Okay, let's see. Got my wallet and my keys. What else is in my pockets—three quarters, two pennies, scrap of a napkin with a good doodle on it, lip balm, and an impressive ball of lint.
Yep. I was ready.
When I came out of my room, Jim was chatting with Stephen.
"So," Stephen was saying, "you'll have this stuff out at the house tomorrow morning, right? While the girls are at the skating rink?"
"No problem." Jim nodded, the picture of total confidence. I patted him on the back as I skirted around them, heading toward the door.
"Later guys!" I called out, grabbing my jacket.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Jim asked, scowling at me like a father who just caught a glimpse of his daughter's real prom dress.
I suppressed a sigh. Like he cared. Well, he did, but not that way.
"Remember? I'm meeting Niall for lunch and then we're heading to the Wertmuller festival at the Lido."
Jim's scowl deepened. "Niall? From Evidence?" That loser was implied in his tone, but I ignored him.
"Yup, that's the one."
"But, Chief—I was counting on you."
Oh, as if, Jim. "For what?"
With a helpless little gesture, Jim indicated the large pile of pink boxes sitting on the kitchen table.
"Oh, right, the favor." I grinned at Stephen, who grinned back. "Sorry, man, you're on your own with that one. See ya!"
"But—but—"
With a backhanded wave, I made my escape.
Of course, the ugly truth was that I would've loved to help Jim put together his niece's birthday present—if he'd wanted the pleasure of my company and not just my toy assembling skills. Jim has this weird idea that I have a plethora of odd talents that he can call on at any time—which is entirely true, but no one likes to be taken for granted.
So when Stephen had called to beg Jim to doing his uncle duty and help out with Torie's birthday party, Jim had assumed that I'd be available to assist, like the good sidekick that I am.
Well, this sidekick had a life, damn it.
Or—I was trying to, at any rate. Enter Niall Carabatsos, foreign film aficionado, gourmet cook, second only to me in Trivial Pursuit dominance. When I'd heard Jim on the phone agreeing to spending his Saturday afternoon putting together Princess Penelope's Play Castle, I'd grabbed my cell phone and made other plans, despite the fact that I really didn't want to see Niall again—nice guy and all, but that's another story.
Anyway, when my cell started vibrating against my leg halfway through Love and Anarchy, I figured it was Jim, but it was probably something having to do with a case. With a whispered apology, I made my way into the lobby and checked the call back number. Sure enough, it was home. I pressed the redial number and tried to feel guilty about being called away.
"Sandburg?"
"What? You were expecting a call from Letterman?"
"Look, you need to get back here right now."
"What? Why? Are you okay? What's—"
"I'll explain when you get here."
Click.
Hookay. With Jim, that could be anything from a hostage situation to a hangnail. Honest to God, the guy can be so high maintenance sometimes.
I said my goodbye, hedged on a next time, and split.
The door to the apartment was flung open as I hit the third floor landing and out popped Jim, looking frantic in that stoic, I-really-have-everything-under-control kind of way he's perfected. He grabbed my arm before I could say anything and hauled me inside.
"Oh, my God," I muttered, viewing the destruction covering every inch of the living room floor. "Jim—what have you done?"
The floor, the coffee table, the furniture—every available surface was covered with plastic toy parts. Pink boxes lined the periphery of the room and everything was afloat in a sea of pale green packing peanuts.
"The whole damn thing," Jim was saying, running his hand over his short-cropped hair. "Stephen bought the entire line—the castle, the village, the bad guy's lair—everything."
I stepped into the middle of the mess, taking care not to step on anything. Flinging my arms wide, I turned to my clueless partner.
"Jim, man—why did you take everything out at the same time?"
"Hey, I had a plan, okay?"
"Which has worked out exactly how?"
Jim leaned against the closed front door, crossing his arms over his chest. Although he was acting all tough-assed and defensive, something else was up with him. Now that I'd gotten a good look at his eyes, I could see he was suppressing some other emotion, but I couldn't identify it.
I began to suspect a set-up.
"Sandburg," came the familiar growl, "I can strip down and reassemble an M-16 in two minutes blindfolded. It's all a matter of organization."
"Right," I said, nice and slow so that he knew I was humoring him.
"So, I took everything out, punched out all the parts, laid them out in a logical order."
"Like an assembly line."
"Right."
"What happened?"
"The instructions."
I sighed, wondering if it was too late to call Niall back and make the seven o'clock showing of Swept Away.
"What about the instructions?"
Jim pushed himself upright and strode over to the kitchen table to grab a pile of tissue-like paper and fling them at me. I managed to catch one of them as the rest floated to the rug around my feet.
