William swung off the freeway and was in auto-pilot as he navigated the streets to his house. He talked about how difficult it was to find a house in a price range he could afford, one somewhere slightly near where he worked. Lizabeth remained silent, but he could sense her listening to his house-hunting story.

When he pulled into the driveway, she made a small sound, one of pleasure. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you," he answered. The light in the carport stayed on all the time and illuminated the front of the house, though he didn't think it did justice to it as much as daylight did. When he unlocked the front door and flipped the switch to turn on the standing lamps in the living room, she gasped. None shone overhead, but the rough beams above were far more impressive than mere lights.

"It's charming. I take it; it's old?" Lizabeth asked.

"Built in 1922, so almost a hundred," he answered. The walls were white. There were exposed wood ceilings in both the living area and the dining room, which lay just beyond. "Put your stuff wherever you feel comfortable throwing it. I'll go see what I can fix for dessert."

She seemed hesitant to part with her purse but marched through the living room to the dining table where she pulled off her jacket and placed her purse underneath. "Can I use the bathroom?"

William stopped a few feet away from the doorway that led into the kitchen. "Let me give you the grand tour, so you don't get lost." A doorway in the dining room led to a narrow hallway where three bedrooms opened off of it. One at the back was a guest room. The middle bedroom had boxes and a table with papers. The front bedroom was William's with a huge bed, a chair, and a dresser taking up all of the available space.

"You make your bed?" Lizabeth commented.

"Only on the weekends," he answered. And maybe if I think it might impress someone.

"This is an old bathroom! Teal tile with black trim. It's very old-fashioned!" she laughed when he showed her the original bathroom.

"It's iconic," he quipped. "A smaller one is off the kitchen with a tiny shower. Mostly I use that one. If you need a washcloth, they're in the closet in the hallway. Don't be shy to wash off the dirt." He turned to her. "You okay after that incident?"

"Yes." That seemed an automatic response. Her eyes were guarded and not expressive. William knew it was bothering her and would concern Lizabeth for a while. Anytime someone picked your pocket, it was a violation and painful in a way. He'd had a couple of incidents over the years. They always prickled.

"Come find me in the kitchen now that you know how not to get lost," he said and left her to clean up.

He had the mixer out and was whipping cream when she returned.

"I like your house. It's charming and cozy." She took in the modern kitchen which was a little at odds with the rest of the house, especially the industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerator. But he believed the designer had done an excellent job with the colors to tie it back into the rest of the house. She perched on one of the barstools on the other side of the counter. "What are you making?"

"Whipped cream." William shut off the mixer and placed it on the counter. He turned around and opened a cabinet that had glass-fronted cabinets and held bowls. Two small clear-glass bowls were pulled out.

"I thought whipped cream came in cans?" He wasn't sure if she was teasing or serious.

"That's scum compared to this." He opened a drawer, pulled out a soup spoon, and plunged it into his creation. William didn't bother to wipe it on the side of the bowl; it was so thick it wouldn't fall off the spoon. "Try it."

Lizabeth took the spoon with the same sort of hesitation he had seen about all the dishes they had ordered that evening. He would have to work on expanding her food horizons. He had the idea that her mother had carefully controlled her diet but probably wasn't the best cook, so she hadn't exposed Lizabeth to a wide selection of food choices. Like a hesitant little kid, she licked the end of the spoon first, but then her eyes went wide. The spoon went farther into her mouth as she licked off more of the whipped cream.

It was only after the spoon was clean that she spoke. "Wow. I didn't think there would be any difference. I think you've spoiled me now. I won't ever be able to stomach the other stuff again!" The dimple was showing again, which he took as a good sign that she was relaxing after her troubles.

William poured raspberries into the glass bowls and dolloped whipped cream on top. Then he pulled a micro-grater out of a drawer, chocolate out of another, and grated dark chocolate over the cream.

"Were you a chef in a past life?" Lizabeth asked. She leaned forward, her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hands.

"This is simple stuff," he replied. Another cupboard door opened, and a bar tray was pulled out. It was black and lined with cork. He put the two bowls on top, added spoons, wine glasses, and a wine bottle opener. "Come on." He led the way to one of two sets of French doors at the back of the kitchen while carrying the bar tray and flicked a light switch; he opened the doors. Lizabeth followed.

An overhead light lit a small patio which gave way to grass on one side, but William moved to the right where the patio grew in size. Nestled against the fence was a pergola covered with some climbing vine. Underneath was a long narrow table which probably sat ten people. The far side was one long bench, but the near side had chairs pushed against it. He put down the tray then walked over to a switch and turned on a set of lights that were strung back and forth beneath the pergola.

