Hey all,

I know it's been awhile since I've updated Step Up and Oh, Baby! but a lot is going on in my world right now. My sweet kitty Mishu was just diagnosed with chronic renal failure last Thursday and I'm absolutely heartbroken! She's doing well for right now but I fear that she will only get worse in the coming months and there is nothing we can do to stop the progression of the disease. She's still eating and playing and jumping, and I'm trying to enjoy every single day I can get with her. I've also been working the night shift on a temporary basis so my biological clock is all screwed up. Only four more nights to go, and I'm going back to days! Yay! I hope to get back into writing so that I can finish the stories I've started. Sorry for keeping you all hanging!

Anyhow, the idea for this little piece has been popping into my mind for practically forever, and I figured I'd better get it down on paper before I forgot it. Because we can all use a little Santos lovin' in our lives. Please let me know what you all think!

The driver's side door latch of my latest vehicular disaster only opened after a swift kick to the outside handle, but for some reason getting out of the car from inside was no problem. I was thankful for this as I slunk out of the rusty thing, covered from head to toe in canola oil and all-purpose flour. I had managed to grab both my shoulder bag and broken stun gun before shoving the door shut behind me, but I really couldn't be bothered with locking it. A great early Christmas present would be if someone were to actually steal it and take it off my hands.

Of course that would never happen as long as it was parked in the RangeMan garage, but sometimes I have fantasies of driving it over to Stark Street and purposely leaving the keys in the ignition before Mary Lou whisked me away in her air-conditioned Town & Country minivan. The terrifying realization of no doubt having to hog around Trenton in the embarrassment of a Buick known as Big Blue kept me from doing that, but a girl can still dream, right?

Ram was manning the RangeMan garage guard gate that afternoon, and from the playful smile gracing his lips I knew that he wasn't about to miss a chance to rag on my car. Again. Not to mention the fact that all I needed were a few raw eggs to be thrown at me and I could be put into the oven and baked into a Stephanie Special.

"Still driving that Gremlin, Steph?" he countered.

"I guess the Car Gods were busy last night while I was praying for a Lotus." I held up my broken stun gun and glared at Ram. "If this thing would have actually worked this afternoon, I wouldn't be a greasy mess right now."

"Sammy Snake-Eyes?"

Nodding miserably, I hung my head. "He's ninety years old, about as deaf as one could get, and blind as a bat. They should be calling him Sammy Cataract-Eyes. His daughter took away all his firearms after his heart doctor suggested he give up mob life for good, so I guess all he had to defend himself against my invasion were items from his pantry."

"Damn," Ram said, smiling sympathetically. "You should have taken one of us with you, then. Or at least an extra stun gun."

"It's really okay," I sighed. "No harm done. I mean, there's oil and globs of flour all over the seats of the Gremlin, but I can't say I really give a flying fuck." I started to trudge towards the elevator, my greasy sneaker soles squeaking against the shiny cement paint of the garage floor.

Ram chuckled after me. "Sounds like you need a vacation, Bomber."

I froze mid-step and stared back at Ram. A vacation! Nah. I couldn't take a vacation. Stephanie doesn't do vacations, unless they involve hunting after skips in Vegas or slathering Grandma Mazur up with factor 80 sunscreen at the Jersey Shore before heading off to chase down an FTAed Pete Zambrano, one of the boardwalk's frozen custard vendors. I shivered. My recent memories would forever be plagued with visions of her wrinkly white skin poking out of a pink bikini from PacSun, strolling around by the water's edge looking for "hotties" who might "put out."

Ram cleared his throat, breaking me from my thoughts. "Um, Steph? You're starting to look a little pale, despite all the flour on your face."

I dashed up to Ram, oblivious to the fact that I was sprinkling flour all over the pristine garage cement. "Do you think Ranger would let me?"

"Take a vacation? Sure. Why not?" Ram frowned.

I frowned. "I'm pretty sure I used up most of my vacation and sick time when I had that bout of food poisoning last month," I muttered, thinking of the first and last time I'd eaten lunch at that new Thai restaurant a couple of blocks down from the bonds office. A few moments later, I said, "I'll just tell him I need a few days to myself to collect myself. Surely he couldn't say no to that."

Ram grinned. "Then I'd say it's worth a shot." He glanced down at the trail of flour and greasy shoe smudges leading from my car to his guard booth, over to the elevator, and back to his guard booth. "Hey. Maybe we can get Ella to add a little food coloring to the mess in your hair so that we could make -

I didn't hear the rest, because I was already in the elevator on my way up to two. And I wasn't going to take no for an answer.

