A/N: The songs in this chapter are "A Hard Day's Night" by the Beatles and "You Move Me" by Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood
Chapter 27
Sara harrumphed. "Don't call me 'dear,' you rotten sneak!" She pushed Grissom away from her and straightened up, putting her fists on her hips. "Just see if I compliment your cooking now!"
Grissom chuckled. "Wouldn't dare expect it. Now, you're stepping between me and my pancake mix – not an advisable action."
"Hey, you and your mix enjoy yourself. I've got things of my own to do, bugman." She was glad to see Grissom looking worried at her comment. "Hey, relax, I didn't kill you yesterday, I probably won't kill you today. Now – I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't get yourself in too much trouble without me." She chucked him under the chin, making him narrow his eyes and scowl at her, and headed back out the front door.
As he heard her car start up, Grissom wondered what she was up to. Sara was a dangerous opponent, and an unpredictable one. Oh well, might as well start breakfast. He turned on the radio, set the volume all the way up, and got to work with his pancakes, occasionally singing along with a lyric.
When Sara pushed open Grissom's front door fifteen minutes later, she was almost driven back out the door by the volume of the music coming from the kitchen. Not only were the Beatles blasting through the radio, but Grissom . . . Grissom was singing! His eyes were squeezed shut as he flipped the pancakes and he was belting out, "So why on earth should I moan, 'cause when I get you alone, you know I feel ok, when I'm home everything seems to be right, when I'm home feeling you holding me tight, tight!"
Sara leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the show being put on by an oblivious Grissom. This was apparently one of those "best of everything" radio stations, because as the Beatles faded out, the distinctive voice of Garth Brooks took over. She smiled; Garth was one of her favorites. She wondered if Grissom knew anything about country music, or whether she'd have to force him to appreciate it. Within a few seconds her question was answered as he picked up the song mid-verse.
"But you move me, you give me courage I didn't know I had. You move me, I can't go with you and stay where I am, so you move me . . ." Grissom had a surprisingly pleasant singing voice for one who didn't even speak unless he had to. Sara was impressed, not the least because he knew the words to one of her favorite songs.
She knew this one by heart, and when the first verse ended, Sara's voice blended smoothly into the music. "This is how love was to me, I could look and not see, going through the emotions not knowin' what they mean. And it scared me so much that I just wouldn't budge. I might have stayed there forever if not for your touch."
The sound of her voice made Grissom jump and almost drop the mixing bowl that he had started to wash. He flipped off the radio and barked, "Jesus, Sara, don't scare me like that, I'm an old man!"
Sara gave him an amused look. "You are not old, Gris. You're just well-seasoned."
" 'Well-seasoned'? You make me sound like dinner!"
"Hmm . . . not a bad idea," Sara said, wiggling her eyebrows at him.
Grissom couldn't help laughing as she cast elevator eyes up and down his body. "Hey, if you behave maybe I'll let you talk about making me dinner later." She snorted at his pun. "And since when do you know country music?" he added. "I thought you said you listened to Greg's type of heavy metal."
"I listen to everything. Besides, what I said was that I headbanged with him to relieve stress, not that I particularly cared for Kid Rock and his friends. Since when do you know country?" He shrugged. Sara stuck her tongue out at him and marveled, "Wow, stop being so verbose, Gris, I can't handle your zero-word sentences.
"Well anyway, how 'bout you keep making my breakfast and I'll get us set up with orange juice and coffee." She held up a carton of orange juice and one of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. "These are what I had to run out to get. Not enough hands to get everything on the way here."
Grissom eyed the coffee with joy. He'd never mastered the art of making decent coffee for himself. Carefully setting the bowl back into the sink, he crossed the kitchen and grabbed Sara around the waist, swinging her around a few inches off the ground. "Have I ever told you how wonderful you are, Miss Sidle?"
Sara grinned. "No, but you have told me I look great in a towel. Now put me down, I'm too tall to not have my feet reach the floor!"
Grissom gave her a smacking kiss on the lips and set her down gently. "The pancakes are ready, madam. How many would you like?"
Sara thought for a moment. "I dunno, maybe two or three?"
Grissom scooped three pancakes onto her plate, and then four onto his. Settling down at the table, Grissom smiled evilly. "You want syrup with your breakfast . . . or your dinner?"
