"Talking about me behind my back, boys?" a voice teased from the hallway. Olivia got no response from either man as she stepped towards them. Dean and Elliot were both too amazed as they took in her appearance. She was brilliant. Stunning. Breathtaking.
Breathtaking was unquestionably the accurate word, because Elliot now felt as though someone had literally stolen the air from around him. It started with her feet as his eyes trailed upward. Up the length of her toned legs. From the hem of her dress, which hit just above her delicate knees, as it curved around her slim thighs and hips—her hips—coming in towards her waist, where he imagined his hands would sit perfectly, wrapping his fingers around it as he pulled her closer to him. Then his hands would slide up her ribcage, where he'd feel her breathing in and out. Breathing. He'd watch her breathe. He'd watch her mouth open slightly as the air left her body. He could see where the subtle ruffle of the collar began at the top of her breasts. He followed the trail of ruffle as it led to her graceful neck. The neck upon which he'd like to plant kisses along its elegant length. He could see her bronze shoulders practically shimmer against the red-brown fabric. The color of which only deepened the wells of coffee in her eyes.
It was seeing her eyes when it finally dawned on him that she was looking at him, too. Their eyes connected, just as before when he had touched her arm. Burned her with his contact. As their gaze strengthened, her glossy lips parted, obviously trying to think of something to say.
Fortunately, Dean saved them both, though awkwardly. "Uh, well, I guess we should get going—try to make our reservation. Olivia, do you have everything you need?"
Shattering her attention back to her date for the evening, Olivia graciously smiled and nodded her head.
"Perfect—let's get going then. It's pretty windy out, so why don't we take a cab?" As Olivia placed her brown wrap around her shoulders, Dean guided her to the door. Turning his head back to Elliot, Dean gestured his goodbye with a short wave. "See you around, Detective."
The hours that followed were pleasant, but nothing extraordinary. Their meal did not disappoint and dessert was delectable. The rest of Olivia's date had gone just as expected, just as it should have. That was the problem. It was during dinner that the light bulb came on inside Olivia's head. She felt like her dates were scripted—and this one felt no different than the hundred other dates she'd been on over the years.
They were all the same:
"Reservations for two"
After being escorted to their table, her date or the maitre d' would then respectfully pull her chair out from the table for her to sit.
"Wine?"
"Yes, please"
"Would you like to hear our specials for the evening, Madame?"
"Yes, please"
"Would the lady care for freshly ground pepper?"
"Yes, please"
Could this tedium end any time soon? Yes, please.
It wasn't Dean—he wasn't the dilemma, not directly anyway. In fact, he had been the perfect gentleman. It was the polite conversation, the mundane routine of it all. She finally realized that the problem lay in the fact that if Oregon had taught her anything, it was that she now needed something more than what she'd been given all this time. She didn't want polite conversation. She didn't want formality. She wanted someone with whom she immediately felt at ease—like coming home. Someone that made her feel as though a movie in sweatpants with a couple beers was enough—more than enough. Someone that read her thoughts before she could speak them. Someone whose steps were in synch with her own. Someone with whom polite conversation was unnecessary; where silence was comfortable. There was only one person like that, and the way he had looked at her at the station had sent goosebumps all over her body. He'd looked at her with…what? She hesitated putting a name to it, but there was no denying the heat in his eyes. He'd looked at her with longing. Desire. Doubt filled her mind. No, he couldn't possibly. He must have just been surprised at her appearance. That's it…it was surprise in his eyes. He simply wasn't used to her dressing up like that.
Unconvincingly, Olivia told herself that she could settle. Dean was a wonderful man, and had an advantage in the fact that he was familiar with her line of work. She didn't have to explain to him, unlike the others, about her career. He wasn't turned off by the job, nor did he inquire too curiously into the cases she protected so fiercely. Dean also appreciated Olivia and respected her. And he certainly wasn't unattractive. In fact, she found him very good-looking. Not to mention the important detail that he'd trusted her detective instinct on more than one occasion was also to his credit. Why shouldn't she give him a chance?
