… part 2, chapter 4 …
They spent the next half hour wandering along neighborhood sidewalks, or sometimes hugging the curb, chatting aimlessly about nothing. Sara led most of the conversation, pointing out interesting cars along their route, or talking about her recent cases. Grissom joined her in those conversations, and he was completely at ease and enjoying himself by the time they made it to the restaurant.
The small shack was painted white, but the brackish air had set the paint to peeling in places. A small sign read "Sammy's Place" and in smaller letters "A Good Place To Eat". She led him inside, and an older blonde woman smiled in their direction, clearly recognizing Sara. She was the only visible occupant in the building.
Sara led them to a booth along the dark paneled wall. Grissom sat on one side while Sara sat on the other. A thick blue and white checked plastic tablecloth seemed glued to the tabletop, and various napkins and condiments lined the side closest to the wall.
The blonde woman joined them after a few minutes, placing paper placements decorated with advertisements from local businesses in front of them. She also gave them sets of silverware and an extra pile of napkins.
"Why girl, you've brought along a friend. Isn't that nice?" The woman shot Sara one of those female 'communicating' looks, and Sara grinned back at her, with another 'communicating' look that Grissom couldn't read. He hoped whatever it was they were discussing about him was positive. He sat a little straighter when the woman focused her attention on him again. Her nametag read 'Sylvia'.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to Sammy's. I'll bring you both some menus in a jiffy. Sam's writing them up in back. Would you like to see our wine list as well?"
Grissom glanced at Sara, and she nodded.
"Yes, that would be fine. Thank you, Sylvia."
"Well, you are quite welcome!" Sylvia shot another look at Sara as she walked towards the kitchen. Grissom didn't quite catch it, but he caught the slight flush that crept onto Sara's face. Interesting.
"I come here maybe once or twice a month. Their swordfish is to die for, and this type of place is more my style. My parents ran a low-end bed and breakfast, it catered mostly to… uh… free spirits, so I'm used to a more casual environment." Sara looked down at her placemat, tracing the outline of one of the advertisements with her fingernail. "To be honest, I'm glad you didn't want to go into town. All that fancy dining and proper manners really isn't my thing. I mean, I know which fork goes with what and all, but I'm not a big fan of the highbrow lifestyle."
"Me either," Grissom replied. "Although I can manage if I have to. My mother is an artist."
"Really? Does she have a gallery here in the city? I'd love to see her work."
"No, she hasn't been lucky enough to land a space here, although she's trying. She's tired of southern California; she'd love to come up here. Right now a lot of her stuff is in storage in LA, and she has a small place set up two blocks from Rodeo Drive."
"Wow, Rodeo Drive. I've never been there. Sounds posh." Sara grew quiet, and Grissom got the sense he'd said something wrong. "Are you sure you don't want to eat downtown? There are some very nice restaurants there. We can call a cab and still go if you'd like."
Grissom reached out and placed his hand on hers. He meant to soothe her nerves, make her feel at ease, but the contact shot a fiery jolt through both of them. His eyes were molten steel as he said, "Sara, this is perfect. I'm not like that. I prefer simple things." He unconsciously leaned in closer to her. "We ascribe beauty to that which is simple," he quoted softly.
Sara continued to look at him, her eyes getting lost in his, and Grissom felt the pull, the sensual desire to have her closer to him. To touch her face, her hair, to feel her skin upon his. It was intoxicating, and his rational side, pushed far to the back of his mind by his lust, was quietly screaming 'Danger! Danger Wil Robinson! Retreat! Retreat!' Grissom barely heard it; he was so intent on Sara.
He didn't notice that he'd started rubbing his thumb gently against her palm, but he immediately stopped when Sylvia returned. They both sat up with a start, each a little embarrassed by the situation.
"Hellooo again," she said with a huge grin. "Here are your menus and the wine list. You take your time, sweethearts, and just let me know when you're ready."
"Th-ank you," Sara said, attempting to return her voice to normal.
