He sits in the back of a town car. He thinks about the past several months, as he rides through the streets of New York. He had missed the city, but he hadn't missed the people. He had been happier than ever before. Things were going great, they were perfect.

She opens her eyes and stares at the man sleeping in her bed. She sighs in relief, glad that she's not dreaming. In her wildest dreams she never would have imagined this is how things would turn out. It's almost too good to be true. She finds that she's not entirely convinced that she deserves such happiness.

Sometimes with happiness, with the feeling of perfection, after the exploration, the boredom sets in. What happens after you've explored what you've always wondered about? Is it satisfying? Is it fulfilling? Is it enough, or do we always want something more, something other than what we have?

The car stops, and he steps out. His black loafers shine as he steps onto the wet street. The air still smells of the recent rain. He takes a deep breath, and buttons his jacket. He adjusts his lavender tie as he steps onto the sidewalk. He steps through the door of the restaurant.

The hostess eyes him as he approaches. She smacks her gum as he walks toward her. He reaches the podium, and puts on a goofy smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Do you have any tables available?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything available?"

"You can have a seat at the bar," she tells him.

A woman wearing four inch heels walks past him, and stops to speak with the hostess.

"Miss Slater your table isn't quite ready. Give us two or three minutes, and we'll get you seated," the girl smiles sweetly as she tosses her long, dyed, black hair behind her shoulder.

"Ok," Wilhelmina smiles back. She turns around and stares at the man behind her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just taking care of a few things."

"So how are things going in London?"

"Good. Are you meeting someone for lunch?"

"No. I was just hoping to come in and get a table, but apparently they don't have any."

"You can join me."

"That's not necessary," he argues.

"I won't bite," she promises.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding."

"Are you sure?"

"It's just me," she answers.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I'm getting lunch," she answers.

"You don't eat lunch."

"Sometimes I do," she admits.

"Miss Slater, your table is ready," the hostess smiles.

"Thank you Katie," Wilhelmina makes brief eye contact, and then starts past the podium that the hostess is standing at. Daniel follows her.

They reach the table, and he sits down across from her. The waiter takes their order, and then leaves them in silence.

"How is Mode?"

"Good," Wilhelmina answers.

"And how's Connor?"

"Good, how are things going between you and Betty?"

"Good."

"Really?" she questions raising an eyebrow.

"I guess," he answers solemnly.

"You look miserable," Wilhelmina points out.

"You don't look very happy either."

"Have you ever reached a point where you realize that you waited so long to have everything that you want, that when you get it, you don't really want it anymore."

"Yeah," he nods, "Why?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, "Maybe I just can't be happy."

"I feel the same way. It's like no matter what I have after a while I just get bored."

The waiter brings them their drinks. They both begin sipping. Wilhelmina takes a swallow and then begins again.

"So are you happy with Betty?"

"I should be..."

"But you feel guilty because you're not?"

"I feel guilty because it's not at all what I thought it was going to be."

"The sex is bad?" she asks bluntly.

"No."

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know," he shrugs.

Wilhelmina takes another drink. Daniel looks at her. She looks up from her drink, and catches him staring at her.

"What?" she quizzes.

"Nothing," he lies.

"It was something."

"You look good," he admits.

"I always look good," she smiles, and tries not to blush.

"Yeah," he smiles back.

"You look a little pastier than usual, but you don't look too bad, yourself."

"So how are you, really?"

"I thought being editor in chief would make me happy."

"You don't seem happy."

"I love the job..."

"But?"

"It just doesn't feel right," she admits.

"You earned it, it's rightfully yours."

"It just isn't the same without you," the words fly out of her mouth before she realizes what she's said.

He looks at her in astonishment, but says nothing.

"And Betty, of course," she adds, "The atmosphere just isn't the same. And there's no one to argue with. I'm at my best when I'm at odds with someone."

"Are you saying that I push you to do your best?"

She laughs, "I guess that I am."

"You'll get used to it, eventually."

"I don't know that I want to."

"You just want to be my boss."

"Maybe."

"You told me about work, now tell me how things are going with Connor."

"They're perfect," she answers with no inflection in her voice.

"And you're miserable," he accuses.

"I didn't say that," she points out.

"You didn't have to. I know you better than you think. Your eyes gave you away."

She stares at the man across the table from her, and begins to wonder. A lightbulb goes off in her head, but she tries to hide the sudden shift in her feelings.

He looks into her blue eyes. He prays that she doesn't say a word. He questions every other moments he's ever had with her.

Her hand lays on the table. Without thinking his hand leaves his side, and covers her hand. He squeezes, and she squeezes back. They sit at the table in silence, just staring at one another, both wondering if they had missed something all along.