Sleight of Hand

This fic is frustrating the hell out of me, lol. Usually, I like to have my chapters around 2000 words. And for some reason, I seem incapable of doing that for this story. They all keep coming up short! This one in particular, it isnt even 1500 words. And yet, its all I wanted to happen lol. Theres not much else I can develop, or want to, you know?

So please forgive how short it is, and I hope you still enjoy it. Im going on vacation a week from today, so my fingers are crossed for another chapter before then... cause I'll be gone from June 9th until the 19th. Going to Disney World, woo! Gotta love Disney. So yeah, hopefully there will be more before I go :-)

Loving the reviews btw, even if it was odd that all the reviews for chapter 2 were like an entirely different group of people than from chapter 1, haha.

She trudged down the street, her shoes splashing in the puddles that had accumulated from the earlier rain shower. It was eight o'clock at night, the sun just barely visable above the horizon, teasing the sky as it almost slipped completely into night. The streetlights were on, and she used them to guide her way down the five blocks from the restaurant she worked at to her apartment.

She stopped a few feet away from her building, just as she'd done every day this week. She knew her normal routine, which would be to go straight to get her mail in the mailroom. Yet somehow, that had become a much larger feat. She thought of him.

It had been a little over a week since their last encounter. And now, everytime she was on her way to checking her mail, she became nervous. What if he was there? Should she talk to him, finally, and end this charade of being distant passerby?

And then, as always, she told herself she was being ridiculous. She didn't even know who he was.

But still . . . she was starting to like that feeling of not knowing whether or not she was going to run into him. The rush, the butterflies in her stomach, the quickening pace of her heart beating . . . The thought egged her on, and she finally continued on her way into the building.

When she reached the mailroom, the sinking feeling kicked in, as if her heart had plummeted deep into her stomach, crushing the butterflies.

She was alone, again.

Not even interested, she got her mail and leaned against the counter beneath her box, flipping through a random magazine. No sense in leaving so quick, was there? Though with every passing minute, all the courage she'd gathered up on the street diminished a little bit more. But just as she turned around to gather all her stuff and give up again, she heard the door open behind her.

He stopped at the sight of her, a bit alarmed at how quickly she'd turned to face him. He could sense the tension, so to ease it, he smiled.
"Hey . . .", he offered. The simple word left his lips, and lingered in the air between them. He wondered where it had even come from, and how his mind had even coherently formed it. He knew his thoughts were far from that.

"Hi," she returned after she'd absorbed his greeting. She tentatively grinned back.

She watched him cross the room to his own box, not even bothering to pretend to do something. She just stood and stared after him. He pretended he couldn't feel the burn of her gaze on his back long enough for him to get his mail. As soon as he locked everything back up, he faced her.

"What floor do you live on?", he asked curiously, mentally kicking himself in the head for choosing such a lame question. That was last on the list of things he wanted to know about her. Well, he had to start somewhere, and at least this would open up a small conversation.

"Um, the fifth," she answered, pointing upwards. "Apartment 5C. You?"

"3B," he replied. After a few more awkward seconds full of silent curiosity, he offered her his hand. "I'm Ross, Ross Gellar."

"Rachel Green," she answered, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Rachel, huh?", he asked when the shake ended, stepping back a step to lean against the opposite counter. "That's pretty."

She silently chuckled, feeling her cheeks burn a bit. She knew she shouldn't be feeling like this; she was thirty years old, for God's sake! But for some reason, she felt like this exchange was shaving years off that. She felt . . . young. Anxious. Excited, even.

"So what do you do?", he enquired, desperately seeking for some way to continue conversation. Some way to keep her eyes on his.

"Im a waitress . . . at a restaurant," she lamely responded.

"Anywhere I would know?"

"That Italian place down the street," she motioned with her head. He nodded. "What about you?"

"I'm a paleontologist, I work at the museum downtown."

"Oh wow."

"Yeah . . ."

They fell into silence again, so much buzzing in the air. It captivated Ross. He eyed her as the shorter layer of her golden, wavy hair fell from her messy ponytail, and she reached up to tuck it behind her ear. It took all the will in his body not to do it himself. He realized that if there was nothing more said, she would probably return to her place. He had to see her again, and not another random meeting in the mailroom.

"Hey Rachel," he called out to get her attention again. She looked back up at him. "Would you like to get some drinks together, sometime? I mean, we are neighbors. It couldn't hurt to get to know each other." Without his usual hesitance and shyness, he found it a strikingly easy question to ask. Or maybe it was just her; he was comfortable in her presense.

"Yeah," she answered, a small smile lifting one corner of her mouth. "I'd like that." She wrote her number down for him, handing him the piece of paper and giving him one last smile. "I'm free this weekend."

"I'll give you a call."

She nodded, waved him a quick goodbye, and headed out of the room. As he stared after her, something glinting on her hand caught his eye, but he couldn't make out what it was. And before he could, she was gone.

-----

When she got home, she wasn't even hit with the usual smack of reality her apartment offered her. She didn't care that her dirty dishes from earlier resided in the sink, or that a pile of laundry to tackle awaited her. Finally, something out of the ordinary was happening. Something to break the tediousness routine that was the last half year. Something to get her mind off . . . everything.

She was smiling to herself. Humming, even.

She still barely know Ross Geller, and this lunch wasn't even a solid date, but yet . . . it made her feel so much lighter. Barry was officially a thing of yesterday, whether anything with Ross happened or not. She was determined to forget her past and make a new future. No matter what, she saw a potential friend in him, and friend weren't something she came by often anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, fate really did have something bigger in store for her.

-----

He stared at the phone.

A little bit of his vulnerability began leaking back into his blood. Funny, how he had somehow felt . . .confident in her presense. But now that he was left to make the first big leap, it didn't seem so easy.

Was it even considered a date? He didn't think so. As he had said, it was as "neighbors". That didn't take away his usual sweaty palms and increasing pulse, though. After feeling nothing for so long, it was almost an alien experience. Out-of-body even. And then, he thought of Emily.

Was she dating now? He tried to imagine her out with another man, kissing someone that wasn't him. And, funnily enough, it didn't stir any feelings with him. It didn't make him feel anger, jealous, rejected . . . she'd pretty much already rejected him. She hadn't even had the decency to begin discussing an official divorce. He was indifferent over anything she could be doing now.

And yet, he already felt an overwhelming protectiveness over Rachel. And he didn't even know anything about her besides her job. How could a woman who had him so beguiled with only her eyes only be a waitress? He felt like she had the potential to be so much more- anything, really. He felt like he could help her realize everything she was, and everything she could be.

As he strode into his bathroom to wash his face for the night, he stopped to examine his face in the mirror once again. It was the same man he saw every night, except something was different. There was a hint of his old self in his eyes.

He smiled; tomorrow, he'd work up the courage to call her. It was just a few drinks, and she probably wasn't expecting much from him. Maybe just friendship, someone to confide in. A familiar face in a crowd of strangers. He knew that was, most of all, what he was seeking in her. He knew he could provide that.

Hopefully, she could provide that for him. Maybe she could be what he'd been waiting for all this time.

Before he could get ahead of himself, he went to bed, her face in his thoughts as he drifted into sleep.