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They strolled along at a comfortable pace. The peace he felt with her put everything else - the madness of the day, the seediness of human nature, even the traffic - into proper perspective.

He hadn't meant to move in closer to her, but he noticed he had done just that. Maybe when those two wise guys had passed them. He hadn't missed their wolfish gazes directed at her. It was afterward that he found himself a little further into her space. He felt protective of her.

He felt possessive of her.

He frowned when he realized that. She was bright and witty, lovely and independent. She didn't need the attentions of a middle-aged, overbearing, work-obsessed stranger. But he had a feeling he needed her. Despite having known her for a matter of hours, that was exactly why he was so attracted to her. She was good for him; different, yet somehow capable of understanding him.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to take her by the hand and run. To where, he had no idea. Anywhere she wanted. She liked the ocean, right? So he would take her up the coast. They would drive with nothing but the night around them and the road in front of them, and not stop until they got to this quiet little place he knew…

"I have to get home," she said, bringing his reverie to an abrupt and unpleasant halt.

"Oh." He couldn't mask the disappointment in his voice. She was too observant not to notice it.

"It's just that tomorrow is going to be a big day."

"Yeah?" He was still disappointed, but now he was curious, too.

"Mm-hmm." She hesitated before elaborating. "I have a job interview first thing in the morning."

"Really?" He considered the selections she'd made at the bookstore: Holmes's writings, a law dictionary, another whose cover was too worn for him to discern the title. He wondered if the lucky bastard who would soon be hiring a new employee was among his acquaintances in the legal community. Someone whom he occasionally had reason to visit.

Strictly for business purposes, of course.

"I won't go into work-related detail," she said, her eyes twinkling in the streetlight. "I don't want to get boring." He grinned. "But a friend of mine knows a girl who's looking for a replacement and…"

He was quiet as she trailed off. They went another half a block before she stopped and turned toward him, fierce determination flashing across her features.

He hadn't known she could look even more beautiful, but then he also hadn't known that the term breathtaking could be used literally.

God, she was breathtaking.

"I have more to offer," she began, her voice low and husky. "I don't care about typing or filing or working switchboards. I need to earn a living and that's honest work. But I want it to be for a cause, you know? For some greater purpose. I don't need pats on the head and condescending praise from bosses who give the biggest salaries to the most shameless flirts. I am replaceable there as far as any of them are concerned. I want someone who...who knows he needs me. Who talks to me like I can understand more than -"

She stopped and laughed, her countenance not quite sweeping clear of the passion it had held; and her arms crossed and hugged tightly against her, as though she were cold. Was she cold? Or just self-conscious? He shifted the bag of books - his had ended up with hers - from one hand to the other in order to let his jacket slide off his arms. He draped it over her shoulders, and she looked up at him gratefully. As if he were some kind of hero just for keeping her warm.

"It's silly, anyway," she said quietly. "In the end, I'm just a girl who can type fast."

"If that's all who you are to the person you meet with tomorrow, promise me you won't take the job."

She smiled a little sadly, and the protective portion of his feelings for her surged forward. "Alright."

"I mean it."

She nodded once.

"And if that job turns out to be better for you, take it immediately."

"What makes you think they'll offer it to me?"

"Only an idiot wouldn't offer it to you."

"Thank you."

"In fact, we'll think positively." He started moving again so he wouldn't draw her to him and lift her chin up and kiss her, like he so desperately wanted to do. "You'll have an interview with a man of stellar character who offers you the job right away."

"Okay."

"Then we'll celebrate. Lunch at the diner."

"I don't know. Meatloaf isn't my favorite."

"Their meatloaf will make a believer out of you."

"Do you know if they'll have the dance floor open again?"

"They'll have it open," he promised, his casual voice betraying none of the euphoria he felt inside. "For us anyway. I'm a big tipper."

She sidled a little closer so her arm in his jacket grazed his in his shirtsleeve. "In that case, count me in."

He believed her. He trusted everything about her. And with her reassurance that he would see her again, he hailed a taxi cab.

But the desire to keep her with him was inexplicably strong; and thoughts of how wind from the open car windows would whip her hair around her face as they sped into the night for whatever adventure life could offer them were still fresh in his imagination. He stood alone on the sidewalk - one hand shoved in his pocket, the other with his jacket hooked over the back of his shoulder - while the taxi pulled away from the curb.

He couldn't make sense of it - he was hardly the romantic type - but somehow it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

to be continued