. Even though nine days out of ten, I resented the whole situation, there just wasn't a whole hell of a lot I could do about it.
The sun felt good on my face and I tipped my head back and closed my eyes behind my sunglasses. My hearing automatically compensated and I started picking up the rhythm of the marine life that flourished all around me. It was a soothing sound, one I was used to and could filter out easily.
That's why, when I heard his voice, it came through so clearly.
"No thanks, man. Keep the change."
At first, I couldn't place it—Sandburg said he'd be gone all day. But as I ran it through my head, I was sure it was him. I turned around and scanned the park behind me, but I saw no one except a young couple struggling down the steps to the park entrance, a stroller the size of a baby rhino being manhandled between them. I looked past them, up towards the parking lot and the storefronts beyond, but I didn't see him.
I figured my ears were playing tricks on me—which only served to piss me off, because that meant something could be wrong and Sandburg would have to know. I didn't withhold that kind of information from him anymore, but unfortunately, with our schedule these days, it was about the most attention I could get from him outside of work.
But just like breakfast, this little bit of time at a favorite spot seemed bland and joyless. I stood up and stretched, then headed back towards town.
Probably the only place where I could go and lose myself at this point was the gym. The mindless repetition and concentration would keep me from falling further into this little funk that was gnawing at me. Sandburg could explain how the production of endorphins would lift my spirits, but all I knew was that I needed a diversion.
I walked the fifteen blocks to our neighborhood gym and did my normal routine, and when I was no more distracted than when I started, I began it all over again. But halfway through the second series of ab crunches, I decided to bail. If any endorphins had been released, they must have fled in terror in the face of the immense despair that was building inside me.
After all, it wasn't anyone's problem but my own that I had my workout timed exactly with the moment Sandburg would normally be cooling down after his run. That was his chosen mode of exercise, and over the months we'd perfected the timing so that as I did my last rep, he'd be coming down from the running ring that circled the gym, parking himself on an empty machine and waiting for me so we'd head for the locker room together.
And it was also my problem that today, as I worked out alone, I missed listening to his heart rate rise and then slowly fall as he did his laps and I missed his chatter as he'd pace himself with someone else so they could talk while they ran.
Today, there wasn't anything worth listening to and my sense of isolation increased.
But just as I was coming out of the shower, I caught a whiff of something—sandalwood and wool with a touch of lemon verbena, a distinctive combination that I associated with only one person.
Wrapping a scratchy white towel around my hips, I followed the scent like a bloodhound, through the locker room and down a corridor to a door that led out to the basketball courts. I caught some strange looks along the way but I didn't care. I knew that scent.
Blair was here.
I opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, rapidly scanning the courts for a glimpse of him. Right on the realization that he was nowhere to be seen was the awareness that the activity going on in front of me had stopped and when I got a good look at the participants, my towel and I beat a hasty retreat.
Somebody really ought to put up a schedule that tells people when the nuns from St. Anne's are borrowing the courts for their monthly rummage sale.
I dressed quickly, assessing the situation. So far, I had the feeling that I'd seen, heard, and smelled my partner. Unless I was going nuts—or my senses were—there was only one inevitable conclusion.
Blair was following me.
If I were to make a list of stupid things to do, following Jim on his birthday would probably make the top three.
I hadn't planned on it—in fact, I'd made my own plans for the day that I was giving Jim to be alone. Well, alone without me, anyway.
And it all started so innocently, too; after all, I just wanted to see if he'd actually show up for the birthday breakfast I'd arranged at the Apple Tree Café. To my delight—and, let's be honest, surprise—he did.
That should have been that. I'd even made it halfway back up the block to my car when the purely fanciful idea hit me that it might be interesting to see what Jim would choose to do without me.
At least that's what I told myself. If, in fact, I really just wanted to be near him instead of spending the day at the Museum of Natural History, that was a reality I could just ignore. I was really good at that.
I also told myself that if his day included something along the lines of romantic companionship, I'd know for sure that he wasn't interested in going down any other road with me than the one we'd been on for the past few years—that nice, buddyish, platonic road that I was heartily tired of treading. If that turned out to be the case, it was definitely time to take the next exit.
