The course of true love, never did run smooth

-William Shakespeare

"Showers are amazing," Erin sighed contentedly, running the towel over her hair. "Would have been better if I hadn't had to use Irish Spring."

"It's a good soap," Dave protested. "I've used it for years."

"I can tell since you have at least twenty bars in the towel closet. Have you thought about maybe getting something different?"

"As in...something feminine?" He raised an eyebrow, "The rules aren't getting bent that much, Sweetheart.

"Move over," Erin ordered and tried to sit down.

"Bossy much? Or is it a side effect of pregnancy?" Dave stood and made room for her on the sofa.

"And the soap wouldn't be for you, Smart ass."

Dave shrugged, "Then say what you mean, Erin." He turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Erin strained to look at what had him so occupied. "What are you doing?"

His finger moved over the I-pad., "Ordering flowers."

"For the waitress?"

"I always keep my promises..."

"Let me see." She leaned over to look at the screen. "Hmmm...send her these." She pulled up a bouquet of pink and yellow mums.

"Okay...I'm game," his profiler instinct kicked in, "why those?"

"Because," Erin shrugged, "I saw the way she was eying you and mums are something you send to your grandmother."

"Do I sense a bit of the green eyed monster lurking in you?" Dave wondered with an astonished look.

"N-no-" she sputtered. "I was just pointing out the obvious."

"Mums for a twenty-something because those are the flowers one would send their grandmother," Dave mused. "I'll send carnations instead." He tapped the screen twice. "There, done. I don't know about you, but I'm starving." His stomach grumbled loudly, to prove the point.

"Pizza..." Erin muttered, sinking deeper into the sofa. The steak on the counter was all but forgotten.

Dave chuckled, "Why do I get the feeling you're speaking for someone else?"

"Green peppers, mushrooms and sausage," she continued as an after thought, "and make it a deep-dish."

He reached for the phone book. "That's my boy!" he praised.

"Don't forget the anchovies," Erin called out at the last moment. Dave's finger stopped dialing.

"You're kidding me. No son of mine is putting fish on a perfectly good pizza." He eyed Erin stomach with disdain. "It must be your mama's genes."

"Or maybe it's a girl. They say that girls create weird cravings."

"Well, you can have it with hot sauce, ice cream, and pineapple with barbeque sauce, but you are not putting fish on my pizza."

"You can pick them off."

"Have you seen anchovies? They contaminate everything! You can't just pick them off," Dave argued. "They linger," he muttered in disgust.

"They do not!" she scoffed indignant that he would dismiss her cravings so abruptly. "And anyway, you're out numbered."

His eyes narrowed. "How do you figure? Mudgie doesn't get a vote." He threw a perplexed look towards the dog lounging at Erin's feet.

She laid a hand against her slightly rounded abdomen, "Two brains, two votes. Majority rules."

With a long-suffering sigh, he dialed the number. "I am out numbered."

"Get used to it. Get two pizzas."

–
An hour and a pizza-and a half later, Dave was sorting the leftovers in the fridge. "I never thought I'd say this, but anchovies aren't half bad, with enough cheese."

"If you think that's bad, you should have seen it while I was pregnant with Paul. I had peanuts on everything. Poor Mark."

"That's not so bad," Dave sat beside her on the sofa.

"It is when your husband is fatally allergic," she groused. She shouldn't have any joy with Mark's condition, but at the same time he had made her life a living hell. Maybe her peanut craving had been an accident. Maybe.

Dave chuckled, "You mean, you had the chance to end him and get away with it and you didn't take it?" He flashed her a look of pretend surprise.

"No, and trust me on that. Although, my son was born to defy his father."

"As I remember, Mark failed out of the academy he couldn't handle the physical demand."

"And Paul plays every sport imaginable," Erin finished.

At some point, his arm had fallen around her and she found herself enjoying the closeness.

"This one is going to have a lot to live up to," Dave boasted without shame.

"He will have a good teacher." Dave gave a short laugh. "What's so funny?" Erin remarked.

"We finally agree on something."

"Huh..." She let it sink in, "I guess it is possible."

"Miracles will never cease."

"Relish in it, Mr. Italian Stallion; I'm still not going to bed with you."

"Damn," he snapped his fingers, "and here I thought I was being charming."

"You might want to work on that, Agent Rossi."

"Will you at least let me tuck you in?" Dave pouted.

"Sure," Erin said, smiling sweetly, "in your dreams. Goodnight, David."

She headed for the stairs, with Mudgie on her tail.

"Goodnight, Erin." He muttered, turning out the lights he set the alarm. In the morning he would bring her decaf and cook breakfast before taking her home. She deserved it after the night she had. She'd won over his dog, taken over his pizza and stolen his heart. All in one fell swoop.

"You look like hell," Erin remarked, from the top of the staircase.

Dave rubbed his breastbone from his seat at the kitchen table. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?" He asked with a grimace.

"More or less an observance. What's wrong?"

He rubbed his chest and let out a small belch. "Those damn anchovies of yours came back to haunt and kept me awake all night."

She stepped off the stairs and reached for her purse hanging on the chair, "Here," she offered, pulling out a roll of TUMS.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm heading down to the store for something stronger. Last damn time I let you choose the toppings," he muttered under his breath and reached for his keys.

"I heard that." She threw over her shoulder, reaching for a plate from the cabinet.

"Good, because I meant it."

"Do you want breakfast or are you going to whine all morning?" She opened the fridge and pulled out a Coke. "Drink this."

"Been there, done that. And I'll skip breakfast, thanks. I can't seem to get the fish smell out of my nose."

She rolled her eyes. "No one forced you to eat it."

"The damn leftovers are in the fridge, Erin; the damn box smells like week old fish."

"Don't take it out on me, because you can't handle a little heartburn, go take your Prilosec like a good boy and leave me with my breakfast." She pulled out the pizza box.

"Jesus, Erin," he made a face and rubbed his chest harder. "I really have to go," his nose wrinkled in disgust, "enjoy that."

"Go on."

As the door shut behind him, Dave distinctly heard her mutter, "What a big baby."