I'm sitting on the couch reading a book I've read a hundred times. It's a good thing I know what happens, because I can't really concentrate on the words on the page. I'm about to take another sip of my beer when I hear a knock at the door. I glance at the clock to see that it's just before 9 o'clock.

Given the events of today, I have a fairly good guess on who's standing out there on my porch. I open the door and as she looks up at me I see her gold eyes sparkle in the dark.

"Hi," she says softly.

I nod. "Vic… Everything okay?"

"Yes. Well, I mean, kind of. I was hoping we could talk?"

I'm not good at talking, but I can't exactly say no. I open the door and slip to the side allowing room for her to come in.

"Can I uhh, get you anything? A beer?" I motion towards the kitchen.

She shakes her head. "No thanks, I'm okay. I've had enough to drink tonight."

"You drove here after you've been drinking?" I stare back at her, a little surprised.

"Well not exactly, I was drinking at the Red Pony earlier during dinner." She walks over to the couch as she talks and sits at one end. "I had a few beers but Henry made me drink about a gallon of tea before he would let me drive home."

"But you didn't go home. You came here instead?"

She nods slowly and pauses before adding, "I thought we should talk."

I was afraid of that. I bite my lip, a nervous habit, as I make my way to the couch and sit at the opposite end as her. "What did you want to talk about?"

She's incredulous. "You're kidding, right?"

I look back at her apologetically. "I don't know where to start, Vic. This isn't a normal conversation."

"Walt, we kissed," she blurts out.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that."

I almost regret my apology once I see the hurt creep onto her face. "I don't want you to apologize."

"Well, I need to. I crossed the line."

"I crossed the line first. Twice."

"You did," I admit, "but that still doesn't excuse my actions. It was unprofessional." I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward covering my face with my hands. I don't want to have this conversation; I don't know how to have this conversation. I just want everything to stop for a minute.

She lets me be for a moment before interrupting my thoughts again. "Walt, look at me." I'm afraid that if I look at her I'll never be able to peel my eyes away. "Please," she pleads softly.

I give into her voice and find her gaze.

"Is that the only reason you regret kissing me? Is that it was unprofessional?"

Her eyes have this incredible hold on me. I want to be completely honest with her, but I don't want to hurt her feelings, or make her believe I'm ready for something that I'm not.

I turn on the couch so my body is facing her, bringing my legs up on the couch and stretching them out in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I reply truthfully. "I said I was sorry, I never said I regretted it."

I can tell she's slightly surprised by my response. "Okayyyy. So why are you sorry then?"

"Because it can't happen again."

She glares back at me like I just challenged her to a sport in which she's an expert at. She copies me and turns on the couch, pulling her legs up and stretching them out so they rest just inches from mine.

"Why?" she challenges.

"I'm your boss."

"There's no law against it in Wyoming. I checked."

"You checked?"

She crosses her arms over her chest and nods. I have to admit I'm a little surprised at how prepared she is for this argument.

"Even if there's no law against it, it's still unprofessional."

She eyes me for a moment. "Is that the only reason?"

Of course it's not the only reason. I'm an old man. I shift uncomfortably on the couch, trying to figure out how to answer her burning question.

She stares at me, waiting.

"There's a bit of an age gap."

"And?" Her reply is quick, like she knew exactly what I was going to say.

"And what?"

"And, I don't care. I don't care how old you are. I don't even actually know how old you are."

I think about the fact that I have a grown daughter who's only about 6 years younger than her. "I'm old enough to be your father, Vic."

"But you're not," she fires back.

"That's not the point. But how does my age not bother you?" I ask curiously.

She shrugs. "I didn't go seeking you out, Walt. It's not like I found your stats on the internet and said, 'oh here's the guy for me, a handsome widower in his 50s who likes to read and have monosyllabic conversations.' I don't think about your age. I didn't plan this, and I don't go around kissing people I'm not attracted to."

I feel myself blush a little at her saying she's attracted to me. How is that possible?

"Why does my age bother you? Do I act immature?"

"No."

"Do you care what other people would think?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

I don't know how to put it into words exactly why it bothers me. It just feels wrong. "You deserve someone your own age."

"Shouldn't that be my decision?"

I walked right into that one. I know all too well that she doesn't need people making decisions for her. I need to look away from her eyes, so I do what I do best and stare down at my hands.

"You said earlier that you didn't regret kissing me."

"No," I reply without looking up.

"May I ask why?"

I feel my face turn red. "I haven't been kissed like that in a long time." I look up at her earnestly.

She sighs and shuts her eyes. If I had to guess, she's fighting the same urge that I am. All I want to do is crawl over there and kiss her again.

It's clear that we're not going to solve this tonight. I wait for her to open her eyes again before I speak. "I believe we're at a bit of a stalemate."

She nods. "For now."

She lifts one of her legs and places it on the other side of mine, intertwining them with mine. Her eyes don't leave mine for the rest of the night. Her face is the last thing I see before I fall asleep.

God, she's beautiful.