Still rolling right along. Though, Lucas & Celia completely ran away with this chapter.

Couple more quick notes:

1. Windark is named after the Windscale Piles in the UK. The Unit 1 Fire of 1957 is a fascinating read.

2. Italics Text = text messages from Lucas

3. Bold Text = text messages from Celia

Shout-outs to isismak, Sirenfish and Eggwhisker - thank you for the kind words!

Rating T: Language, sexually suggestive situations

Chapter 3: Italian Toast

"Ugh," the groan sounded over the low cubicle wall, "is it too early to start drinking yet? Just leave now and head straight for the pub?" Celia huffed a closed-mouth laugh at Vicky's words, looking over to see her staring at her computer screen in disgust.

"What's happened now?"

"I just got the test reports for the reactor backup heat removal pumps," Vicky shook her head dejectedly. "The vibration readings for the bravo pump are way off the scale. Too high for approval. The Control Room has given an eight-hour window to complete an evaluation before they start shutting down the reactor."

"Oh, shit," Celia agreed, casting her friend a sympathetic, supportive gaze, "if you need to pull in Jonathan to help meet the deadline, don't hesitate to call him. Matthew lets him abuse his part-time status too much."

"No," Vicky grumbled, heaving a sigh, "eight hours should be enough time. I just have too many other things to do – I did not account for this evaluation hijacking my day."

"Can't be helped," Celia shook her head, equal parts sad and annoyed, "if they can't give us equipment that works, we'll continue to run it into the ground and replace it at the eleventh hour when the regulators threaten to shut us down." Vicky snorted a dark amused laugh.

"Like your system replacement project? If that's what I have to go through to see these pumps replaced, I think I'd rather just keep writing emergency evaluations." Celia shared a small laugh and a sad smile. There was just a little bit too much truth in Vicky's words.

"I don't blame you. I keep telling myself that eventually these construction guys have to get it right. Eventually, they'll run out of mistakes to make. But it is not this day…." An almost wistful smile came over Vicky's face.

"If only it was Aragorn leading us into glorious battle to save this plant…I'd be much more inclined to follow his orders."

"Only if that let you into his bedroom." Vicky sputtered is disbelief.

"Of course. No shame in admitting that." Celia turned back to her computer monitor, shaking her head. She didn't really want to return to reviewing this calculation, but it needed to be done. The results, so far, weren't encouraging. The flashing notification light on her phone out of the corner of her eye stole her attention and she reached for it, if only to avoid the calculation for another few seconds.

French or Italian?

She couldn't help the big, warm smile that grew on her face as she read the three words in the text message. It had been almost three weeks since she last saw Lucas. They had traded a few messages, always promising, but they hadn't been able to work out meeting up again. There always seemed to be something going on for one of them, but each message brought a delightful twinge of hopeful anticipation.

Italian

She set her phone down, attempting to go back to the calculation at hand. But she barely lasted a minute before she had to pick up her phone again, disappointed to see there was nothing. It felt like an eternity until the notification light flashed again.

Mia Bella tonight?

Her breath caught in her chest, her heart aflutter. Was it really going to work this time? There was nothing immediately pressing with the project today, no late afternoon meetings. She typed out her response without another thought.

Sounds lovely

She couldn't help her beaming smile as she stared down at her phone, suddenly more excited for her day to end.

Pick you up at 19:00. Looking forward to it

Sounds good. Me too!

She hit send, instantly wondering if the exclamation point was too much. Heaven forbid she come across as too eager and scare him away. It would only give away just how long it had been since she last had a proper date.

"Must be good news?" She started at Vicky's interested voice, an embarrassed flush coloring her cheeks as she looked up.

"Um, yeah…," she waved her phone dismissively, "I have a dinner date tonight." Her smile turned to a sheepish grin on the admission.

"A date?" Vicky's face lit with intrigued excitement and disbelief. "Who is he? You haven't even said that you had a prospect, let alone were actually dating someone!"

"Well, we're not actually dating…or not really yet, at least. Tonight is our first, I suppose."

"Well, come on already, who is he?" Celia dropped her gaze from Vicky's, suddenly wondering just how much she was allowed to say about him.

"He's, um….He's in stocks and trades. He spends his days in cutthroat negotiations and deals," Vicky's face wrinkled with disgust as she continued, "it sounds almost as bad as dealing with the mess around here somedays."