"Okay, how hard can this be," I muttered, flattening out the sharp creases and turning the paper until I had it right side up—or so I thought. I twisted it again, using the nearly indecipherable diagram of Sunshine Sassy's Starlight Stable as my guide.
"No, that's not it," I said on the third turn. "Here—no, wait, that's wrong. What do the instructions say—let's see, Italian, French, uh, Japanese, I think—" I looked up, straight into the righteous blue glare of my partner.
"Where are the ones in English?"
Jim tilted his head and said nothing.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"That's a problem."
"That it is."
I blew out a mouthful of air. This was decision time—do I let the guy twist in the wind or do I help him out with this mess? Looking up into pale blue eyes that I'd yet to be able to resist, I caught another glimpse of that odd emotion I'd seen earlier. Kind of like amusement, a little like a plea—and something else, something warm and safe—and speculative.
With a little gulp, I stripped off my jacket and tossed it inside my room. Jim watched me as I rolled up my sleeves and veered into the kitchen for a couple of beers.
"All right," I said, uncapping them and handing one to him, "you take the north, I'll take the south, and we'll meet in the middle."
One hour passed in relative silence as we each worked on one part of the village. I was halfway through the stable when I heard Jim give a little satisfied grunt.
"Done."
"You're done? Uh, Jim, wait, man. How many pieces you got left over?"
"One, two three, four—eleven."
"Uh—"
"Looks good to me. What's next."
"Um, hang on. Here—Muffy Moppet's Mysterious Magic Shop."
"Right. But first, I'm gonna order pizza."
"Sounds good. Hey, we got any crazy glue or duct tape? Oh, I know—we got that caulk from the bathtub—grab it when you get up, will ya?"
Another couple of hours went by and I have to admit, I was enjoying myself. Jim was relaxed and quiet as we worked companionably, at first on opposite sides of the living room, then closer and closer as we made our way toward the last toy to be assembled, the castle itself.
It almost midnight by the time we were both sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by some rather creatively constructed dwellings that looked more or less like the pictures on the boxes. With a matching pair of determined sighs, we set to work on the largest part of the village. Everything was going great until Jim spoke up with a comment out of left field.
"Sorry about the film festival," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the pink dragon sticker he was placing on the side of the castle. The other four stickers were attached to the fingers of his left hand, awaiting their turn.
"It's okay," I replied, a little uncertain as to why we were having this conversation some seven hours after the fact. "You needed help; I'm glad I could oblige."
"Yeah, well..." he stopped and turned to me, using his unstickered hand to turn me toward him. "This probably wasn't how you wanted to spend your Saturday evening."
I'd been becoming increasingly aware of the proximity of Jim's body to mine. His knee was rubbing against my thigh so I shifted a little, putting some space between us.
Shrugging, I said with a smile, "The festival is there until the end of the month. I can catch up next weekend."
Jim swallowed. "With that Cara-whatshisname?"
"Well, not unless you want to go," I answered, my tone carefully dismissive as I reached for a bright yellow cone that served as the tower roof.
To my surprise, Jim gently grabbed my wrist and pulled me up so that in order for me to keep my balance, I had to latch onto the leg of his jeans down near his bare ankle.
"Jim?" I whispered, my eyes going wide as his grip tightened.
"Of course I want to go," he said softly, lowering his mouth over mine. "I love Swedish movies."
"Italian," I breathed, not really believing this was happening but more than willing to let four years of heart-breaking frustration be obliterated by this one incredible moment.
"Okay," he said on a little smile, then gently, so gently, he rested his mouth upon mine. Undemanding, sweet and almost shy, his lips moved across mine with increasing pressure as he eased me back onto the rug. I slid my arms around his waist and held on, vaguely aware of my outstretched foot connecting with something that gave way with a soft, crunchy sound.
But my attention was all on Jim—on his hands as they stroked the hair off my forehead, on his mouth as he deepened our first kiss, asking for and receiving permission to enter. Just as tender as I'd ever imagined deep in the heart of many lonely nights, he slid his tongue into my mouth, sweeping delicately back and forth and swallowing my needful little moans. My hands clutching and pulling at his sweater, I opened my legs and yanked his warm body on top of me, loving his weight and substance as he settled around me in a cloak of pure Jim Ellison.
Then there was more—a bewilderingly heady surge of arousal that gave me enough strength to push Jim up and roll him over, my hand just managing to sweep away something I saw out of the corner of my eye before his shoulder connected with it. His hands wound tightly in my hair, our kisses became more urgent, more inflammatory, as the gentleness was replaced by hot, insistent need. When Jim began raining kisses along the edge of my jaw, his fingers stroking just inside the vee of my pullover, I lost all sense of holding back—and so did Jim.
