Chapter 28

"You dirty old man," Sara laughed.

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I thought you said I wasn't old!" He was gratified to see Sara quickly backpedal, muttering something that sounded like "figure of speech." Snickering, he reached across the table and snagged the last bite of her last pancake.

Eyeing her suddenly empty plate, Sara sputtered, "No fair, Gris! What if I was still hungry?"

"Are you?"

She frowned. "Well, not really . . . but it's the principle of the thing. What if I had been?"

"I'd have fed you mine, of course."

She grinned. "In that case . . . I'm still hungry." Expecting him to pick up a piece on his fork and feed it to her, she glared at him when he pushed his plate toward her with a smirk. "I take it back! You are a crotchety old man!"

Grissom tried to look horrified, despite her joking tone. "Oh, no Sara, please anything but that. Here, I'll feed you." Sara smiled complacently and opened her mouth for his fork. Grissom shook his head. "Uh-uh. You've got to come over here and let me feed you."

"Oh gee, no, anything but that," Sara mimicked. The two of them joked their way through the remainder of Grissom's breakfast. When they finished, Sara stood up and let out a heavy breath. "You stuffed me, Grissom! I don't think I can even waddle to my car."

"Who said anything about your car?" He shifted his eyes away from her. "I was, uh, hoping you'd spend some time over here, since I forced my way into your apartment for all of yesterday."

He was relieved when Sara graced him with a smile that was almost blinding. "I'd like that," she said softly. "Thanks."

He smiled back. "You're welcome here any time, Sara." When Grissom realized what he'd said, he shot a subtle look at Sara. That had sounded . . . permanent. Not that there was a problem with permanent; he'd love to have Sara permanently – well, as much as anyone could "have" Sara Sidle – but he really had no clue what she wanted.

Sara gulped. That had sounded . . . like a commitment. What to say? She fell back on her old mainstay, humor. "Does this mean I get a house key?"

Grissom's mind went blank. This was not what he'd planned on conversing about today! Time to change the subject. He cleared his throat and said, "So what do you want to do today? It's 10 AM . . . I don't know about you but I've another hour or two of go-time in me before I'll be ready to fall asleep."

Sara nodded. The subject change suited her just fine. "Yeah, me too. In fact, at home I'd probably be up until one or two, but you tire me out, buddy." She punched his arm lightly and grinned. "I don't really have anything I need to do today – I mean, I have some files in my case, but they don't really need to be reviewed as of now." She was surprised to find Grissom smiling like he had case-breaking DNA for her. "What?"

"C'mere." He grabbed her hand and led her into his living room, a spacious room with wall-to-wall bookshelves and a comfortable-looking leather couch. Tugging Sara behind him, Grissom made his way to the wall. When they reached it he indicated a bookshelf with a grand flourish of his hand. "Take your pick, Sara."

Sara gaped. In front of her was a shelf holding every issue of The American Journal of Forensics since 1979. "Wow. I knew you were super-organized, but I didn't think . . . wow. All my copies are in tatters after a month or two of reading. And I certainly don't have back issues from practically since I was born!" She saw that Grissom flinched. Oops. That hadn't sounded good. "I mean, I can't believe you've managed to not lose any of them, and keep them all in decent shape."

He wished Sara wouldn't keep reminding him of their age difference. He was having enough of a problem with it as it was without a young, beautiful woman reminding him of it every ten minutes. Managing a weak chuckle, he said, "Yeah, well, I've been called anal-retentive before. But hey, I knew they'd come in handy some day, and here I am using them to impress you!"

Sara hugged him. "And I am impressed, I assure you. You really don't mind if I read some of these?" He shook his head. "Oh man Gris, I lo—" She choked. "Ahem, I mean, I LOVE this journal!" Grissom said nothing.

After studying the shelves for a few minutes, Sara selected three issues of the journal, looked at Grissom for an okay, and curled up in the corner of his couch. "Wait, what are you going to do while I read?"

"Oh I thought I'd commune with Fluffy. She's a little put-out from today's happenings."

Sara blinked. "Who's Fluffy? Sounds like a cat."

He wondered if Sara was scared of having arachnids within jumping distance. He sincerely hoped not. "Fluffy's my, uh . . . my tarantula." Sara's eyes widened and she unconsciously jerked her feet off the floor and onto the couch. "She's a very nice spider, Sara, I promise you."

            Hadn't she read somewhere that tarantulas could jump up to three feet at once? She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Um, no problem. Your house, after all. Just keep it – er, I mean her – on yourself and not on me."

            "Ok Sara, but you know . . . I think she's kinda longing for some female companionship," he deadpanned, struggling not to laugh when Sara squeaked and curled herself into an even smaller ball against the arm of the couch.