So, without a lot of analyzing of motive, I pivoted and retraced my steps, my mind already happily working over the complexities of doing surveillance on a man with five heightened senses.
The first part was easy. I could clock exactly how long it would take Jim to eat his breakfast, thanks to the many times we'd eaten at that particular restaurant together. I mentally shaved off about ten minutes for the conversation he wasn't having with me, so I figured I had enough time to step into Fran's Bakery for a bagel. The bakery was across the street and half a block up on the other side, so from my stool at the window bar, I could clearly see the front entrance of the restaurant.
Jim hadn't come out by the time I finished, so I tossed away my napkin and coffee cup and stepped back out onto the sidewalk to start moving cautiously up the street. I made it to the corner and waited for the light to change, then made sure I was in a knot of people as I got closer to the restaurant.
Unfortunately, my mobile camouflage zigged when I zagged, so I was left standing all alone when I saw Jim through the glass of the café as he pushed open the front door. I stared stupidly for a second, my mind instantly coming up with reasonable explanations if he caught me. Then self-preservation kicked in and I ducked behind the bumper of a four-by-four, peering though the windshields to watch for him.
I had a bad moment when he turned his head sharply in my direction, those piercing eyes sweeping over the parked cars with the precision he'd come to use as second nature. I ducked lower behind the truck and squeezed my eyes shut, just waiting for a tap on my shoulder or the sound of his voice, dry and amused.
When I got neither, I slowly straightened enough to look through the windshields again, just in time to see his leather-clad back moving towards the waterfront.
Ok. Do I give up the chase, or do I follow?
What the hell—I was feeling lucky.
When he reached the waterfront and descended the steps, I almost wished that he'd found me out, just so I could join him on the bench—our bench, actually. At least that's the way I thought of it, having spent a lot of quality time with him out there during the summer. Although I'd never shared this with Jim, I thought of that bench as our healing place—even though we'd never had a single deep discussion out there. It's just that a lot of the lousier things in our relationship had happened near water, and that bench on that little spit of land was slowly eradicating a lot of uncomfortable memories associated with water, like beaches...and fountains.
But I stayed away, taking up a position near a little food cart that worked the edges of the park. The sun was warm against my back, soaking through my denim jacket and making me just a little bit sleepy.
Well, that wouldn't do, so I bought a bottle of water at the cart, declining the attendant's offer of a free day old cookie. As I retook my spot, I noticed a young couple headed towards the park and another group heading in the same direction, accompanied by a pair of Frisbee-toting Labradors, so I figured Jim would be headed back my way soon—that man has a real phobia about Frisbees.
Jim's next stop was really no surprise. I shadowed him on a side street and within three blocks of the park, I knew he was headed for a workout.
The fact that Jim had stuck to walking instead of taking off somewhere in his truck intrigued me; it was almost like he was making it easy for me to tail him. But let's face it, imagination is not one of my Jim's strong suits. Judging by the way he'd chosen to spend his day so far, a trip to the sporting goods store for fishing line was probably next on the agenda.
At the gym, things would be trickier. The staff knew us both, so I needed to avoid anyone seeing me and greeting me by name so that Jim could hear it. The timing was in my favor—it was mid-morning on a weekday, long after the early birds had gone to work and before the nooners showed up for their step aerobics.
But if I went inside, there'd be nothing for me to do, so I hung around the strip mall where the gym was located, window shopping my way past a discount housewares store, a florist, a cheap shoe place and a 7-11 before slipping into the Starbucks to use the bathroom.
Jim's usual workout took forty-five minutes. Once again adjusting my mental time chart, I gave him five minutes to change into his usual sweat shorts and tank top, then another ten to shower and get dressed. That would get him out of there about a quarter after eleven.
At eleven thirty, I began to wonder. At eleven forty-five, I knew I was goin' in.
I trotted past the front desk when Meggie was on the phone and simultaneously helping someone at the counter. She didn't even look up and I had my key card out so when I reached the door leading into the facility, I slipped right in. The corridor was wall on one side and glass on the other, and a quick glance down into the weight room told me Jim wasn't there.
