A/N: Thanks for the warm reception of this new story. I'll get to your reviews of chapter 1 very soon. Hope you enjoy this next installment…

Chapter 2

Dear Enamored,

While I am certainly flattered by your recent letters and lovely poetry, I admit you have me a little ill at ease. There are a lot of creepy guys out there these days, and a girl can't be too careful about talking to strangers. So, unless you are willing to confess to your identity, I must insist that you stop e-mailing me. It is inappropriate to use the CBI network for personal use.

"Oh, no," said Rigsby, after reading what he assumed was Van Pelt's reply to the three e-mails Jane had written for him. "We've freaked her out," he told Jane. Van Pelt was still out for her lunch break, and Rigsby had taken that opportunity to check the alternate e-mail address he'd set up for just this purpose.

Jane, sandwich in hand, walked over to peep over Rigsby's shoulder at his computer monitor.

"On the contrary; she's intrigued," he said, mouth full of egg salad.

"What? She thinks I'm stalking her."

"If she were truly afraid, she would have simply blocked you and not responded. No, the woman is definitely interested."

"So, what do we do now? She said to stop. Wouldn't it be considered harassment if we kept writing?"

"Nah, let me try again. If it comes to a lawsuit, I'll take full responsibility."

"Yeah, right," Rigsby replied, not believing that for a minute.

Cho, listening in spite of himself, shook his head and turned the page of his novel.

"Trust me. One or two more of these babies and she'll be putty in your hands," Jane maintained.

Rigsby still looked skeptical, but as Van Pelt returned to her desk with a genuine smile in greeting, he felt his heart skip a beat. He nodded surreptitiously to Jane, who grinned around his lunch and set to work at his desk, switching his sandwich to his left hand.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dearest Grace,

I was overjoyed to see your e-mail in my box, so let me reassure you that my intention was never to cause you discomfort. Indeed, I wish only to bring you joy, for whenever I see your face glowing with that certain smile you seem to reserve only for me…

Lisbon rolled her eyes. This guy really had it bad, and boy did he lay it on thick. It also confirmed the author knew Van Pelt well enough to see her smile at him. Still, if he were some delusional creep, he might easily mistake Grace's sweet disposition for personal interest, and that could be very dangerous. But in her heart, Lisbon knew this was Jane she'd been corresponding with. She glanced into the bullpen where she could just see the tips of Jane's feet over the desks that blocked her full view of his couch.

She sighed. How could she stand in the way of Jane's feelings, especially if he'd put himself out there enough to want a relationship with a woman, even though she was young enough to be his, well, his little sister? Perhaps the best way to end this would be to insist on a meeting. She clicked on the Reply button and began to compose her answer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dear Enamored,

I admit I'm intrigued by you. Perhaps we should meet. Some place public, of course. What do you say?

"What did I tell you, Wayne," Jane was saying after Van Pelt had left for the day. "Intrigued. So, you ready to meet her? You know, this is sorta reminding me of a song. What was that hokey tune from the seventies?"

"The Pina Colada Song," Cho supplied helpfully. He was immediately embarrassed that he'd known that.

"Yeah, right," Jane grinned. "So? What are you waiting for, Rigsby? Type that you'll meet her for lunch tomorrow at the Riverside Landing."

"I don't know," Rigsby replied. "what if she's disappointed that it's me? I mean, I didn't actually write all that cool stuff to her. What if she expects me to recite poetry or say all that romantic crap you did."

"Don't worry about it. The right words will come. You wanted to know if she was interested in starting a relationship; well, here's your answer. Now, man up and hit Reply. I didn't write all that romantic crap for myself, you know. Here's your chance to speak for yourself. Don't screw up all the groundwork I laid for you, young Christian."

Cho snorted softly to himself, recognizing the literary reference to Cyrano De Bergerac. He'd known this was a mistake all along, but he was too good a friend to say he'd told him so; well, at least not yet.

"Okay, fine," replied Rigsby at last, annoyed. For once, he composed the reply himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

At her desk, Lisbon was about to turn off her computer when she saw the new e-mail pop into her box. She clicked it open and started a little at the invitation to lunch the next day. She noticed something different about this particular letter. For one, it was much shorter, and for another, the entire tone of if was more direct, more precise, and much less romantic. She shrugged. Jane must have been in a hurry.

She glanced at the blinds she'd closed over her windows in preparation to leaving. Somewhere in the building, Jane was sitting at a computer and writing to whom he thought was Van Pelt. She hated to admit the idea was making her a little sick at heart, and she especially didn't want to admit why.

Dear Enamored,

I'll see you there at noon. How will I recognize you?

She didn't have to wait long for a reply.

Dearest Grace,

You'll know me when you see me…

She couldn't resist responding once more.

What? No pink carnation? No fedora?

The reply came quickly again.

I'll wear both, so there will be no doubt.