"Ugh, a business finance major," Vicky shook her head in disapproval, "I had hoped you would do better. He better be gorgeous to make up for it." Celia huffed a laugh, glaring up at Vicky playfully.

"Oh, don't worry – he is," the blush on her cheeks deepened, "but it's still early. And for now… maybe that's why we get along—both of our jobs are demanding."

"Gee, dinner sounds like it'll be a real uplifting occasion," Vicky shook her head, a distant look of jealously and resignation settling on her face. "I may be stuck here with my evaluation, but I'm damn well going to live vicariously through you. I want full details tomorrow."

xxx

Her doorbell rang at 7:01 pm. After googling the restaurant for the dress code, she answered it wearing dark skinny jeans, a loose fitting green blouse, and ankle boots. The slate blue collar of his button-down shirt that peeked out from beneath his black overcoat complimented his eyes so well as he offered a small smile in greeting. After a quick grab of her coat and locking the door, they set off towards the nearest underground station.

"So, a good day at the office?" She asked as they walked in the cool evening air.

"Good enough." His tone was distantly preoccupied and she cast a curious glance over to him.

"Well, that's good enough. You seem…I don't know. Worried, almost."

"It's been quiet in the last few days," he simply said, "it's either something we've missed, or it's the calm before a storm." Frustration tightened the lines of his face and she was struck with the urge to do something to help soothe it away. Did he really take his job to heart so much? How refreshing.

"Am I supposed to know?" She had to ask. "About what you do?" A conflicted light entered his eyes as he looked over to her and at the traffic before crossing the street.

"For your own safety, probably not. But it's a little late for that now." An almost wry smile lifted the corner of his lips. "I know you spoke with Harry and Ros that night at the hospital." She nodded, recalling the conversation, the sight of him laid out so still, the distant beeping of machines.

"I think they were just trying to make sure I wasn't the one who shot you."

"You were never under suspicion for that."

"Do you remember much about that night?" They started on the stairs down to the station.

"Vaguely. Shortly after it happened, I couldn't keep up the foot chase and looked for somewhere. I tried your neighbors' place first, actually, but the lock held fast. But when I came to your front door and found it unlocked, it was the best option."

"Dammit," she scoffed, swiping her pass and following him through the turnstiles, catching up with him to resume the conversation. "I was wondering if I had really left the front door unlocked."

"You might want to work on that."

"I know, I know." Her cheeks tinged with pink at his teasing smirk with a serious edge.

"You were brave, though, to enter your unlocked place unarmed. I'm glad it wasn't someone intent on hurting you."

"Unarmed…I was ready to swing my backpack so hard at anyone who came at me. And it's heavy." Amusement flashed across his face as the train arrived.

"That wouldn't do much against a bullet."

"I didn't say it was necessarily a good plan. Or a successful plan." She conceded with a half-embarrassed smile.

"Then just take the compliment." Her blush grew over a flattered smile as they boarded.

"Fine. Thank you."

The rest of their journey continued in relative easy silence, passing only a couple of stations before exiting. Mia Bella was on the far end of the block with a simple sign and low lights shining out onto the sidewalk. The waiter took his name for the reservation and showed them to a small table a good distance back from the pianist who filled the restaurant with soft, jazzy strains. The exposed brick walls and minimalist modern furniture, all lit with soft candle glow, were most inviting.

"Live music," she commented with a smile as she shrugged out of her coat, sitting down, "that's a nice touch."

"Does that win me points?" There was something so innocent and endearing on his question. She couldn't help but smile. This was just her kind of place and he showing himself to be just her kind of man. It should probably scare her, but looking at him lit with the warm glow, she was ready to fall head over heels.

"You're off to an excellent start. You don't need to worry about this." She turned from him to their menus, looking over the choices.

"Sounds like you haven't been here before." He half-asked, glancing up from his menu, watching her studying hers.

"No, I haven't. How about you?" He shook his head in an almost dismissive gesture.

"Me, neither. A colleague recommended it."

"Well, if the menu tastes as good as it sounds, then major kudos to your colleague." Making her selection, she folded her food menu and reached for the wine list, scanning the bottles and vintages.

"Good evening, signore and signora." The waiter's voice drew both their attention upwards. "I see that you are already perusing the wine menu. Would you care to make a selection, signore?"

