She was returning from a very guarded lunch with Logan the next day when she was almost run down by a bike messenger as they were stepping out of the elevator. Logan pulled her out of the way and muttered a curse at the kid, who didn't bother to look back as he shrugged an apology. "Geez," she said, watching the elevator doors close in between her and the messenger. "They just don't teach those guys manners before they send them out on the streets, do they? I wonder who he was delivering to on this floor."

He chuckled dutifully, then tugged on her hand, pulling her around to face him. "Alex . . . are you ok? In general, I mean. You've been quiet all day."

"Yeah. I just really hate all this stress," she said, trying to sound casual. "Come on. Parker's probably waiting to give me another lecture about being late."

"You've got him wrapped around your little finger, Eames," he teased. "And he likes it that way as much as you do." He released her hand as they went farther into the room, saying over his shoulder, "Try not to let Parker talk you into getting married before quitting time, 'kay?"

She snorted. "I don't think my dad would approve of me marrying someone the same age as him. See you later." She gave him a small wave, then turned and headed for her desk.

Parker was lounging with his feet up on his desk again, eyeing a small cardboard box that sat in the middle of her desk blotter. Looking up and catching her questioning glance as she approached, he shrugged. "Messenger dropped it off a couple minutes ago. I decided to let you have the pleasure of opening it, since it's addressed to you."

"Gee, thanks." She slipped into her chair and examined the box, which was the right size to be holding anything from a music box to a split of champagne. "He didn't say anything?"

"Just that it was a delivery for Alex Eames. I signed for it - figured you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, that's fine," she murmured, digging out her letter opener to slit the tape sealing the box. Pausing with two sides cut, she looked back up at Parker. "They did check this for bombs and anthrax and stuff, right?"

He grinned, knowing that she already knew it had to have been, to get past building security. "We're about to find out, aren't we?"

"Oh, that's reassuring." She went to work with the dull blade again, cutting open the other two sides, then tried to open the lid, only to find herself foiled by yet another piece of tape holding the front flap closed. Rolling her eyes, she tried to get a fingernail under it so she could pull it off. "Whatever's in here, it better be worth all this effort." The tape finally gave and her finger slid along the edge of the flap before she could check herself. She yelped and raised the injured digit to her mouth. "All this effort, and a papercut."

"Want a band-aid?" he asked, pulling open one of the drawers of his desk and digging around for one.

"Yeah, thanks." She accepted the bandage and wrapped it around her finger, then glared at the box. "You and me," she told the inanimate object fiercely, "have got a score to settle. You're goin' down, my friend." As Parker laughed in the background, she yanked up the flap on the box and peered into its depths. At first, she was greeted only with a pile of crumpled-up newspaper that had apparently been used in place of packing peanuts, and she pulled the paper out and tossed it absently on her desk, more interested in whatever was beneath it.

"You look like a little kid at Christmas," Parker said with a grin. "Go on, keep digging for your present."

She stuck her tongue out at him and reached into the box. Her fingers closed around something solid, and with a triumphant smile, she pulled out her prize.

And she immediately wished she could put it back in as she stared at the resurrected Santa mug, lined with tiny cracks but all in one piece and looking quite functional.

"Didn't you used to have one of those?" Parker asked curiously.

She blinked, then swallowed, trying to block out thoughts of what this delivery might mean. "Yeah. You can have this one," she blurted, shoving it across their desks toward him.

"Uh, it's a nice gesture and all," he said, using one finger to push it back toward her, "but I don't think it quite goes with my tough-guy image, you know?"

She gritted her teeth. "Well I don't want -"

"Hey, wait, there's something inside it," Parker interrupted, pulling out the sheet of copy paper before she could react. "A present and a note - well, at least they know how to be polite." He unfolded the paper and scanned the single sentence at the top of the page, looking confused. "Hey Alex? Any reason why someone would send you a note that says, 'Even something as shattered as this can be patched back together'? You make a habit of breaking things?"

She groaned and snapped, "Give me that," as she yanked the paper out of his hand. "It's not signed," she said as she looked down at it, as though she didn't already know perfectly well who'd sent it.

"Give ya two guesses," Parker said. "The odds are 50-50, as far as I can see: the old boyfriend or the new one."

Her hand clenched around the paper, crumpling it, as she raised her head and gave him a dangerous look. "He was my partner, Steve - not my boyfriend. And what makes you think they're the only two who could have sent it?"

