Mac sighed as she looked out of the restaurant over the vast ocean. The sun was a fiery ball just about to touch the water. She smiled as she recalled the "rule" she'd encountered while investigating a mishap in Pensacola: one must say "pssst" as the sun reaches the water. The quaint local custom of making the noise the sun certainly was as it sank into water that was positively frigid by comparison was exactly the kind of local custom she'd always wanted to find in the places she'd lived, but never had.

She shook herself from her reverie as she heard a smooth, deep, foreign voice asking, "Excuse me, madam, but is this seat available?"

Her interlocutor was the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome foreign guy--except he was real, and much better looking than the stereotype. His dark hair was crew cut and he had beautiful sea-blue eyes. And oh, Lord, the muscles on him! Mac blessed her Marine training that allowed her to remain calm… or rather, look like she remained calm… at the prospect of quite possibly the hunkiest man she had ever seen asking if he could sit with her at dinner. Mac smiled and paused; after all, what could be the harm in it? And didn't she say that an island tryst might be just what she needed? "Please," she said, finding her voice and gesturing gracefully, "have a seat."

Before he folded his tall frame into the chair opposite hers, he held out a hand, hesitated, and said, "Harmon Rabb."

Mac moved to shake his hand as she said "Sarah MacKenzie," but he evaded the handshake and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"Delighted," he murmured as he sat.

The meal progressed swimmingly; Mac found that she had much in common with Harm. They liked many of the same music and movies, and they had read many of the same books. He was able to discuss intelligently on foreign affairs--which Brumby, for all his world travels, could not do and Webb, because he had to analyze them much more in depth for his bread and butter, was loathe to do. She found that she could enlighten him on the Muslim community, for though there was a large Muslim population in his home country, they were geographically and socially isolated. When he asked how she knew so much, Mac was unable to discern his response to her answer. It was not discomfort, but had an element of it. "All's fair in love and war, though," thought Mac, as she was displeased to discover that he was so knowledgeable about governmental affairs because he was the son of a diplomat. He enjoyed hearing about Chloe and baby AJ, though, which earned him points. As she related stories of AJ's bumbling but brilliant father and doting mother, she was careful to edit out any references to JAG or the military: if things were heading the way she hoped they were, she didn't want him wondering if she could murder him in bed--most guys found that a turn-off.

At last the meal ended, the resort complex tallying the bills to their separate accounts, and Harm suggested a walk on the beach. "I'd intended to walk on the beach anyway," Mac said. "But it will be nice to have some company." That was true, of course; she had no intention of missing a moment of the glorious beach that she didn't have to, but she was wary of seeming to desperate. After all, she didn't feel desperate, but he couldn't know that.

They walked a ways in companionable silence. A small part of Mac's brain noted how quickly such a comfort level had grown up between them, but she mostly just lived in the moment and enjoyed the sand under her feet, the warmth of the waves playing on her toes, the slight chill of the breeze as it played across her bare shoulders, and the warm strength of his hand around hers.

Harm interrupted her reverie to ask the time. So comfortable was she that she didn't even protest that she wasn't even wearing a watch. "10:38," she replied briskly. Then, aware that she might have sounded to curt, decided to add something to soften her response. "Why?" she asked. "Will you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?"

His answer sent shivers up her spine. "No, I just want to make sure that my princess doesn't run away without leaving me with any more information than a shoe."

She gasped in spite of herself and looked up at his face, cursing the darkness she had just been enjoying for her inability to see his face. Despite herself, she was slightly startled when he leaned down and kissed her. She was even more surprised when he took the key from her hand and unlocked the door to the bungalow directly behind them. "And now," he said. "I believe this is your bungalow, so I'll say good night and call for you tomorrow." With another kiss on her hand, Mac found herself handed into her room, key in her hand, and the door shut… with Harm on the other side.

"Well," she thought, as she began undressing where she stood, "that certainly was… an interesting evening."

And with that she crawled into bed, alone, to wonder about her new acquaintance and whether she would, indeed, see him the following day. "And how in the hell," was her last thought as she succumbed to slumber, "did he know that my name means 'princess'?"