"It's magic," Lizabeth whispered.

"Not quite," William said as he headed back inside. He turned off the patio lights so that only the pergola lights remained. It was dark, but not a moody and uncomfortable dark. The soft, yellow light from the string was almost like candlelight. "Have a seat. No, not there, other side." Lizabeth had moved to the table and was pulling out a chair. But she walked around and shuffled along the bench to sit in the middle in front of the bar tray.

William was mesmerized watching her take her seat but turned to open his office door (the shed formed one end of the patio). He had a small wine cellar with temperature controls built into a closet in his office and decided on champagne. When he came back with a chilled bottle, she seemed relaxed and was running her fingers through her long strands of hair; he thought she looked as if she belonged there.

"Instead of dessert wine, I thought champagne." He showed her the bottle.

"Do you actually have both in your house?" Lizabeth asked. Her hands fell to her lap, and she looked quizzically at him.

"I host parties here. I tend to keep a stocked cellar," was his response. William shuffled down the bench to sit beside her. "You're okay with champagne?"

"I don't think I've ever had it," she answered. Her dimple teased him.

"A first then. It will go with our dessert." He removed the foil, and the cage, then pulled the cork from the bottle.

"Aren't you supposed to send it flying across the yard?" she accused.

"Not required," he answered. William poured champagne into the two glasses, set the bottle down, then moved the glass bowl with raspberries in front of Lizabeth. "Your dessert."

"I'm not sure." She pouted a little.

"I am determined to expand your horizons," he insisted.

"I did like the cream," Lizabeth acknowledged and dipped her spoon in, taking two raspberries, a massive dollop of cream, and some chocolate. Her eyes said it all. The pergola lights were reflected in them as they shone with intensity and delight. "It's wonderful." Her voice dropped a couple of notes and became deeper; William's insides lurched in response.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to pull her towards him for a kiss or press her back down on the bench and push her skirt up. Both probably. He sipped his champagne instead, letting it sit in his mouth for a minute, feeling the bubbles dance, noting its taste before it traced down his throat. He allowed it to distract him from the woman next to him. He figured she would taste of raspberries and champagne now, which was an even sexier combination than curry and wine.

"I can't believe that you just whipped up a dessert like that. Did you have everything on hand?"

"It takes less time to make whipped cream than it does to go to the store to buy a can of it," he quipped.

"But you have to have cream at home!" she exclaimed.

"Doesn't everybody?" he leaned back, relaxed, and happy. William poured himself another glass of champagne and knocked down half of it quickly. Lizabeth finished her bowl of raspberries and cream. He didn't touch his in case she wanted more.

He topped off both their glasses, using the action of sipping to take in his companion. William wasn't sure what to do next. He thought he had done well that evening as far as romance. There had been the hiccup by the pier, but she seemed to have set it aside, and he didn't want to mention it. There had been their slight tiff, if you could call it that, about Ryan and she had countered with Edgar. He didn't know what Lizabeth wanted besides romance. Any other woman would know what to do next or know what she wanted. But Lizabeth had no experience, and how did she get some without guidance? Did she realize trial and error might be involved?

He put his glass down. "Can I show off my orange tree?" he asked. His voice had gotten deeper, a by-product of drinking champagne. Not all drink affected him like that.

"Sure." Lizabeth stood up with her glass in her hand. She seemed a little shaky, and William decided he had to taste a champagne and raspberry kiss. He stood quickly to enfold her in his arms. Though not as sensual as earlier kisses, the taste put him in mind of one thing only. He held her even tighter as the kiss deepened; he could hear little moans come from Lizabeth's throat. His tongue teased hers while a hand stroked down the side of her skirt.

He broke off, then kissed her again, even more on fire as champagne and desire fueled his tongue and his hands, which stroked her bottom and back. Lizabeth had her hands up around his neck, though not as if she was holding onto him. She seemed mesmerized by the kissing as she moaned again under his onslaught. William pulled back and let his arms drop. "Let's go."

He walked over to his office and turned on the outside light that covered the lawn area. Lizabeth took a few minutes to untangle herself from the table to join him.

"It's so small!" Lizabeth complained.

"It's probably fifty years old," William protested. "Orange trees aren't huge like oaks."

"What's that? Do you have a treehouse?" She took a step away from him and pointed to the back corner of the yard.

"I have a tree deck. It came with the house," he answered. William was embarrassed by that one feature. He had always meant to get rid of it, but it had been a low priority in his busy schedule.