"I will defer selection to my lady." Something in the way 'my lady' rolled off his tongue sent an unbidden wave of heat through her as she flipped back a page, going with her gut instinct.

"You're too kind," she flashed a look at Lucas before glancing up at the waiter, "we'll do a bottle of item 162, the Chianti."

"Ah, an excellent choice, signora. Please take your time with the main menu and I will return shortly." They both offered up a round of thanks as the waiter moved away.

"You didn't have to let me select the wine, you know." She shook her head in mild embarrassment as his gaze remained steady.

"Why not? We've already established my knowledge on wine is limited. If you're worried for my delicate masculine sensibilities in public, then we're just getting started." She guffawed an unbidden, amused laugh, her eyes widening in playful surprise.

"Oh, is that how this night is going to go?" It was equal parts a playful challenge and probing question.

"I'm not here tonight to impress the wait staff with my ability to command the table. I'm here to share a table with you." She struggled to find words, the seriousness of his answer taking her by surprise. She only knew that a mile-wide smile of giddiness was threatening to stretch across her face if she wasn't careful.

"I – thank you…. I don't know what else to say to that." She shook her head before turning back to her menu. "What are you looking at for dinner?"

He started to answer, but the waiter arrived with the bottle of wine and two glasses. In short order, both glasses were poured and orders were taken; pasta pescatore for her, and lasagna al forno for him. She raised her glass for some wine, inwardly proud of her selection. It would go well with bold tomato sauces.

"Well you know what I do for a living, broadly speaking," he started, leaning his forearms on the table, "but what about you? I recall you mentioned construction accidents last time we met…"

"Yes, unfortunately," she nodded, leaning forward to match his pose, her fingers trailing the stem of her wine glass. "Though, I almost figured that you would have looked me up by now."

"I know Harry and Ros have seen your background, but I haven't had a reason to look you up. I'd rather just ask."

"I appreciate that." She couldn't help but be a little impressed, trying to trample the cautionary voice that warned he could just be an expert liar. "I work at Windark Nuclear Power Station, in their project engineering group. We oversee the capital build projects, mostly upgrades and replacements of equipment that has outlived its design life. Like my current project," she drew a deep breath, trying to not let her frustration with it show through, "replacing over five kilometers of one meter diameter buried piping for the cooling water system. The firm that's been hired to design and do the construction, I swear, has no clue how to actually do work in a nuclear facility." Traces of surprise mixed with interest filled his eyes as she continued to talk. It was a heady combination – the man had such powerful eyes. "We're eight months in, with at least another ten to go. And that's only with current schedule delays. The weather hasn't been doing us any favors, either. I'm hopeful progress will pick up once we focus on piping inside the buildings."

"Inside the buildings? At one meter diameter, you say?" She nodded, lifting her wine glass. "After replacing five kilometers of the stuff underground?" She laughed with another nod around her drink of wine. "That's a lot…and sounds quite daunting."

"The plant officials have been terribly nervous about this project from the start and they're still watching it like a hawk."

"I can see why. Governorship of a nuclear facility is not something to be taken lightly."

"No," she agreed, "especially not today's world, with all the physical and cyber attacks that are all too prolific. I probably don't even have to tell that to you, though." She shook her head, almost sadly. "But for almost everyone else – it surprises them to hear the security measures that are part of my everyday job. Metal detectors, explosive detectors. I know I've signed a form somewhere giving the security force permission to shoot me if I do something stupid." He chuckled a low sound. "I can't imagine what it's like for you, though. Being on the frontlines and seeing it all, as it unfolds. I know we can't talk about details…but the job you do is truly to be commended. It's all too easy to criticize from the warm, safe comfort of our homes and offices – but how many times over have you sacrificed to preserve that warm, safe comfort." It wasn't really something she expected an answer to and, fortunately, he didn't look like he was going to try. "If I'm going too far, please stop me and I'll go back to asking 'winter or summer' type questions – but, have you ever thought of getting out?" A haunting memory darkened his face, his gaze sliding away from hers down to his wineglass.

"There have been times," he started slowly, his voice tinged with distant pain, "when giving it up would have been the easiest way. But when I think about it now – I don't regret where I am. And maybe someday I'll outlive my usefulness, but there's just too much in this world to walk away from right now." Silence fell over the table as she tried to find something to say. But all she could manage was a gentle nod and a soft smile laced with respect. She couldn't help but admire a man of his conviction. At least she knew where he stood – he wouldn't leave his job over a relationship. Maybe with her demanding career, that just might work. "Same question back to you," he started, looking up at her with a curious air, "have you considered getting out of your current job? If I'm thinking right, Windark isn't exactly in the city."

