Disclaimer in Chapter 1. Chapter 9, New Friends by Vplasgirl.

Chapter 9 – New Friends

Gil awoke from his most restful night's sleep in recent memory. The bed in the Eagle's Nest Suite was top of the line as was everything else at Summerhouse. He hadn't closed the windows, or the curtains, before going to bed—privacy wasn't an issue in his third floor room overlooking the water—so the morning sun was pouring into the room and the curtains were dancing on the soft ocean breeze, carrying in the smells and sounds of a coastal summer.

And, somewhere on the grounds was a woman who was most definitely not over him.

It was something to smile about, which he did as he stretched lazily, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. He didn't normally sleep in this late but he'd burned the midnight oil digging up his old emails to Sara from his archives. Glancing across the room at his laptop computer and the document that was still open behind the screensaver, his smile faded. He had transferred the entire folder labeled 'Sara' to his hard drive, launched the oldest file, his very first email to her, and then stepped away from the computer in a cold sweat.

He couldn't bring himself to read it.

He didn't fear the content of the letter. That wasn't it. But the thought of reliving that very dark period of his life… He wasn't ready to do that yet. Some bruises were still too sensitive to poke.

Remembering his promise to Dan to look after Billy until his return, he got out of bed and headed for the shower.

XXXXX

THE DINING ROOM was almost filled with other guests when Gil went downstairs, and the thought of eating at the same table—and making small talk—with strangers didn't appeal to him. It was one of the reasons he never stayed at B&Bs. In every other way, Summerhouse was managed more like an Inn than a B&B, but in the dining room, there was one large table that guests shared. While typical B&B patrons enjoyed the socializing that this type of establishment offered, Gil wasn't one of them. Fortunately Stephanie quickly met him at the dining room door and discretely suggested the back patio for breakfast.

"Sara thought you'd be more comfortable there," she said softly, and Gil smiled as he followed her, eyeing the kitchen door on their way to the back.

"Is she in there?"

"Sara?" Stephanie nodded.

He itched to see her. He had thought of little else since waking up. And if he had thought for a second that she would feel the same way, he would have stopped by the kitchen. However, given her reaction to his kiss the night before, he decided it would be more prudent to let her come to him. In her own time.

The table was already set for one on the patio, and Billy was sitting on the step playing with one of these handheld electronic games every kid seemed to own these days.

"Morning, Billy."

"Mornin'," the boy muttered without looking up and Gil inwardly sighed. He was in for a long, frustrating day.

Deciding to ignore Billy for now-as long as the boy was within his sight, he figured he was fulfilling his promise to Dan-Gil took a seat at the table. Stephanie came back with a wine glass filled with freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee and the morning paper.

"Our main dish this morning is a wild mushroom omelet, but Sara thought you'd probably prefer our homemade Muesli with local honey or Canadian maple syrup, fresh fruit, and a chocolate brioche that is to die for. We also have the usual fresh croissants and homemade apricot, strawberry, or grape jams, or an apple muffin if you'd prefer that." She smiled. "Or a little of everything."

Gil's mouth watered. "Does it include a membership to the local gym?"

Stephanie chuckled. "Actually, Sara has a pretty good setup in the basement, although she doesn't advertise it. Her gym isn't really big enough to accommodate several guests at a time and she doesn't think it's pretty enough, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing it with you if you asked her."

"I may have to."

Gil ordered the Muesli with honey and fresh fruit, was tempted but skipped the chocolate brioche, and all other pastries, and then Stephanie left. He sat back with every intention of enjoying the morning paper until Billy surprised him by speaking.

"Dad said you used to catch criminals."

Gil blinked and looked up. "I did."

"How did you do that?"

Gil put down his paper. "Well, in a nutshell, by collecting evidence at crime scenes and analyzing it."

Billy was looking at him with mild interest, but his expression was still guarded. "Like fingerprints and stuff?"

"Fingerprints, DNA… Why do you ask?"

"Somebody stole my friend's bike yesterday, but the cop said he can't do anything about it and he probably won't get it back."

"Where was the bike stolen?"

"At the beach. The guy cut the lock."

Gil stopped himself from cautioning Billy against jumping to any conclusions about the perp's gender, although he was probably right. "Did he leave the lock behind?"

"Yes. Does that mean you can get fingerprints off it?"

"Maybe. But the thief's fingerprints would have to be in the system in order to be identified."

"The cop didn't want to take fingerprints."

"Probably because more often than not a petty thief's fingerprints aren't in the system. Cops don't want to waste time lifting prints knowing that they're unlikely to lead anywhere."