Because deep down, she knew that no matter how much time she spent with Dean, she would never connect with him on any level like she had with Elliot. What she had with Elliot was something that she feared could never be duplicated, which meant she'd never let another man in like she had her partner. How unfortunate that the one person she trusted unconditionally, the one person she desired, would never be obtainable to make her own. Could she learn to settle for second best when her first choice was not even a possibility?
Dean's voice took her from her thoughts. "Olivia?"
Olivia looked at Dean's face, his brow furrowed and his head turned towards her. It was a look of concern and perhaps a bit of confusion. The wind had calmed during dinner, and now they were walking through a random art gallery they'd spotted near the restaurant. Its latest show was entitled "Mother & Child: Reproductive Works of Mary Cassatt".
"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Olivia asked self-consciously.
"I asked if you were feeling alright. You've been so quiet all night." Dean halted their slow-paced stroll in the gallery and placed his hand on her elbow. It flashed a memory in her of the moment Elliot grabbed her arm at the One-Six.
Dean continued his query. "Is anything wrong? Working on a tough case?"
"Oh, um, no, Dean. I apologize—it seems my mind is everywhere these days. I hope you haven't felt neglected."
"No, I'm just concerned. I mean, you're here, but you're not really…here. I guess I feel like I'm getting mixed signals."
Olivia looked at him with bewilderment. He cleared his throat as he attempted to clarify.
"What I mean to say is, earlier today on the phone you seemed, well, 'eager' to be with me tonight and now I'm wondering if you'd rather not gone out. Are you sure everything is okay? Have I done or said anything to upset you?"
Olivia felt a spasm of guilt for her conduct towards Dean. She'd been in her own head most of the night, giving only the required responses or essential conversation. He was trying so hard, perhaps too hard. Maybe it was time to throw the poor guy a bone.
"No, of course you haven't done anything wrong." She smiled softly at him. "You've been nothing but wonderful to me and I want you to know that all day I'd looked forward to seeing you tonight. You've shown me a fabulous evening and treated me better than I've deserved. I guess I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm sorry that I wasn't more in the moment. Trust me when I say I sincerely appreciate tonight and have enjoyed being with you. I'm sorry I gave you a different impression."
Trying to change the subject, Olivia turned to the painting that hung on the wall. What she saw struck a chord deep within her soul.
"Wow, take a look at this piece," she said, intrigued. "It's captivating, don't you think? Look at the mother's adoration for her baby. You can see it in her eyes."
Dean leaned in for a closer look at the title plaque. "Hmmm…'Breakfast in Bed'. Now that's the way to live life, lounging in bed, taking late mornings." Then he stepped forward to the next portrait on display.
But to Olivia it was more than that. She couldn't help but linger at the artwork and wonder how youthful the mother appeared to be, her cheeks rosy from a restful night's sleep in a warm bed. How the mother's arms wrapped protectively around the small child with golden curls. She imagined the child padding into its mother's bedroom at an early hour, tugging on her nightgown sleeve, pulling the young mother from deep slumber. Olivia imagined the mother not getting irritated at her sleep's disruption, but instead, inviting the beautiful child into the clean white bedding, enveloping it into her arms, where they would cozy up to each other for the next hour before beginning their day. It was easy for Olivia to play these images in her mind, because it was what she'd always imagined her own childhood relationship with her mother could have been like. She couldn't help but note that had Elliot been the one with her, he would have remained with her, rather than moving on so quickly to the next piece. He'd intuitively know that Olivia wasn't simply seeing an artist's impression, but rather a portrait of missed opportunities in her own life.
They completed their tour of the gallery and as the moon drew higher in the night sky, Dean walked Olivia through the door of her building and up to her apartment. Halfway there, they passed Olivia's neighbor, Andrea. Andrea was a nice enough girl, moving to the big city from Kingston, a small town up north. Olivia's first impression was that Andrea looked adolescent and naïve, although her looks were misleading, as Olivia later found out she was twenty-two. Olivia had assumed she was fresh out of high school. Perhaps it was because of her petite frame, freckled face and long red hair that made her look younger. The two women never spoke much—just in passing.