"I never envisioned it being permanent. It was just supposed to be a quick way to get experience, some field exposure. But, god, it's been going on thirteen years now." She licked her lips uncertainly, a small, embarrassed smile quirking her lips. "I'd always thought I would leave it one day – cut ties when I met the right guy and wanted to start a family. But what I didn't plan for, ironically, was that the nature of the job would prevent me from finding the right guy…so, I'm still there."

The waiter returned with food before he could speak. She didn't realize she was so hungry until the rich, spicy aromas filled the air and they reached for their forks. With a meticulous motion, he cut a small corner off his lasagna and took the first bite. A look akin to euphoria washed over his face, his eyes closing as he pulled the fork back from his lips. She felt privileged to be sitting across him – it felt so intimate, watching him get lost in the flavor of his food.

"Good, I take it?" She asked, his eyes opening as if suddenly remembering where he was.

"It's wonderful." There was no hint of doubt in his voice. "It's been a very long time since I last had lasagna."

"Sounds like it's a personal favorite." He nodded in response around another bite, reaching for his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth.

"It is," a reserved, resigned smile came to his face as he looked up to her, "my ex-wife was a very good cook and she made it fairly often. But to be fair, I loved lasagna long before I loved her." His admission caught her off-guard. She would never have guessed that he was previously married. It didn't seem to fit him, somehow, with his job and all. "What I just said wasn't an accident – stop overanalyzing it, you engineer. I want you to know that I was previously married." She felt her cheeks redden and she raised her napkin to her lips, just to have something to do. The admission was so surprising, so soon.

"I appreciate you telling me. Sorry for…my blank reaction. It just took me by surprise, is all. But not in a bad way. It's…refreshing to know that you're the marrying type." Her smile filled out, warm and genuine. "My last relationship...the guy. Well, he wasn't." She took another bite.

"He wasn't…the marrying type?" Lucas confirmed before taking a bite, watching her sip her wine and return to her plate.

"Yes, he wasn't the marrying type. He wasn't my type – it was just not a good fit. And that was two and a half years ago." Her cheeks flushed with further embarrassment to say it aloud. "That wasn't a mistake, either. I want you to know – in case you haven't figured it out already – that it's been two and a half years since I last did this, so please forgive me if I don't…remember all the steps in this dance." Something visible relaxed in his shoulders as he reached for his wine, an almost unsure smile gracing his face.

"I'm hardly one to judge. Due to…extenuating circumstances, it has been well over eight years since I last participated in the dance, as you called it." His face hardened in serious resolve. "My job is demanding. I cannot always guarantee that I will be around. There are times when communication blackout is essential to success. Other days, I go to work and don't come home for days at a time without any advance warning. It takes a toll and carries a high price." At first she wasn't sure, but now she knew. This was him laying his cards on the table. Laying out what it would mean to be involved with him. She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to come up with the words.

"I can't pretend to know what's that like, so I won't." She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the dark implications of his words that she remembered all too well could be reality. "But I did first meet you bleeding near to death on my kitchen floor, and I'm still here. Invited you back in, and agreed to meet you for dinner. That has to count for something so far, right?" She offered a small shrug, glancing back to her mostly empty plate, deciding she was full and instead reaching for her wine. "Besides, you're talking to a nuclear plant worker. My standard shift is a 10-hr day, and that's if nothing goes wrong. And while no one's firing actual bullets at me and my cell phone is with me sixty percent of the time, I do know a thing or two about being unavailable and not around to make those plans we agreed to." Her lips quirked in something of an accepting, hopeful smile. "So, don't be so quick to chase me away just yet if this is something you want. Because this is something I want. Let's see where it goes from here." His lips quirked with a slightly mischievous and almost happy edge as he inclined his wine glass towards her.

"To where we'll go." She met his eyes on his soft words, and swore that she really could lose herself in that arresting, glacial gaze.

"To where we'll go." Her wine glass met his with a gentle clink that was filled with promise. "So, I have to ask," she started as she lowered the wine glass from her lips, a playful curiosity lighting in her eyes, "since it's such a personal favorite – do you remember your first lasagna?"

