It's July 15th, 2022, and Sarah Walker has finally scored her dream job—working with dolphins at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute. Socially awkward and academically driven, Sarah's never found love—but when she meets a tech genius whose inventions have the chance to make her research a reality, she finds herself falling for him. Together, their work could change the world … that is, unless someone else gets hold of it first.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…

Chapter 6: An Octopus's Pardon

As he plummeted toward the water, Chuck caught a glimpse of Sarah—silky green tank top, hip-hugging shorts, shocked expression. Her mouth had fallen open in horror, her eyes wide. She reached out for him in desperation, as if she could somehow arrest his tumble into the abyss. He felt the tips of her fingers brush the sleeve of his t-shirt as he slipped past her grasp, falling down … down … down.

The dolphins glanced up from their diligent dismemberment of the speaker. If Chuck had been the anthropomorphizing type, he would've said they looked just as surprised by his predicament as Sarah did. Then their faces vanished—along with everything else—as he hit the surface of the water with a painful smack … and sank.

The water was freezing. He hadn't expected it to be so cold. Then again, he hadn't expected to fall in the dolphins' tank—or for Sarah to knock him in. He should've been paying better attention to his surroundings. Ellie always said he was so easily distracted—never his mind on where he was … what he was doing …

What the hell was wrong with him, thinking about some nerdy Star Wars catchphrase—yet again? He could berate himself for that later. Right now, he needed to focus on not dying.

Paddling frantically for what he hoped would be the surface, he made the mistake of opening his eyes. He couldn't see a damn thing—the water was churning wildly, full of bubbles. He had no idea how far away the dolphins were now, if they would attack him the way they had the speaker, if these were his last moments on planet Earth…

Serves me right, he thought, desperately trying to ascertain which way was up. Try to impress a girl, get done in by a couple of dolphins. This could only happen to me. If I live through this, I am never listening to my sister again.

He vaguely remembered his YMCA swim instructor saying that if you fell into the water, you should pay attention to which way the bubbles went when you exhaled, since they'd always go upward. But how was he supposed to determine that when the whole tank was stirred up like a bottle of seltzer that someone'd shaken a few dozen times? Taking his best guess, he kicked hard—and a few panicked moments later, his head broke the surface. He sucked in air, grateful to still be breathing.

He was, indeed, alive—but that was the best that could be said for the situation. The world was in pandemonium. Casey was bellowing at the dolphins, Beckman was shrieking at Casey, his sister was screaming at whoever'd listen, the two trainers were gesticulating wildly, and Sarah was yelling his name—as well as something else. He concentrated, trying to make it out over the melee—and then he had it: "Oh my God! Chuck! Look out!"

He twisted his head to the right—and saw two dorsal fins gliding his way, getting closer by the second. He'd woken up this morning in what he'd hoped would be some kind of meet-cute rom-com … and somehow wound up in Jaws.

Heart pounding so hard he felt it everywhere—in his head, his chest, his freaking toes—he tried to swim for the side of the tank. It was a pointless endeavor—now the dolphins were circling him, maybe even stalking him. Was this predatory behavior? Did they somehow know he was responsible for the offensive speaker and have it in for him by proxy? And how had he managed to humiliate himself so spectacularly for the second time in 48 hours?

The dolphins had abandoned their attack on the speaker to come after Chuck. Did they think he was a bigger threat than the thing they'd spent five minutes smashing into the side of the tank? Because if so, maybe he should just let himself drown and save them the trouble…

Finn and Echo's circles were getting smaller and smaller. He could see their slick, powerful bodies moving beneath the surface. Before, they'd seemed so adorable—but now, they just seemed menacing … and huge. If you don't let me suffer death-by-dolphin, I'll swear to be celibate forever, he bargained with whatever higher power might be listening. Not that that would be much of a change, but … I'll stick to bits and bytes, I promise. No more women for me. Just don't let me be dismembered in this tank in front of my sister.

He glanced toward the platform, hoping for one last glimpse of Sarah before he died. To his shock, she was … stripping? His heart almost stopped—and not just because of the unfortunate circumstances in which he found himself.

