Disclaimer: I do not own Three's Company nor the lyrics to Norah Jones' beautiful "Painter Song (If I Were a Painter)".

Special thanks to my friend and beta reader/editor twilightismydrug for reading over this and offering some wonderful critiques and suggestions. :)

Just a Kiss

Cindy clicked the door shut and slowly turned to face her dorm room. She listlessly glanced around before making her way to her bed. She began pulling off her wedges. As the second one clunked on the thin, gray carpeting, she stifled a yawn. She was exhausted, and she had every right to be. She practically had to fight off Larry Dallas and all his advances. Once in the safety of her dorm, she practically had to slam her door in his face. The blonde grimaced. She should have known better than to ask him for a ride back to her dorm, especially that late at night. And after everyone had been drinking. But she needed those few shots of tequila to calm her nerves enough to keep her from strangling Mr. Furley. God knew he was only trying to make her going-away party as lighthearted as possible, but the veterinarian and giraffe-with-laryngitis jokes were all-together too much.

She tiredly fell back against her bed. Everything was going to be so different now; she was in college…all on her own. Her eyes flew open at the sound of her shuddering breath. It was shameful. The party had been so nice—with the exception of the incident that befell the girl replacing her back at the apartment. And yet, she couldn't be excited over it. There was this lingering doubt hanging over her, casting a shadow on her mood all month. She knew deep down that it was because she was going to miss everybody—Mr. Furley and his scatterbrained antics, Larry and his futile attempts to score with every young woman listed in the Santa Monica phone book, Janet and her overprotectiveness and frantic demeanor, and especially Jack.

Cindy wondered how he felt about her leaving. She seemed to have the worst of luck with him. No matter what she did, he always got the worst end of the deal. She cringed at the vivid recollection of accidentally catching him in the collapsible ironing board. And she couldn't for the life of her figure out how he always was right behind the door every time she went to open it. It was a jinx. A curse really, as if destiny had written it in the stars. But…not everything was bad with Jack.

If I were a painter

I would paint my reverie

If that's the only way for you to be with me

The heat in her face grew at one memory in particular. Jack had overheard a conversation and, often being one to jump to monumental conclusions—which resulted in misunderstandings of epic proportions—he came to the conclusion that Cindy was pregnant. That is, after the idea was put into his head by the aforementioned overprotective and worrisome brunette. Believing the girl was suffering from a serious bout of depression and fearing it might claim her life, he did the only thing he could do: He proposed. Her face grew hotter. She was still embarrassed because, not realizing his reasons for requesting her hand, she thought about it…and accepted.

We'd be there together

Just like we used to be

Underneath the swirling skies for all to see

Cindy squeezed her eyes shut, the humility of it all still stinging sharply. It wouldn't have been nearly as mortifying if he had just come out and explained himself, but no, he made it difficult. After she accepted, he retracted the request, having realized that she wasn't pregnant after all. Suddenly she found herself pleading with him to take her back. "I'll be a good wife!" she cried, following it up with promises of love, respect, and a good home.

"But you're not pregnant," he protested.

"Well, I'll give you that too!" And she would have, had he given her the chance.

She sat up, a pain growing in her chest. What she needed was some fresh air—and more than likely a damn good distraction. Sighing, she reached for her coat and heaved her 5'8" frame out of bed. Picking up her handbag and slipping her wedges back on, she made her way into the refreshing, welcoming darkness of the night.

O~o~O

She didn't know how long she'd been walking, but the walk had done her good. Her head was considerably clear and the ache in her chest was gone. The distant sound of people chattering reached her ears, and she glanced up to see that she was approaching the all too familiar Regal Beagle. She groaned, all the old memories flooding back. Great, just great, Cindy. Letting an agitated sigh escape, she shrugged her coat up higher on her shoulders and continued on. Nearing the entrance, she was able to see a group of loud men exiting the pub. She overheard them talking about the Lakers game that had just ended. Apparently it had been a real doozy. And apparently Kareem Abdul-Jabbar had won the game for the team. Not that she cared. She was never much into sports, not like Jack.