"You got more boyfriends waiting in the wings?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "I had no idea you were such a man-eater, Eames."

"Shut up." She crumpled the paper into a tighter ball and tossed it into the trash can under her desk, then returned her gaze to that damn mug. He must have spent hours piecing this back together . . . I wonder if he stayed up all night doing it. No, Alex, don't even start on that. He's doing this against your wishes, sending you a gift after what you told him last night. Who cares if he missed a week of sleep? Not my problem!

The mug moved out of her line of sight suddenly, and she looked up to find her partner studying it. "Looks like it was broken," he commented, tracing one of the cracks with his finger. "Well, that explains the 'shattered' part. Who's it from, Alex? And don't tell me you don't know."

She clenched her fists and glanced over at where Logan sat, concentrating on his computer. He'd recognize the mug when he saw it. She had no idea what he'd make of it. "It's from Goren," she finally said, not willing to get into a fight with Parker over it. "It used to be . . . well, it was like our mascot."

"How'd it get broken?"

She snatched the mug back and glared at him darkly, muttering, "I threw it. Now, would you please stop asking questions? Pass me the LUDs from the Bianco case." Not waiting for an answer, she dropped the mug back into the box it had come in and slid the whole mess under her desk, giving it a gentle kick for good measure.

When she looked back up, Parker was watching her with one eyebrow raised. "Sure," he said, sliding the folder across to her as though what he'd just observed was a perfectly normal occurrence. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

Her phone rang just as she was gathering her things at the end of the day, and she scowled at it. "I swear to god, if I end up having to work late today . . ." she muttered before picking up the receiver. "Major Case, Eames speaking."

"New York field office, Goren speaking," a voice replied with amusement. "It's the end of the day, Eames. Ease up on the professionalism."

She stared at the phone for a second, contemplating just hanging up right then and there, then moved her eyes to Logan's empty desk. He had left her a few minutes ago with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to call her later.

She sighed, knowing she didn't have a believable excuse not to talk to the man on the phone. "What do you want, Goren?"

There was a moment of silence as he let her think about all the possible answers he could give to that, then he said, "I'll settle for knowing whether you got the delivery or not."

She'd almost managed to forget the mug for a few minutes. Reminded of it now, she bent to look under her desk and fished the box out. "Yes, I got it. Unfortunately. Why'd you bother?"

"Well I . . ." he began, suddenly sounding embarrassed. "I, uh . . . couldn't just leave it broken. We used to love the thing."

"There is no 'we' anymore, Bobby. Don't delude yourself."

She heard him breathing slowly for a few seconds before he replied, "I don't think I'm the one suffering from delusions lately."

"I'm hanging up the phone now," she warned him. "I'm not interested in hearing this."

"Wait. Wait, Alex!" he called, not sure if the phone was still near her ear or not. "Don't hang up."

She sighed, wondering where all her willpower had gone in the past few days. "Why shouldn't I?"

"I just . . . look, I need to apologize for some of the stuff I said last night. Can I see you tonight to do it in person?"

Alex snorted. "That is quite possibly the weakest excuse I've ever heard for why I should let a guy see me. I told you last night - things are different now."

"I'm not asking you to sleep with me," he snapped before he could catch himself. "I just want to talk to you, face-to-face."

"Bobby . . ."

She was wavering and they both knew it. "I'll bring over some take-out, ok?" he said quickly. "What do you want?"

"Goren, you can't just keep showing up at my apartment every night!"

"I know," he said, sounding as if he didn't understand what the problem was. "That's why I'm asking first this time."

"That's not what I mean," she sighed. "I have a life beyond you, and it doesn't involve sitting in my apartment, alone, night after night."

"Just tonight, Alex. That's all I'm asking." He sounded almost pleading now, and her urge to hang up the phone before he could talk her into it grew stronger.

"How do you know I don't already have plans with Mike?" she challenged, knowing even as she said it that it was an act of desperation.

"I don't. I'm just crossing my fingers."

"Bobby . . ."

"Please. One night. That's all I'm asking, and if you still don't want to see me after that, I'll leave you alone."

She was silent, hating herself for wanting to give in to him. What kind of person did that make her, that she actually wanted to see the man who'd deserted her and was now trying to ruin her life all over again? "I can't . . ."

Her hesitation was a tell, and he didn't miss it. "I'm bringing Chinese, Alex. What time?"