Chuck couldn't deny it—he'd dared to entertain the fantasy that one day, if he was very, very, very lucky, he might stand a miniscule chance of seeing Sarah Walker disrobe. But no matter how wild his fantasies had been, they'd never involved millions of gallons of ice-cold water, a crowd of dismayed onlookers, and two massive, carnivorous marine mammals.

"Walker!" Casey yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"

And then Sarah jumped into the tank—minus her shoes and sexy green tank top.

Chuck sucked in air again, this time along with a mouthful of water. He coughed and sputtered, doing his best to stay afloat. Was she coming to save him—half-naked? How the hell did she plan to protect him? He had researched dolphins' sizes last night when he was putting together the specs for the add-on to the MRI table. They averaged nearly 700 pounds in weight and 13 feet in length. Sarah had to be 120 pounds soaking wet … which she was right now … because she'd jumped into the freezing water to rescue his sorry ass.

She surfaced and swam toward him as fast as she could … but not fast enough. One of the dolphins—Echo; he could tell by her coloration—popped her head out of the water. She seemed to be smiling—but then again, how the hell could he tell? Dolphins almost always looked like they were smiling. They probably looked like that, right until the moment when they bit off your head.

Get ahold of yourself, Chuck, he admonished himself. When have you ever heard of a dolphin biting off someone's head? It's not as if you're a freaking gingerbread man. Not that dolphins like to eat cookies…

Finn was still circling him, slowly and ominously. Oh, God. Chuck had known the male dolphin didn't like him. The vet, Casey, had even said so. And now here Finn was, getting closer and closer to Chuck as his mate—his pregnant mate—was just a few feet away. Chuck could only think of a few ways this ended, and they all involved a lot of blood and gore … his.

Echo slapped the surface with her flipper, and Chuck tensed, his legs churning under the water to keep him afloat. Was this the prelude to some kind of bottlenose blitzkrieg? But no—Finn stopped circling, poking his head out of the water, too. He looked right at Echo, who let out a series of high-low whistles that Chuck hadn't heard from either dolphin when they were interacting with the trainers or the speaker. He struggled to remember how these particular whistles had been correlated with behaviors by the categorization algorithm, but it was no use. There'd been too many … thousands.

The pregnant dolphin glided in front of Chuck, putting her body between him and Finn. Was she—defending him?

She whistled again, the sound more insistent this time. Finn glanced at her … then swam off, in the direction of the speaker. He resumed his attack, bashing the speaker's remains into the side of the tank with such alacrity, Chuck was surprised there was anything left to destroy.

He glanced over at Sarah, who'd reached him but was staying a few feet away, watching his interaction with Echo. Gently, the dolphin nudged Chuck with her rostrum, directing him away from the dive platform and Finn's renewed assault on the inert speaker. The thing hadn't made a sound in minutes, but Finn was determined to be sure he'd eliminated the threat.

Chuck tried to swim toward Sarah, but Echo wouldn't let him. Instead she put her body between Chuck and Finn once more. Her dorsal fin bumped Chuck's hand once, then again.

Chuck glanced toward Sarah. "What do I do?" he yelled over the ruckus.

She yelled something back, but between the sloshing, smashing, and screaming, he couldn't make it out. Giving up, he concentrated on the dolphin right in front of him. He had the unmistakable sense that Echo was trying to tell him something … to communicate.

Who was he to argue with a 700-pound pregnant mammal? With a sense of combined excitement and resignation, he took hold of her dorsal fin. The dolphin's skin felt—not unpleasantly—like a peeled hard-boiled egg. "Please don't hurt me," he begged her—as if she had a hope of understanding.

But Echo seemed to get it. Slowly, carefully, she towed Chuck across the tank—as far away from the offending speaker as she could get. And then she stayed right next to him, allowing him to support himself with her fin. He hung onto her, panting, his teeth starting to chatter as the adrenaline receded.