Andrea was carrying some sort of black box. As the space between them diminished, Olivia could see that it had a microphone attached to the box with a long cord.
"Hi, Olivia!" Andrea said, her face animated and affable. She paused on the stair to catch her breath. "I've seen you with your gentleman friend before, haven't I? Back from a night on the town?"
"Something like that." Seeing that Andrea was curious about Dean, Olivia politely introduced them.
"Andrea, this is Dean Porter. Dean, this is Andrea. She lives three doors down from me."
"Nice to meet you," said Dean. "Whatcha got there—do you need any help?"
"Oh, this? No, I'm fine, thank you. It's a karaoke machine." Andrea smiled excitedly. "I just bought it last night. I'm taking it over to my friend's apartment in Soho for a small party. I just love karaoke and my friends all make fun of me! So tonight I'm putting them to the test! There should be beer there, so I'm hoping after throwing back a couple the others will be willing to give this puppy a try. And I've got my camera phone to ensure digital proof is made!"
Stunned by her astounding energy and enthusiasm for karaoke, Dean just returned the smile and wished her a good time. Then he and Olivia continued their way up the next set of stairs.
At her door, Olivia had her keys ready. Turning back to Dean after unlocking her door, she was surprised to find him uncomfortably close. Gently placing her hands on his chest, she nervously put some space between them.
"Well, I had a fantastic time tonight, Dean. Thank you."
The disappointment in his face was evident as he politely accepted her end to their evening. He took her hands into his and lifted them up as he kissed them both tenderly.
"You're certainly welcome. But I feel as though I should be thanking you. When can we go out again?"
She'd dreaded this moment for hours. Ever since she realized a relationship with Dean could never go beyond friendship. The feelings just weren't there, and although she would never have the kind of relationship she wanted with Elliot, it wasn't fair to Dean or any other man to pretend she could have it with them.
She withdrew her hands from his and placed one gently on his cheek.
"I don't think so, Porter. Now is not the best time for me to have a relationship."
The use of his last name stung and he knew she was pushing him further away. He raised an eyebrow as he replied: "It's not a good time for any relationship or a relationship with me?"
"I'm not good for anybody right now. I'm still working on building one with Simon and his family. I'm adjusting to changes that have taken place at work. I feel like my plate is full right now."
"You don't mean your plate. You mean your heart," Dean said bluntly.
"What do you mean by that?" Olivia asked puzzled.
Dean gave a kind smile. "What I mean, Detective Benson, is that I don't think you have room in your heart for more than one man, and that one man in particular that has filled it for some time now."
Staggered by his revelation, Olivia didn't know what to say. She wanted to be angry with Dean. Yell at him to mind his own business; that he had no idea what he was talking about.
Instead, all she could do was squeeze his shoulder in a forthcoming gesture and say, "Good night, Dean. I hope we can meet up for coffee sometime. You're a good friend."
He shrugged and gave a plaintive smile as he walked away. "I hope so, Liv. I'll be seeing you. Good night."
She watched him walk towards the stairs a moment before letting herself into her apartment. Locking the door behind her and throwing the keys on the counter, she poured water into the kettle and set it on the stove to warm. Then she headed towards her bedroom, where she stripped out of the Mary Jane pumps that had once held so much promise. Changing into a pair of red yoga pants and t-shirt, she heard the kettle announce its heat.
After letting the tea steep for several minutes, she added a teaspoon of honey and then settled herself on the corner of the couch while a Billie Holliday CD lulled her into relaxation. Before long, her mug sat empty on the coffee table, and Olivia's head lay on the couch cushion, drifting her into what she hoped would be a sleep similar to what Mary Cassatt's "mother" would have experienced.