Part Seven

I find my thoughts turning more and more to the fair-haired waif who calls herself my boss but rarely orders me to do anything. It's a strange feeling, to have someone else besides Liz Parker on my mind. It feels very fresh, very new and kind of exciting. I didn't think I'd ever consider certain things with another woman, but now I don't understand how I ever thought that could be true.

I awake most mornings with a smile on my face because my first thought is of Maria, of her laugh, her beautiful eyes. She's enchanted me somehow, this gorgeous human woman. Our dance continues at the shop, with neither of us admitting what we might be feeling and never following through on our attraction. She's a tease, but then again I guess so am I.

I don't want to hurt her. I want to make sure that what I'm feeling is real and not just some post-Liz band-aid I've given myself. Maria has been such a wonderful, supportive friend that I couldn't live with myself if I did something to use or hurt her. So I try to avoid those awkward situations that throw us together in an intimate context. The time will come - when I'm sure how I feel.

Maria doesn't mention anything about Liz's impending marriage. Often she disappears on 'errands' or 'meetings with shampoo vendors' but I know that's not really where she's going. I play along because I know she's trying to spare my feelings and I appreciate her attempts.

Michael and I sit at Isabel's small kitchen table eating breakfast. The air is silent except for the sound of spoons hitting the sides of bowls and the crunching of cereal. I still haven't caught the two of them together and all I've ever seen in the way of contact was a chaste kiss he gave her on the cheek one day when he dropped her off at work.

So, I decide maybe asking out-right is the correct approach. "Are you boffing my sister?"

"Are you boffing Maria?"

I glance at him while he continues his assault on his Coco Crispies. I guess my attraction to Maria is a little more obvious to the outside world than I had realized. I feel guilty suddenly, wondering if this is something that has been eating at him. "Would you be upset if I was boffing Maria?"

"Would you be upset if I was boffing your sister?"

When did Michael became so good at answering a question with a question, let alone the very question that was just asked? And I can't even answer his question, so I remain silent. I don't think it would upset me to know he and Isabel are intimate, I'm just not sure I really want to know about it.

Why did things seem so much simpler when we were on the road, hunting down the bad guys? We had an agenda - find them and eliminate them. The only thoughts we had of romantic involvement were to get back and reclaim those we missed. It's easy to not deal with the every day pressures and challenges that arise in relationships when you are so far away and there is no 'every day' involvement with the person. But that's not really a relationship. It's living in a fantasy world where everything seems perfect because you never have to deal with what isn't perfect.

I think about asking Michael if he misses the road, but I know what his response would be - "Do you?" I don't have much desire to continue this merry-go-round of questions, so I remain silent through breakfast.

I'm off work today because it's Sunday. My generous boss lets us have this one day off to do whatever it is we need to. Painfully so, I have few responsibilities these days, so I take the opportunity to just walk and get some fresh air. It's an unseasonably cool late-summer day, so physical activity is easy, not even resulting in a sweat.

I walk down past where I grew up, where my parents lived. Someone else lives there now, on that strange curve of the road. From the various toys strewn across the lawn, they have children and that makes me smile. That house on Murray Lane was filled with happy memories for me and Isabel and it's nice to know some other child is there filling it with just as much joy.

I walk for a long time, past the Crashdown. I consider getting a cup of coffee, but decide not to pour salt into the wound and get a cup at the coffee shop down the street instead. Maybe someday I can go back into the Crashdown, but I'm not really sure I'll ever want to again. That place also held happy memories - as well as some not so happy ones - but I'm content just to leave them memories. I don't need to visit them very often.

My day off work and I end up at the shop anyway. I stand on the sidewalk for awhile, looking at the closed store front. The gutter is hanging and I make a mental note to fix that for Maria tomorrow when I go to work. Thinking of Maria, my gaze shifts skyward, to the windows of her apartment above the store. Before I've even thought about it, I'm walking around the building and climbing the stairs to her door.

She answers the door dressed in a huge sweatshirt and a pair of running shorts. She runs these days? Maria has always been abhorrent to any kind of exercise so it's somewhat surprising that she could be jogging. Her golden hair is pulled up high on her head and she's make-upless. In short, she's beautiful.

"Hey, Max!" she greets me, breaking into a wide smile.

"Hi," I reply, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Her brow furrows. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Did you want to come in?"

I nod and step past her into her small apartment. My guess is that the building is over one hundred years old, so her apartment has all of the charm and character of its age. I always liked the smell of old buildings, although I'm not sure why. They have kind of a homey, welcoming smell to them, like they've been properly lived in.

And Maria's apartment is definitely being lived in. I don't mean that she's a slob because she's not - you could practically eat off the floors. But she hasn't stopped herself from being comfortable - her tennis shoes are by the living room entranceway, where she probably kicked them off; there's a stack of magazines on the coffee table and her mail is tossed onto the kitchen table. The place is clean, but not suffocatingly so.