My laptop at my desk was opened and I had printed out about six different trip itineraries, which were stacked on top of my desk blotter in the order of my first preferences. There were a few towards the front of the pile that I really couldn't afford, but if I skipped out on buying groceries and mooched dinner and at least four lunches from my parents for the entire week after I got back, I might be able to consider them.

"I thought I smelled Tasty Pastry from down the hall," a deep voice boomed from behind me, causing me to jump in my desk chair. I glanced at him standing behind me and made a face before whipping my head back to my computer. "Beautiful, I know how much you love junky sweets but rolling around in baking ingredients isn't going to make your hormonal sugar cravings go away."

I was too hung up on planning my vacation that I barely noticed he was dressed in a tight tank top and baggy gym shorts that rode low on his hips. I looked up from my desk and saw that he was now sitting in one of my guest chairs, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my computer screen. "Well, no one else is giving me anything to crave, so I figured I'd get my fix from flour."

"No, seriously. What happened?"

I sighed and turned completely around to face him. "Sammy Snake-Eyes. Need I say more?"

Lester snickered so hard barely any sound came out. "The retired mobster? Come on, Steph. Tell me you didn't let him get to you."

"Oh, he got to me, all right." I turned back to my laptop and began scrolling down a page on the Travelocity website. "Blind bastard."

Santos reached over and picked up the first paper on my stack of itinerary mock-ups. He read wordlessly for several moments before setting the paper down in front of him and picking up the second one in the stack. This went on until he had read through all six itinerary sheets, and when I finally stared over at him he was rearranging the sheets in an order that was different from what I'd originally had them in. He tapped the sheets on my desk and made them into a neat pile before handing them back to me.

"What did you just do?" I asked him, puzzled.

He grinned again. "Apparently, you're planning some sort of vacation for yourself and the Bossman obviously approved it. I just put these trip mock-ups in the order that I think would be the most fun," he replied non-chalantly, shrugging. "The trip to Martha's Vineyard that was your #2 choice? That's now #6. And your historic train ride through Savannah? That's been bumped to #7."

"I only had six sheets," I pointed out.

"Yeah. Well, that idea was so lame that I had to demote it to not even being considered at all." Les picked up the first and second sheets. "These are your winners."

I looked at the itineraries that he held in each of his hands. The one in his left hand was the weekend trip to South Beach, and the one in his right hand was a night on the town in NYC. Lester raised an eyebrow and stared me down until I finally snatched them out of his hands. He watched while I shredded the remaining four trip itineraries. It was now between Miami and NYC. Hunh. Tough choice.

"Still enjoying your week off?" I asked him. "Bored yet?"

"It's only been a day and I'm already going fucking crazy."

I had to laugh. "Having those takedown withdrawls again?" I countered.

"Something like that."

The Miami and NYC trip itineraries were still awaiting a decision, so I sighed and stared down at them on my desk blotter. If I did Miami, I could lay out in the warm sun and tan...swim in the crystal-clear ocean...dine on the best Latin food known to man...maybe strike up a conversation by the hotel pool with a mysterious tall, dark, and handsome stranger. If I went the NYC route, I'd have to take a cab everywhere and fight the crowds just about any place I went. Not to mention everything in New York was super-expensive, right down to the hotel toilet paper. I'd be completely broke an hour into my vacation.

"Beautiful," Lester said after awhile, breaking me from my thoughts. "While you're deciding on a place to go, I'm going to do a quick workout downstairs." He rose from the guest chair and reached around to his backside to pull out his wallet. "And when you finally do pick a place, book the trip for two." Lester extracted a black Amex credit card from his wallet and tossed it on top of the two itineraries.

I looked up at him, completely speechless. When I'd found my voice, I squeaked, "You want to come with me?"

Les simply smiled his knee-melting lopsided grin. "You owe me the trip of a lifetime, gorgeous. Better make it good."

"I don't know how to thank you," I said, picking up the credit card and softly brushing my fingertips over the raised lettering. I couldn't believe that Lester was willing to accompany me on a vacation, let alone pay for it. I've always known him to be kind and generous, but this seemed to take it to a whole other level. Besides, we were such close friends that we could go on a trip to a cardboard box and still wind up having the time of our lives. I looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Like I said," he reminded me. "Better make it good."

"South Florida, then," I suddenly blurted out. "The weather's supposed to be great this weekend."

"Bienvenido a Miami." Lester winked at me and started towards my office door, iPod and weight-lifting gloves in hand.

Be still, my heart.

TBC...