Billy's brow knitted in concentration, and then he got up and came to sit across from Gil at the table. He flopped back into the chair and looked at him with growing interest. "But if they lifted prints and put them in the system every time, wouldn't it make it easier to catch these criminals the next time they steal something?"

Gil chuckled. "You've got a point."

"Can you lift the prints from the lock?"

"Sure. I'd have to take your friend's fingerprints to eliminate them. And yours if you touched it." Seeing an opportunity to finally bond with Dan's son, Gil's excitement grew. "We'd have to make fingerprinting powder first."

Billy's eyes got bigger. "You know how to do that?"

Gil smiled. "Of course," he said. "Is there a stationery store, or a dollar store, in town?"

Billy was now sitting forward in his chair. "There's a Kinkos and a Buck or Two."

"That should do it. Go call your friend and tell him to meet us here at three this afternoon with the lock. Tell him to handle it very carefully so he doesn't smudge any prints that may be on it. We'll take it from there. Meanwhile, we're going shopping."

Billy bounded out of his chair and went inside to call his friend. Gil smiled and raised his paper. Stephanie came with his breakfast, and even though Sara had yet to make an appearance, he was filled with positive thoughts. The day was warm, the sun was bright, and Billy was finally smiling. And if he could accomplish that, he figured anything was possible.

It would be a good day after all.

XXXXX

BY NOON THEIR shopping was done and Gil and Billy were in a small seafood restaurant on the main drag, a tourist trap, but then so was all of Provincetown during the summer months. This one served fresh oysters and Gil was surprised to learn that Billy liked them. The oyster bar was at the front of the busy restaurant, but Gil chose a small table at the back covered with a checkered red and white plastic table cloth. He ordered two dozens oysters and when they came, Gil watched Billy slurp his first one—and gag.

"You said you liked oysters."

Billy took a long swallow of his soft drink. "I do," he said and then swallowed another one. His eyes watered.

"Billy, it's okay if you don't like oysters. You can order something else."

Gil bit back his amusement as the boy's shoulders shook on a repressed shudder. "Dad likes them too."

"It's an acquired taste. I suspect yours are more refined." Smiling, he handed Billy the menu and motioned for the waitress.

Billy ordered a burger, but Gil was pleased with the boy's willingness to endure a meal he disliked to impress him.

His burger served, Billy took a huge bite, then smiled and spoke around his food. "So Sara's pretty cool, huh?"

The oyster Gil had just sucked from its shell got caught in his throat making him cough and swallow convulsively; his eyes watered and he grabbed his water glass, downing its content before nodding at Billy.

"Dad said you like her, like her."

Gil cleared his throat. "Yeah. I do," he replied, baffled by the lack of animosity in the kid's voice.

"Mister Armstrong likes her, too."

The next shell froze half-way to Gil's mouth. He slowly returned it, untouched, to the platter and reached for his wine glass. He was quite certain he couldn't stomach one more anyway. "Do you like Mr. Armstrong?"

One of the boy's shoulders went up in a shrug. "He's alright, I suppose, for a stiff." Gil bit his lip not to laugh—or agree. "But one of his sons is a real jerk. He talks like he's all superior and stuff."

Like father like son.

Billy took another bite of his burger and swallowed it down with a long draw on the straw in his soft drink. "The younger son, Eric, is okay, and I think Sara likes him best," he continued, and suddenly Gil was reminded of the four year old boy he'd met years ago who never stopped talking. Dan would be impressed. "But if you want her, you'd better make your move because they're coming in a couple of weeks."

Gil didn't know what to say. It bewildered him that Dan's kid, the very same kid that a few days ago wouldn't talk to him because of some boyish possessiveness towards Sara, was now telling him to stake his claim before Armstrong showed up. He didn't know what Dan had told his son, but whatever it was seemed to have worked.

Or maybe Billy saw Gil as the lesser of two evils. He almost asked, but then thought better of it. Instead, he carefully said, "I thought you wanted Sara for your dad."

The boy shrugged again. "Not gonna happen. Dad says you can't make those things happen. Like, if you're friends for a long time, it's probably because you don't like each other that way."

Gil tilted his head and considered the lad for a moment. "Well, yeah, most of the time that's true, I suppose. But, there are exceptions. Sara and I were friends for a very long time. She used to work for me. I liked her, liked her…" Gil smiled as Billy swallowed the last bite of his burger and burped, "...but I couldn't do anything about that at the time."

Billy wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked up, his gaze perplexed, but at the same time, oddly understanding. "Because you were her boss."

"Well, mostly that."

"That's stupid."

Gil laughed. "You're probably right. I think that's what Sara thought as well." Gil got the waitress's attention and motioned for the bill. "It's time to go lift prints."