The connection broken, Sara started in on her menu, and Grissom followed suit with his. It was intriguing, as it was handwritten, with no prices.
"Sara," he whispered, "uh… there are no prices."
"Oh, it's okay. I should have told you. Dinner is $15. No matter what you get. Drinks, well… wine or beer, is extra, and is priced on the wine list."
Grissom shot a glance at the list, noticing that most of the wines were from the Napa Valley across the bridge. None were names he recognized. The most expensive bottle was $69.99, and the cheapest was $19.99.
Sara noticed his interest and said, "They're hand-picked. They're what Sam likes. He said cheap wine is like vinegar…"
"… and dem hunnert-dollar a bottle wines are a pure rip-off!" A raspy male voice from the kitchen hollered out at them, and Sara laughed.
"That's right, Sam," she called back. "I know how it goes."
"You'd better, child," he hollered jokingly in return. This was followed by a large slap, and an "Owch!" a few seconds later.
Grissom and Sara both heard Sylvia whisper harshly, "You quit eavesdropping, you oaf! Can't you see they're on a date? They need privacy!"
They both looked at each other, startled and embarrassed, until they heard Sam half-whisper back at his wife, "Well they damn sure came t' the wrong place if they wanted privacy! You've been watching 'em from behind that there counter since they gots here!"
Sara looked at Grissom apologetically, and Grissom couldn't help it, he started to laugh. Soon the two of them were softly giggling like crazy, trying hard not to let on that they'd heard everything the old married couple had said.
"We'd better order," she said, trying to compose herself.
"I agree," he replied. "So, the swordfish is 'to die for', hmm?"
"Yes, really. It is."
Sylvia's head was peeping up from behind the aforementioned counter, and Grissom caught her eye. She popped up and hustled over to the table, her small order pad in hand.
"Are you ready to order, sir?"
"Yes, thank you, Madame. My lady and I will both have your swordfish dinner, along with your chef's choice for an appropriate bottle of wine." Grissom sounded so formal and poised that Sara's eyebrows immediately shot up in surprise.
Sylvia was a little taken aback as well, but Grissom winked at her playfully. Sylvia was no slouch and winked boldly back at him in return.
"Of course, sir," she said in her own version of formality. "I'm sure the chef will pick out something suitable for your meal."
"You betcha I will! But tell 'em I ain't no chef!" was heard from the kitchen, and Sara started giggling again.
Sylvia rolled her eyes, and focused her attention back on Grissom. "Would you like asparagus or mixed baby greens as your side?"
"Mixed for me," Sara stated.
"Me as well," said Grissom.
Sylvia smiled, and jotted down their order with her pink day-glo pen. "We also have a lovely wild rice dish. Would you like that as well?"
Sara nodded as Grissom said, "Sure, that'll be fine."
"I'll see if I can sneak you out a salad and some soup as well," Sylvia whispered, shooting glances towards the kitchen. "I never know what he's got cookin' back there, but I promise you, it's good."
"It is," Sara whispered with sincerity. "He's a genius."
"Thank you very much, Madame," Grissom said to Sylvia with a wink.
A few minutes later, Sylvia brought them a bottle of a local white wine, along with two wine glasses. "Salads are coming in a minute. He made up raspberry vinaigrette to go with 'em."
She shuffled back into the kitchen, and brought out two small plates of a spinach-leaf salad, along with the small vinaigrette decanter.
They both helped themselves, and Grissom was surprised with how fresh everything tasted. He hadn't had much of his wine, but it was light with a mildly fruity taste; not sour at all.
"Did he make this vinaigrette himself, or what?" he murmured to Sara between mouthfuls. "This is excellent."
"I think he does. I think he gets all his produce from his own garden. I'm not sure though, and I didn't want to ask for fear of getting his life's history."
Grissom chuckled softly and returned to his salad. The minute they'd finished, Sylvia presented them with a clear broth soup, cleared their plates, and returned to her observation post behind the counter.