Lisbon smiled to herself. Mr. Charming was pulling out all the stops. She typed another response before she remembered she was supposed to be discouraging him.

I'm looking forward to it. Remember, the fedora goes on your head. ;)

The moment she sent the last message, she paused in consternation, wishing she could take it back. What was she doing? She'd gotten caught up in the fun that was Jane, that's what. She loved bantering with him, the mental invigoration of sparing with a master. But he thought he was talking to Van Pelt, and her enjoyment of the conversation abruptly dissipated. She turned off her computer in disgust, grabbing her purse and a couple of files to work on at home. Tomorrow she'd meet Jane and set him straight about the dangers of sexual harassment. She'd remind him that the junior agent was too young for him, that he should take out his mid-life crises on someone closer to his own age. Better yet, he should buy a convertible or a motorcycle or something.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Rigsby had suddenly become at a loss for words, Jane had taken over, nearly pushing him out of the way to get his hands on the keyboard.

"Van Pelt is really on her toes this evening," Jane commented, grinning after her final message.

"Yeah," said Rigsby dully.

Jane shot his coworker a look. "Cold feet now, Rigsby?"

"Well…"

"If you disappoint her now, there may be no going back," Jane warned.

"Okay. You're right. Thanks, Jane."

"Don't mention it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alone in her apartment, Van Pelt took out her laptop and logged in to her e-mail account. She couldn't help being curious as to what Lisbon had been saying to her secret admirer, and she had to admit she was regretting a little allowing the situation to be taken out of her hands. She was a grown woman; she should be able to handle her own love life, and that included any unwanted attention. Van Pelt wondered with a cringe if Lisbon saw this as a sign of weakness on her part. She sighed. Well, it was too late now.

Seeing no new e-mails, she went into her old mail and saw that Lisbon and her admirer had burned up the internet that evening. So, Lisbon was meeting him tomorrow for lunch. Van Pelt imagined how it would go down the next day. Lisbon would read Jane (or whoever it was) the riot act, and Van Pelt would end up looking even more like the green young woman she was, getting mommy to do her dirty work for her. Plus, Jane (or whoever it was) might end up being really hurt, and would ultimately blame her. Lisbon was tough but fair, but she'd seen the way she handled Jane when he got out of control. Sometimes it wasn't pretty. She'd even socked him in the nose before. What if he got punched again because Van Pelt lacked the guts to confront him on her own? She felt just awful at the very thought of it, Jane clutching his bleeding nose in the middle of the café. How embarrassing. How painful.

No, she thought, that just wasn't going to cut it. She'd just have to get there before Lisbon did and take care of her own affairs like she should have done from the start. And Jane (or whoever it was) deserved a chance to explain himself. The fact that he was one of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen in real life had absolutely nothing to do with it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane took his seat at the table for two and adjusted his gray fedora more rakishly upon his head. He looked down at the pink carnation in the buttonhole of his dark blue suit jacket and inhaled its peppery scent. Damn Rigsby. Jane should have known the man would chicken out at the last minute. The signs were all there. Now he was left holding the bag, awkwardly explaining the whole messy business to a disappointed Van Pelt. Jane mostly blamed himself, however. The Cyrano de Bergerac routine had started out as a harmless diversion, but now it had snowballed to this, and he was left to clean up the mess. He did feel for the guy, because Van Pelt would be much less inclined to take a chance on him now. Jane was infinitely glad at that moment that he was off the market.

He sighed and sipped his steaming tea while he waited for his date to arrive.

He didn't have to wait long. Van Pelt came around the corner, her eyes scanning the rooftop café for a man wearing a fedora and flower. When she caught sight of a smiling Jane, she bashfully returned his grin and walked over to the table, her heart pounding with nervousness. Jane rose and doffed his hat, pulling out her chair like the gentleman he was. When they were both seated, the atmosphere became suddenly awkward, and Van Pelt was looking everywhere but at him.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," said Jane at last.

"No," replied Van Pelt, reluctantly meeting his eyes. They were a beautiful, bright sea green in the midday sunlight. Jane's own eyes widened at her sudden look of admiration. "I figured that no one else I knew could have written such beautiful letters. And that poetry—none of the straight-laced CBI guys have a romantic bone in their bodies."

"Well, I don't know," countered Jane, starting to feel as if he'd been caught in a vicious undertow. "It could have been anybody. Lots of men are romantics; it just takes the right woman to bring it out in them."

Van Pelt raised a skeptical eye. "But they don't have your gift of expression, or your courage. Besides, your letters prove you are a romantic."

"Uh, Grace, there's something I should tell you-"

She reached out a hand and placed it over his where it rested beside his teacup and looked deeply into his eyes. "Jane—Patrick," she amended softly, and Jane nearly jumped at the touch of her warm hand as well as the invitation in her eyes. He gulped.

"I just want to say that I've never been more flattered in my life," she continued.

