This is the next-to-last installment. Thank you for the words of support! Two notes on this chapter: First, the "honey" mention, yes I know that was in 406. But since I've had that portion written for months, I wasn't going to change it!

Also: The end of this chapter contains a riddle. If you figure it out, PLEASE do not put the answer in your review!! This will spill the beans for everyone else. If you want to imply whether you figured it out or not, that's fine, but please don't give it away. ;) And if you didn't, don't worry, the answer will be in the beginning of the next, and final, chapter.

Twelve Books

The blustery winter afternoon was quickly fading to evening as Danny stared out his bedroom window. It had been his day off, while Lindsay was working a double shift. Days off were not as fun as they used to be. In the past, he would just watch mindless television or run errands, enjoying the rare slow pace. And while it had been nice to sleep in, much of this day had been too lonely for his liking. He had become far too used to another presence in his home – her voice, her footsteps, her scent. For one brief, insane moment, he had considered going in to work, just for the company – then snapped out of it, because he wasn't that desperate. He hadn't talked to Lindsay since this morning, though, and he was fidgety as he waited for her return. He reminded himself that he should enjoy the idleness while it lasted, because before long, she would probably start leaving him a "To Do" list.

He jumped when the phone rang, jerking him from deep thought. Stifling a yawn of boredom, he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Is there a Lindsay Messer at this number?" a woman's voice asked politely.

He nearly choked. "Wh-who?" he stuttered, wondering if his own ears were playing tricks on him.

"Lindsay Messer."

He had heard right, it was clear as a bell. Lindsay Messer? In his dreams, maybe. He could not bring himself to speak – it was as if wet cement covered his tongue.

Then the woman added, "Or, perhaps… a Lindsay Monroe?"

He recovered, though only slightly. "This is Lindsay Monroe's residence," he managed to reply, all too aware of the squeak in his voice. "She isn't here, can I give her a message?"

"Oh! Wonderful. Well, this is MNB Bank. I have a check here written under Lindsay Monroe's account, dated three days ago, made out to Oscar's Market. Now, the name we have on her checking account is Lindsay Monroe, but the check is signed Lindsay Messer."

"Uh." There were simply no words for this.

The woman prattled on. "This is the phone number she has listed as her first contact. Was she married recently? Perhaps she didn't notify the bank of her legal name change?"

"Uh. N-n-no, she wasn't, um, married. She's still… Monroe." His throat was suddenly parched, threatening to close up on him completely.

"Okay, well please tell her we are going to need her to come in and sign another check."

"Sure."

As he hung up, he began to smile. Then he laughed, and laughed some more. Lindsay had signed her check using his last name! Well, he certainly couldn't wait to inform "Mrs. Messer" about her mistake. She was going to be mortified, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

It wasn't twenty minutes before she arrived home, and he was ready and waiting, not even giving her a chance to say hello. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked with a Cheshire-cat grin, crossing his arms as he perched on the arm of the sofa.

"What?" She looked at him blankly as she kicked off her shoes, tossing her jacket on the coat rack. It looked like her day had not been as easy as his.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe there was something you forgot to let me know? Fess up, Montana--how long have you been making plans?" He was enjoying this thoroughly, and the bewilderment on her face only fed his delight.

Less than charitable, however, Lindsay was not in a mood to play his games tonight. "Danny, what on earth are you talking about?" she snapped, then suddenly appeared suspicious. "Oh no, you're smiling thatsmile. What are you up to?"

He smirked, ready to drop the bomb. "The bank just called. The check you wrote at the store the other night? You signed it as 'LindsayMesser'."

She froze, one hand touching the earring she was about to remove. A shade of beet-red washed over her face. "I did what?" she sputtered. "Are you sure?"

"Considering that they called here asking for you, Mrs. Messer," he placed an extra emphasis on the name, "I think it's pretty clear what you had on your mind." He rubbed his hands together greedily - he had her cornered, and he was going to savor every second.

"I, um. Well… I don't know. I don't even remember doing that." She pressed her hand to her cheek in shock, eyes wide. He had never seen her so embarrassed, or so speechless.

