3.

(Again, don't own them. Eric Kripke is a god. Philip is mine though.)

Last night was great and it should have been an indicator of how horrible this day would be. It's her karma, her curse. The universe wants to make sure that she gets a fucking balance. Today, her co-workers lodged a complaint against her for some insane reason. Well, the reason was allegedly playing offending music. She played Janis Joplin's Summertime for fuck's sake! At five in the morning, when she thought she was alone. It wasn't even at a decibel hat can wake a light sleeper! But it didn't matter, because everything and anything she did would annoy them to hell anyway. It just pisses her off that she actually tried to get along with them. She even hates the fact that she works for a stupid fashion magazine. She really wanted to work for a publishing house, with books, that don't require pictures of half dressed minors looking like two-penny sluts.

All this resolved her decision to finally quit her job, but not without saying some colorful descriptions of where they can shove their pretentious selves into. She took refuge at her favorite café and sat at a table at the corner and sulked, seethed and finally, cried. She thought she did a good job of keeping her sobs silent but she was proven wrong when a voice asked if she was okay.

"I'm Georgia Peachy, Captain Obvious. Leave me alone."

"I'm sorry…I just thought…"

She looked up and was ready to tear this asshole a new one when she say a tall cute man with floppy hair, a class of water on one hand and a bunch of tissues on the other. He offered an apologetic smile and a pair of puppy dog eyes.

Great, she thought, I just bit off Lassie's head. "I'm sorry…thank you. It's been a really bad day." She took the offered items from him.

"I'll leave you alone now…but if you want to talk, I'll be at the next table…" He turned around to go back to his table

"Wait…" she hiccupped. "You can stay" It's not like she's got friends to call.

"My name's Sam."

"Philippa. Philip."

She let herself – her sappy pathetic self loose on Sam. She felt comfortable enough to do so. Sam was so understanding, such a good listener that she didn't even notice that has been three hours and close to dinner time.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! You don't know me from Eve and I've just made you my personal shrink!"

He let out a chuckle and gave her a big smile. "Hey, no problem. It looked like you really needed a friend. Besides, I think if I were in your shoes, I would've done something already. You've got the patience of a saint."

"Hah! Funny. Listen, I do appreciate this and I want to make it up to you."

"No need. I was happy to help."

"No. You're not saying no to a woman who practically looks like a walking faucet of tears and snot."

"Okay." Again with that bedimpled smile. "What did you have in mind?"

"How about I cook you dinner tonight? Do you have any plans?"

He pondered for a while and he must have seen her crestfallen face. "Let me just make a phone call."

He left to make that call to his girlfriend probably, she thinks. It sort of made her jealous and stupid. Of course he'd have a girlfriend. What was she thinking coming on to him like that? Like it wasn't enough for her to accept his kindness, now she had to jump his bones. He came back and smiled at her. The girlfriend must be crazy to have let him go to a stranger's house.

"Your girlfriend gave you the thumbs up?"

"What? NO! That was my brother. He's a bit paranoid and needs to be informed about my current whereabouts."

She perked at the way he said NO. Maybe the universe likes her afterall.

4.

(WB and Eric Kripke are blessed by the deities. I'm a mere mortal. Philip is mine though and that should account for something…)

Dinner wasn't spectacular but at least it was home-cooked. She made steamed fish fillet with light soy sauce and stir friend veggies. Sam helped make the salad. They shared a bottle of white wine between them and now, over dishwater and bubbles on the sink, they started discussing Neil Gaiman, Pablo Neruda and Anne Rice.

"How can you say Anne Rice is a hypocrite? Can't a woman change her mind?" Sam asked, almost hysterically.

"Okay, first off – I don't see you as a feminist but the hair is making me think otherwise." She chuckled at the quip. "Secondly, her choice of religion should not change the way she writes and what she writes about. I personally feel that her strongest point as a writer was when she was writing about things that go bump in the night. One can surmise that though Jesus can be classified and deemed, on a technical standpoint, as supernatural, his mystical works are more secular than psychic. I mean, if you want to know of Jesus, one can easily procure a bible, in their choice of permutations of course – NIV, King James, Gnostic, etc. One does not need a pseudo redeemed quasi vampire for that."

She didn't notice Sam had stopped wiping his dish dry and was just staring at her. She finally saw it and cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "Something I said? Are you a bible beater?"

"I've never met anyone who used the words surmise, procure, quasi and permutations in a casual conversation before."

She looked at him, dead pan. "Well you should rethink your acquaintances then."

He let out a chuckle and went back to his dish towel and dishes. She looked at him and found him to be an enigma. His clothes show wear and tear, his hands are calloused and there are visible scars and freshly mended ones overlapping each other like patterns on a cable knit sweater. His chest is broad and she can tell that from under his button down, he's cut like bricks on a house. Yet, he can quote Neruda, debate about Rilke and knows how to keep up with her vocabulary and is genuinely a sweet gentleman.

"Are you staring at me?" He broke her reverie with a knowing grin. She blushed at the thought that her subtlety is practically non-existent.

"I was just trying to figure you out. It's refreshing, don't get me wrong, to meet a man who thinks with his upstairs brain for a change."

He let out a riotous laugh. "I think I may have told my brother that."

She chuckled with him. She's done with her dish washing and not is watching him dry them. She pulls herself up the counter next to him, finally seeing him at his eye level. He throws her a small but sincere smile that says something like 'Thank you for dinner; you're fun to talk to. I've got to go in a few but I don't want to yet.'

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Want to know a secret?"

He shrugs "Okay…"

"I'm really not that profound. Truth is, I'm pretty shallow when it comes down to the brass tacks."

"I'm…not…following…" He furrows his brows and I can see a slight cover of defense come up.

"I mean, there's an intelligent and gorgeous man in my kitchen, emotionally adept as well, hot under the clothes – presumably, and all I can think about…"

He gulps audibly. It's cute how he looks scared yet anticipating.

"Yes…?"

"All I'm thinking is that I…can kick your ass at Halo."

He looks puzzled. I had to laugh at him. The poor boy needs to be introduced to video games.