When he finally manages to fall asleep that night, he dreams of a pair of familiar green eyes.

Her eyes are so big and bright that he'd be able to spot them in a crowd of thousands. He's never seen eyes as beautiful as hers, full of different emotions he can't name. Usually he has such an easy time reading people, but with her, he doesn't know what to think. He'd received no inclination of who she is or what she's like.

All he knows is her name, and that she has a child.

An adorable child at that. He'd been passed out the entire car ride, but Patrick couldn't stop glancing at him in the rearview mirror, feeling a tiny smile settle on his lips. Kids were so precious, free of any worry or bad feelings, and he was oh-so-jealous. He found himself wishing he was a kid again, just for a day, just to remember what it felt like to not have a worry in the world.

When he awakens to the blaring sunlight shooting through his window, he rubs his eyes and stretches out all the kinks in his body, his joints making sounds he isn't sure are normal. He stands up from his cot on the floor and takes a moment to gaze out into the city, his heart warming at the pretty sunrise, shades of orange and yellow painting the sky.

He hears himself humming as he enters the kitchen, retrieving a tea cup from one of the cupboards and setting a kettle on the stove. He whistles while he waits for the water to boil and when it's finished he pours it into the cup and adds a tea bag, steam radiating from the top.

He inhales the familiar scent before taking a sip, not minding the burning of his tongue. He's always been a tea drinker, which earned him many odd looks from city people. City people enjoy coffee, from lattes to cappuccinos, but he prefers the rich taste of honey tea on his tongue.

He doesn't have any plans for today, but that isn't unusual. He never has plans. He usually just sits around at home, spending his time flipping through a book or thinking about how much his life has changed in all these years. The time always seems to go by painfully slow.

He isn't about to spend another day stuck in his head, so he takes the time to look around his kitchen and grabs a piece of paper to make a list of grocery items he needs. Bread, milk, cereal— the usual. At least grocery shopping gives him something to do.

When he gets to the store, he makes a beeline for a shopping cart, and there's only one left. He smiles in triumph and reaches to grab the handle bar at the same time another hand decides to do the same, his fingers brushing over the stranger's.

As if a shock of electricity shot through him, he yanks his hand back and turns his head to look at the stranger, except it isn't a stranger at all. He realizes that when he sees the person's eyes.

Big green eyes in a heart-shaped face. Freckles dusting over pale skin and raven hair flowing down a pair of shoulders. A certain little boy in her arms who he's now noticed has the exact same eyes as his mother.

His breath catches in his throat. He hadn't expected to come into contact with her again, but Sacramento must've been smaller than he thought, because here they are, shopping at the same grocery store.

Nothing short of a coincidence, he is sure.

"Patrick," the woman is the first to speak, her eyes sparkling with recognition. "Hi."

"Teresa," he all but breathes, a sudden smile spreading across his face. "Hello. It's nice to see you again."

"You too," she returns his smile, the skin next to her eyes crinkling. She ducks her head to murmur into Theo's ear, and the little boy looks at Patrick with shy eyes.

"Hey squirt," Patrick waves at him, plastering on the friendliest grin he can manage. He's always had a way with kids; making kids smile is like a second nature to him.

Theo doesn't respond. He just buries his face into his mother's neck, clutching onto her tighter.

"He's shy," Teresa explains softly, smiling up at Patrick through her lashes.

"I understand," he says, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart inside his chest. Her smile is like sunshine.

He immediately remembers the single shopping cart waiting to be used and he steps out of the way to let her have it. She tilts her head at him, her eyes questioning. "You saw it first. You take it."

He shakes his head. "It's no trouble, really. I'm sure your arms are aching."

"He likes to be carried," she shrugs.

"Take the cart," he insists. "I'm not here for much anyway."

She bites her lip for a second before reaching for the cart and prying Theo away from her body, setting him gently down in the cart. He doesn't complain, but Patrick could tell he isn't happy being out of her arms.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he declares, sending her a kind smile and Theo a wave before heading in the opposite direction, searching for the bread aisle.

He blinks rapidly, trying to get her soft smile and enchanting eyes out of his mind. He hasn't thought about a woman in years. Sure, he's ran into attractive women plenty of times before, and a handful have tried asking him out, but he never pays them any mind, not like he does Teresa. It feels sinful to have another woman on his mind, but there Teresa is, embedded in the corners of his brain, her smile shooting lightning into his heart.

This is wrong. He hates himself for it. He can't betray his wife. She may be gone, but her memory is still alive and he won't allow himself to forget it.

He quickly pushes through aisles and gathers as many items as he can hold in his arms before making his way to the front, choosing the self-checkout so he can get himself out of there faster. He can't admit that he's running away from a sweet woman and her child, but it is the truth. He's running away just as he always does when things start to change.

He pays for his groceries and leaves the store in a hurry, not spotting Teresa anywhere. His chest pangs a little but he ignores it. When he reaches his car, he stuffs all his groceries into the trunk and just as he's about to get inside himself, he finds a note stuck beneath his windshield wipers.

Curious, he plucks the note from his windshield and lets his eyes wander over the words scribbled across the paper.

If you ever need a favor, call me.

-T

A number is written on the note, and he knows it belongs to Teresa. Who else would it be? She had told him the night before that if they ever happened to cross paths again, she'd owe him a favor. She's the type to keep her word, he's noticed.

He can't call her. He has no reason to. He doesn't need any favors, and even if he did he'd handle it himself. He is a man that walks alone, and for good reason. As long as you were alone, nothing could hurt you. It's his life motto.

But despite the voice in his mind telling him that keeping in touch with her is a bad idea, he folded up the crisp paper and stuffs it in his coat pocket. Maybe if he's lucky he'll forget about it. He just can't let himself throw the note away.