Flush with the bravery of a naughty kid sneaking into a theater, I put my head down and moved into the empty locker room, taking a circuitous route to where our lockers were located side by side. I had my excuse ready once again—honest, man, just decided to come in for a run—as I came around the far side of a row of lockers to peek around the edge.
No Jim. But—yup, there was his usual raggedy white tank top lying on the bench, right next to the gray shorts.
It was only due to the sudden cessation of the sound of running water that I figured out the scenario in front of me—and that I was about to get caught.
I stifled an adrenaline-fueled laugh and backed out the way I came, but instead of heading out the front door, I took a right and made my way to the basketball courts, waving at the Sisters as I sprinted to the alley that ran behind the mall. Circling around past the 7-11, I caught my breath and waited for Jim to emerge from the front door of the gym.
When he did about ten minutes later, I got a really funny feeling. I immediately noticed a firmness to his step that had been lacking before, so I had to pick up my pace to follow him as he strode back in the direction of home. The first thing that popped into my head was that he had a lunch date he was anxious to make, in which case it looked as though the rest of my day was about to be freed up.
But to my surprise, Jim veered right on Prospect instead of left towards home and as far as I knew, the only thing in that general direction was the Cascade Farmer's Market.
And that's where we went.
The place was hopping and that was both blessing and curse. Jim would have trouble spotting me, but I was also having a hard time keeping up with him.
As for Jim, he was acting very un-Jim like. He sauntered, he perused, he fingered veggies, he had an in-depth discussion with the pasta vendor. Whenever I dragged him here, he hung out near the entrance and pointed at his watch every time I caught his eye as I shopped. But this time, before he'd even worked his way down one aisle, he had a couple of bags of stuff and my enjoyment of my illicit surveillance began fading fast.
It didn't take much in the way of detecting skills to figure out that Jim was assembling the makings of a meal, an obviously special meal for a specific someone. I watched with a sinking heart as he purchased a nylon shopping bag and piled his purchases inside it, which now included a bottle of wine and a bouquet of jewel-colored dahlias.
It was the flowers that did it; definitely my cue to leave the man alone. Stepping between two of the stalls, I dug my hands deep into the front pockets of my jeans and sighed, wishing I'd never started this little game. It would have been a lot easier to hear about Jim's date tomorrow, after the fact, than to see him gather together the ingredients intended for his special night.
I glanced down the market aisle one more time to check and make sure the coast was clear before leaving, but I couldn't find him among the shoppers. It was just as well, I thought morosely as I started to step back into the crowd. This had pretty much turned into a disaster and I had no one to blame but myself.
I was just about to pull into the foot traffic when a tug at my waist pulled me up short. Thinking I'd gotten hooked on something, I blindly reached behind me to get unsnagged, then yelped as my hand encountered warm flesh. Twisting around, I was shocked to see Jim standing there, a small smile hovering on his lips and his finger still hooked in my belt loop.
"Well, well," he said, one eyebrow arching slightly, "I didn't know Sandburg was in season." He gave the loop another tug and then let go. "Must be my lucky day."
Lie? Or tell the truth?
I could see the choice pass behind his eyes as they widened in shock. His cheeks flushed and his next breath was more like a gasp as his gaze shot behind me, then back to my face.
"Whoa! Uh, hey, Jim—hey! Wow! Fancy meeting you here, hunh?"
I smiled at him, a little half grin just to make him nervous.
"Yeah. Quite a coincidence."
"It is!" His apprehensive smile faltered. "I mean, you never come here unless I drag you here for some reason."
I stayed silent for a moment, thinking over my alternatives while he sweated it out. I was now positive that Sandburg had been following me, but I wasn't sure why. Years ago, it could have been some kind of test, but we were far beyond that crap now. I doubted that he was doing it as research, even though I knew for a fact that he still kept notes about my sensory abilities.
So, if I eliminated the practical reasons, that left only the personal ones.
"Why?"