The rest of the wine disappeared over amusing, affectionate conversation and the bill was settled. He offered to pay and she didn't fight him. It was a sweet gesture and she wasn't above a little old-fashioned chivalry. The night air carried a dampness that spoke to approaching rain as they left the restaurant, walking back to the tube station.

"I'm sure you'll know the answer for me, but I don't know about you." She cast him a glance in the passing street light. "Literature or maths?" She caught the curl of a sure smile on his face.

"Literature. No question."

"So you're one of those, yeah?" She teased good-naturedly.

"Proud of it – 'literature always anticipates life. It does not copy it, but moulds it to its purpose'. Oscar Wilde."

"Is that so? Well, the upward buoyant force exerted on an object in a fluid is equal to the weight of the fluid that the object displaced and acts at the center of mass of the displaced fluid. Archimedes." He sent her a playfully disgusted glance in the light of the tube station as they descended the stairs.

"Keep that maths to yourself." She laughed softy, following him onto the waiting train.

"Countryside or cityside?"

"Cityside," the playful look dulled in eyes as they sat on an empty bench, "I grew up in the country, so I've seen enough of it."

"Really?"

"Cumbria." Surprise continued to eat at the edge of her smile.

"I would never have guessed. Is that what drove your love of books? Some form of escape?"

"It was the only traveling we could afford."

"That's a beautiful way to look at it."

"Didn't think so when I was thirteen." She matched his small laugh. "What of you? City or country?"

"I'd have to say country – I grew up in the city, so I love all the green and open spaces." She gave her head a quick, mock-disparaging shake. "Not sure how we'll ever take a holiday together."

"Not much time for that, anyway. Though, I'm sure we could make something work." The train lurched to a stop and they rose to exit. "Car or motorbike?"

"I've got to go with car—only because!" She made a point to emphasize her last words over his scoff. "Only because I've never ridden a motorbike before. I'm not opposed, but cars are all I know."

"We'll have to work on that."

"I can guess your answer is motorbike?"

"Absolutely." She shook her head with a playful laugh as they reached the top of the stairs, starting down the street. Her fingers brushed his as they walked – she wasn't entirely sure who had stepped closer – but her heart leapt in her chest when his hand curled around hers. Somehow, it seemed almost too cute for him – holding hands. But it felt so right that it didn't matter. She could feel his eyes on her and she couldn't stop her carefree smile. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I was just…," she took a breath before continuing, "I was just thinking that I had a really nice time with you tonight. We've covered a lot of ground, but it's been good. And, despite everything you said, it's been easy."

"It won't always be." He reminded her, something wary coloring his voice.

"Doesn't mean that I want to give up trying when we're only getting started." She wanted to kiss him, to prove it to him, to know what his lips tasted like. Was it too soon? Would he balk at her if she asked him to stay the night? This was only their first real date, after all. But she wanted…oh, how she wanted. She sighed lightly, disappointed that they had already reached her front door. "Thank you again for dinner, and for walking me back."

"You're welcome," his eyes softened with a hopeful air, "I look forward to more nights like tonight."

"Me, too." She squeezed his hand in hers. "I…I almost don't want you to leave tonight." She bit her lip nervously, hoping she wasn't jumping the gun. A flash of desire sparked in his crystalline eyes as he stepped in closer to her and she caught a subtle scent of muted woodsy spice.

"I don't think that would be very wise," his voice was a low velvety whisper, ghosting across her cheek as he leaned in closer, "because when I do stay the night, I intend to have you in bed as long as possible, and we both have to work early tomorrow." She near groaned in frustration, a bolt of heat coursing through her at the implication.

"You insufferable tease."

"You can always touch yourself, imaging it's me tonight." She gripped his hand tighter, growing more eager by the word to just pull him inside.

"You're giving me permission?"

"I'm giving you something to do tonight." Her head fell forward, breathing him in, desperate to just keep falling forward into him. They hadn't even kissed and she was already dizzily spun up.

"You wicked, wicked…someday, you will get this back." She raised her head, turning in their close proximity to meet his eyes, dark with want. She was sure her eyes mirrored a similar hunger. It would be so easy now…so easy to lean forward, feel his lips on hers. But they just stayed still, just taking each other in.

"Do your worst." He stepped back with a daring smirk, raising their conjoined hands. His lips were surprisingly soft against the back of her knuckles before he released the handhold. "Goodnight, Celia."