Thus began a marathon of touching and learning, of whispered confessions and chagrined recollections of missed signals and lost opportunities. In our eagerness and haste to assure each other of our mutual devotion—and long-denied attraction—we roamed all over the living room, pushing aside anything that got in our way.
We finally took a much-needed break and paused to assess our situation. We were leaning against the loveseat, both of us shirtless and decorated with an impressive number of hickeys. Jim's arm was tight around my waist, his fingers laced with mine across my abdomen. His other hand was occupied, picking at a sticker of Travis the True-hearted Troll that had ended up on my shoulder. With a swift yank, he pulled it off, then pressed his mouth to my abused flesh.
As my eyesight began to clear from the effects of so much joy bestowed on me so quickly, I took a good look around.
"Oh, man," I muttered, appalled at the state of the room.
"Hmm?" Jim hummed, his tongue still stroking against the skin of my neck.
"Jim—look."
"Wha—oh, shit."
I nodded numbly. Our fevered enthusiasm had led to the total annihilation of Princess Penelope and all she held dear and now the village that we'd painstakingly assembled lay in pieces at our feet, like a victim of a cartoon tornado.
"Stephen's gonna kill me," he sighed.
"Nah. I'll protect you," I offered valiantly, squeezing his hand.
"He's gonna kill you, too." He squeezed back, adding another brief kiss to my shoulder.
"Damn."
"Yeah."
"Toys R Us gift certificate?"
"Looks like."
"What are you going to tell your brother?"
"Perps broke into the loft and trashed it?"
"Can't. You used that one twice already. Both times it was true and he didn't believe you then, either."
"Oh, right. Freak storm?"
"Indoors? Besides, he can check the weather report."
"I fell for my partner four years ago and just got around to doing something it about because I'm terminally thick?"
"Now, that he'll believe!"
"That I fell in love with you?"
"No, that you're thick."
"Ha, ha." Jim unwound his arm and stood up, offering me his hand. I grabbed on and he pulled me up, steadying me as I stepped on a wall of the castle, hearing it snap beneath my foot.
"Now what?" I asked a little uncertainly, indicating the destruction around us but meaning so much more. I tried to extract my hand from Jim's grip but he held on, giving it a little shake.
"Trash bags, dust buster, broom, bed."
"You make it sound so, so—"
"Normal? Logical?"
"Yeah, exactly. Well, except for the bed part."
Jim swung me into his arms and kissed me hard.
"The best part," he said with a playful leer as he began to pull away. I slid my hand around his neck and prolonged the contact of our lips until Jim melted against me, pressing close with something more than just desire.
"Second best part," I argued against his mouth.
"Okay," he mumbled, snatching another small kiss. "What's the best?"
"Going to foreign films together, you illiterate lug."
"Subtitles?" he groaned.
"Oh yeah," I said on a happy sigh, slipping my arms around his waist and burying my face into the smooth, warm skin of his shoulder. "You're gonna love Seven Beauties."
"Isn't that a Disney flick?" he asked, his arms tightening around me.
"That's the Seven Dwarfs, Jim."
"Oh. Is there sex in these movies?"
"The Disney movies? Well, I don't think so, but I always thought Aladdin and the Genie seemed awfully close—"
"Sandburg!"
"What?"
"Just—never mind. Tell you what—let's clean up tomorrow morning and hit the mall on the way to Stephen's. He can put together the next Princess Penelope world."
I nodded. "Sounds good to me. Besides, you and I are gonna be too busy to help out."
"We are? Why?"
With a farewell kiss placed against the skin above his heart, I extracted myself from his embrace and indicated the detritus around us with a wide sweep of my arms.
"We've just destroyed the world of Princess Penelope, Jim. The least we can do is start building a world of our own."
Jim's expression softened, his lips clamping together as he gave me a jerky nod.
"That sounds about right," he said, his voice suddenly rough. "A world of our own."
"Yeah," I said, my own voice a little thick. "it does, doesn't it."
As it turned out, Torie Ellison had proclaimed to all her sleepover friends that she'd outgrown Princess Penelope and was much more interested in The Precious Prancing Ponies and their Singalong CD, so when we'd shown up with a gift certificate and nary a castle in sight, Stephen was embarrassingly grateful. We never told him what happened to the original gifts, but we vigorously declined being reimbursed for the replacement certificate.
As for Jim and me, we flourished from that day on. Based on love, nourished with laughter and marked by the disagreements that had always been an integral part of our relationship, we never looked back from the night we destroyed Princess Penelope's world—and started one of our own.
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