The moment Echo came to a halt, Sarah swam hard across the tank, reaching Chuck a few seconds later. "Oh my God, Chuck," she said, treading water next to him. "Please tell me you're okay. I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? Are you—"

"I'm fine." He scooped his dripping hair back from his eyes, doing his best to reassure her. "Really, I'm all right. And it was all my fault, anyway."

"You didn't knock yourself into the tank!"

"No. But I was the one who sent a signal to the speaker to play that aggressive behavior sequence. I should've known better than to do something like that. Or at least I should've asked you first. I should've never—"

"Don't you dare take this on yourself, Chuck Bartowski. I should've asked what sounds you were about to play." Water dripped from her long lashes, streaking her flushed cheeks. She looked incredible—like something out of a dream. Chuck did his best not to think about what she was wearing—or rather, what she wasn't wearing. That certainly wouldn't help matters.

"What's with the stunned expression?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Are you sure you're not hurt? You look like you're about to pass out."

Jesus Christ on a piece of toast. Were they going to be trapped in here forever? Maybe he would die of hypothermia before the humiliation could do him in.

He shifted his gaze toward the front of the tank, where the trainers and Casey were doing their best to subdue Finn. So far, they weren't having much luck. "No, nothing hurts," he said hurriedly. "I'm just … I'm cold."

Great. Now he was an uncoordinated dork with bad judgment who was also a whiny baby to boot. I'm cold? Really? Did he honestly want her to think of him as a twenty-six-year-old, six-foot-four, clumsy entrepreneur who was in desperate need of his blankie?

Sarah followed his gaze toward the dive platform, looking more upset than ever. "We'll get you out of here, Chuck, I promise. And we'll get you some dry clothes—although where, I don't know. You're kind of, um, tall. But we'll find you something. Maybe Casey has a change of clothes you could borrow. Just try to stay calm … and hang on—literally." She gestured at Echo's fin.

"Does she normally do this?" Chuck asked, curiosity winning out over mortification. "Let people hang on to her like this?"

"The trainers have a command for it." Sarah blinked water out of her eyes. "But letting a complete stranger touch her this way—staying perfectly still, as if she knows you'd have a hard time treading water on your own … no. It's pretty amazing, actually. But I don't want to think about it like that—analytically. Not when you're in here, probably terrified out of your—"

"I'm not terrified," he assured her, offering as much of a smile as he could muster, given his chattering teeth. "I'm with you."

She smiled back—but before she could react, Casey called their names, motioning both of them toward the dive platform. Apparently satisfied with the success of his mission, Finn had left the speaker to its own devices. Lou leaned over the water, net in hand, scooping out the bits and pieces, as Gertrude knelt on the platform, distracting the male dolphin with a bucket of fish.

"Walker! Bartowski!" Casey's voice echoed across the water. "You waiting for an engraved invitation? Let go of my patient and get the hell over here while Finn's attention is on eating fish rather than chomping down on the two of you!"

"Dolphins don't chomp," Sarah muttered, which made Chuck smile again. Truth be told, he was more than a little intimidated by the hulking, gruff vet. Hearing Sarah give it right back to him—albeit under her breath—made him feel a little better.

She turned to Chuck, and he fought to focus on the words that were coming out of her mouth rather than the tantalizing shape of her lips. "All right, Chuck, here we go. I'll be right next to you. There's nothing to be scared of. Okay?"

"Okay." He let go of Echo's fin. "And, um, thank you for protecting me, Echo. I really appreciate it."

Sarah's gaze flickered over his face, as if appraising him, but she didn't say a word. Maybe she thought he was insane for thanking the dolphin? It had seemed like the right, polite thing to do—

But there was no chance to ask her. She'd turned toward the dive platform and was swimming toward it, her arms slicing through the water with clean, even strokes. Chuck followed much less gracefully—his limbs felt half-paralyzed with cold—and as promised, she slowed her pace to match his. To his surprise, Echo's gray form followed them, streaking through the water along Chuck's opposite side. She surfaced next to him when they reached the dive platform, glancing at Gertrude and the dwindling bucket of fish as if to say, You gave me a smelt for a high-five, lady. Now I've saved a guy's life. Pay up.