Lizabeth crossed the lawn to look at the structure in the tree. Someone had created a crow's nest-like edifice all around the trunk of a tree about ten feet off the ground. The structure had no ceiling; it was just a small platform with a railing all around it. In the process, they had cut down most of the tree's viable limbs. William thought it hideous as the tree didn't throw out very many leaves anymore.

"Can I go up?" she asked.

"Of course."

A small ladder leaned at an acute angle, and she climbed up it to stand on the platform. "It's charming, just like the rest of your house."

"I always thought it clashed with the rest of my house," William asserted.

She leaned over the railing, holding on with one hand and her hair spilled down, framing her face. William thought of Juliet or some maiden waiting for her lover to ascend a tower to rescue her from some evil. His mouth opened to take in larger gulps of air in an attempt to cool his desire for the figure above. "Are you coming back down?" he asked.

"I think you need to keep your tree deck," Lizabeth laughed, gazing down at him. She moved carefully to descend the ladder; William was there to help her with the last few steps, even though she didn't need help. She snaked her hands around his waist, clenching him tightly. He wasn't sure if she initiated the kiss this time, but he didn't want to let go or stop.

But the ladder had to be uncomfortable pressing against her spine. He put an arm around her waist and walked and kissed her back across the lawn to the patio. They sat back down on the end of the bench (which had cushions), with their arms and lips still entwined as they pressed against its hard back. The string of lights from the pergola above gave a warm glow to her hair and cheeks, but her eyes blazed with a passion which he thought mirrored his own.

"Do you want to stay?" William asked. One of her hands jerked. The other kept up its series of strokes along his arm. His gaze didn't falter, but he could see in Lizabeth's eyes that she was struggling. The fire was dimming.

"Um, no," she whispered and laid her head against his chest, hiding her eyes. "You know…we're leaving first thing in the morning. I think that would be awkward to have to run back to pack…and leave." Her hands stopped all movement then, and Lizabeth lay still in his arms. William felt her passion cool; he felt he had never been more on fire.

"No worries," he said, gently stroking a shoulder. He tried not to be obvious about taking in deep breaths to cool things down inside. He needed a little space, so sat up straighter and shuffled away a few inches after letting go of her. She, in turn, sat up and looked at the remnants of their meal.

"You didn't eat your dessert," she whispered. Lizabeth shuffled away a few more inches as if to inspect that she was correct. William thought she was embarrassed or felt awkward, and wondered if he hadn't met some expectations.

"Let me make a little coffee, so I'm okay to drive." He went back into the house. Not wanting to shut her out entirely, he left the French door open, even though he was likely to get bugs. He wasn't sure if she liked to drink coffee so late at night, but he only needed a cup to help clear his head. A half a pot was soon brewing before he went back outside.

Lizabeth looked dreamy and relaxed. He thought she looked like she belonged under his pergola, bathed in delicate light. But it wasn't to work out. At least not that night.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. He thought she must be sleepy, but she surprised him and stood quickly. "I can help clean up." Her hands moved to pick up their items on the table.

"Don't worry about them," William said as he strode over. "Leave them." She continued to put the dishes on the bar tray. He moved around the table to stand next to her and watched until she had finished stacking everything on the tray, then she stilled. "Lizabeth." He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "I've loved our evening together. I'm sorry if there were a few bumps," he rubbed his fingertips lightly along one shoulder.

"I asked you to come have dinner with me," he said, then faltered, trying to end with some gracious speech. For all the work that he was involved with, nothing came to mind. William thought he was still fueled with desire (and some disappointment), though there was hope for another day. "We've had a great time, don't you think?" Lizabeth nodded in response. He thought he could see the pulse beating in her throat as she looked up at him. She was just as attracted to him as he was to her, but not ready to say yes.

His lips plastered hers with a fierce kiss fueled by the last of the champagne before he pulled back and slipped an arm around her. "I want to see you again. Hopefully, that doesn't mean I have to wait two months."

"Are you going to be in Merton anytime soon?" she asked as they walked into the kitchen.

"I can make time," he answered. The coffee had brewed, and he poured a travel mug for himself. She refused the offer and went to get her coat and purse.

William did most of the talking on the way back to her hotel. She answered questions but seemed less engaged. It could be because of the hour of the day, but he thought it was because he had asked her to stay. Damn Caroline for giving him the burden of knowledge, though William didn't know if he would have asked her a second time had he not known. But he wasn't giving up and didn't want to end on a sour note as Lizabeth had mentioned.