"You won't really be able to catch the thief, will you?"

"Nah. But it will be fun trying anyway."

Billy smiled. "Yeah."

XXXXX

BACK AT SUMMERHOUSE, Gil carried their purchases out to the patio and left them with Billy while he went back inside in search of Sara. Instead, he found Stephanie at the front desk marking points of interest on a town map for a young couple. He waited until she had waved them off and turned to him with the same pleasant and genuine smile that always seemed to come so easily to her. And suddenly there was a flash of recognition that made Gil stare at her until her smile faltered and she shifted self-consciously.

"Is everything okay?"

Gil cleared his throat. "Sorry. Yes. I'm looking for Sara, actually."

"She's lying down. She's got a whopper of a headache. I think it's a migraine, but she just calls them bad headaches.

"Not a migraine, then?"

Stephanie shrugged. "She tells me they're not migraines, but when they hit they're debilitating, so in my somewhat professional opinion, I think they're migraines."

Her smile was back and whereas Gil's memory of the woman she resembled was understandably blurred—he'd last seen her well over a decade ago, and even then, they had only met twice—Dan would not have forgotten; he would recognize a smile so like Carol's. Gil now understood his friend's attraction to this young woman, a girl really, young enough to be his daughter, and regretted razzing him about it the day before, even if Dan had deserved it.

But any regrets were trumped by another, more pressing concern. Having been plagued by migraines for the better part of fifteen years, Gil didn't have to guess at the pain Sara was suffering, and he wanted to see her.

"Is she sleeping, do you think?"

"I don't know. You can go look in on her, if you want. Through the kitchen, second door on the left."

Gil glanced at the kitchen door before looking back at Stephanie, a brow raised quizzically, which turned that smile of hers into a knowing grin.

"Billy—"

"I'll keep an eye on him," she called out as she left him to join Billy outside.

Gil hesitated only momentarily before heading for the kitchen. The first door, he knew, led to the dining-room. At the second door, he paused again, wishing Stephanie had shared what it was she knew of his and Sara's relationship that made her believe Sara would welcome him in her bedroom, because he could have used a shot of her confidence just then. If asked, he could always say he needed a pestle and mortar, which was true, but he wasn't going to pretend with himself that making printing powder had anything to do with him invading Sara's privacy. He could just as easily have asked Stephanie for them.

He took a steadying breath and knocked softly on her door. When she didn't answer, he let himself in.

The first thing he noticed was the gloom, the shadows fighting the afternoon brightness slanting through the vertical blinds at the French doors. Sara was resting on her back, on top of the sheets, fully dressed; she had shoved the pillows and the big fluffy duvet comforter aside in the big four-poster bed. Her eyes were covered with a sleeping mask. The door didn't make a sound when Gil closed it behind him. He stepped into the room and took in the antique dresser, vanity table, and armoire set, all from her grandmother's era, he was sure. There was a fireplace, one of the Georgian twins, carved into the exterior wall on one side of the room. It was framed by a pair of old wingback chairs. More furniture from her grandmother's era, but it looked well-used and comfortable and Sara had added her own personality to the room by painting the walls a deep shade of blue.

Gil approached her bed quietly. He didn't want to startle her awake, and if she had a migraine, he didn't want to wake her at all. But any thoughts of leaving her to her rest were muted by this need to be near her. Her fragrance permeated this room, drawing him in even as he knew he should leave, and his heart swelled with an almost overwhelming sensation of tenderness as he watched her sleep. He wanted to crawl into bed with her, wrap his arms around her, kiss away the two small vertical lines of tension on her forehead, comfort her. It was this need to protect and shelter her that had eventually opened his eyes to what it was to love someone, and while he had always been more adept at controlling his physical urges, he never could stay away from her when she was suffering.

"Stephanie?"

"No," Gil whispered, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat. "It's me."

Sara shoved herself up into a half-sitting position as she yanked the mask off her face. "Gris?"

He sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

She looked poised to bolt from the bed and Gil was sure she would have done just that had she not had to climb over him first. Instead, she leaned back on her elbows and gave him a quizzical look.

"Why are you here?"

"Stephanie said you had a migraine."

Sara exhaled loudly and eased herself back onto the mattress. "I don't get migraines. It's just a headache, and it's better now."

Gil slipped a hand underneath her nape. She flinched at the contact but he ignored it and gently slipped a pillow under her head. When Sara winced, he smiled. "I can tell you're much better." Glancing at the bottle of extra strength Tylenol on the bedside table, he said, "How long since you took those?"

"A couple of hours ago. Look, Gris, I'm fine, really. They're just tension headaches."