Their soup was some sort of seafood based dish, complete with large chunks of some unidentified tasty fish, soft potatoes, bits of celery and carrots, and the tiniest pearl onions Grissom had ever seen. Whatever it was, it was delicious, and he devoured it in seconds.
Sara took a little longer, but when she was through, Sylvia disappeared through the kitchen door, only to return with a huge tray containing their meal. She delivered it with practiced ease, and Grissom was amazed at what $15 was getting him. The steak on his plate was grilled to perfection, the meat seared properly on the outside; and the inside just white enough to be done but not overcooked. The side bowl of wild rice was mixed with white corn and some other unidentified bits of vegetables, and it reeked of butter. Their mixed greens were tossed in some light oil, and appeared to be grilled.
Grissom shot Sara a 'Holy crap' look and her eyes said 'I told you so' in return.
"You enjoy now, and holler loud if you need anything at all. I've got to go do some of the dishes in back. Sam'll hear you and he'll let me know." Sylvia left them in peace, and Grissom marveled how they could be the only people eating here.
He had to give the older Sammy some credit; the wine went superbly with the fish. And the rice and vegetables were also a nice complement to the meal. Sara and he took their time, and soon, they had both polished off most of their steaks, all of the rice and veggies, as well as most of the bottle of wine.
"Another glass, milady?" he asked her in falsetto.
"Why of course, garcon," she replied in a haughty tone, lifting her glass towards him. He filled it, finishing the bottle, and returned the glass to her. She studied it, sloshing the wine around. "You know, I shouldn't. I have to go to work later tonight."
"Call out sick," Grissom told her, slightly shocked at himself; that he'd suggest such a thing.
Sara looked at him like he had eight heads. "I've never called out sick before, unless I was, like, really sick."
"Well then I'll call Charlie and tell him that you can't come in because I need you to stay with me because I'm afraid of the dark and I don't have my nightlight."
Sara chuckled wryly at that, rolling her eyes at him. "God knows what he'd think if you told him that."
Grissom grew serious. "Does it matter?" he asked.
"Well, yeah," she said, and Grissom's heart fell.
"He's more than my boss, you know. He's my friend. He looks out for me. He reminds me a lot of my older brother." Grissom's heart leapt back up from its pit of despair, returning to its now comfortable spot in his throat. "See, when I was younger, my older brother used to spend a lot of time with me. My parents, were, uh, busy a lot, so he would take me down the street for ice cream, or to get candy. We'd go to a lot of the local little league games, and sometimes he'd be a line coach or the umpire. I never played, but I used to watch a lot. Anyways, Charles is a lot like him."
Sara smiled to herself, lost in her memories. "Charles gave a safety lecture at my high school, oh… my senior year… it was a long time ago, and I wound up talking to him afterwards. He told me a lot about guns and ballistics and how the bullets could tell a story. I was fascinated, but I'd already been accepted to Harvard on a physics scholarship, so when I finished, I came back here – hoping to specialize in ballistics like he did. And the rest, I guess, is history."
"Sounds interesting," Grissom said politely. "Almost romantic, even," he murmured quietly, taking a sip from his glass.
Sara blinked at him, and said, "Romantic? You… wait, no... you don't think…" Then she started laughing.
"What?" he asked innocently, a little offended.
"Charles is head-over-heels in love with a woman he can't have. Some state defense attorney or something. Blonde, long legs, a powerhouse. He's been in love with her since forever, but he won't admit it. And she doesn't give him the time of day, but he's never given up. You can tell. And really, Charles isn't my type. He's a little too… loud for me."
"Oh," Grissom said, somewhat mollified.
"So you don't need to be jealous," she smiled coyly, "or anything."
"I never said I was jealous. I don't know how you'd get such an idea."
"Oh, I dunno. Last Thursday night. Right now, with the questions about him. You thought we were involved."
Grissom tried to look innocent. But he knew he was failing miserably. She'd pegged him dead on and now he felt like a doof.
"So, am I right, or what?" she asked, triumphant.
