So, picking up right where we left off . . .

Things were going to be fine with Mrs. Wallace. Juliet hung up with the hospital, and pitched herself face-first into her sofa. Things had gone horribly wrong with James. Totally, irrevocably, irredeemably horribly wrong. From the moment she'd seen him standing at her door, it had been her goal to get him to leave. And he'd left. Victory. Whoop de damn doo.

But the whole point of getting him to leave was to keep from telling him about the baby. And, boy howdy, that didn't work out, did it? Nooooooo . . . Thank God she didn't have any state secrets. Because all he had to do was talk a little about some books, tell some charming stories about his trip, ask a pointed question, and voila! There she went just spilling everything.

He'd been angry, and who could blame him? Was it true what he'd said about having a daughter? Or was he just lashing out? Somehow she knew it was true. And it made her feel sorry for him, not angry at him.

Who knows why he showed up here tonight? Probably wanted to get laid. Well, ha, the joke was on him. Serves him right.

Her Weekend of Solitude stretched ahead. Yippee dippee. Somehow the Weekend of Solitude had lost most of its charm. What hadn't lost any potency was her exhaustion, and she actually began to doze off. She wasn't sure if she'd been asleep for minutes or hours when a knock at the door woke her. "When you are attempting to commit yourself to a Weekend of Solitude, people really should just leave you the hell alone," she thought as she rolled up off the sofa and went to the door.

To her surprise, she saw James at the peephole. "Can I help you?" she said, opening the door.

"I was thinking," he said, "that it might be poor form to ambush people outside their apartments after a long week of work."

"You could say that," she replied.

"Well, if there was something I could do to erase the last half hour, make it so it never happened . . . can we start over from about thirty minutes ago?"

"You can't erase the past, James. What happened, happened." Her ears buzzed. Why was it like this around him? Couldn't she just enjoy the presence of his company without constantly being ambushed by this "been there, done that" feeling?

"All right, then," he answered. "I apologize for flying off the handle."

"It wasn't entirely unjustified," she admitted.

"Can I take you to dinner?" he asked.

They spent the two-block walk to a local Italian place talking about not much. They lapsed into an unstated understanding to talk about "safe" subjects -- the weather, movies they wanted to see, problems with his rental car. She realized they were avoiding talking about the hurtful things they'd already said and the important things they needed to say. And for now, that was OK. She had missed him, she realized, and was perfectly happy to talk about meaningless things for a little while.

Once seated, she was intrigued to hear about his venture into the coffee business. "First honest wages I've gotten since I was 17," he proudly stated. "I know it ain't impressive or nothing, but hey, gotta start somewhere, right?"

"It seems impressive to me," she said. "Just starting over like that? I don't think I could do it."

"Here's the thing, though. The city is on our ass big time about some building permit or something, and we don't got the money to pay for it. We need $40,000, or the business is going under."

For a second, her heart sank. He hadn't come to catch up, he hadn't come to see her, shoot, he hadn't even come to get laid. He'd come for money. Was it possible? But something seemed off. He was looking at her funny. "Seriously James." It was meant to be a question, but she realized it came off more like a capitulation to reality.

"Nah!" he laughed, a joyous laugh, a little boy's laugh. "But you should see the look on your face! Priceless!"

"Touché," she replied.

"Don't worry, I don't need money. I told you I wasn't gonna ever ask, right? So, anyway, what's new with you? "

She set down her fork, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and stared at him for a second. "What's new? Oh, gee, I don't know. Nothing much, really, James." OK, so now they were going to talk about the elephant in the room?

He looked chagrined. "Oh yeah." He cleared his throat. OK, she thought, here it comes. "And your dad is OK? Getting better?" Still avoiding the obvious, fine, she wouldn't push.

"Yeah, he's doing remarkably well. He's got to do some stress tests this week, but things are looking really good. He'll know more when he visits the doctor on Tuesday."

"And that's normal? Seeing the doc again?"

"Sure. It's just Tuesday will be six weeks exactly since his bypass . . ." she trailed off. "Not that I'm counting," she thought. Because it was also six weeks exactly since she'd spent the afternoon in bed with James, and since . . .

She saw him blushing and staring at his plate. He was thinking the same thing she was. OK, she thought (AGAIN), here it comes. But instead, the waiter approached, clearing their dinner plates, and offering dessert menus. And the moment passed. Or she let it pass. She wasn't going to push.

It was a beautiful night, and as they walked the two blocks back to her apartment, he took her hand. She was glad she wasn't looking at him, because she closed her eyes and deeply sighed. She realized they hadn't touched all evening. God, it felt so good just to hold his hand, and she stepped closer so their shoulders and upper arms were touching as well. But she also felt nervous as a teenager on a first date as they approached her door. What was going to happen now? Was he going to kiss her? Say goodbye? Ask to come in? And if he did, what would she say?

He must've been nervous, too, because standing at her door, all he could muster was "Ummmmmm . . ."

Well, no point in beating around the bush. "What now?" she asked.

Now it was his turn to sigh deeply. "The last thing I wanna do is make promises I can't keep. How 'bout not lookin' too far ahead? I don't fly back till Sunday. Can we just spend time together for a bit? And just take it a little at a time?"

"That sounds fine to me," she said. "So, you want to come in?"

"Of course!" he said.

Erm . . . I so wasn't planning on leaving off here. But, oh well, I am just sort of out of words for now and it is late. I am on deadline this week (sadly not for fun and fluffy fan fic), so I guess that is it for a little bit. We'll see.