"I . . ." She dropped her head into her hands, acknowledging defeat. "Give me an hour."

"And you'll be there? You promise?"

"I'm not promising you anything. You'll have to take your chances." And with that, she dropped the phone back into its cradle and put her head down on her desk, wondering what the hell she was going to do now.

A very subdued Alex opened the door to him a little over an hour later. She'd changed out of her work clothes, purposely donning one of Logan's shirts and her loosest pair of jeans, and scraped her hair back into a ponytail, as if she thought making herself sufficiently unattractive would get him to leave her alone.

He was far beyond that, though, and the only thing he noticed about her appearance was that the shirt obviously wasn't from her own closet. "Is that his?" he asked, nodding toward the flannel button-down.

"Don't start," she warned, snatching the bags containing their dinner out of his hands. "You said you wanted to apologize; if you're not going to do that, you can just leave now."

"It was just a question." Without waiting for an invitation to come in, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

"Nothing's 'just a question' with you, Bobby." She adjusted the bags in her arms and walked off toward the kitchen, leaving him in the entryway.

He took a few jogging steps to catch up with her. "Alex . . ."

"Leave me alone," she muttered.

"You let me in," he pointed out, watching her drop the bags on the counter and start rooting through them blindly, since the tops of them were level with her head. "So you obviously aren't that dead-sent on being left alone." When she didn't turn around or stop searching the bags, he sighed and reached over her shoulder to point to one of them ."Sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls are in this one. Lo mein and rice are in the other." He withdrew his hand, but only took a small step back from her.

Her hands stopped moving for a second, and then she reached into the bag he'd indicated and pulled out the chicken. "You remembered, huh?"

"You're hard to forget," he said, leaning forward to whisper it in her ear.

That earned him an elbow in the stomach, and as he tried to get his breath back, she finally turned to look at him. "Would you stop it? This isn't you and you know it," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but whatever it is, it's just making you look stupid."

He didn't know what to say to that. She was right, of course, that his actions in the past few days weren't things the old Bobby Goren would do, but the old Bobby Goren also hadn't been desperate to gain her attention. At least, he usually hadn't. "I'm just trying to . . ." he began hesitantly, then stopped, trying to think of how to finish the sentence.

"You're trying to seduce me, is what you're trying to do," she informed him, looking slightly amused by the idea. "You want to make me forget reality while you're here."

"Maybe," he acknowledged slowly. "What's wrong with that?"

"You mean besides that I'm engaged to someone else and you cut me off for a year?" she said archly, pulling the top off the metal container holding her chicken a little too hard and spraying herself with the condensed steam that had gathered in the lid. "How about the part where you're trying to force me into doing something we both know I shouldn't do? Or the part where, quite frankly, having you whisper sweet nothings in my ear makes me want to burst out laughing?"

The tolerant grin he'd been giving her melted at her last point, leaving him expressionless. Well, that answered that question pretty clearly. He could try to out-romance another man, but if his feelings for her weren't reciprocated, there was no point in doing it. "It makes you want to laugh, huh?" he echoed, busying himself with emptying the other bag so she couldn't see his face. He was willing to be just a friend to her if that was all she'd let him be, but he would need some time to adjust to that.

She had hurt him with that comment and she knew it. He'd obviously taken it to mean she wasn't attracted to him, and though that was how she'd wanted him to interpret it, guilt was niggling at her for not voicing the real meaning. "Bobby . . ."

"It's ok," he said with a shrug, trying to banish the rejection from his mind and the conversation. "The truth is immutable. You like fried rice, right?" He held the container out casually, but kept looking into the bag instead of at her.

"Yes, I like it." She took the box from his hand, then set it down on the counter and returned her attention to him. "Look, Bobby, I wasn't trying to insult you."

"I know you weren't," he said, trying to speak lightly. "You were just being truthful."

"Stop harping on about 'the truth,'" she snapped. "You know the truth can be bent."

He looked up, wondering if she was implying something or if he was just desperate enough to imagine she was. "Ok . . . so then how bent was the truth you just told?"

"I didn't specify that I bent the truth," she said, trying not to sound like she was hedging.

The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. "Well, now I'm asking you to specify. Did you?"

She mumbled something incomprehensible as she picked up her food and turned away from him, walking into the living room.

He felt a little more hopeful now that he realized that she was trying to hide something, so he grabbed his own dinner and followed her. "Alex? I didn't hear what you said."

