A/N: Hello all! Just wanted to give a shout out to PhantomFan01 and HeartsBroken for all your lovely reviews. To everyone else who reads, if you love, hate or are indifferent, please leave a review! Thanks so much for taking the time to read my little story.
-ls

A Thousand Words
Chapter 13
The Mystery's Afoot

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

Randy sounded more than just a little bit annoyed with me. He had finally browbeat me into having dinner with him, but my mind was a thousand miles away.

In France, to be exact.

I looked up from my salad and managed the most eloquent response I could think of.

"Huh?"

"I finally get you go to go out to dinner with me, but you're not really here. I've been talking to you for five minutes, but you haven't heard a word I've said. I ask again: What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I answered quietly, focusing once more on my salad.

"Bullshit," he answered in his usual tactful way. He sounded fairly angry, and his cursing turned more than a few heads in the upscale restaurant. "I know you too well, Chris. Something's up. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Tell me..."

"Nothing, Randy."

"Chris-tine..."

"I don't want to talk about it." I viciously stabbed a cherry tomato.

He sat back in his chair with a smug smile on his face.

"So, there is something, but you're not talking. The mystery's afoot, my dear Watson!"

"Randy, please..." I said, imploring him to drop the subject, but he was like a wild beast who had gotten its claws into a tasty snack and was not about to let go.

Randy tapped his chin with his forefinger, deep in thought. "Hmmm. You've disappeared off the face of the earth for several weeks, no one can get in touch with you, and you don't want to talk about it. That can only mean one thing–you're involved with someone."

I think the expression on my face must have been something akin to a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, rather pleased with himself for solving the mystery. "You've met someone you don't want any of your friends to know about!"

"No."

"Yes, that's it."

"No, Randy, that's not it at all. You have it all wrong."

"Then why doesn't anyone know of his existence?" He grinned devilishly. "Or could it be... her existence?"

I shot him a dirty look.

"Of course it's a him, you fool," I hissed at him. "You don't know about him because we wanted to keep things just between us for the time being, that's all. So we wouldn't have to deal with asinine questions from nosy friends. We just wanted time to ourselves."

Randy looked a bit hurt at my outburst, but he had it coming. At times he could give the worst muckraking, meddling, busybody gossip reporter in the world a run for his money. But I did hate to hurt his feelings; he was, after all, a dear friend. I sighed heavily.

"Randy," I began, "I'm sorry. It's just that you know how I hate being given the third degree like that."

"I would've told you if I had met someone," he said through a big pout.

I snorted. "You would've taken out a billboard in Times Square," I said.

He grinned. "Yeah, I probably would have."

The waiter delivered our main courses and whisked away our mostly uneaten salads. I had ordered a pasta dish, and Randy ordered the beef bourguignonne. We ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes.

After he took a sip of his wine, Randy looked me in the eye and asked, "So, are you going to tell me about this mystery man of yours?"

I swallowed my mouthful of pasta and said, "You met him briefly that night at the gallery. His name is Erik."

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Suddenly, his fork clanked down on his plate.

"You mean the guy with the mask?" he asked loud enough for everyone in the restaurant–and a few people outside on the sidewalk–to hear.

"Randy, keep your voice down!"

"That's who you're head over heels with? The masked man? Chrissy, have you completely lost your mind?"

Heads turned in the restaurant once more, and I just wished the ground would open up and swallow me. Unfortunately it didn't, so I did the next best thing: I glared at Randy, then I grabbed my coat and walked out.

I didn't look behind me, but I knew he wouldn't be far behind.

I got about half a block down the street before I felt his hand on my arm, stopping me in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Chris, please stop," he said to me.

"How dare you," I hissed. "How dare you humiliate me like that, and in one of my favorite restaurants, no less! You have absolutely no right to denigrate anyone you don't know simply on the basis of his outward appearance. I always thought you better than that."

"But, Chrissy, what do you know of this guy, how did you meet him, where does he come from..."

"None of that is any of your business," I said coldly, once more turning away from him. "If you can't give him the benefit of the doubt–or the benefit of my good opinion–then, well,..."

"Look, I'm sorry, all right? It's just that you surprised me with all this."

"Yes, well, if you hadn't gone off half-cocked,..."

I shivered in the below-freezing weather.

"You're cold," Randy said. He glanced around. "Look, there's a pub just ahead. Let's go inside, get a drink and we'll talk, okay?"

"Only if you agree to behave." I eyed him carefully.

"I promise."

