A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 9
This time she slipped his bonds, pulling herself up and over him as she rested her head on a hand. "I'm not sure I'm ready to live with someone. This is the first time I've ever had my own place—it's not much, but it is mine—as long as I pay the rent."
"I'll help you find a place. You don't have to live with me, I understand."
She smiled and traced a fingertip across his forehead. "We know so little about each other, Grissom. I'm not sure you would even like me if you had to work with me."
"I think I would. You are smart, articulate, enthusiastic, determined."
Her head came to his chest. He felt her smile. "I can be obstinate, stubborn, inflexible, temperamental, even the h-word—hormonal—are you sure you want to work with me?"
Grissom chuckled. "All those things? I've worked with Catherine for years and she's worse than all those things, and divorced and a mother, and a player, and a former dancer. But she's smart, has a passion for her job—you would like her."
"Tell me about the others." She said. He occasionally talked about the "team" as he called them.
He started with Jim Brass, his boss; a long time police detective who had made the jump to the crime lab several years ago. "Jim and I have worked together for years. He would love you; everyone's favorite uncle, quietly doing the right thing." He chuckled. "Jim always wears a suit. Always looks like the boss."
He described Nick Stokes, saying everyone liked Nick. The women loved Nick who was compassionate and quick, a good investigator, always questioning, always eager to please, and always smiling.
Warrick, he explained, was the local guy with the swagger for living now, hard and fast, going along for the ride. Grissom's pride in the young man was obvious to Sara as she listened to his description, relating personal details as a parent might about a child.
"How old is Warrick?" Sara asked, thinking he must be a young man.
Grissom paused. "I'm not sure—older than you, I think—early thirties. He and Nick must be about the same age. Catherine, Nick, Warrick and I work well together. We have a new person about every six months. They never stay—go to another job or another shift." He paused again. "Sara, you would be a perfect fit, I know it. Think about this."
She sighed. "I will. Now that my mom has a good place, I will." She made a fist and rested her chin on it. "I love this area. I love the water. Not sure how I would like the desert."
He made a face. "You would love it. I know a beautiful water place just a few hours from Las Vegas. We'll go there. I'll teach you to play golf. We would have a good time."
Sara covered his mouth with hers, placing a dozen kisses on his lips and face before saying, "We have a good time now." She giggled. "Do you have to go back soon?"
His eyes rolled. "I left for the day, change of clothes. I didn't think this out very far in advance, did I?"
She laughed. "Last night I wore a nun's gown to sleep in—don't guess I thought it out very much either. I am sorry you were worried." She nestled her head against his chin. "We've had a weird twenty four hours." She laughed again as she sat up. "Let's go out. I know something we can do before you leave."
"Buying a cell phone is our first stop."
She laughed as she crawled over him, dragging the sheet with her.
They did buy a cell phone—a twin to the one he had. The clerk programmed each phone with the number of the other. "You are my number one." She said, both laughing. He knew she was happy; he knew part of her happiness was the news about her mother. He hoped part of her delight was his company.
In the rental car, she directed him to a large parking garage near the bay. From there, she led him to the waterfront and a large ferry boat.
"It's a great way to cruise the bay," she said. "It takes about an hour round-trip to Sausalito. We can get something to eat, return, and get you to the airport and both of us to work on time."
Mid-afternoon, they were two tourists among others on a sightseeing adventure. Sara carried them to the top level and the front of the boat. They could have been the only people on the ferry for all the notice they gave to others. She pointed out landmarks in the clear and breezy afternoon. They laughed at everything from the giant tanker with cargo boxes stacked like tinker toys, guessing what could be inside, to kids running from tired parents. Their laughter came from relief—hers because of her mother, his because he found her well and happy, almost giddy.
They laughed on the return trip about their choices of food. Sara ate cheese, an avocado, a pear, and grapes delicately arranged on a small plate; he ate fried seafood and French fries and buttered bread wrapped up in white paper. The ferry filled quickly with working men and women ending their day, but she managed to find a spot on the top deck, standing in the front of the boat.
Crossing the bay, she pulled a small camera from her bag and asked a woman to take their picture with the Golden Gate Bridge behind them. The woman took four photographs before saying she had the perfect one.
Grissom drove her to work and left her standing on the sidewalk. She could not remember when someone worried about her—especially to fly six hundred miles. Vegas might be a good place, she thought. She might become accustomed to the desert.
Grissom had been away from Las Vegas less than twenty hours when his plane landed. He was never ready to leave her; he had to convince her to come to Las Vegas. He promised a trip to a special place where turquoise water spilled over rocks and created warm pools of water, in a place that always surprised visitors. He promised to teach her the game of golf. To himself, he promised to get her to Vegas—Jim Brass would love Sara Sidle.
A/N: So we end another fluff. Maybe two more short stories before Sara moves to Las Vegas and we pick up their story with reruns!