A/N: A new chapter-enjoy! And thank you for the wonderful reception to this story...we love GSR!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 2

San Francisco appeared as a twinkling jigsaw puzzle surrounded by the Pacific Ocean and the Bay that glittered like diamonds in the setting sun. Grissom, smiling, watched from his window seat as the plane approached the airport. The jet circled over the ocean, lined up with the setting sun, and seemed to glide in a soft landing to the tarmac. Arriving and exiting the airport was the same no matter where one flew—crowds, rolling luggage, long lines for taxis and shuttle buses made a traffic jam of humanity in any airport. Weaving his luggage among the crowd to get in line, he managed to grab a rear seat to himself after six women filled the front seats of a hotel van and, as the driver sped pass every vehicle on the highway, Grissom managed to shut out the chatter and watched the scenery flying past the window.

He had not been in San Francisco for several years and looked forward to checking out several restaurants and catching up with a few old friends. Of course, he had professional responsibilities other than making his presentation; he would connect with several acquaintances, check exhibits for new equipment, and attend a few of the sessions and all of it would leave a few free hours for—seeing the sights as a tourist.

Because he was listed as a conference speaker, the hotel had him booked into an elegant suite furnished with contemporary furnishings; a separate space with a desk and sofa, a mini-kitchen alcove, a large bedroom with a king size bed, and a marble bathroom as large as any one he had ever seen—even in Vegas. Grissom found the room service menu and ordered dinner. He needed sleep and food would help reset his clock as well as put him to sleep.

While waiting for dinner, he unpacked, set out his notes for his presentation, and checked the conference materials; by the time he had made things orderly, a knock on the door signaled his dinner had arrived. An hour later, after a shower lasting nearly twenty minutes, Gil Grissom was between expensive sheets that came from the high end linen department in stores where he never shopped. With that thought, he rolled over, punched an equally expensive pillow, and went to sleep.

A glorious sunrise woke Grissom; from his window he could see a clear blue sky and by leaning his head against the glass, he could glimpse the top of the Bay Bridge connecting San Francisco and Oakland. After dressing, he located the hotel's business center, checked his email and then walked to the conference center where he found coffee and pastries in the speaker's room.

For several hours, he visited with a group of men he had known for longer than a decade as they caught up with each other's lives and entertained each other with cases they had worked, often stretching true events to add excitement and amazement. All of them promised to be front row for his presentation.

Grissom's session was scheduled for mid-afternoon; not the best time of the day but he knew people who were interested would show up. Walking through the exhibit hall, he noted several displays he wanted to visit, taking notes on scheduled demonstrations of some of the equipment.

Later in the day, as he walked to the podium, he noticed the room had filled almost to capacity. His long-time friends kept their promise and were sitting on the front row, to his left. As he spoke, he noticed a few people dozing off, some obviously bored and uninterested, and others paying rapt attention to his words.

As he finished, he asked for questions and as hands went up, just as many in his audience made for the exit so instead of having a formal question-answer session, he waved for those remaining to gather around the stage. A few minutes later, he was answering one question after another, often responding with a question which initiated additional comments. At some point, he noticed the tall young woman with a pony tail who managed to ask enough questions, clever, intelligent questions, for him to realize she was well versed on his subject. And she was skillful at hiding an extraordinary talent of thinking ahead of everyone else in the group.

As the small crowd dwindled, she remained until there was just the two of them at the front of the room. His long-time buddies from the front row had quit the scene early as questions had continued. Turning to face her, he was met with a face-splitting smile and wide brown eyes.

"Sara Sidle," the young woman said as she held out her hand. "I—I enjoyed your session." She paused for eight seconds before asking, "I'd love to—to talk with you about…" Her hand had taken his in a firm grasp. "Would you—would you mind? I mean—if you can't? Maybe later?" Her voice uplifted her sentences as a question before nervously continuing, "Would—would you like to get a bite to eat? Or just coffee? I'd like to—ah—I have a few more questions."

It was early for dinner, Grissom thought, but drinks in the bar downstairs would provide a comfortable and public place to talk. And then he had a second thought. He asked, "Would you like to take a walk? I've been inside all day—just—just a few blocks—get some air."

Sara Sidle had read everything Dr. Gil Grissom had published and considered him a genius; after hearing him today, she knew she had been correct. Right now, barely able to contain her excitement, she felt like she was meeting a rock star.

"Great! That would be great!" Her smile broadened and she got the most unusual sensation as the man's intense blue eyes met hers.

Gathering his papers and tucking them into a leather briefcase, he smiled, saying, "Ask away, Miss Sidle." His fingers touched her back as they left the room. A quick stop stowed the case and his tie with a convention concierge and before reaching the sidewalk, he learned the enchanting Sara Sidle worked for the coroner's office in San Francisco, had a degree in physics, and had recently finished her master's degree at Berkley.