Chuck wanted to point this behavior out to Sarah, but he had no opportunity. Casey had him by the arm, hauling him roughly out of the water and onto the platform. The moment the soles of his soaked sneakers touched the concrete, Ellie and Beckman started babbling a thousand miles an hour, asking if he was all right, inspecting him for damage; Lou thrust a stack of white towels at him; and Casey glowered at him, then bent to check on Echo. The vet stood between Chuck and Sarah, which, in this circumstance, was a godsend; Chuck was painfully aware of her state of undress, and the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her or make her feel self-conscious. She'd jumped in to save him, after all.

It's the same as if she was wearing a bathing suit top, he told himself, toweling his hair dry, his head lowered to hide his face. Get over yourself. Don't be a pig.

The thing was, he was pretty sure he'd have just as much trouble keeping his eyes off Sarah Walker in a modest one-piece.

He lifted his head in an effort to look somewhere, anywhere but at her—and his eyes fell on the water. One story below, he could make out the glass front of the tank … and the stunned faces of a crowd of Aquarium visitors. The image was distorted, but he could still tell what he was looking at—a sizeable group of people who'd all borne witness to his humiliation. Granted, the Aquarium had just opened, so they couldn't have been there long … but clearly they'd caught the last half of the show.

Chuck sighed, resigned. At least he didn't live here—and most likely, neither did many of them. He'd probably never have to see any of them again. He rubbed his hair some more with the towel, then did his best to wring out his shirt. Even if Sarah didn't have any other clothes to offer him, it was southern California in the summer; he wouldn't freeze to death.

It took a few minutes, but at last, Echo was pronounced in good health; Finn finished devouring his fish; and the trainers retreated to the room adjacent to the dive platform, to recover and prepare for the dolphins' next meals. With a final glower at Chuck, Casey stomped off, Beckman and Ellie trailing in his wake—leaving Chuck and Sarah alone on the platform.

Feeling uncomfortable, Chuck busied himself with packing up his equipment. He'd just placed the hydrophone back into its case when Sarah walked up to him, her tank top clutched in one hand and the digital recorder in the other. One of the towels was knotted around her, covering her nearly from almost neck to knees.

She cleared her throat. "Here you go, Chuck."

"Thanks." Sliding the recorder back into its foam slot next to the hydrophone, he snapped the case closed. There, that was everything … both cameras, the tripod, the recorder and hydrophone, his laptop…

"You're really all right?" She was looking at him with an earnest expression, full of concern.

"Aside from the damage to my ego? Just fine, really. Thanks to you and Echo. Not a scratch on me."

"I'm so sorry … again." She dropped her eyes. "You could have died."

Seeing her look so ashamed—it gutted him. "No, I couldn't have," he said, with perfect sincerity. "You were with me the whole time."

Her cheeks turned bright red. "I think you have an inflated sense of my capabilities. What if they'd hurt you—or worse? I'd feel awful. Please forgive me." She clutched the towel around her body, looking up at him with big, miserable blue eyes. His knees nearly gave way under the weight of her gaze.

"Sarah, there's nothing to forgive. It was a total accident."

"I'm so clumsy." She bit her lip.

"Please. You're talking to the King of Klutzes."

She hugged herself, seeming unconvinced. "Look—what can I do to make it up to you? Can I invite you over for a bite to eat later, when we're both not soaked?" She winced. "I mean—never mind what I mean. I just … dinner? Would that help? If you had dinner … later … with me? As an apology, I mean. Not that I would make you a dinner that you had to feel sorry for eating—like because of food poisoning, or something. It would just be a nice dinner. Not too nice, though—that's one reason I'd want to have you come to my house. I wouldn't want you to feel like you had to dress up. You probably didn't bring any nice clothes with you on vacation. Not that I'm implying that you don't dress nicely … and oh, God, now I've said 'nice' like four times …" She wound down, looking mortified.