"Maybe a little," he admitted.
"Well, calm yourself," she said simply. Her voice then took on a different tone. "For a forensics expert, you are pretty oblivious to certain other facts, aren't you?"
Grissom's head jerked up, as his eyes met the now smoldering brown of her own.
"Let's get out of here," she said, "shall we?"
Grissom couldn't flag down Sylvia fast enough.
oooooooooooooooooooooo
It took a little longer than Grissom would have liked to leave Sammy's, since after he'd paid $70 for one of the best meals he'd ever had, they both wound up thanking Sylvia, and then Sam for the excellent meal. Sylvia had been brazen enough to give a thumbs-up of approval to Sara as they were walking out the door.
They walked back a little quicker than they had on the way there, both of them quiet for most of the way. Grissom felt alive, and awkward, and the anticipation was killing him. She'd just about come on to him at dinner. And she wasn't involved with Charlie at all. But she had to work tonight. Soon, too.
They were about a block away from Sara's townhouse, when a clap of thunder made them both jump. Sara looked off into the distance, where a bright flash lightened the darkening sky. A few seconds later, another rumbling of thunder echoed across the bay.
"We'd better hurry or we're going to be soaked. These coastal storms build up quickly."
They picked up the pace into something of a slow jog, and as they puffed their way up the hill towards Sara's porch, another intense crackle of thunder shook the ground, and the heavens opened up on them.
"Run!" he yelled to her as he took off for her door. She quickly passed him, but he dug in for a burst of speed and they both hit the stairs at around the same time.
Grissom looked at her as he was huffing and puffing and swearing he'd never run on a full stomach again. Sara was much more composed. She was wringing out her hair, and Grissom couldn't help but notice how her wet shirt was nicely plastered to her body. Her pants were equally wet and equally revealing; leaving very little for the imagination.
She seemed to give him a once over as she came over to him. "Okay, so we're soaked. I'm sorry about that."
"It's all right," he said, his breathing returning to normal.
"Your hair curls when it's wet," she said, staring into his eyes.
"So does yours," he said as he reached out to lift a damp tendril from across her face.
For as cold and wet as they were, the heat from his hand on her face was enough to ignite the chemistry that had been brewing between them since they'd stared at the stars almost a week ago. Grissom ran his knuckles across her cheek, and reached around to run his fingers through the damp hair at the nape of her neck. He stepped closer to her, his attention solely focused on her eyes and her face. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted nothing more than to draw her into him, tilt his head down, and kiss her until he died from it.
So that's exactly what he did. And in doing so, he lost himself in it.
Somehow they'd made it inside to the sofa. Somehow he'd removed his shirt, and hers had disappeared as well, along with her bra. He had her pressed beneath him on her sofa, his face buried in her neck and her hands running along his back. That sweet scent he smelled earlier was everywhere; he was drowning in it. And she was lost to him, arching her body closer to his, her hips pushed firmly against him.
Reality was making him focus; his wet jeans were becoming incredibly uncomfortable.
"We're ruining your couch," he said in her ear, taking the time to give it a little nibble.
She purred quietly and said, "Who cares…"
"Our clothes are soaked, you know," he said again, with another nibble.
"Then let's take them off," she said brazenly, reaching for his jeans.
Grissom paused. Thoughts of bedpost notches and abandonment flashed into his mind.
"Sara, I… uh… don't know about that."
She froze and looked at him curiously.
"I just… well, maybe we shouldn't do something we'll regret later."
Now she looked confused, and hurt.
"I mean, I don't want you to think that I'm here just so that I… that we… I mean…I'm sorry… I shouldn't have…" God, he was not good with things like this at all.
She smiled. "You don't want this to be a one-night stand, is that what you're trying to say?"
Grissom sighed in relief. "Yes."
"Well, I should probably be offended that you'd think that of me, but I'm not, because I know enough about you to know you are sweet, and clueless, and wouldn't say that unless you meant it in a positive way."