"I almost didn't meet with you; I was so nervous. But then I thought how lonely you must be since you lost your wife. It's admirable now that you're ready to move on with your life. You don't know how honored I feel that after all these years, you've chosen me—"

Her slim hand tightened on his, and he looked wildly around for escape. That's when he saw Lisbon. She'd just entered the café and her eyes had zeroed in on them like a laser. She looked at the cozy picture they must have made, him sitting with this young girl at a romantic table for two, holding hands in the middle of the day. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed an angry line. Abruptly, she turned around and nearly stomped out of sight. Jane felt compelled to go after her, but his date was still talking, still holding his hand in a viselike grip.

"I know I'm a little young for you," an oblivious Van Pelt was saying. "But I've seen these relationships work before. I mean, look at Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart. How 'bout Michael Douglas and Katherine Zeta Jones? Or even Anna Nicole Smith and that old guy."

"Huh?" Jane said, focusing again on what she was saying. "Wasn't he a hundred years old?" he asked, suddenly offended. How old did she think he was, anyway?

"Well, yeah," she grinned. "But you get my point."

Their waitress arrived and Jane used that excuse to extricate his hand from hers and pick up his menu as Van Pelt gave her drink order. Alone again, Jane wondered how he had suddenly lost control of the situation. He needed to rein this in and quickly.

"Lisbon told me that since you're just a consultant, it would be okay for us to date." She gave this announcement in a charmingly soft voice, her face flushed becomingly, eyes averted to her own menu.

Jane lowered his menu, wondering which part of that outrageous sentence to address first.

Lisbon knew about this? He was just a consultant? He and Van Pelt were suddenly dating now?

"Grace, you've got it all wrong, I'm afraid, and it's all my fault. Those e-mails—they weren't quite what they appeared to be."

"It's okay if you took the poems from somewhere else. They did sound like they'd been written by Wordsworth or Keats or somebody…"

"Keats?" he asked, his ego finally re-inflating after that old guy remark. He grinned. "Why thank you Grace, but I confess they were all completely original."

"Oh, Patrick. They're lovely, simply lovely!"

Jane shook his head to clear it, wondering how he'd gotten so off track again. "Grace, what I'm trying to say is—"

"You two ready to order?" asked the waitress, setting down a basket of bread. Jane looked at the innocent woman in exasperation, about to open his mouth to send her packing, but Van Pelt was already ordering the soup and salad special. He sighed and ordered a club sandwich, waiting impatiently for the waitress to take their menus and skedaddle.

"I really like this place," Van Pelt commented before he could get back to the point. She took a deep breath of fresh air. Well, fresh as city air could be in California. "It's nice to have a convenient place to go and get outside in the middle of the day. And the food is really good."

"Yeah," he agreed, "it is nice. But Grace, you have to listen to me a moment, okay?"

Her eyes focused on his, and she blushed again at the sudden intensity of his gaze. Her pulse leapt as he leaned closer to her, his hand lightly touching her forearm to insure her full attention. "Grace, those letters weren't from me."

"What?" she asked in surprise. "What are you talking about? If they weren't from you, why are you here then?"

"I can explain. I did write the letters—"

"So you wrote them now? Which is it, Jane?" Anger was rapidly replacing her confusion now, and he saw he no longer merited being called Patrick. He almost smiled at the absurdity of the situation.

"I wrote them, but for someone else. Someone who was worried you wouldn't be impressed by his own romantic writing abilities. I offered to help, hoping I could move things along for him, but he—"

"Move things along? Where is the spineless coward then? Didn't even have the guts to keep a date. And you? How dare you show up here with your charming hat and seductive smile, making me think—"

She stood up, throwing down her napkin in consternation.

"Grace," he said, trying to calm her down before she made an even bigger scene. "Sit down, please. Let me explain—"

"No. You and your gutless friend can both go to hell!" Grace suddenly had a very firm grasp as to why Lisbon would want to punch this infuriating man. At that moment, she was sorely tempted to do so herself. She knew she'd better leave then or she'd do something very unladylike.

"Grace!" Jane called, but she was already to the exit, and he shook his head woefully. He realized other patrons were staring at him, the men in amusement, the women, if their expressions were any indication, thinking he was some dirty old man who'd taken advantage of an innocent young girl. He grinned disarmingly, removing his hat and picking up his cup.

"Kids these days," he said to the lunchtime crowd with a resigned shrug. "No respect for their elders."

He sighed and took a sip of his cold tea, made a face and raised a hand to order another and cancel Grace's order. He really should get up and find her to try to smooth things over, or maybe even Lisbon, who'd likely been thinking much the same thing as the women in the café. But his stomach growled and he realized it could certainly wait until he'd had his sandwich. Groveling was much easier on a full stomach, Jane had found.

A/N: Jane, you got some 'splainin' to do! Next chapter, the fallout. More to come very soon. Feel free to click on that good old review button ;).