Eric and Shauna took their drinks out to the patio behind the club where space was more plentiful and the music was less intrusive. Finding a little table in the open air, they settled down and smiled at each other.

"So what made you change your mind?" Shauna asked. "I mean, you seemed pretty set on your not-so-close encounter the last time I saw you."

Eric's smile took on an uneasy quality, and he diverted his gaze to his glass. "Yeah, I guess I was. A very good friend of mine was killed in the line of duty, and I thought I was handling it. Turns out, I wasn't." He shook his head and met her eyes. "But you don't want to hear about my problems…at least, not when we just met."

She nodded understandingly. "How 'bout a rain check, then? If you want to talk about your friend, just give me a call, okay?" She scribbled her phone number down on a cocktail napkin and handed it to him. "Anytime."

He took it from her and stared at it a moment before folding it securely into his wallet. "Thanks," he replied, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion.

She grinned a little self-consciously at his expression. "What?"

He shook his head in response. "I was just wondering why you were being so nice to me. You don't even know me."

"Well, you did apologize to me," she reminded him. "And I suppose I could be reading you wrong, but you seem sincere. I'd be willing to bet that tonight wasn't the first night you came here looking for me, either."

Eric chuckled, a bit embarrassed that she'd figured him out. "You got me there. I've been here every day this week."

"See? I had a hunch you were a decent guy. That's why I was nice to you." Shauna smiled broadly. "And I figured if I was wrong, well, at least you're good looking."

"So it's all about looks?" he asked, laughing.

"Well, like you said," she replied, taking a sip of her drink, "I don't really know you."

"Let's fix that."

Shauna could feel herself blushing under his steady gaze, and was thankful for the dimness of the glow from party lights hanging around the awning. "Alright," she said, keeping her voice light, "Let's start from the beginning. Are you originally from Florida?"

"Sort of," he answered. "My mother is Cuban and my father is Russian. I was born just a few weeks after my family crossed over from Cuba, and I've lived here ever since."

"So there is such thing as a native Floridian," she smiled. "I thought everyone down here was a transplant like me."

"We come in all different varieties," he agreed, "including transplants. Where are you originally from?"

"Pennsylvania," she told him. "A little town called Shamrock." She grinned when she saw the blank look on his face. "It's about an hour and a half outside of Pittsburg," she explained, "in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh, so you're a country girl," he teased.

Shauna rolled her eyes. "If I hear even one joke about cow-tipping…"

Eric laughed. "Okay, okay, no jokes. But Miami must be a big adjustment for you, coming from a small town."

"To a degree," she nodded. "I went to college at Penn State and worked a couple of years in Pittsburg, so I've been in an urban environment. Miami is different from any place I've ever been, though, I'll give you that."

"How did you end up down here?" he wondered curiously.

"A job," she replied. "My degree is in Sports Medicine, and getting a job often involves the people you know as much as your qualifications."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but let her continue.

"So when a position opened up at the University of Miami for an athletic trainer with the football team, I applied for it and crossed my fingers, but didn't really expect much—I don't have any contacts outside of the clinic I worked at."

"But they offered you the job," he finished. When she nodded, he added, "Then you must have really impressed them."

She smiled modestly. "I'd like to think so. In any case, when they offered, I accepted. Packed up everything I own a few weeks ago and headed down here with Francis."

"Francis?"

"My dog," she laughed. "I named him after Ron Francis—he's my favorite hockey player."

He stared at her in amazement. "Wait a minute, you moved all the way down here from Pennsylvania with nobody but your dog?"

She nodded. "Yep."

"Wow," he continued. "And I thought it was a big deal for me to go to college at UM, half an hour from home."

"It is a big deal," Shauna told him seriously. "It isn't the distance you travel that matters, it's what you do when you get there."

Eric considered that for a moment, then smiled gently. "I like that."

"So what did you do at UM?" she asked, shifting the conversation to him. "You've heard about me, now I want to know about you."

He obliged, telling her about his science classes—something they had in common—his collegiate baseball career, his work with the diving unit at MDPD, and his current position as a CSI. She listened carefully, asking questions, showing a genuine interest in his story. When he told her about getting spiked sliding into second base during a baseball game, showing off the two small puncture scars he still wore on his forehead, she even reciprocated by lifting her knee into his lap and explaining how she'd blown out a ligament playing hockey with her brother, pointing out the scar from the surgery she'd had to repair it.

"That explains why you named your dog after a hockey player," he laughed, squeezing her knee amiably as she shifted it back to a more lady-like position. "You're a puck head."

"Oh, don't worry," she teased, patting his hand, "I like baseball, too. It's actually quite entertaining when you watch the game in fast-forward."

He reached for his drink, grinning at her last comment, and his watch caught a sliver of light in just the right way, drawing his attention to it. "Damn," he muttered, the smile fading. "It's three a.m. already. How can it be that late? We've only been talking for…"

"…a few hours now," she finished for him with a sly smile. "You have to work tomorrow?"

He nodded. "In a few hours. I'm on at eight."

She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I shouldn't have talked so much. We could've left earlier if I hadn't been running my mouth. But Mondays are film days for the team…"

"Football in May?" he interrupted. "Even if they play in a bowl game, the season's still over by the beginning of January."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "But spring practice is going strong, now, and there's plenty of film to watch from last year. The sports med staff needs to be there for the boys that still want to get a workout in, but not until two. I forget sometimes that other people work earlier than I do."

"It's okay," he insisted. "Really. I'll feel like crap all day, but spending time with you tonight was worth it."

She giggled a little and tried to deflect the compliment. "Well, just remember that when you're out at a scene, almost falling asleep standing up, and the only thing keeping you awake is the immense pounding in your head."

Eric groaned, rising from his chair and sliding a hand over the small of Shauna's back as she followed suit, heading with him in the direction of her car. "Yeah, that'll be great," he replied with mock enthusiasm. His expression changed in the next instant, an idea occurring to him that lit his face like a light bulb. "Why don't you make it up to me?"

"How?" she wondered curiously.

"A friend of mine plays on a rec league softball team, and he talked me into going to his game on Thursday," he responded. "I love the sport, but I'll be bored out of my skull watching a bunch of construction workers jog after fly balls." He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled charmingly. "But if I had company, the evening would be a lot more appealing."

She laughed out loud. He is too cute. "Construction workers suddenly become acceptable entertainment if I come along?"

"The conversation will definitely be better with you there," he grinned. "And maybe we can do something afterwards."

"I like it," she told him.

"First pitch is at six," he said, stopping beside her when they reached her car.

Shauna frowned in thought. "I might be able to get out by six on Thursday…"

"Then you can meet me at the field," he added quickly, "whenever you get there."

She smiled again. "Sounds like a good plan."

"I have the directions to the place at home…but I have your phone number in my wallet," he remembered. "Can I call you later?"

"You better," she chuckled, fishing her keys out of her purse. "Or else you're on your own with the construction workers."

Eric laughed. "And we definitely don't want that."

They said their good-byes and he waited while she stepped into her car, pulling out of the parking space safely, before searching out his own vehicle.

I guess Dr. Jameson was right, he thought as he walked. It was a good thing I went back to find her.

"She did offer to listen about Tim when I'm ready," he said aloud, climbing behind the wheel and turning the key in the ignition. "And maybe I'll be able to take her up on that sometime. But until then," he smiled, "I have her phone number and a date Thursday." His smile widened as he shifted into gear, realizing he was excited to see her again, something that he hadn't felt in quite a while. "And that should be interesting."