Lizabeth answered the questions which William set her, but struggled with her unrealized romantic expectations even though she knew they were unrealistic. She wanted romance. Even though she knew how simplistic they were at portraying relationships (a couple meets, there's a little conflict and then the man and the woman, despite their differences, overcome an issue and fall in love), part of her wanted all the trappings.

She wanted the perfect ambiance between her and a lover, with nothing impeding their time together. When she had run into William at the Griffith Observatory, a chill had run down her spine. Seeing him on the terrace, a chance meeting, had been exactly like a scene from a romance novel: to run into each other unexpectedly. He was so handsome, and she jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him and try something new.

Yet Lizabeth was bothered by the slight hitches in their time together. She figured her lack of experience had a lot to do with that. Maybe William hadn't found them concerning at all. She couldn't get over a wish in her head for a perfect date. Then again, that was probably an artificial reality. But it had been a first date, and she had never imagined sleeping with someone on a first date. But Jane had done it—slept with Charles Lee the night she had met him.

Was part of her reluctance some vestige of her mother always being in her head which made her overthink situations? Lizabeth needed to break free. Hadn't she considered sleeping with Edgar? (Though they had dated for months). What was different about sleeping with William?

He pulled into the loading zone at her hotel but got out to open her door.

"Thanks," Lizabeth said as she took his hand to extricate herself from the car.

William didn't release it, but put his other around her back, and kissed her. If she thought it would be a mild, goodbye kiss, she was wrong. It was wild and intense and hot, just like that last kiss before they left his house. Lizabeth squeezed his hand tight, not intending it as a signal (but her insides turned over). He must have thought that meant she wanted him to stop, as the hand at her back fell away, and the hand holding hers softened.

"I have a busy week next week as we film on Monday, and Caroline is back on Tuesday." He stopped to look at her with a face she couldn't read. "I'll call you, but I can't say when I'll be able to drive up." Lizabeth thought that his work schedule must be on his mind.

"Okay." She wasn't sure if he was pulling back or merely explaining about his workweek.

His free hand came up to her shoulder again. William kissed her, lightly this time. "I should take off; I see a car coming." Their entwined hands were pulled up to his lips for one last kiss.

"Bye," she said. Then she marched towards the hotel doors, which opened to welcome her.

"Bye, Lizabeth," he called after her.


She passed through the doors and up the elevator a mixture of emotions. LMost of them canceled the others out until the overall effect was numbness; such a state was probably the best for facing Charlene after such an evening.

Her card key unlocked the door, and she opened it slowly so as not to disturb her friend. The room was dark and Lizabeth stole in, thankful she didn't have to discuss her evening so quickly after its events. Peeking around the corner at the two beds, however, she noticed that Charlene wasn't curled up asleep. The bathroom door was open, so her friend wasn't there. She and Lyle must still be out. Perhaps they had taken in one last site and then gone out to a late dinner.

Hurrying a little to avoid questions if she could, Lizabeth dressed for bed and turned the light back off. Sleep didn't come as her mind evaluated her evening. The kisses were like nothing she had experienced before—so cliché and yet she couldn't characterize them any other way. Lizabeth had no experience to rely on, so she had to fall back on what she read in books. She was attracted to William far more than she had ever been to Edgar. (Had she ever been attracted to Ed?)

She kept recalling those kisses under his pergola and by his tree 'deck,' and as they strolled together in his backyard with their arms entwined—they had all been magnificent. Lizabeth's pulse raced just thinking about them. But she was also a little afraid. Sex was one thing. Sex with her feelings involved was another. She couldn't rely on knowledge derived from books when her feelings were so involved—it frightened her to take that step.

Usually, whenever she got emotional, it had never ended well. When she was a child, such situations were ones that her mother manipulated and used against her. To open herself up to William by having sex meant allowing herself to be vulnerable. It meant she might be hurt at some future date. To be open and emotional led to pain; not often right away, but it was wounding. It was what she had learned as a child. She thought about Jane Sweet considering that ultimately she and Charles had no future together. Lizabeth's heart beat even faster as she imagined an entire relationship rise and fall before her eyes. Before she had even had one. Did all women do this?

She knew William was attracted to her. He said he wanted to see her again, and that he didn't want to allow months to go by before they saw each other. Their goodbye in front of the hotel had seemed a let-down compared to the hotter kisses and activities of the evening. But how could she truly judge? And she had no way of measuring the depth of William's interest in her.

It occurred to her that her mother made sure that Lizabeth knew how she felt, by using words, and by frequently repeating herself. But few people took such pains to let others know their feelings. It seemed the average person was more reticent, especially if she or he was expressing what were considered negative emotions. Her job, as she had often reflected, was one which led her only into superficial relationships, not deep ones. It was why she had been cultivating her friendships with Charlene, Jane, Mary—and even Doug.