And I'm dreaming of a place

Where I could see your face

And I think my brush would take me there

But only

If I were a painter

And could paint a memory

She meant to walk past it. She didn't intend for her feet to halt directly in front of the open doorway. Her blue eyes roved over all the details inside. The pub was now nearly empty, with only a few nightlife patrons remaining. The last call had already been issued. An impulse took over and she stepped forward, then abruptly stopped. She debated over going inside and having one last glance around—she'd probably never come in again, after all—and dealing with the pain of the memories that place. But she didn't think over it long, for her feet began to lead her inside.

"We're closed, lady," the bartender drawled.

"I know," she answered quietly, offering a sad smile. "I just wanted to look around."

The bartender shook his head and continued to wipe out a beer mug with his towel.

"Cindy?"

She knew that voice all too well. Her eyes flew to a patron sitting at the counter.

"Cindy, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at UCLA, remember?" he asked, smiling and standing up to greet her.

She forced a smile. "Hi, Jack," she said, accepting his hug.

Stepping back, his eyes roved over her face, noticing something was different in her expression. Her blue eyes didn't have the same twinkle they used to have. "What brings you here?" A note of concern was in his tone.

She shrugged and brushed back some of her golden curls as she formulated an answer. "The stars," she finally offered.

Jack crossed his arms. "Now, Cindy, you know I'm not dumb enough to believe that."

She smiled again, this time a bit more sincerely. "Honestly, Jack, I just needed to clear my head."

He glanced at the counter, which was covered inch-by-inch with empty beer mugs and martini glasses. "Don't you think you went a little overboard?"

She laughed and smacked him on the arm. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do…" he rubbed his arm. "And you are mean."

Cindy didn't take offense. It was well-known she didn't know her own strength. "Heyyy, wise guy, I'm sorry." She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Not that she got lost in them, but that she noticed there was a sadness in his own blue eyes. Suddenly she was struck with a thought. "Jack, why are you here?"

He hesitated. "Well, Cin, that's easy, you know, because…I always come here."

"You never stay around for last call."

"I was watching the Lakers game with the guys."

She narrowed her eyes. "We have a TV set at home for that." Her eyes widened in terror. "I mean, had. I mean, there's a TV set in the apartment for that."

He arched an eyebrow. "Why are you freaking out?"

"I don't know," she admitted hastily. Quickly she glanced at her watch. "It's late, I should get going. Bye, Jack!" And with that she spun on her heel and headed for the door.

He grabbed her wrist. "Cindy, wait."

She stopped and looked over at him. "What is it, Jack?" she asked softly.

Jack stared at her for a moment before answering, "Can I walk you back?"

The pain in her chest and heat in her face were back. She felt as if she were flushing.

"Please?" he asked again.

She managed a weak nod and slipped her arm through his, and together the two departed the Beagle.

I'd climb inside the swirling skies to be with you

I'd climb inside the skies to be with you

They mainly discussed his culinary plans—how he planned to make it as one of the most successful and celebrated chefs in Santa Monica—as well as her goals for college and her veterinary career. They were laughing over one of Jack's stories when they finally reached her dorm. He could always make her laugh. She was really going to miss him. He read it in her eyes.

Patting her hand, he said, "You can always come visit us, Cin."

She grinned. "I know, I'll be over all the time…when I'm not busy studying."

"Well…I better go, Janet's probably worried sick about me," he said with a smile.

"Naw, she's probably worried sick that this is the one time a burglar will sneak in and she won't have a bodyguard to take the first attack wave."

They both laughed, which subsided into an awkward silence. They both stood there, staring at each other, not sure what to do. In the past when parting company they had shared both kisses and hugs, and at the moment neither one in particular seemed appropriate. Jack leaned in halfway for a hug, but had his arm extended as if about to give her a handshake. Cindy stared at his hand, not sure what to do. Finally she took it and gave it a weak shake. He put his other arm around her in an embrace. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"It's going to be okay, Cindy," he said into her hair. She nodded as a tear began to roll down her cheek. Pulling away, he noticed it and wiped it off. She smiled sheepishly. He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Hey, promise me you won't be getting any professors in trouble while you're here, young lady."

Her smile widened. "You know I won't."

"Good." And out of habit he pecked her on the lips.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and he involuntarily raised his eyebrows, realizing something had changed between them. Brushing her blonde curls out of her eyes, he leaned in again, much more slowly this time. Their lips met and for the first time that month the shadow over Cindy faded away.