Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…

There was a time when takeout menus littered my refrigerator door and every number that was on speed dial was to a restaurant that would deliver. That was before Catherine and Lindsey and home cooked meals and discussions over delicious food. That was then.

And this is now. This is me—sitting in what was formerly my favorite little diner enjoying a meal. A diner I haven't been in since the morning I broke both of our hearts. It's been five months since the breakup. Five months. Five. Months.

I've tried going out with other people—talk about a waste of time (and money). It's hard to enjoy the company of another person when you find your eyes drawn to every blonde who walks by—hoping that it might be her— both grateful and disappointed when it isn't.

And that's where I was, in a booth at the back with a book in hand when she walked in. Things have been what you might describe as icy (at best) since the whole Finnegan thing. It probably didn't help matters that I had Jim run the bastard's name through the system. And when it had turned up an TRO against him filed by a former girlfriend, Catherine had been irate that I butted into her business.

Her anger, however unjustified, was something I could live with since Jim made it a point to have a "talk" with the limey that scared him into ending things with Catherine. She never said anything about it to me and I never saw another mark on her. The guys told me later on that he had basically never called her again and wouldn't accept her calls. I didn't want her to be alone—she thrived in a relationship. But I didn't want Lindsey living through what I had as a child and Finnegan reminded me too much of my father in our brief encounter for me to think that he was anything other than an abusive prick.

I sat and watched Catherine interacting with the waitress while she sat at the counter. She had once told me that this place had the best French toast in the entire universe. Having majored in Physics, I tried to explain to her the limitless bounds of the universe and the unlikelihood of her statement being valid. And in true Catherine fashion, she had bounded out of bed, tossed on clothes and forced me to come to this hole-in-the-wall diner with her. I can't help but smile even now at the memory of how her face lit up when I took that first bite.

'My god, Sidle. You didn't make that much noise in bed last night,' she had quipped as I shoved another syrup-covered bite into my mouth.

It's weird. Even now, I can always sense when her eyes are on me. But she never once turned around the entire time I was watching her. I guess while she's still under my skin, I've long ago left hers.

The waitress sat a to-go box in front of her and a cup of coffee. She flashed that familiar thousand-watt smile and reached into her pocket for cash. Her smile fell away. I grabbed my bill and headed toward the register.

I was standing so close to her that I could smell her fabric softener, yet she never turned around.

"I'm sorry," she said to the waitress as she set her purse on the counter. "I could've sworn I had cash. You take credit cards right?"

The waitress just shook her head and tapped a hand-made sign on the front of the register that simply said Cash Only.

She dug through her purse and pockets once more, a frown and embarrassment painting her features so delicately.

I stepped up beside her, placed my bill on the counter and said to the waitress running the register, "This is together."

"Sara?"

I just turned my head slowly toward her and smiled, counting out the cash I needed to pay both bills.

She put her hand on mine to still the movements, "You don't have to."

I took a breath to calm my raging heartbeat before finally saying, "I know I don't, but I want to. After all, they do have the best French toast in the universe."

She never said thank you, but she did smile as she grabbed her box and coffee and walked out the door.

I was watching her climb into her truck when the waitress's voice brought my attention back to her, "You know that toast is just some frozen stuff we buy, right?"

A/N: Many thanks to wee idgie for the idea for this chapter.