"Don't call me Alex," she said absently, though it lacked the heat of her previous admonitions. "And yes, ok? I did bend the truth a little."

He lowered himself onto the couch, a little closer to her than he had sat last night. "Are you going to tell me the unbent truth now, or do I have to guess?"

Noticing how relaxed he was starting to look, she gave him a dirty look. "This isn't funny, Goren."

"I'm not trying to be funny," he said calmly. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're telling me."

She sighed. "It makes me want to laugh because it's so . . . low-brow compared to how you usually come on to women." Noticing his furrowed brows, she sighed again, more heavily this time, and looked back down at her food. "You usually try to impress them and then talk them around, so resorting to a cheap trick like whispering in my ear just felt . . . silly. It has nothing to do with whether I enjoyed it or not."

He was quiet for a few seconds, trying to process that, before he said, "I didn't know you had my personality so well-catalogued."

She shrugged. "It got pretty easy for me to see through you after a few years."

"See through me?" he asked warily. "What was there to see?"

"A lot." She reached over with her fork and snagged a few of his noodles. "All the vulnerability, but that's not too far below the surface. Deeper than that, believe it or not," she went on, giving him a teasing smile, "you do tend to be an egomaniac sometimes. Like when you start spouting facts and expect women to fall at your feet because you're so smart."

He stared at her, open-mouthed.

"Ew. You know," she grumbled, reaching over and pushing his mouth closed, "that's really unattractive when you don't bother to swallow first."

He swallowed, as ordered. "Sorry."

"S'ok. It's nice to see that I can still shock you sometimes."

"Huh?" he said blankly. "What do you mean, sh-"

Her cell phone started to ring, interrupting his question. "Mike said he'd call tonight," she said, walking over to the phone and checking the caller ID. "Yeah, this is him."

Bobby nodded and waited to be told to leave, or at least go in another room. When he realized that she wasn't going to do either, he grabbed her arm to stop her from unfolding the phone.

"What?" she asked distractedly.

"Don't you want me to go somewhere else?" he asked tentatively, wondering why he was protesting when this call could only work to his advantage. Probably because he didn't want to cause more trouble for her than he already had.

She rolled her eyes. "Your dinner's in here. I'm not going to kick you out. Now be quiet."

He listened intently to her side of the ensuing conversation:

"Hey," she answered the phone. "You're right on time."

She listened for a few seconds to the voice he could hear but not understand from his seat a few feet away, then glanced over at him. He froze, unsure of what that look meant, but apparently she didn't require a response, because she then turned her attention back to the phone. "I can't tonight, Mike," she said apologetically. "I've got plans."

He wondered if he was the "plans," or if she had something else lined up for later in the evening.

"Well I'm sorry," she said to Logan, sounding annoyed now, "but you said you were going to call, not come over. I'm not a mind reader."

Bobby perked up, sensing trouble in paradise. God, he was an evil person for being pleased by that!

"No, I can't," she snapped into the phone. "When I say I have plans, that means I'm busy. Look, we're in the middle of eating dinner and I - what?" she broke off abruptly. He could hear Logan's raised voice coming through the phone.

" 'We' is me and Bobby," she told Logan. "Would you - Mike! Calm down! We're having dinner, not having wild sex or something."

The other man's voice was still loud, and this time Bobby could hear bits and pieces of what he was saying: ". . . sex . . . not yet! . . . you know he hurt . . ."

"Logan!" she bit out after listening to a few seconds of his rant. "We already had this discussion, remember? I'm an adult and I can take care of myself."

The beginning of another tirade from the other end of the phone. Bobby couldn't understand anything this time, so he just forked up another bite of lo mein and watched her talk.

"Well, you should know me a hell of a lot better than that!" Her voice was rapidly approaching a yell, and he found himself pleased that he wasn't the only one who'd gotten screamed at by her recently. "If you can't . . . no! Would you just be quiet and pretend you trust me for once?"

She looked over at Bobby now, rolling her eyes in exasperation the same way she had during a thousand boring phone conversations in their past, and mouthed overprotective at him. Then, returning her attention to the phone, she growled, "I'm not listening to this, Mike. If you can't deal with how things are, after I've explained it to you a million times in the past few days, then that's your problem, not mine. Now, I'm going to hang up and finish my dinner. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

She snapped the phone closed and spiked it into one of the soft couch cushions. "Asshole!"