"Maybe. Stephanie seems to think otherwise. I've had migraines for years—"

"I didn't know that."

Gil shrugged. "Stress or anxiety are my triggers, and for years I too believed they were tension headaches. Have you seen a doctor?"

Sara shook her head.

"You should."

He only became aware that he'd been stroking the nape of her neck when Sara closed her eyes and moaned softly. "You're taking care of me again," she whispered, and then her lashes fluttered open and she gazed at him with such naked affection, his heart took a tumble. "Is Dan back?"

"Not yet. Stephanie's with Billy. We're going to be making fingerprint powder."

Sara's eyes widened...in excitement? "Really?"

"Yep. Billy's friend got his bike stolen and he wants me to catch the thief."

"That sounds like fun. Need help?" she asked, sitting up.

Gil rose to his feet. "Are you feeling up to it?"

"Yeah, I think the worst of it is over."

"I apologize for coming in here—without an invitation, I mean."

"That's okay." Sara flung her feet over the edge of the bed and looked up at him, grinning—flirtatiously, he thought. She opened her mouth to say something but then seemed to change her mind. Frowning, she rose to her feet and neither of them spoke for a moment, a silence filled with words that could have been left unsaid except that Gil didn't want to do that anymore.

"Sara, about last night—"

Shaking her head, she said, "Let's not…"

"Okay. I'll uh…" He motioned to the door with a careless hand, "…go." At the door, he remembered the excuse he had planned to use for penetrating her sanctuary. "I need a pestle and mortar if you have one. To make the powder."

"I do. I'll be right out."

"Thank you." And smiling, he left her room as quietly as he had entered it.

XXXXX

THE COLD WATER made Sara's pores tingle and shocked the sleep from her eyes, but it did little to cool her skin. Which was hardly surprising. A splash of cold water was hardly a cure for what ailed her.

She imagined that if her childhood had resembled those of her school mates—not that she had known at the time that they didn't all live on a battlefield with parents too invested in one-upping each other to pay much attention to their children—she would have learned some fundamental facts of life at a very early age, such as when you play with fire you get burned. A slow study in all things involving her emotions, she hadn't learned until much later that it was better to give fires a wide berth even if it devoid your life of heat.

Heat was not a problem now thanks to Grissom. One kiss and it was taking everything in her to remember how painful his burn could be. The fact that he seemed more than willing to pick up where they left off six years ago—and that was in bed, she hadn't imagined the hunger in his eyes last night—made him that much more difficult to resist.

As a parting gift to herself when she left Las Vegas, Sara had taken from Grissom as much as she knew him capable of giving. And he had obliged her; probably to assuage his guilt. She had never dwelled on his reasons for letting her seduce him. If she had wanted her delusions of near perfection shattered, she wouldn't have left before he woke up the next morning.

But clinging to a memory she had idealized, and probably embellished, over the years had been a mistake. If she had given him a final opportunity to completely crush any hope of a relationship with him instead of leaving like a thief in the night, or if she had read his emails and the regret and apologies she was certain they contained, she might have moved on in time. But Grissom was right the night before when he so smugly said that she wasn't over him; she knew it that day on Dan's boat, and now, to her horror, he knew it as well.

How pathetic he must think her despite all appearances that her greatest weakness flattered him. Oh, she had stopped fantasizing about Grissom as the perfect mate a long, long time ago. It was difficult at first. For the first two years, give or take a few months, she thought about him constantly—had missed him every day. But in time, he had become a memory, albeit a cherished one.

That last night in Las Vegas, in a cheap, pitiful motel room, she had finally felt love, and for a long time after that, refused to acknowledge that it had been an illusion. How often had Grissom made her heart flutter only to turn it to ice when the mood struck him, reminding her that he would never feel for her what she felt for him? She had good reasons to abandon her career as a CSI, none to do with him specifically, but her need to distance herself from him had driven her as far away from Las Vegas as possible. Just as the need to be close to him had sent her there to begin with.

Still, she had clung to the fantasy that what she had seen in his eyes that night, what she had felt in his touch and heard in his voice and in his whispered endearments, was love, because it was the only way she could leave with her heart intact.

Had she just tricked herself into believing it again? Was she reading too much in his gentle touch and tender gaze?

Sara blotted the moisture from her skin with a fresh towel and applied lip gloss and a light dusting of blush. Her headache was thankfully gone. Stephanie liked to call them migraines, but she was sure they weren't. They were tension headaches and if they had come more frequently in the past week, she could blame them on the shock of finding Grissom on her doorstep. The fact that she hadn't slept a wink last night hadn't helped.

