A/N: Following on from Man's Best Friend, this is the promised first meal at Grissom's place. Well, it kind of starts the night before, and I've decided to split my oneshot up into chapters again. Three, I think. No doubt your comments and suggestions will trigger ideas I didn't have in the first place, making this story even better. They normally do. So please, keep them coming. ;-)

And remember this is meant to be fun and lighthearted and, dare I write it, fluffy. I hope you enjoy. Have a nice weekend!

Dinner for Three

Even though Grissom was tired and achy, sleep didn't come easily for him that night. He was too buoyed up, too excited – mentally and emotionally, but also physically. His body was restless, tingling with unspent energy. If he could be bothered, he would go ride a coaster or play cards. But as it stood, he lay in the dim light with a smile on his face and not a stitch on, his mind filled with images of Sara, their day out in the desert and their burgeoning romance.

His pulse quickened, his heart swelling with emotion at the mere thought of the word – romance. Sara had asked him if they were dating, and he'd said yes because strictly speaking they were, but in his mind, it was more than just that. In his mind, they were romantically involved, irrevocably entwined. Dating just…didn't cut it. Dating implied two people trying out a relationship and exploring whether they were compatible by going out together in public as a couple, which they were doing – albeit covertly.

But he didn't need to try out anything with Sara, he already knew they were compatible, had unconsciously known for years. Why else deny himself a relationship with her in the first place? The lab rules? Maybe, but they could have circumvented the rules, just as they were doing now. No. Fear had made him back off and keep away; fear to be emotionally dependent on someone else, fear to bare oneself and be found lacking.

And yet now he felt differently. He loved the inner sense of freedom that came with not having to hide his feelings for her anymore, with being able to act normally around her, naturally – well, at least when they were alone. It was so much easier than having to pretend he didn't care for her so very much. Even now on his own he could think about her freely and not chastise himself for it. He hadn't felt this young, this liberated in a very, very long time.

Every time he closed his eyes, snippets of their date would replay in his head and take him back. Take him back to a state of bliss and fulfilment. He could hear the soft trickling of the water down the rocks into the pool as they shared their picnic, feel the cool breeze of the wind on his face as they walked toward the Wilson Cliffs, her hand in his, on him, her fingers freely threading through his hair, trailing up and down his back, his sides and shoulders, tickling, arousing.

Their eyes would meet at random intervals and they'd smile shy, uncertain smiles, as if they still couldn't quite believe what was happening between them – what was happening to them. He'd tighten his hold on her hand or shoulder and swallow a surge of love so intense he thought his heart might stop. He loved that she had that power over him, that she could render him speechless and lovesick with a look, a touch, a smile.

All his senses were on alert – constantly – and not just when he was around her, even now as he lay in bed. Was that normal, he wondered? He could taste her lips as they returned every one of his licks, sucks and kisses, as they explored places he never thought they would. Her body was so lithe and strong, fitting so perfectly over his, under his, her breasts…his eyes clenched tighter shut, his lips pinched to stifle a moan, and he swallowed, hard, then felt himself tighten and contract, once, twice and then helplessly tip over the edge in a release that had been all day coming.

Shit. His eyes snapped open. Disgusted at his poor performance, at his lack of self-control, he sat up in bed, turned the side lamp on and squinting pulled out a wad of tissues from the box on the bedside table. Shifting restlessly in his basket near the door Hank cast a glance over to him. Grissom cleaned himself and the bed sheet up, discarded the tissues on the bedside table and lay back down on a dry patch before pulling the bed sheet over his sweaty body. Then he folded his arm behind his head on the pillow and let out a long, wistful sigh.

Fifty years old, and over before it even began. Let's hope he did better on the night. That was all he needed, he thought discontentedly, pressure in that department. What if he came up short? Or couldn't keep up? Keep it up? What if it was over in a flash? He gave his head a shake. "You're fine," he mumbled to himself, aiming but failing to sound confident. "Nobody's ever had cause to complain before, quite the opposite. Besides, when she's here in person, in your arms rather than in your head, it'll be different."

Hank threw him another baffled look, then gave a loud yawn, his message clear – time for bed now – and Grissom sighed again before turning onto his side, plumping up his pillow and closing his eyes. What was happening to him? Never before had a woman had such debilitating effect on him. It was exciting but kind of scary too.

"You're going to have to move out, you know," he said, addressing the dog, and reopened his eyes. "Out of the bedroom, I mean." He scratched at his beard. "I can't have you sleep in here when Sara's around. She might not like it. And we can't very well crash at her place, now, can we?"

This time Hank lifted his head right up and turned it toward the bed. He was looking indignant. The small yelp of discontent he emitted was reply enough, and Grissom scoffed.

"Better get used to it, pal," he said, the beginning of a smile curling his lip, "Because I intend for her to be over a lot."

He wondered where she was at. He glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside table and thought she'd be getting ready for shift by now. Was she thinking of him at all? The smile stayed on his face long after he'd reached up his hand to turn the bedside light off and closed his eyes. Sleep had come surprisingly easily after that.

The next day he woke up bright and early and full of spirit and trepidation for the day and date ahead. Quickly, after a trip to the bathroom, he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and slipped his shoes on, ready to take Hank on their daily morning walk. Hank was already waiting at the door, tail beating, red ball in mouth eager to get going. Grissom's smile was fond, understanding. He reached down and scratched between the dog's ears.

"Sorry, buddy, to have to disappoint you, but you're not going to need it. We're not meeting Sara today. Well, not at the park anyway."