"They said you need to come in and sign a new check. Unless, you know, you have other plans about just making that name-change legal." A series of guffaws broke from within before he could contain himself.

She groaned, going to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water. "I'll take care of it tomorrow. Are you ever going to let me live this down?" she called over her shoulder.

"Not likely." He got up to follow her. No, he wasn't done playing yet. "That must have been one hell of a bachelorette party," he cracked.

She turned abruptly, fixing him with her steely gaze. "Danny Messer, if anyone at the lab finds out about this…".

He laughed uneasily, then gulped. If Lindsay was resorting to threats, she meant business.

She continued, "I'm not the only one to make silly mistakes. Remember when you came up with the brilliant idea to make a pulley system for the laundry basket, so you wouldn't have to carry it down three flights of steps? Then the cord broke and your boxers were scattered all over the lobby?"

The recollection of that disaster made him wince. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would," she countered.

Time to wave the white flag, Danny realized. It wasn't worth the risk of him becoming the laughing stock of the entire department. He approached her then, pulling her tight against his chest. He had missed her so much today, he never felt quite relaxed or comfortable until she was around. "Okay, okay," he relented, rubbing her back. "I won't tell a soul. But I still insist on the right to tease you about it from time to time, in private. Besides, maybe I was just a little flattered that you used my last name." She slapped him playfully, and he went on, "How about I take you to dinner, you can tell me about all the exciting things I missed at the lab today?"

Lindsay beamed, that smile which was as dear to him as oxygen. "Sounds wonderful. I just have to change clothes."

"Does Rinaldi's sound good?" he asked as she stepped away. "I can call ahead and have them hold our table."

"Sure, honey."

On his way to the phone, he froze, then swung around slowly. "What did you just call me?"

"Honey," she repeated nonchalantly, before continuing down the hall to their bedroom. "What do you want me to call you? Muffin? Peanut? Pumpkin?"

He held up his hands at the onslaught of pet names. "No, no, not Pumpkin. Honey is fine. Just sounds so… domestic." Yet he was grinning – this was all simply too much.

--

He grinned all through dinner, and in fact was still grinning as he fell asleep that night. The woman beside him in this bed wanted to be Mrs. Danny Messer. There were times he thought no woman would ever want that title. She did—the woman he loved more than life. Perhaps she didn't say it outright, but apparently her subconscious was screaming it! The smirk was still present on his lips as he drifted off.

Several days later, on Sunday morning, he woke extra early, while Lindsay still slept. He dressed as quickly and silently as possible and left without waking her. A few blocks from their apartment was his destination - a tiny, decrepit used book store he had walked by a million times but never ventured into. He wasn't much of a reader, anyway. Today though, he couldn't think of a more perfect place.

When he opened the door, a tiny bell tinkered. The inside was cramped, packed to the low ceiling with books, and smelled like a musty basement. He instantly felt overwhelmed, and was grateful when the short man behind the counter approached him.

"Can I help you find something?" the man asked, frowning over the frames of his glasses.

"Yes," Danny replied. "I need twelve books."

--

His chore did not take long, and when he reentered the apartment –their apartment – less than an hour later, he heard the shower running. Good, he could do what he needed to do, then leave again before Lindsay saw him.

The small end table by the soda was the perfect spot. She would see it first thing as she emerged from the hall. He grabbed a notepad and pen and, remembering what he had asked her before she moved in, he scribbled a question: "How do you feel about crazy and spontaneous?".

Next, he stacked the books on the table, arranging them in precise order from top to bottom: Ways to Earn a Living From Home,Interior Design for Dormitories, Leadership Skills for Teens,Linguini and Other Pasta Made Easy,Ultimate Kick-boxing Workouts,Molecular Biology IV,Antietam – Grant and Lee,Rocky Mountain Bed & Breakfast Guide,Rhodesian Ridgeback Owner's Manual,Yesterday's News – Today in History,Mysteries of the Pyramids,Elizabeth I – Her Life and Reign.

Then, taking a deep breath, he turned and left once again. The next time he walked through this door, he knew, everything would be different.