Sandburg blinked at me. "Why—why what, man?"
I suppressed a laugh—he still didn't know what was going on. Maybe I didn't either, but before this day was out, we'd both know for sure.
"Why are you following me?" I asked gently, switching my bag from my right had to my left and wondering what tack he was going to take.
"Following you? No way—I'm not following you! I came for—for some spices, man—you know I'm out of the—"
"Uh, hunh. Spice guy's place is at the front and I don't see any bags in your hands."
"Well—" Suddenly he shrugged and lowered his eyes to the ground, capitulating a lot sooner than I expected. "Yeah, ok, so I was."
I felt a little surge of relief because his discomfort gave me a clue that he hadn't just trailed me for kicks, but his forlorn stance and heated face were still hard to read. If Sandburg had been doing this as a joke, he'd be the first to admit it and tell me to lighten up. I realized that there was a story here—and maybe, it'd turn out to be a story we could finish together.
He jumped when I rested my hand on his shoulder.
"It's ok, Sandburg," I said, my voice deliberately light. "C'mon, let's go home."
He shook his head and stepped out of my reach. "Nah, I've got plans. Looks like you do, too. I take it you finally got around to asking out Lynette?"
Ah, so that was her name. Didn't matter, though—nor did his attempt to distract me. Sandburg had started all this and I wasn't about to let him off the hook.
"Yeah, I've got plans and no, they don't include Lynette. You think you could rearrange your day to come home with me for a little while?"
His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
I held up the bag. "I want to try my hand at that angel hair pasta you make and I need you to tell me how to do it. Besides," I added casually, "you haven't explained why you were following me."
"Oh, well, see, that's easy. I was—"
"Save it until we reach home. Let's go."
When he hesitated, I improvised shamelessly. Had there ever been a time that Blair said no to me when I actually asked for help?
"Please? I could really use your help with dinner—I don't want to screw it up." In more ways than one.
I had no idea what was going through Sandburg's head during the walk home. He was quiet but the streets were busy and there wasn't a lot of chance for conversation. We got into the loft and after removing my jacket, I dumped the bag out onto the counter, watching as Blair started picking through my purchases.
"Aw, man, Jim—you forgot the thyme! I think we're completely out, too."
I shrugged and started putting things away. "That's ok. We can get some later."
"Oh, yeah, that's right. Um, who is all this for, anyway?"
I straightened from putting the fresh pasta in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator and looked him straight in the eye.
"You."
Blair took one step back, his hips hitting the kitchen counter.
"Why?"
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Hey, I asked first. You tell my why you were following me and I'll tell you why I want to make dinner for you."
"I don't get it—dinner? For me?"
"That's what I said."
"But—I wanted you to have a day to do anything you wanted."
I made a circular, move-the-conversation-along motion with my hand. "Ok, and?"
"This is what you wanted—to make dinner for me?"
I took a step towards him. "Blair. Why did you follow me today? No bullshit."
He took a deep breath and rested his palms against the edge of the counter, fingers nervously tapping the edge. "Ok. Well, at first, I just wanted to see if you'd actually take me up on the breakfast thing."
"At first?"
He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. But then after that, it was more about—just seeing what you'd do, how you'd choose to spend your day with—uh, without me. It was kind of like the ultimate hide and seek, you know? And then when you were at the gym, I had to think out this whole timetable to see if I could work out just how long you'd be." He shrugged and shot me a smile filled with apology. "Curiosity just got the better of me, I guess."
"You could've asked."
The smile faded. "Yeah, I know, but—it wouldn't have been the same."
I took another step, which brought me directly in front of him. "The same as what?" I asked quietly.
He had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. "The same as spending the day with you."
I reached out to run a finger along the edge of his jacket collar. "Why didn't you just plan to do that?"
"My way was safer."
My finger skipped over the edge of the fabric to tease his Adam's apple.
"Safer?" I echoed, my eyes on my hand as I added a second caressing finger to the skin beneath his ear. "Safer than what?"
He reached up and grabbed my wrist, flinging my hand away.
"Safer than this."
