A/N: Have a happy day! This is a short one, 2-3 chapters!
Love Looks Not with the Eyes
Chapter 1
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind…Shakespeare
It was silly. She knew its history came from some Roman holiday celebrating spring, fertility, and match-making—if one could call being auctioned off and tied to a man for the night match-making. All while everyone was nude. Of course, that was before the Christians changed it to honor some guy named Valentine. Then Shakespeare got into writing about the day—and the rest is history.
Sara Sidle gave a soft laugh as she pressed the heart-shaped cookie cutter into the sandwich. A sandwich made of soft white bread, special mustard, provolone cheese, and roast beef sliced as thin as paper. She'd made two with roast beef because it was a special day for a picnic and even as a vegetarian, she did not mind the man she loved eating meat. Quickly, she made two more sandwiches without roast beef and cut each one with the cookie cutter.
Opening the picnic basket she had purchased for the occasion, she placed containers of potato salad, carrots, cucumbers, and oranges on the bottom. Bottles of water and a small bottle of wine fit into holders. She stacked the sandwiches and then added her last items—a small chocolate cake and two fruit pies wrapped in a flaky crust.
She checked the basket again and cleaned the kitchen, hiding the cookie cutter in the back of a drawer, and tucked a folded blanket into the top of the basket.
She had closed the lid when the door to the apartment opened and Gil Grissom stepped inside. In two strides she was in front of him and his arms were wrapped tightly around her. He always did that, she thought. He had almost lost her, he said, to a mad man who had tried to kill her while he stood helpless at the locked door.
That event had proved to be a turning point. They were together almost every day either his place or hers; both were taking more days off. She had moved to a larger apartment, one with an actual bedroom, but she was still resisting his pleas to move in with him.
Smiling as he kissed her, she knew her resistance was weakening.
"Any news?" She asked.
He knew she meant news of the case involving Heather Kessler but answered with, "Warrick and Nick worked a dead body in one of those big parking structures. Catherine was following up on one of the cases from last week." Shrugging, he said, "I did paperwork all night." He pulled a colorful brochure from his pocket, adding, "I got this from the realtor."
A soft punch to his shoulder made him smile. He is relaxed, she thought, smiling, even laughing more when they were together.
He nodded toward the picnic basket, saying, "You were not kidding! We're going on a picnic—Lake Mead? Red Rocks?"
"Let's go where there will be fewer people—Red Rocks."
Picking up the basket, Grissom hefted it and grunted. "This weighs fifty pounds—is it all for you and me?"
They went in her car taking a familiar route through growing suburbs to the edge of government land. As Sara drove, rain drops hit the window and the sky became darker.
Grissom said, "It won't last long—already we've had more rain than usual for this time of year. And with a mild winter, we may get a desert bloom."
Sara nodded and smiled. She had called ahead.
The raindrops were enormous and within minutes, the quantity of water was incredible, overflowing street gutters, and turning flat streets into shallow lakes. Sara slowed with traffic until the rain stopped as suddenly as it started. Within a few miles, the dry desert returned with no evidence of rain.
Once out of the city, the drive to Red Rocks was easy; the ranger waved them through the gate when Sara held up the pass, and they followed the paved loop for sightseeing. They passed the pull-offs frequented by tourists and turned into one with only one other car and a trail that disappeared in the rugged terrain.
Sara was relieved; she wanted this to be a surprise without a throng of people around.
"Am I supposed to haul this basket to a table?"
She laughed at Grissom's grumble, knowing he was teasing her. They had been on the trail a dozen times; he knew there were no tables. He'd also hauled his bug equipment in and out of this trail and never complained.
Laughing, she said, "I'll take it if you think you can't handle it!"
He shot her a look of mischievous intentions and pulled the basket from the back seat. The trail was a winding path around several boulders and, after half a mile with a sharp twist, emerged in a broad field which was usually a scrubby, cactus desert.
Sara stopped, waiting for Grissom, who was looking at birds in the sky, to notice. A moment later, when his eyes turned to the field, he sat the picnic basket on the ground, speechless as he looked around.
The desert was carpeted with flowers; purple lupines, white lilies, and a dozen different yellow wildflowers covered the ground, pushing through cracks in rocks, sprouting in soil that lay fallow most of the year.
"It's the rain," he whispered. Pulling Sara into a hug, he kissed her. It started as a soft peck on her cheek but turned into a long-loving embrace. In the slow, gentle, half-open kiss he gave her, in the protective way he held her, Sara knew she was loved.