Now it was Grissom's turn to look confused. And Sara smiled at his confusion.
"Look, I don't go around jumping every forensic entomologist that walks through my door, okay? Nor do I go inviting these strange entomologists I met a week ago into my apartment. I don't do this type of thing often. To be honest, I don't do this type of thing at all. I don't have time. I'm sure you can relate. Now does that help spell things out for you, or do I need to dumb it down some more?"
She reached her hand up to his chest, and ran a fingernail down his breastbone to his navel. She placed two fingers on his stomach, and began tracing designs back and forth, moving slightly lower on each pass.
Grissom clenched his teeth at the sensation.
"So," she purred, "can I help you out of those jeans, or what?"
She did, and they wound up naked in her bed, his mouth leisurely exploring her body. She was gorgeous, and he wanted nothing more than to taste her, claim her, to make her his own.
She stopped him before he reached his goal, shifting away from him. "Oh no," she said huskily. "You first." She rolled out from under him slowly, sensually, and began her own exploration of him. It was overwhelming, and Grissom's fears fought with the sensations cascading over him. He knew where she was headed, and it had been an extremely long time since anyone had done this for him. Would she be… impressed with him? Insecurities began to build.
Until she started stroking him, gently running her fingers up, then down… up, then down. He was lost after that, and didn't care what the hell she thought, as long as she continued with whatever it was she was doing. Her lips were inches, scant inches, from Ground Zero when a loud beep-beep-beep-ing interrupted her.
"No," she groaned into his thigh. "I'm busy, dammit! I've got another hour, at least!"
The beeping silenced, but then started up again. Sara sighed as she slid her entire body up against him to give him a quick kiss on the lips. She then leaned over to her nightstand, and reached for the offending pager. From that day forward, Grissom would despise the horrid things.
Sara looked down at it and sighed. "It's work. Reads 911 at the end. This is Charles's way of saying it's important. Most likely something happened and they need me early. I've gotta call in, and I'm going to have to go."
She looked down at him, straddling herself across his waist, and he was sure the look of lust and desperation he felt was clearly evident. Her eyes melted with desire and she leaned into him, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back.
"Don't go."
"I have to."
"I know. But I don't want you to."
He let her go, admiring the view of her departure. When she was gone, he leaned back with a heavy, frustrated sigh. She was incredible, and damn the stupid bozo who had gone and committed some lame-ass crime right in the middle of one of the best damn moments of his life. Grissom smacked his hands into his forehead in frustration. Why? C'mon God, why now? Couldn't you have at least waited fifteen minutes?
When he lifted his hands, Sara was standing in the bedroom doorway, clad in her terrycloth robe. "Charles wants to talk to you. It's a DB, and apparently it's been there a while. He wants you to come with me to process it, and he needs you to approve it with your boss."
oooooooooooooooooooooo
A knock on the doorway startled Grissom out of his memories.
"Earth to Grissom. Anyone home?" Sara was standing in the doorway, a moderately frustrated expression on her face. "I told Mike we're on our break. I don't know what you have in mind for dinner, as the only places around here are McDonalds, a Chinese place, and the casino."
"There isn't anything decent around here? Maybe a nice Italian place?" Grissom had thought about this previously. Pasta was vegetarian. It was part of his original plan – to take her out to a nice Italian restaurant in the area first. Italian restaurants were romantic.
"The casino kills most of the other businesses in the area, believe it or not. We need to go there anyways to talk with Jon about pulling employee records for us, so we might as well just go."
"Not a bad idea," Grissom said. "I was looking forward to some spaghetti, though. Maybe… another time?" That's as close as he could come to asking her on a date. Just saying that was making his head spin.
Sara's face ran through a series of emotions. Confusion, anger, hurt, fear – really, it was fascinating to watch, and Grissom smiled at her throughout the whole episode. She finally settled on complacency. Grissom could almost hear her deciding to take a 'wait and see' approach.
"Maybe," she said simply. And Grissom's heart cheered.
…continued next chapter ->