Sara glanced at the clock on her kitchen wall. 6:58. She was so nervous, she couldn't sit, instead opting to pace around her kitchen and keep an eye on the clock. Calm down! she told herself. But she knew it was futile. No form of coaching would take the edge off. She had been waiting for an evening like this for years. Suddenly an image raced across her memory and she smiled at its significance.
"What's your pulse at now?" she had asked him. God, what's my pulse now? she thought with a laugh. I just hope he can't see the veins in my neck throbbing while my heart races.
And her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she heard a knock on the door. Steadying herself, she walked over, and placing her hand on the knob, thought, There's no turning back now.
Sara opened the door to find Gil Grissom in a navy suit coat, khaki-colored slacks and tie, looking far more confident and relaxed that she. They stood there for a few seconds, just looking at each other, until Grissom broke the stalemate.
"May I come in?" he asked playfully.
"Oh, right. Of course. Please."
Grissom walked in, unconsciously surveying Sara's apartment like any good CSI. He stopped in the living room, turned to face Sara, and handed her a large fern he had been holding at his side. She had been so preoccupied with registering how damn fine he looked, she hadn't even noticed it.
"For you."
"Um, thanks" she replied, confused by its meaning.
"Everything else seemed trite, and I wanted to make up for my behavior at the Newman house this week. I was wrong to behave that way."
Wow, Sara thought. Who is this guy and what has he done with Grissom?
Grissom smiled to himself as he watched Sara's puzzled reaction to his gift play out on her face. She reached for the plant, her slim fingers grazing his. As if an electric shock sparked between them, they both gasped quietly, hoping the other had not heard their reaction.
"This might need water," she stuttered, heading for the kitchen quickly, hoping the distance would dissipate some of the electricity in the air. Grissom rocked back on his heels with the confidence of a man in control as he studied her neat, uncluttered apartment. Ever since his instincts got the better of him this morning, he was running on autopilot, and was uncharacteristically fine with that decision. He knew he was in love with her, and every action and decision in connection with her just felt….right.
"OK, the fern is watered. We can split if you like," Sara said as she walked back into the living room, fishing for her keys in her purse. With her attention on other matters, Grissom's deep blue eyes traveled the length of his date's body. Her hair was swept up, with random curls yielding to gravity, dangling distractedly toward the thin spaghetti straps curving over her delicate, yet muscular, shoulders. The simple black dress hugged her lean form to mid-thigh, where it ended to display her sculpted runner's calves. He ended his tour at her feet, which sported seriously a sexy pair of shiny black heels.
God help me, Grissom thought, as his mouth suddenly went dry and his breath caught in his throat. Sara's eyes met his at just that moment, and she smirked as she caught him checking her out.
"You ready?" she grinned.
Grissom tried to speak but the words weren't forthcoming. He tried clearing his throat, then coughed out a weak, "Yes."
"You OK, Gris?" Sara was clearly enjoying this. "Would you like a drink? Water? A beer?"
Alcohol is the last thing I need, he thought. I feel drunk already.
"No, I'm fine," he smiled, regaining the confidence he had been priding himself on when she entered the room 30 seconds ago. "Let's go." Lightly placing his hand on the small of
her back, he guided her out the door and toward his car.