His other hand shot out and snagged me around the neck, pulling my head down to his so that he could press his mouth against mine.
I was so shocked that I took a half step back. Blair came with me, his other hand sliding around my hip and pulling me back close. The kiss was possessive, his mouth working persuasively against mine until I opened to him, then gentling as his tongue slipped inside to caress the tender flesh of my upper lip.
Lost in the feel of a mouth so unexpectedly soft it stole the breath from my lungs, it took me a moment to bring my arms up around him—and it was a moment too long. Just as my hands connected with his shoulders, he released me and began to pull away.
"No, don't," I muttered, and redirected my hands down and around his waist. Sliding my knee between his legs, I turned us until my back was against the counter and he was hoisted up in my arms, his mouth now tantalizingly level with mine.
Our eyes caught and I held his stunned gaze for a split second before crashing my mouth hard upon his. My surprise had worn off and in its place came a fierce joy that pounded triumphantly inside my head. His mouth—so often dreamed of, so often covertly watched during the course of our lives—was sweet and more responsive than I'd ever dreamed. His hands brushed over my head, blunt fingertips gliding against my ears with just the right amount of pressure. The scent of lemon sharpened as strands of his hair fell against my cheek and I moaned into this mouth, hungry for more of him—all of him.
This was the only birthday present worth having—Blair Sandburg suffusing my senses, filling me, reaching inside and owning me.
I lifted my mouth away from his and clutched him close in a bear hug as love and lust warred for my attention. Sturdy arms hugged me back and his warm body seemed to flow around mine; I think he knew we both needed to affirm that there was more than just this wild, newly unrepressed attraction between us.
"Feel safe now?" I murmured into the curls over his ear.
He bounced against me, laughing softly.
"Yeah, right." He leaned back until he could see me, his eyes bright and amused. "I just hauled off and kissed you after four years of keeping my hands off you—how safe should I feel?"
"That depends," I replied, shifting until my arms rested comfortably on his hips.
"On?"
"Whether or not you're going to do it again. Because—" I continued as he opened his mouth to speak, "—if you're not, you're in a helluva lot of trouble here."
He grinned at me and I smiled back—but even before his grin faded, I could feel him stiffening a little as he began to pull back emotionally.
"What?" I said it quietly, rubbing my thumb on his back where the dip of his spine met his belt.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and stared at as spot beyond my shoulder before returning his eyes to mine.
"This is going to sound funny, what with you and me having just, uh, you know, locked lips and all, but I still feel bad about following you today."
"Ok—why?"
"Why? Because I wanted you to spend the day doing what you wanted to—then I spoiled it by showing up."
I stared at him—only the unfathomable Sandburg thought process could make him regret the circumstances that had just given me the only thing I'd truly wanted for a long, long time. And knowing Blair, nothing I could say would alleviate his wounded sense of right and wrong—his original gift to me had been heartfelt. At times like this, it was better to just go with it.
"Well," I said, tilting my head to one side and giving him a considering look, "here's what we'll do. Promise to show me how to make that pasta tonight and we'll call it even."
I met his serious gaze with a bland look of my own, hiding my amusement as he worked out one last timetable. When his lips twisted as he tried to suppress a smile, I knew we were almost home free.
"You know," he murmured, wrapping his arms around my neck, "by my highly scientific calculations, that gives us at least five hours of free Jim Ellison birthday time. Any particular way you'd like to spend it?"
"Oh, yeah," I breathed, and let my hands slide over his hips to cup his ass, my little fingers fitting perfectly in the creases at the top of his thighs. "I want to enjoy my present."
He bit his lower lip and started to shake his head, but I chose that moment to give him a little squeeze.
"Whoa—uh, I don't have anything to give you," he whispered hoarsely. His eyes darkened as he swayed towards me and my breath hitched when his mouth connected with mine. The lush exchange took over for a few minutes, and I was blown away—and humbled—by the near-perfect cadence we'd established almost effortlessly.
"Sure you do," I muttered as we parted. My eyes remained closed as he slowly kissed his way across my nose and cheeks.