In the kitchen, she rummaged through a cupboard for the pestle and mortar Grissom needed, steeling herself for their next meeting. His kiss last night had thrown her off her game, but she was back and stronger now. She had to be. She had briefly let the starlight and the romantic undertones of their evening go to her head, but in the long sleepless hours that followed, her perspective had been restored. Or so she had thought. But either way, in the bright light of day, she remembered that nothing good ever came of being in love with Gil Grissom. And she would be a fool to forget that.

So what if she had responded to his kiss last night? What if she had come within a hair's breadth of flirting with him just now? Why wouldn't she respond to him? He was a very attractive man, one she still admired and respected, and it had been a very long time since she had let a man touch her. Six years, to be exact. Pathetic, yes. But that alone explained why she would have needed little encouragement to fall into bed with him. Thank God he had stopped kissing her when he did last night. Not that there was anything wrong with a good tumble in the sheets every once in a while. She could have enjoyed a few in the past six years had she felt more than a fleeting flutter of physical attraction for some of the men who had crossed her path since Grissom.

Which brought Patrick to mind. He had yet to touch her in any way that could be interpreted as sexually suggestive, but he had made his interest in her very clear. She always pretended not to notice. Patrick had two young children, and as much as she had enjoyed having them at Summerhouse for a few days the year before, she simply couldn't see herself in the role of stepmother. She had carefully kept her relationship with Dan platonic for the same reason.

Yet she adored Billy.

Sara frowned as she absently filled glasses with iced tea for the adults and lemonade for the boys, and set them on a tray to carry out. Despite how many men she had attracted over the years, she had never let any of them into her bedroom. There was always something. If not kids, then something else. Ben—gorgeous Ben with a body to make a woman's mouth water; they met in Nicaragua at the tail end of his five-year marriage and Sara quickly decided she didn't want to be his rebound girl...not that he would have been anything other than her rebound guy. And then there was Kyle, one of Dan's colleagues and a close enough friend that he was invited to his Independence Day cruise a couple of summers ago. He wasn't as pretty as Ben, but definitely more interesting. If only he didn't live in Boston she told herself at the time. She didn't have much faith in long-distance relationships. Last summer it was Jack, her baker's nephew from New York. Jack was both good-looking and interesting, had never married, didn't have children, and had made his first million in real estate by the age of thirty. His uncle was extremely proud of him and hoped that Sara would help cure him of his philandering ways. She couldn't remember what was wrong with Jack exactly, but several dates after which she still refused to let him so much as kiss her, he quietly went away to never be heard from again.

Sara paused inside the open patio door, looking at Grissom who was flanked by Billy on one side, and Billy's friend, Sean on the other. He had set his purchases out on the table and was explaining the science of fingerprinting to the boys. She only had to look at him for her heart to swell the way it had a thousand times before. Even as a child, it had skipped at the sight of him.

How strange that they had met for the first time all those years ago, and since crossed paths again and again. And then, to fall in love with him…

For all her rationalizations, and it finally occurred to Sara that was precisely what they had been, there was nothing wrong with Ben or Kyle or Jack except that they weren't Grissom. And if they had paled in comparison, they were hardly to blame. After all, a woman in her prime who remains celibate for six years because she wants her last memory of making love to be with a man who was never emotionally available to her—except for that one night when he belonged to her as surely as she belonged to him—could hardly be objective in her assessment of other men.

Sara sighed as she watched him with the boys, cursing her body's instinctive response to him. It was as though it reacted without her permission. Even now, after everything that had happened between them, after the astonishing depth of the pain that had been her constant companion for months after leaving him—convincing her that losing a limb would have been less disorienting than cutting him out of her life—she was still drawn to him. Even knowing that he would be out of her life again in a few weeks, she found herself flirting with the idea of letting him seduce her. It would be so easy, so exciting to succumb to him. What if she was emotionally strong enough now? What if she could take what he so clearly offered and survived it?

A small flicker of fear in her chest raised a flag of caution. Careful, her heart whispered. Be very, very careful. Wanting had never been the problem. It was the wanting more that had always led to disappointment, and with Grissom, she had always wanted more.

He suddenly looked up and their gazes locked. The warm, welcoming smile that flitted around his lips made her heart trip. She took a long, slow breath, and another, willing it to settle. And for a moment, a fleeting moment, his smile faltered and his eyes darkened with something…intimate, stoking the embers of desire he had stirred back to life the night before.

And then his smile was back and the moment was already a memory.

"Boys," he said, "we have with us one of the best fingerprint technicians I've ever worked with."

With a smile of her own, one Sara hoped looked more genuine than it felt, she quieted her fantasies and joined Grissom and the boys out on the patio.