Holy hell. Had Sarah Walker just asked him over for dinner—dripping from head to toe after probably saving his life? Chuck felt lightheaded. How could he say no, even if he wanted to … which he definitely didn't.

"I—" he managed, with a tinge of a squeak thrown in for good measure.

"You don't have to say yes. Please don't feel obligated. In fact, I'm sure you don't want to go anywhere with me, right now. Why would you? I just knocked you into a tank full of freezing water and a couple of rampaging cetaceans … and I can't seem to manage a complete, coherent thought…"

Despite her obvious distress, Chuck found himself amused … and enchanted. He'd never been in this situation with a beautiful woman before—where she was the one spiraling, and he was on the receiving end of an invitation to a home-cooked meal. "Yes," he blurted, before she could dig herself an even deeper hole. "I would love to have dinner with you. Although not too nice a dinner—message sent and received. A middle-of-the-road dinner to which I will wear decent clothing … which I did, indeed, happen to bring with me. And thank you for the invitation. I look forward to it."

"Really?" Her face lit up. "You're not angry with me?"

"Why would I be—oh, because of the whole nearly murdered by dolphins, drenched clothes, public humiliation thing?" He quirked an eyebrow, feeling a grin engulf his face.

"Yes. That thing." She searched his face, apparently looking for clues as to his state of mind.

"Why would I let a little something like that get to me? That's just par for the course in my world."

She smiled at him—an open, genuine smile, like the one she'd given him on the beach. It almost brought him to his knees … again.

Maybe it was his near-death experience—or the fact that she'd asked him over, even if it was only meant as an apology—but either way, he found the courage to lean closer to her, pitching his voice low and even. "You wanna hear a secret, Dr. Walker?"

Wary, she tilted her head, waiting.

He cleared his throat. "If that had been my last moment—when you jumped into the water and braved two pissed-off dolphins to save my life—I would've died a very happy man."

He didn't have the fortitude to look at her face. Instead he turned and walked away, his soggy Converses squishing on the concrete with every step, leaving her in shocked silence behind him.

OoOoOoOoO

As it turned out, Casey hadn't had any extra clothes lying around for Chuck to borrow—and based on the pissed-off look the vet had given him before leaving, Chuck wasn't sure Casey would've lent him anything if he had. He tried his best to ignore the perplexed, amused looks the Aquarium patrons gave him as he made his way to Ellie—who was standing in front of the penguins' enclosure, alone. When she saw him coming, she shook her head.

"Unbelievable," she said to him.

Chuck sighed. "Please don't give me another lecture about how all I need is to have more self-confidence with women … to be myself … yadda, yadda, yadda. I was myself. I couldn't have been more myself unless I showed up with a pair of D&D dice and the Battlestar Galactica box set. And yet I still ended up humiliating myself."

"That's not what I meant." Her lips twitched. "What I meant was, it's unbelievable that you've met a woman who's even more self-conscious and nervous around you than you are with her. The two of you together are an occupational hazard waiting to happen. Someone ought to call OSHA—or at least keep a doctor on call. Oh … wait … that would be my and Devon's job. Just great!"

"Very funny."

"All's well that ends well?" she said, making it a question. "Or … did it end terribly, after all?"

"She invited me over for dinner," he admitted.

Ellie's face broke out into a huge smile. "She did? I knew it. In nerd-land, social awkwardness and clumsiness resulting in mortal peril must translate into foreplay."

If Chuck never heard the word 'foreplay' come out of his sister's mouth again, it would be too soon. "It's nothing like that," he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "It's an apology. She wanted to say sorry for knocking me into the tank, that's all."

"Uh-huh." She smirked. "I hope you're just being a gentleman—and that you're not really this clueless."

Had Sarah meant it as a date? There was just no way. But if she had—what was he supposed to do with that information? Should he bring flowers? If he didn't, would she think it was rude—but if he did, would she think he'd jumped to conclusions? Why was everything so impossible?

"Chuck?" Ellie said.

"Huh?"

"I know that look. You're spiraling. And blushing. And—" She looked him up and down. "Dripping. Come on, let's get you out of here."