"He . . . doesn't want you seeing me?" Bobby asked tentatively, trying to elicit information without setting off her temper.

She sighed and plopped down in the middle of the couch. "You heard the conversation. I think it's pretty obvious that he doesn't."

"Oh." He waited for her to expound on that, but instead she just turned her attention back to her lukewarm chicken.

After a few bites, she looked back up at him and noticed his expectant look. "What?"

"You don't, uh . . . you don't want me to leave or anything?"

She snorted. "Looks like you're the only company I'm going to get tonight, so no, I'm not going to tell you to leave. And what happened to the Bobby from last night who would be doing a victory dance right now after hearing me fight with Logan?"

He blinked, surprised by her bluntness. "He . . . had an attack of conscience."

" 'Bout what?" she asked, moving her chicken container to her lap and stretching her legs out to rest her feet on the coffee table. "It's not your fault that he seems to think he owns me."

He leaned over slightly to see her face better. "I was the catalyst, though."

"Oh, finish your dinner," she ordered with friendly exasperation. "You're so obviously fishing."

"For what?" he asked indignantly.

"For me to say that you're the reason I'm considering calling off the engagement," she retorted, not realizing until she'd finished the sentence that she'd just slipped up in a big way. The smile dropped off her face then, and she hastened to add, "If that were the case, I mean. Which it's not."

He raised his eyebrows. "It's not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged and looked down at where her phone lay between them. "You just said that he seems to think he owns you. That's not something I would expect you to accept without at least questioning it."

"I . . . uh . . ." Damn it, why did he have to have such a good point? "It's just one night. Maybe he's just in a bad mood."

He didn't even bother to respond to that, letting her realize for herself how silly it sounded. "He's got a dangerous temper, Alex."

"Yeah, well, so do I," she told him. "Can we stop talking about Logan, please?"

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I don't know." Deciding that she was finished with her chicken, she handed him the container so he could help himself if so inclined. "I'd say, 'tell me about your job,' but I'm really not too keen on talking about our jobs, either."

That stumped him. Besides Alex and Logan, the only thing he'd given any thought to lately was work. "Can I ask you about your new partner? What he's like, I mean, not about working with him."

The thought of Parker and his antics made her tension ease a little. "He's great. Steve Parker. I don't think you met him before you left, but I really like him."

He tried to picture Parker's desk as it had been when he stopped in the day before, though the detective hadn't been there at the time. "He married?"

"Hah! He's been divorced three times . . . I think I'm the only female left who'll put up with him, and that's only for eight hours a day. Somehow he keeps trying to give me relationship advice, though."

"Advice? Like what?"

"Well, let's see," she said, looking thoughtful as she tried to think of a good quote. "After you came in, he told me that I should beware of romantic sabotage, because you're smart enough to know that it might work."

He grinned. "I haven't gotten that desperate yet, but give me time. He sounds like a nice guy."

"He is. Only problem I have with him is that sometimes he forgets that he's not my father and teases me too much."

"He forgets he's not your father?" Bobby repeated. "How old is this guy?"

She nudged him with her elbow and smirked. "Jealous already? I forgot you haven't seen him yet. He's a couple years younger than my dad."

"I'm not jealous," he protested. "I'm just being . . . protective."

"God help me," she moaned. "I think I'd rather have you be jealous. I've had it up to here with protective men."

"Like Logan?" he asked, deciding that she'd been the one to bring it up and so it was fair game.

"Unfortunately." She shrugged. "I have no idea how he's worked around me for years and still thinks I'm breakable."

He wanted to make a point contrasting Logan's behavior and his own, but he figured that wouldn't go over well at the moment. "How could he think you're 'breakable'? You mean he thinks you're weak?"

She shook her head. "Not really physically. I think he just thinks . . . well, he thinks I was traumatized when you left and so he needs to handle me carefully. He treats me like I'm on a pedestal."

"And you let him?" he asked incredulously, unable to believe that the Alex he knew would accept such treatment.

She sighed. "Yeah, I have been. He just seems so . . . earnest."

He put the food containers down on the coffee table and turned fully toward her. "Let me see if I've got this straight: he's overprotective, 'earnest,' and he thinks you're fragile . . . and you're marrying him?"

"Don't."

"Why not? It looks like you could use a reality check, no matter who it comes from."

"Bobby, don't start," she warned again, glaring at him.

"You know, I'm surprised at you," he said with a sigh. "I really didn't think you'd cut someone that much slack if it infringed on your life."