The drive home feels like years when in reality he has only been on the road for ten minutes. He's exhausted, the dark circles beneath his eyes more obvious, like he has two black eyes. No wonder people have stayed away from him lately.

Everyone but Teresa, that is.

He can't let himself get close to her. He can't get close to anyone. Every time someone gets close to him, they get burned like a flame. He is the human form of bug repellent.

A sweet woman like Teresa would realize that soon enough. He can tell she deserves happiness, and she already has some of it with Theo. She doesn't need to get trapped with him, a sad man who ruins everything he touches.

He's spent eight years alone already. He can spend the rest of his life alone as well.

XxX

He isn't a stranger to alcohol.

He tends to douse himself in it on the days he finds himself wallowing in memories of his wife and daughter, more specifically on the anniversary of their deaths. Today isn't their anniversary, nor is he in a particularly sad mood, but he's at the bar anyway, sitting across his one and only friend, Cho.

They're more or so acquaintances, because the term 'friends' doesn't sit right with Jane, and Cho doesn't seem to mind either way. They meet up every once in a while for a drink.

Cho, a stoney-face man who only speaks when spoken to, is sipping on his scotch, staring at him with no hint of emotion in his brown eyes.

Jane tips back his beer and feels the burning sensation trickle down his throat. He revels in the silence between them, but it isn't long before Cho says something that makes him nearly choke.

"Who is she?"

"Huh?" Jane blinks at his question, though it doesn't take a mentalist to know what Cho is talking about.

"The woman," Cho clarifies in monotone, his expression unchanging. "The one you're thinking about."

Cho is a smart man, probably one of the smartest, and that's coming from Jane, a professional conman. Nothing gets past the guy, and Jane curses himself for being so obvious.

He lies instead of telling Cho about Teresa. "I'm not thinking about any woman."

"Liar." Cho takes another sip of scotch before continuing. "You keep fiddling with your wedding ring, like you want to take it off. And you're thinking much more than you usually do."

Jane glances down at the ring on his finger. He hasn't taken it off since the accident, though he knows it's probably about time he does so. He just can't bring himself to.

He sighs in defeat. "It's really nothing."

"It's something. Tell me who she is."

"I've only met her twice," Jane says, studying the label on his beer bottle with mere interest.

"I'm listening."

"Her name's Teresa," Jane finally relents, unable to help himself. "I met her the other night as I was going for a drive. Found her on the side of the road; her car broke down. I took her home."

Cho makes a sound with his throat, waiting for him to continue. He clearly wants details. Jane chews on the inside of his cheek, debating on whether or not he should mention that Teresa has a child.

"I met her again at the grocery store today," he adds. Then, before he can stop himself he blurts out, "she has a son."

Cho blinks, but that's all the reaction he gives.

Jane rushes to speak before he can say anything. "It doesn't mean anything. I most likely won't even see her again. I just...I don't know. She's a kind soul, I can tell, and well, she's beautiful, but I can't get involved with her or anything."

"Why not?"

"Because," Jane swallows, his tongue feeling like sandpaper in his mouth. "I'm not... I'm not ready."

"If you weren't ready you wouldn't be thinking about another woman," Cho deadpans. "It's been eight years, Jane. It's about time you move on with your life. Tough words to hear, but it's the truth."

The words are tough to hear, but he knows Cho is only telling him this to get through to him, and perhaps he should listen for once. Angela and Charlotte are never coming back. He needs to come to terms with that, even if the fact twists a knife into his chest.

"Maybe this woman will be good for you," Cho adds when Jane doesn't respond right away. "She's the only woman you've mentioned in the whole two years I've known you. That speaks volumes."

"Perhaps," Jane says weakly. "But even if she's good for me, what about her son? I can't...I don't think this is right for me."

Cho shrugs. "As cliche and terrible as the saying is, if it's meant to be, it'll be. And if it's not...well, that's that."

Cho's words play on repeat in his head for the rest of the evening, and he finds himself grappling for his phone in his pocket as soon as he leaves the bar, punching in the number Teresa left him on the note. His heart is hammering in his chest as he waits for her to pick up, his hands visibly shaking.

The sound of her groggy voice impales his senses. "Hello?"

He tries to get his erratic breathing under control. "Hey, it's me, Patrick. Did I wake you?"

"Patrick, hey," he can hear the smile in her voice and his skin heats up. "I must've fallen asleep earlier. What's up?"

He inhales shakily. It's now or never, he thinks.

"I was just wondering if you were free tomorrow night."

A pause.

He starts to wonder if he's messed up somehow, ready to apologize when she finally answers. "Um, I have work tomorrow and I'm not sure when I'll be free."

His body deflates. "Oh. Well, that's alright. Maybe some other time."

"Saturday," she rushes to get out before he can hang up. "I'm free Saturday. I-I can get a babysitter for Theo, unless this isn't— is this a date?"

She's rambling and he can't help but find it adorable. It must've been a while since she's been on a date, which appalls him because she's gorgeous and sweet. He guesses no man wants to take on the task of a single mother and her child.

"It's a date, that is, if you want it to be," he says breezily into the phone. "You could bring Theo, I wouldn't mind."

"No, I have some friends who can watch him," she insists. "It's a date."

"It's a date," he echoes. "I'll pick you up Saturday then. How does seven o'clock sound?"

"It sounds great. I'll see you then."

She tells him goodbye and he says the same before the line goes dead. He lets out a puff of air, leaning back against the wall of the bar to support his wobbly legs.

He's going on a date for the first time since the accident. He feels a pang of guilt but his excitement overpowers it and a smile creeps to his lips.

Maybe things are slowly starting to look up for him.