"But your tour," he protested. "The penguins …"

"I've seen enough of the life aquatic today." She hooked her arm through his, then drew it back with a yelp. "God, you're soaked. Let's get you something makeshift to wear and go home. Devon should be there by now."

They stopped in the Aquarium gift shop, where the only available shirt in Chuck's size was a green T-shirt with a giant octopus on it and the words "Monterey Bay Aquarium: 1984." He pulled his credit card out of his waterlogged wallet with a sigh. At least he'd have a souvenir of the occasion—not that he was likely to forget. There were no shorts or socks for sale, so he was out of luck there. When they made it to the car, he grabbed an old towel from the back—one of the ones he kept for Peaches—and put it down on the passenger seat so he wouldn't mess up his sister's upholstery. Ellie drove, chortling the whole way.

When they got home, he dragged himself into the shower, dropping his wet shorts onto the floor with a splat and rinsing off the combined smells of dead fish, dolphin, and stark terror. By the time he'd dumped his soggy stuff into the washing machine and dressed in dry clothes, he felt more like himself again—and better able to see the humor in the situation. Maybe he could think of it as an adventure, instead of a misadventure. After all, how many people could say they'd been toppled into a tank containing two furious dolphins by a beautiful woman, escaping without a scratch … and with a maybe-date?

It was probably the kind of thing that Ellie's boyfriend, Devon, would think of as just another Tuesday. But Devon was a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie; Chuck's idea of a rush was seeing his new software function without a hitch. Still, even Devon couldn't deny that what Chuck had experienced today was out of the ordinary … and pretty damn cool, if you got right down to it.

Brewing himself a mug of coffee, Chuck opened his laptop and made a list. He needed a new phone—his old one had gotten trashed during the Great Plunge of 2022. And, of course, he needed supplies to rebuild the speaker—a better one, this time. He'd have to camouflage this one, maybe inside a housing that resembled a baby dolphin, with the hydrophone and speaker disguised within. If he did that, maybe Finn and Echo would be predisposed to be gentle with it, and they could avoid another incident like what had happened today.

The design concept made him think about Echo and her calf. God, he hoped the stress hadn't caused her to go into labor early. What if something happened to her baby because of him? Sarah would never forgive him …

This was ridiculous. He needed to stop beating himself up for every little thing. That dolphin had been pregnant for a year. Sure, she was due anytime—but what were the chances that his little stunt with the speaker would put her into labor? That was giving himself way too much credit.

Determined to have a positive outlook on the situation—after all, he was going to Sarah Walker's for dinner tonight!—he finished the list of the supplies he needed and went shopping. He picked up a nice bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers while he was at it … nothing too over-the-top, like roses. Instead he got a mixed bunch, all in cheerful colors—including some bright yellow daisies that matched Sarah's hair.

When he got back home, arms loaded up with bags, Devon opened the front door before Chuck could fumble for the knob.

"Hey, man," he said. "Heard you coming. Here, let me take some of these. You got me flowers and wine? Dude, you shouldn't have."

"Very funny." Chuck squeezed past him, setting the bags containing his new cell phone and the component parts for the speaker on the floor of the small foyer. Peaches, who had been doing her best to escape out the front door, promptly stuck her head into the bag that held his new cell phone and sneezed.

"Not as funny as what I hear happened to you today, Chuckster." Devon wiggled his eyebrows, ignoring his impossible dog. "Heard you got some unexpected exercise, huh?"

"Ugh." Maybe he should open the bottle of wine himself and drink about half of it—never mind that it was only four o'clock. "Ellie told you, I guess."

"She sure did. Sounds like a hell of a ride, honestly."

"I knew you'd say that." Sinking onto the couch, Chuck leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His peace was short-lived, as Peaches lost interest in the bag and bounded over, leaping onto the couch to sit on his lap. "Get down, you beast. Where is Ellie, anyway?"

"Grocery run. Some crucial ingredient she insisted she needed for dinner. I told her all I wanted was to spend time with her—that I'd be perfectly happy with a frozen pizza—but you know how she gets."