She passes me and goes back into the living room, tossing her body onto the couch. I stand in the doorway and shove my hands in my pockets. On the TV, QVC babbles without really being noticed.

"Do you run?" I ask, looking down at her Nikes.

She follows my gaze. "Yeah."

I laugh. "Since when?"

She raises an eyebrow, but her expression is amused. "For awhile now, thank you very much. And yourself?"

I blush. I've somewhat let the aerobic activities fall by the wayside. You don't really need them when you're in combat every day.

"That's what I thought," she says, the fake haughtiness evident in her voice. She draws in a breath and cuts to the chase. "What's going on?"

"I was out walking," I say lamely.

"Well, you could have been running instead."

I laugh at her joke.

"Are you going to sit down or just hover in the doorway?"

I feel funny being in her personal space, unusually nervous. I claim an easy chair, trying to sit as far away from her as possible. I know we're alone. I know there is a bed about fifteen feet away. I know that we're not ready to make that move.

"Okay, spill it, Evans."

I meet her eyes, mine wide. "Spill what?"

"Whatever it is you came here for."

Does she think I came here for something? I resist the temptation to look toward the bedroom. I don't want her to think that's why I'm here and if I look that direction, she will definitely think it.

But what is the reason I came here? I rack my brain, then give her a wan smile. "I wanted to talk."

"Yeah? About what?"

The TV buzzes about some genuine imitation jewelry to the point of distraction. Raising my hand, I silence it and Maria looks surprised. "Us."

She looks like a deer in headlights. I've ventured into unspoken, unadmitted territory. "Us?" she echoes.

I nod. "I've been thinking a lot about us."

"You have?"

"Yes. And, well, I don't want to think about things if they aren't true."

She's still looking a little freaked. "Go on."

I look down at my hands. "And I guess I need to know if you might be feeling the same things I am."

I can practically hear her swallow. She doesn't really want to ask, but she has to. Her voice comes out small, uncertain, cautious. "How do you feel?"

I meet her gaze again, her green eyes wide and debate if I should be truthful or pull back while I still have the chance. But honesty is always the best policy, so I'm truthful with her. "I think about you all the time, Maria. When I get up, when I go to bed, when I'm working with you. You're in all of my thoughts. I have some serious feelings for you."

"Serious feelings?"

I can't tell her I love her because I don't know if I do yet.or rather, if I can. "Yes. I have very intimate feelings for you. I'm attracted to you, I think you're beautiful, but it's more than that. I want to know you better as a person, to know everything there is to know about you."

"You already know everything about me," she counters.

I shake my head. "No I don't. I think I've only scratched the surface." I smile at her and the silence that ensues is so deafening I feel like my eardrums might burst. My hope wanes and I'm starting to feel somewhat embarrassed and wrong in my assumption that she feels the same way about me. "How do you feel?" I ask her cautiously.

Another long, uncomfortable silence, then she slowly rises from the couch and approaches me. My body goes into overdrive as she stops before me, my palms sweating, my heart thumping so hard I can feel it in my throat. She looks down at me and I can't read her emotions.

Then she climbs into my lap.

I try to hide my surprise, but I do a poor job I fear. Her long, soft fingers brush the hair from my forehead, then trail a path down my cheek. I wonder if she's curious why I didn't shave this morning. Her thumb traces my bottom lip and all of my bodily reactions to her increase tenfold. She takes my face between her hands, and before my panic attack can take full control of me, her lips touch mine.

Finally, after weeks of teasing, I know what it is to kiss Maria Deluca. My head swims in a dizzying way and I have to hold on to her for fear of passing out. Her breath comes in a short gasp as she intensifies our kiss, her tongue venturing past my lips. Oh, God. I pull her tighter to me, deepening our embrace, wanting to taste her, feel her. I want her so bad I ache.

Which is why I pull away. I don't do it in a hurry, or in a way that she'll feel rejected. I simply break the kiss and lean back a bit. She looks confused for a split second, but then she smiles at me.

"Go out with me," I manage, trying to return my breathing to normal. "On a date. Let me take you out."

Her smile widens and she nods. I know without having to tell her that she understands I'm not ready for the ultimate act. Not just yet.

I return home on a cloud and I remain that way for the rest of the night. Falling asleep is difficult because all I keep thinking about is that kiss. I hadn't planned on even going over there, and yet look what happened. Some of the best things in life are unexpected.

When sleep finally comes, in the wee hours of the morning, I am awakened by a knock on the door. It is so tentative and uncertain that I ignore it - it must be on someone else's door. But it happens again and I realize it is indeed someone at Iz's door. Groaning, exhausted, I walk over to the door and open it.

To find Liz Parker standing in the hallway.