Her thoughts drifted again to that passionate scene under the pergola when William had asked her to stay. She hadn't been articulate, instead, she had stumbled over her refusal, and gave a lame excuse about getting up early. William had accepted her refusal gracefully and driven her home.

But she pondered his words. 'No worries.' What did that mean? He wasn't pressuring her, but was he still interested? Or was it a sort of 'oh well, I'll find someone more accepting another time?' How much did she know about William Darcy? Their first couple of meetings had been a rollercoaster of sorts.

Charlene and Lyle still weren't back, and it was past one. Lizabeth glanced at the alarm clock that was in the room. 1:18 a.m. and her friend was a no show. Lizabeth's heart did a funny little flip as it occurred to her that maybe her friend wasn't going to return, but was in Lyle's room (which thankfully wasn't next door). But the memories and feelings of being vulnerable after the bicycle thief had tried to take her purse hit her. She got up and flipped the deadbolt on the door and curled up to sleep.


A loud sound woke her up in the morning sometime after six. Lizabeth was disoriented and had to recall that she was in a hotel, and tried to figure out what the noise was. She heard a knock, the handle was rattled, and then Charlene's voice, "it's me, let me in!"

"Oh!" Lizabeth's heart beat even faster, but she got out of bed and approached the door. "I have to push the door closed to remove the bar," she explained after peeking through the gap and ascertaining that it truly was her friend.

Neither one looked the other in the eye as Charlene came in and shut the door. Lizabeth didn't know exactly what to say to her friend about sneaking into the hotel room just after six. (Was she sneaking in? It was Charlene's room too). Should she ask about her spending the night with Lyle? But Charlene turned the tables on her.

"I'm surprised you're here. Or that you're by yourself. I thought you might stay with William."

"First date," was Lizabeth's immediate reply.

"I thought Friday was your first date, last night would be your second," said Charlene, more cavalier than she believed her friend was usually, especially after having been caught slipping into the room. Perhaps she was wondering why Lizabeth hadn't done the same.

"We did go to his house," she admitted. "But still, I came back."

"Well, I'm going to shower." Charlene was a little short. Lizabeth wondered if she didn't want to avoid speaking about her evening. Her friend took a long time in the shower—thankfully, there was an unlimited supply of hot water.

When they had planned the trip, the three of them thought they could make one more stop on Sunday. But given the traffic in Los Angeles (and perhaps because Charlene and Lyle were so focused on each other), they decided to head for home as soon as they packed and had breakfast.

The two in the front seat talked most of the way, and not about the trip. Even though they had been dating for a while, having slept together seemed to have unlocked something. The pair appeared to feel the need to share and talked almost exclusively with each other. Lizabeth watched the miles run under the car as she stared out the window and tried not to think too much about William. But having run into him, she wondered if they were as compatible as those two in the front seat seemed to be. Would he call, and would he visit?

She was dropped off, her bags unloaded, and they said goodbye. Lizabeth took a second shower in her apartment and got a load of laundry going before she went to pick up the cat. Shirley from Facilities was cat-sitting. Rather than coming in to feed Kitty twice a day in her apartment, Shirley thought Lizabeth's pampered kitten would go crazy if left by herself for three days, so she had taken the cat home with her.

Shirley lived in a small house, and as soon as her friend opened the door, she declared, "get in! She loves to escape now!" Lizabeth jumped inside and had the door slammed behind her. What came next was a ten-minute plea from Shirley to give up the kitten. After three days, her friend didn't think she could live without the cat. Lizabeth declared the same.

"Do you think we could tag team? Like divorced parents? I could have her on weekends?" Shirley offered.

"I only see her on the weekends," Lizabeth argued in return. Kitty was indifferent to her, but rubbed against Shirley's ankles.

"She likes to have a house to explore, and loves going outside," said Shirley.

"Outside! You didn't let her outside. Dear me, you have spoiled her."

"Exactly. It's why you need to give her to me," Shirley said without reservation.

"You're blackmailing me," Lizabeth laughed.

"Yes," her friend admitted.

Kitty was bundled into her crate and howled the six minutes home. She spent the rest of the evening hiding under the sofa and growling at Lizabeth whenever she attempted to coerce her to come out. Lizabeth wanted a companion to snuggle with, but the kitten would take another day to forgive her for leaving her for the weekend.


A/N: Sorry I'm late posting. Too many Zoom meetings! LOL

Hope you'all are thriving. At least we got to turn over March and can stare at April now.