Hank dropped his tail and curled it between his legs, showing his sorrow. Grissom knew exactly how the dog felt.

"But she's coming later," he added brightly, "all right?"

Hank dropped his ball and gave a bark, before picking up the ball again and indicating with a nod of his head toward the door that, Sara or not, he was ready to go. Their walk was brisk, but they did make a quick detour via the park to play ball for a while. They were on their way back when his cell vibrated in his pocket. With a start he pulled it out, his puzzlement morphing into a smile at the name displayed on the screen.

"Hi," he said, sounding surprised as he connected the call, and cleared his throat.

"Hi. You awake?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I'm, huh, just leaving the lab. I need to do a little grocery shopping on my way home and I was wondering if there was anything I―I could get for tonight."

Grissom slowed down his pace a fraction and reeled Hank back. The happy inflection in her voice had his heart beating double time. "No. I don't think so. No. Just yourself," he said a little uneasily. "I got everything under control." Well, I will have by then, he thought.

"Oh. Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

His face softened at the thought. "I look forward to it."

There was a pause, and Grissom briefly wondered if he'd missed a trick. "Me too," she said quietly, and his smile returned.

"You have a good night, Sara."

"And you a good day. See you tonight."

Grissom let out a breath and pocketed his cell. Without realising he'd stopped walking, and giving his head a shake and Hank a sharp tug he set off again at a brisk pace, his head full of all the things he needed to do so that he indeed had everything under control.

After a quick breakfast and shower, Grissom sat down at his desk, put aside the budget report he needed to review and set about making a list of ingredients for his gourmet menu he'd need to get while at the store, as well as a few other essentials. Then he picked out his outfit from his closet, eventually settling on a navy shirt that would need ironing again, a matching tie and his best jeans. He stared at the tie in his hand for a moment, then sighed, lifted it to his chest and moved to stand in front of the mirror.

"What do you think?" he asked with a glance over his shoulder at Hank lounging on the bed.

Hank didn't even twitch an ear to acknowledge that he'd even heard him, let alone have an opinion on the matter, and with a twist of his lips Grissom refocused on his reflection.

The tie made him look like he was dressed for court, and quickly he put it away but opted to keep the navy shirt – comfortable but smart and more importantly himself. He remembered someone telling him once that the shirt complimented his eyes nicely, or words to that effect, but what did he know about it, or even care? He paused, twisted his mouth in thought, oh, he cared. He cared about it all right.

He hung the shirt on the door knob and turned to the rest of the room. The blinds were swiftly pulled up, the windows opened. Hank was unceremoniously despatched, much to the dog's undisguised annoyance, and the bed stripped and left to air. He'd need to put clean sheets on, then dust and vacuum everywhere, clean the bathroom, the toilet, and change the hand towels. He frowned. Did he have a spare toothbrush in case she needed one? Would she need one? Maybe he could get one when at the store. He moved to his desk and added it to his list.

"What about condoms," he wondered out loud and tapped his pen to his lips. Should he add condoms to his list? "Better be on the safe side," he told Hank hovering at his feet, uneasy and uncertain on account of Grissom's most uncharacteristic ebullience.

But did he need to? He frowned; didn't he have an old pack hanging around somewhere? Quickly, he checked the bedside table and when that came up empty the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. There was a box there, opened, but with more than half of the condoms left. When he checked the use-by date though, he was dismayed to find that the condoms were three years out of date. Three years! He gave his head a shake and tossed the pack in the trash, then thought better of it and swiftly retrieved it. Better not leave it where it could be found.

The rest of the day went by in a flash – doing housework, grocery shopping and cooking, with a little work-related paperwork thrown in for good measure. But it was well worth all the sweat and effort, he thought.

He was putting the finishing touches to the table when the doorbell finally rang. He turned toward the sound with a start, then checked the time on the oven clock. Six pm on the dot; she was on time. A wry smile formed on his lips as he wondered whether she'd waited behind the door for the exact time before ringing the bell. Hank made a dash for the door, and casting a critical eye around the place he smoothed down his shirt, ran his hand through his freshly-washed hair and followed suit.

"You behave yourself, all right?" he told Hank in a whisper as he checked the peephole. It was her, waiting with her back to the door. "No funny business, or I shut you in the bedroom. No, not the bedroom," he retracted quickly, "the bathroom."

Blowing a deep breath, he turned the lock and when he opened the door was met with the widest, most beautiful and dazzling smile, a smile so entrancing that for a second he could only stay rooted to the spot, staring like a goofy teenager that couldn't quite believe his luck. She'd put on a little makeup and a sleeveless cream silk top and a skirt, just about visible behind the sports bag she was holding with two hands in front of her. She looked nice, he surmised finally, nothing over the top, but nice. More than nice, you fool, lovely. She looked lovely. Tell her.

Hank brushed past him, annoyed at the delay. Sara reached down to pet him, and still Grissom hadn't spoken. "You look lovely," he managed at last.

Sara looked up with surprise. A smile twitching at her lips, she pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head and gave him the once-over. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said, straight-faced, and met his gaze. "See?" she beamed, "I'm not early."

Grissom's face softened. A quick look left and right told him the coast was clear and he reached for her hand, gently pulling her to him while he took a step toward her. He raised his other hand, shy, hesitant, and then brushed it to her cheek. Should he kiss her?

"I'd have liked it better if you had been," he said, and kissed her on the mouth.