The ride to Maggio's was mercifully short. The ordinary act of riding together in a car seemed to underscore the rather extraordinary events of the day, causing a small amount of I-can't-believe-we're-actually-doing-this nervousness to creep into the young evening. Classical music played softly in the background as the talk, mostly small, centered around the areas they were driving through.
The restaurant was situated in a small, out-of-the-way area of tony Summerlin. Grissom drove by it one evening on the way back to headquarters. The understated yet elegant façade caught his eye and he made a mental note to check it out one day.
He was pleasantly surprised when he and Sara entered the restaurant. The review he found on the Las Vegas Review-Journal's Web site earlier that day called it "A hidden gem. One of the area's most romantic eateries. And tourist-free!" Softly lit with mellow jazz setting the mood through strategically arranged speakers, the tables were filled with well-dressed locals, most gazing at each other over small clusters of flickering votives in the center of their tables. Tiny white Christmas lights hung on chest-high potted trees ringing the edges of the room.
Proud of his wise choice of eatery, Gil smiled to himself. This will do just fine.
The couple checked in with the maitre d, who checked his reservation book, grabbed two tall menus and extended his left hand. "Dr. Grissom, ma'am, this way, please." Grissom's hand once again found its way to the small of Sara's back as they followed him to their table, located toward the eastern edge of the room near … Is that a dance floor? Grissom wondered.
The maitre d moved to pull out Sara's chair for her, but Grissom subtly intercepted him without her noticing and performed the task himself. Sara grinned at the gallant gesture, then at Grissom himself as he took his seat.
"You have excellent manners," she teased, remembering how he held open every door she had stepped through so far that night.
"They come in handy," he replied gently, raising his eyebrows slightly.
They had finished their meals and were sipping the last of their wine when Sara tried unsuccessfully to subdue a giggle.
"What?" Grissom asked, his brow furrowing in concern that he had unconsciously embarrassed himself somehow.
The intensity of his gaze had been so overpowering, and the tone of the evening so charged and deep, she had no idea where this levity came from.
"It's just…" she started, then stopped, almost shocked at how vulnerable the man across from her looked at this moment. "It's just that if you told me this morning that we would end up here tonight, I wouldn't have believed you." She smiled so broadly, it almost took Grissom's breath away.
"All I wanted from you in your office was a little clarity, and you ended up giving me more than I had ever hoped for."
"This…" she hesitated, almost embarrassed at the revelation she was about to make. "This is one of the most romantic evenings I've ever had." The last statement she made quietly, almost overwhelmed by what she was experiencing now.
Emboldened by her confession, Grissom reached around the flickering candles and softly took her right hand in his left. Gently stroking her thumb with his, their eyes met. The connection so powerful, Sara could barely hold his gaze.
"It's long overdue," he answered softly. "Sara, I ---"
But before he could finish his sentence, the soft chaos of a jazz quartet readying for their set interrupted them. Brushes grazed a snare drum, low notes from an upright bass hung in the air, fingers ran up and down a keyboard and the small pop of a microphone coming to life rang through the room.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We're Four to the Bar and we'll try not to disturb you too much," the singer laughed. She had the sultry, experienced voice of a person who has sung a few thousand sets and liked it so much she kept going. "Our first song was made popular by a beautiful new jazz singer, Miss Norah Jones. The dance floor is open."
Taking their cue, the quartet started the opening bars of the song and several couples pushed away from their tables and headed toward the dance floor. Grissom was still holding Sara's hand when their heads turned away from the singer and back toward each other.
Grissom grinned. "Would you?" Sara nodded and stood up, never releasing his hand as they made their way to the dance floor and found a spot with the other couples, swaying together in 3/4 time.
Grissom pulled Sara close to him as their hands clasped near their shoulders, the other set finding the small of each other's back. They were so close, Sara had no choice but to gently rest her cheek against his, not that she minded one bit. Incredibly content and yet excited at the same time, Sara inhaled deeply, breathing in his aftershave and the smell of his skin against hers.
The sensation suddenly reminded her of childhood. One night she was staying over a friend's when the girl's parents were heading out for a night on the town. She was enraptured as Mr. and Mrs. Dugan came down to leave instructions and a phone number at which to reach them. The couple was stunning and well-dressed. Now, 20 years later, she remembered how handsome Mr. Dugan was and how the smell of his aftershave hung in the air. Even as a young girl, she could sense the adults' anticipation of the special evening. It all seemed so exciting and mature. Now, here she was in the middle of the most exciting date of her life.
As Sara's mind wandered back in time, Grissom slowly guided her around the floor. A confident dancer – his mother made him take lessons as a boy – he smiled as he realized how poor their form was. "Elegant arms," he remembered his instructor calling out, as couples were supposed to uphold their arms in a certain position with a good deal of space between their bodies. Grissom happily traded in form for feeling tonight, and he wondered if even a slip of paper could be placed between them right now.
Grissom felt as if all his neurons were firing simultaneously as he breathed in her scent. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing in time with this own, and listened to the singer as she sang in almost a pleading whisper:
"And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me"
When the last notes reverberated across the room, Grissom and Sara looked deep in each other's eyes, which slowly closed as each tilted their head in age-old instinct and their lips met. The kiss was tentative and gentle at first, but grew exponentially in emotion and fervor as the quartet gently slid into an Etta James classic:
"At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song"
Realizing they were still holding each other like dancers, Grissom maneuvered them over to a dark corner of the floor. Once there, he released Sara's hands and took her face in his hands, smiling as his lips rejoined hers. Sara, intoxicated by the turn of events, smiled in return, only to quickly find her lips fighting his for purchase. Finally doing what she had been dying to for years, she ran her hands up his face resting them in his tight salt-and-pepper curls. The kisses were gentle, yet urgent, as years of pent-up desire played themselves out in the corner of a darkened dance floor.
Stopping was the last thing Grissom wanted to do, but reason got the best of him as he realized they were no longer dancing, but rather standing there making out. He broke from her lips, and breathing more heavily than he realized, looked over her shoulder. Happily, everyone else was too busy with their own romances to tell these two to get a room.
"Would you like to keep dancing or continue our evening elsewhere?" Grissom smiled, trying to regain his normal breathing pattern.
"If this is dancing, I say let's keep dancing," Sara teased in return, her voice husky from the emotions rattling around her head.
Grissom grinned. Placing his arm protectively around her waist, they headed back for their table, where their check was already waiting. Sara excused herself to the ladies room, while Grissom settled the bill. As soon as he had placed his credit card in the check folder, the waiter silently swooped in and left to ring up the charge. This guy is good, Grissom thought to himself, happy he didn't have to wait and anxious not to waste a moment. A minute later the gentleman returned and with a smile placed the folder back on the table. "Thank you, Dr. Grissom. Have an excellent evening." Wondering if their waiter had witnessed their raging hormones, Grissom wrote in a heavy tip on the credit card receipt. This guy is very good.
Sara reappeared to his right, her arm lightly touching his shoulder. "Ready?" she smiled.
Grissom's face broke out in a broad grin as he pushed away from the table, rose to his feet and offered her his arm.