"Yeah, well, I didn't think you'd run away from all your responsibilities and the people who loved you on a moment's notice, but we can't all be right all of the time, huh?"

He took a second to consider that, then nodded slowly. Leaning closer, he caught her eyes with his and said deliberately, "But I realized that it wasn't what I wanted. That's why I'm back here. Are you going to let yourself acknowledge that he's not right for you, or are you going to just be stubborn and stay unhappy?"

"I'm not unhappy," she argued, although even to herself it sounded unconvincing. Looking down at her ring, she began twisting it nervously on her finger. "I care about him and he cares about me. And he's . . ." She hesitated before finishing the sentence: "He's dependable."

He raised a hand to her face, trailing his fingers over her cheek. "I'm not going to run away again, I promise."

She pulled his hand down, but kept hold of it as she asked, "How do I know whether I can even believe that?" Her hand tightened around his with each word until it was almost painful. "Once was enough, Bobby. I couldn't take it a second time."

"I . . . I don't know what I can tell you to make you believe me, except to say that the situation we were in, the one that made me leave, isn't there anymore," he said, his eyes pleading with her to believe him. "We're not partners anymore. We don't even work for the same agency. I . . . it wouldn't hurt you if we did this now, even if it doesn't work out."

"Bobby?" she said after a moment's silence.

Wary of her change in tone, he shifted his eyes to the side. "Yeah?"

"How long did it take you to put the mug back together?"

He shrugged self-consciously, not sure where she was going with this line of questioning. "The better part of a night."

"It looks almost as good as new. I could probably drink out of it, and it wouldn't leak."

"Did you bring it home?" he asked. "There's no reason why you can't test it out."

She looked struck by that thought, which hadn't entered her mind. "Yeah. It's . . . it's, uh, in the kitchen." She looked at him closely for signs of mockery, and when she found none, smiled. "You're right. Let's see how strong it is."

He wondered if she was speaking on two levels on purpose, or whether it was just happenstance. "Ok." He stood up and offered her his hand.

She accepted the help and didn't complain when his overenthusiastic tug made her bump into him. "It really only took one night?" she asked, looking up at him as they headed for the kitchen.

He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. "I was . . . uh, determined."

Walking to the box she'd left on the kitchen counter, she pulled out the mug, then looked back at him. "Would you have kept being that determined, even if it took more than one night? Even if it took a long time?"

Instead of answering right away, he turned on the faucet and motioned her toward the sink, watching silently from behind as she filled the mug.

"Bobby?" she prompted, lifting the mug to eye level, when his silence persisted. "Look - it's not dripping."

He laid a hand gently on her hip, watching for any sign of refusal from her. When none came, he mirrored the movement with his other hand and leaned slightly over her shoulder, ostensibly to get a better view of the miraculous mug. "I told you . . . even something as broken as that can be put back together, almost as good as new. It just took a little . . . dedication."

"Dedication?" she echoed, leaning back against him and tilting her head to see his face.

"Yeah, dedication," he said, lowering his lips toward hers as slowly as he could, waiting for her to pull away but praying she didn't. "You know . . . a little time, a lot of effort . . ."

When he paused, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, she fixed her eyes on his and gave him a tiny smile as she finished for him, "And a lot of glue."

His eyes closed for a moment, then re-opened, looking at her with an intensity that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. "Alex . . ." he murmured, moving one of his hands from her hip to trace the line of her throat. "Is this . . .?"

In answer, she turned and slid her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and clinging to him with all the fear and love she had been trying so hard to ignore. "I hate it when you're right, you know that?"

He felt her arms shifting behind his neck, and for a second he was afraid she was going to pull away. Her right hand curled around his neck more securely, while her left drifted away, and he was trying to decide how to handle this newest rejection when he heard the clink of metal on the countertop. Lifting his head, he looked down over her shoulder to the counter.

The Santa mug sat there, reassuringly whole, and next to it lay a tiny circle of gold. He stared at it, trying to convince himself this was really happening, until a few seconds later when she replaced her free arm around his neck and rose on her toes to press her lips to his. His eyes flew back to hers then, and as their lips finally met in a soft kiss, they stared, wide-eyed, at each other over it.

Then her eyes fluttered close and she tightened her arms around him. "Bobby . . . stay."

He tightened his hold on her in return. "I'm not going anywhere."

Fin