"Do you want to walk around the block or take a tourist walk?" She asked, adding, "A fifteen minute walk for longer?"

Touching her elbow as they crossed the street, Grissom replied, "I'd love a tourist walk with a local guide." He chuckled. "But if I'm answering questions, maybe a leisurely stroll is better."

Smiling, Sara said, "You could answer my questions during dinner—if you have no plans. I know several great places to eat—and I could give you a local's guide for a couple of hours."

Grissom nodded, saying, "Sounds great—I'm up for a walk."

Counting her fingers, Sara said, "Wharf, Chinatown, beach, Golden Gate Park, the Haight, Coit Tower, the Presidio—take your pick—maybe what you haven't seen."

They were walking up hill; Grissom noticed she had not slowed her stride as she talked. He said, "I've never been to Coit Tower—only seen it from a distance."

Sara smiled, appeared to notice she was several steps ahead of him, and hesitated a few seconds. "We could take a cab to the top and walk down."

"No, no—we'll walk up and down," he laughed. "Maybe a little slower than you usually walk. Vegas is flat—very flat."

Throwing her head back, a charming giggle escaped her mouth. "Okay, Dr. Grissom—then walk we will!"

"Grissom—call me Grissom—everyone does," he said as they started climbing a steep street.

Shops gave way to old Victorian houses which gradually changed to an assortment of buildings that Sara explained were some of the most expensive real estate in the city. She repeated the story of Coit Tower, laughing as she said the structure was supposed to be modeled after a fire hose.

"That's supposed to be the official story—but gossip says the woman who gave the money for the tower actually had something else in mind with the design," Sara explained, walking slowly as they climbed an impossibly steep street.

Twice she stopped, showing him views of the city, pointing to the Bay Bridge, saying "The world's longest steel bridge." Turning left, they could see the top of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"This is breathtaking—the view as well as the climb!" Grissom said with a laugh.

"It's even better from the top."

A short while later, Grissom agreed. Ocean-going freighters and tug boats appeared as tiny models. Sail boats looked like specks of colorful pollen blown across a pond. All of San Francisco was spread below them.

"It is a beautiful place," he whispered.

Sara, leaning against one of the windows, said, "You should have a camera!" Her eyes narrowed before she asked, "Are you up for a walk—stairs? All downhill."

He nodded and in a few minutes they were outside, crossing the street, and making their way down a steep stairway. Sara slowed and watched him as they descended through a tunnel of ferns, ivy, flowering vines, and trees covered in huge pendulous blooms that gave off a pleasing fragrance.

Awed, Grissom took several steps, stopped to look around, and pointed to the flowers.

Before he asked, Sara said, "An angel trumpet tree."

Stopping to admire the hundreds of blooms in yellow, pink, orange, and red, Grissom said, "I've read about these trees." He pointed to one high above their heads, saying, "See the hummingbird?"

He would never know if she leaned toward him to see the small bird, but he instinctively placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her so her head rested against his arm. A wisp of her hair touched his face; immediately, an unexpected emotion caused his breath to catch for a few seconds.

"Where?" Her voice was a whisper.

"Right there—fluttering between the two blooms."

"Oh! I see it!" For a few seconds, she stood, her back touching his chest and then, she quickly moved away from him, taking two or three steps to separate them.

Grissom remained standing, looking upward. He said, "Moths—pollinating moths are usually seen later in the day—attracted by the fragrance. If I remember correctly, there is a butterfly—Placidula euryanassa—in South American—that uses the blooms as larval food and—and…" he glanced at Sara.

She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open in amazement or surprise, he wasn't sure which one.

"Sorry," he apologized as he smiled. "Entomology—the study of insects," he shrugged. "I like bugs."

Again, she giggled, a quiet, soft sound that brought into his chest the unfamiliar feeling he had experienced only minutes earlier.

Several long seconds passed as their eyes met; something remarkably rare, something neither could name, passed between them.

Nervously aware of this change, akin to the sensation of a coming storm, Sara caught her breath in the instant her hand wrapped around the handrail. Quietly, she asked, "Do you like Italian food?" Averting her eyes, she breathed again; what was there for a few seconds had passed, she thought.

"We will be in 'Little Italy' in a few minutes," she explained. "Pizza—there's a place that makes the best pizza in the city—or maybe something else?" She headed down the stairs again, telling him about a public square and the church on one side of it.

As she talked, it occurred to Grissom that he had not eaten since a pastry and coffee earlier in the day. That fact plus the smell of garlic in the air turned on his taste buds.

"Pizza sounds great—lead on, dear guide!"

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! More to come!