"What?" he whispered against my mouth.
I kissed him lightly and then opened my eyes.
"Figure it out, Einstein." I said it dryly, with a little shrug, but internally I was praying he'd catch my drift.
With a soft laugh, he buried his face in my neck. "Okay, okay, I get it."
"Not yet, but you will."
He lifted his head, a question in his eyes. "Did I miss something?"
I smoothed away a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Look, let me ask you a question. Do you think we've wasted four
years getting to this place?"
His eyes widened. "Wasted? No, no, of course not!"
"Why not?"
"Jim, we needed that time, to get to know each other at first, then to—to learn to trust each other again."
"Trust? Is that what this is about?"
"Well, yeah, of course—you have to trust someone if you love them."
I didn't say anything and that's when the light dawned. His shut his eyes and nodded. "Oh, man. Now I get it."
I held my breath as his eyes reopened, but what I saw in them reassured me that he did, indeed, understand.
"Anytime you're ready, Chief," I whispered.
He drew a finger across my bottom lip, his smile a little uncertain. "I know you need to hear it, but not as much as I need to say it, I think."
Taking my head between his palms, he exerted gentle pressure until I lowered my forehead to meet his. He tilted his head to one side and I felt the soft flutter of his lashes over my cheek.
"I love you, you big, dumb, former Ranger, forty-two year old, extra touchy-feely cop," he murmured, his lips flush against my skin. I turned my head and took his mouth feverishly, his words the final key to unlocking the door to emotions I'd hidden from him for years.
"You had to mention the age thing didn't you, you little bastard?" I laughed as we finally parted, giving his butt a pinch.
"Well, yeah," he replied, unrepentant, but the briefly playful mood was soon banished in another wave of hot kisses that quickly wore away any lingering doubts.
"Will you come with me?" I muttered against his lips, my voice rough, barely recognizable.
"Yes," he breathed into my mouth as I slid the jacket off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
I helped him strip off my sweater but as his fingers tugged the tee shirt away from my waistband, he hesitated.
"Blair?"
He looked up at me, then lowered his lashes with a self-conscious grin.
"Nothing." He returned to the shirt, reaching behind me to pull it free. I captured his hands and pulled them back in between us. When he wouldn't meet my eyes, I realized what was wrong.
I raised one hand to my lips and kissed his knuckle, then flipped him in my arms until his back was to my chest. Then I pushed a curl out of my way with my nose and pressed my mouth to his ear. He settled against me, although he remained tense as he wondered what I had on my mind.
I held out my hand, palm up.
"Give me your hand."
He placed his hand in mind and I closed my fingers over it.
Mouth still against his ear, I spoke. "I'm no poet here, Chief, but I know I fell in love with you every time you touched me, every time I needed you to ground me and you were there, every time you put yourself in harm's way for me."
His fingers clutched at mine. "Yeah, but—"
"Shhh. When I realized today that you'd thought I'd want to be without you on my birthday, I figured—that was it. But then you followed me, and it made me hope again."
"Hope?" he whispered.
"Yeah. Hope that I still had a chance to tell you that I love you—and that I never want to spend a birthday—yours or mine, hell, even Simon's, for that matter—apart from you again. Does that work for you?"
He twisted in my arms and kissed me hard. "And you say you're no poet," he murmured as we broke apart.
I dropped a kiss on his nose. "I'm not. Just finally getting good at telling the truth."
"Ok, I can live with that." He grabbed my hand and tugged me out of the kitchen and towards the steps leading to my room. "You may not be a poet, but I'm betting I can make you sing."
I started to protest, then gave up as I watched him from behind as we ascended the stairs.
I was practically humming already.
A little giftfic for K's birthday *g*. Thanks to Promo-Chick Sheryl for the help and suggestions and to Aithine who interrupted her housecleaning to come to my aid once again. The woman's a saint. (A: I'll leave you all with the impression that I'd actually already started cleaning and had to be dragged kicking and screaming to edit for V. ::snort:: And if you believe that...*vbg* V: Oh shush—gonna tell the 'rents on you. *eg*)
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