"I would've picked it up for her." He opened his eyes, a major tactical mistake—Peaches promptly licked him from nose to forehead. "Eeeugh! Why is your dog so disgusting? And why didn't my sister call?"

"As for the first, your guess is as good as mine. And as for the second—she said your cell phone drowned."

"Oh, yeah. I guess it did. Well, I have a new one now—if Peaches didn't baptize it in saliva."

Devon snorted. "I'll get her out of your hair—we're about to go for a walk on the beach."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days? I think of it more like skiing—all the momentum of the slope and none of the vertical lift." He succeeded in pushing the dog to the floor, but she just rested her head in his lap and stared up at him with huge, offended eyes.

"It'll be fine," Devon said, with more optimism than accuracy. "Come on, girl." Hooking Peaches' leash to her collar, he allowed her to drag him out the door.

With both of them gone and Ellie still not home, Chuck was left alone with his wine, flowers, electronic components, and a terrible case of nerves. As soon as he'd gotten his new cell phone all fired up, he checked and saw that Sarah had texted him, giving him her address and asking him to come by at seven. He still had a few hours, and if he didn't want to go out of his mind with anxiety about tonight's not-a-date, he needed to keep himself occupied. He texted her back, letting her know seven was fine, and got to work rebuilding the speaker. When he got the framework finished, he'd send the CAD specs to a buddy of his who'd be able to 'skin' it with a rubber polymer, as close a match to the dolphins' skin as possible.

As was always the case, he lost himself in the project. Ellie and Devon both came home and checked on him, and soon the delectable aroma of Ellie's apple crisp—Devon's favorite—filled the house. Usually the scent of that pie had him drooling, but he was too absorbed in his redesign to pay it much attention. When he saw Sarah, he'd be able to tell her how much progress he'd made. Maybe they could even laugh about what had happened today—joke about it and put it behind them. He'd show her that they could try again … with a far better design, this time.

He'd put a timer on his phone to let him know when to get ready to head out, but instead his cell rang, startling him. Distracted, he grabbed for it without stopping to check the number. "Hello?"

"Chuck? It's Sarah." She sounded upset—even freaked out, her voice high and thready.

"Sarah? Are you okay?" He pushed back from the desk where he'd been working, alarmed.

"I—yes. But we can't have dinner tonight, Chuck. I'm so sorry."

His heart sank—though he wasn't surprised. He'd known it was too good to be true. "That's okay, Sarah. I understand," he said, doing his best to keep his disappointment out of his voice. "Did something, um, come up?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. What was she supposed to say? Yeah, something came up. Like, doing my laundry. Or reorganizing my closet. Or basically anything that would preclude having dinner with you. Sorry, I had a bout of temporary insanity there. A plunge into freezing water and a sense of overwhelming guilt will do that to you.

He must've been nuts to think a gorgeous, brilliant woman like her would invite him over for dinner. Out of his mind. Well, he'd just give the flowers to his sister and drown his sorrows in the bottle of wine …

"—crazy?"

He was so despondent, he didn't realize that she'd been talking, and only caught the tail end of what she'd said. "I'm sorry, what?"

Sarah drew a deep breath, as if she was trying to steady herself. "I said—you're not going to believe it. This day's just been so crazy. But Echo just gave birth to a healthy calf—a beautiful little girl. She's the cutest thing I've ever seen." She paused. "Well … almost the cutest thing I've ever seen. And we all voted. We've decided to call her Eden."

A/N: Poor Chuck. So close to his maybe-date with the beautiful, brilliant, enigmatic, nerdalicious Sarah Walker … and yet so far. Good news: He survived his near-death experience, and Echo has a gorgeous baby girl. Bad news: He's now the proud owner of a highlighter-green octopus t-shirt, and we'll have to wait until next week to find out if Chuck and Sarah ever get to spend some time alone…

As always, thanks for reading—and please keep your reviews, follows, and favorites coming our way! They really do make this all worthwhile.