The pub was small and cozy, and we found a small table near the back. Randy ordered our drinks at the bar and then settled down across from me, a cautious smile on his face.

"Look, Chrissy, I'm really sorry about my outburst. I was just taken by surprise. Truce?"

"Only if you stop calling me 'Chrissy.' You know how I hate that."

"Oh. Yeah. I forgot."

"So tell me, Randy," I said, leaning over my glass of wine, "was it the fact that I had met someone or the fact that it was Erik that got you so worked up?"

Randy's eyes widened at my question and he sat back in his seat, pondering my words.

After a long moment, he said, "Both."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Come on, it's hardly a secret that you never date, that you close yourself off from nearly everyone–especially men. So yeah, I was surprised to hear that you were seeing someone. And to find out that that someone was... well, different... I don't know, it just threw me for a loop."

Much as I hated to admit it, he spoke the truth. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd been on a date, and it wasn't because I hadn't been asked; I always found one excuse or another for not accepting the invitations. I usually used work as my excuse, but truthfully my job didn't keep me nearly as busy as I said it did.

Randy was right, but I didn't have to like hearing all this from him.

"You didn't have to react the way you did."

"No, I didn't. And I apologize."

"If you knew him, you'd know that he's intelligent, and kind, and talented..."

"Will I get to meet him?" he interrupted.

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it again. I wasn't entirely sure if that was a good idea, at least not right now, and I said as much to Randy.

"I suppose I understand. So how come you're not with him tonight?"

"Besides the fact that you've been hounding me for weeks to have dinner with you?" I asked him with a grin. "He's in Paris right now."

"Paris?" Randy repeated with a surprised look on his face. "Why?"

"Visiting his family."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"He wanted me to, but I couldn't take the time off work," I explained.

"Oh." He paused for a few seconds. "So, you two are pretty serious, then." Randy muttered into his glass of beer.

"I... I suppose you could say that."

"Well, I'm very happy for you." Randy didn't smile or even lift his head as he expressed his happiness for me.

It wasn't at all like him.

"Randy? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, still not lifting his head.

"Tell me."

"It's just... it's just that I always thought that you and I would end up together."

His eyes, when he finally brought his gaze to meet mine, were filled with sadness.

"Oh, Randy, we tried that, and it didn't work out, don't you remember? There was no romance between us, no spark. That's why we're friends."

"There was no spark on your side, but there was on mine. I agreed to the friends thing because I hoped that someday you'd find that spark in yourself. I guess I was wrong. Have a good life with your masked lover, Christine."

Randy stood, picked up his coat, and was gone.

I was so stunned by his words that I didn't have the presence of mind to follow him. I didn't know that I wanted to.

Randy had agreed to be friends with me all this time because he hoped I would fall in love with him? That's why he played Scrabble with me and tried to nurse me back to health and called me incessantly?

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I'm really a blind idiot.

How could I not have seen it?

I took a huge gulp of my wine and headed out into the frigid night, back home to my empty apartment. It really wasn't that far, so I decided to walk. I needed the cold air to clear my head anyway. And I needed some time to think.

Randy was one of the sweetest guys I had ever known, but there really were no feelings of the romantic persuasion there for me. He seemed to me to be more like the big brother, the boy next door, the boy you could tell all your secrets to, all your problems to. We got along famously and spent a lot of time together whenever we could.

Come to think of it, I didn't remember Randy having a serious relationship with a woman since I'd known him. He had dated several women, but never for very long. Was he really waiting for me to "come to my senses" and realize that he was the man for me? Surely not! Oh, dear me, I hope not! Surely he hasn't been pining away for me, waiting for me.

But the look on his face back at the bar said it all. He had been waiting for me, and I had dashed all his hopes by declaring my love for Erik. But did I actually declare my love, or did I just say we were involved? I couldn't remember. Either way, Randy was crushed.

And I couldn't even talk to Erik about all this, because he was half a world away in France!

When I got back to my apartment, I picked up Spot and settled down in my favorite chair, scratching the cat behind his ears. He responded with a loud purr.

"Am I that much of a dunce, babe?" I asked him, looking into his big green eyes.

"Mrowr," Spot responded, pawing my lap and curling up contentedly.

"Some conversationalist you are," I muttered to the cat, absently petting his soft fur.

I picked up the TV remote and pressed the on button. An old movie was on, but I couldn't really concentrate on the action.

I sighed as I leaned back. Maybe I should just think about all this tomorrow. As Scarlett O'Hara once said, I thought wryly, tomorrow is another day.