A/N: I had some time to work on this, so here is the next chapter, earlier than even I expected. As always, your reviews and Twitter comments continue to inspire. Thank you!

Chapter 3

The next morning, Oliver arrived first at the DLO. He was nervous and agitated, for he had every intention to swallow his pride and follow his dad's advice to apologize to Shane. Joe was right; they couldn't go on like this in such a tense work environment. He made coffee, checking his pocket watch frequently, his eyes trained on the door. It was a dark and cloudy February day, befitting his mood, the weatherman having promised a winter storm coming in that afternoon.

He had just sat down at his desk with his morning swill (as Shane so charmingly termed his coffee), when the lady arrived. Her nose and cheeks were a becoming pink from the cold, her platinum curls attractively windblown. His heart squeezed in his chest at her loveliness, and he stood again to greet her.

Their "good mornings" were civil enough, and Oliver sensed a welcome lessening of her antagonism toward him. After setting down the to-go cup she'd brought from home, she walked over toward his desk. Oliver's pulse accelerated. She nodded to him politely as she took off her coat and scarf and hung them on the coat rack near his desk before turning back toward her own work station. He sighed sadly to himself, missing her usual morning smile that would have brightened this otherwise dreary day. She was wearing his favorite dress she wore too, a simple navy frock (which exactly matched her eyes), an A-line that sinched at her tiny waist, today paired with knee-high black boots. He remembered the last time they'd danced, how his hand had rested on that waist, warm and femininely giving beneath his hand.

While he summoned his courage, he watched her take a sip of her coffee, leaving peach lipstick on the rim, and turn on her computer. Shane must have felt his heavy gaze upon her, for she turned questioningly to look at him. A wave of emotion swept over him as she met his eyes, and he was glad he had sat down. The feelings she stirred in him were not new; in the past he'd attributed his racing heart to physical attraction, admiration, and deep caring for her as a person, a good friend. But in that moment, as the wave crested over him, he suddenly could no longer deny the true nature of these feelings.

Good Lord…I'm in love with her.

His eyes widened as the epiphany hit him with the force of a tsunami, and Shane seemed taken aback by his poleaxed expression. She was about to ask what was wrong when Rita and Norman arrived, and the moment between them passed in the bustle of their greetings, their hanging up of coats, their comments on the weather. Oliver felt for a moment like he was having a heart attack, but he unobtrusively took a few deep breaths and became calmer as shock gave way to acceptance.

He loved her.

Well, that explained a lot, he thought, his mouth twitching wryly.

Since they were no longer alone, any apologies (or confessions) would have to wait, and Oliver rose to proclaim the start of day two of their IRM clearing competition. Both teams had only one box left. It would be a crazy race to the finish.

The morning passed quickly, even though Oliver's mind was divided between his newfound feelings and beating the woman he loved at her own game. He realized he had even more at stake, for if she were to ask him a certain question now, it could prove very embarrassing, and most likely premature. They each took turns with their partners to go on lunch break, Rita and Norman going first.

Shane looked up to watch them leave, shaking her head knowingly.

"They are definitely fraternizing," she said. "I'm pretty sure I saw them sneaking texts earlier."

"They did it yesterday too."

She grinned. "Those cheaters."

"When you love someone, it's hard to be apart," said Oliver daringly. Shane stopped her typing and turned toward him.

"That's what I've heard." There was a meaningful silence, and both of them seemed suddenly tongue-tied. Now was his chance, thought Oliver, at the very least to apologize.

"Shane—" he began.

"The weather isn't looking great, Oliver," she said at the same moment, having shyly dropped his gaze in favor of her computer.

He felt more relieved than disappointed at being thwarted. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Looks like sleet will be moving in within the next couple of hours."

"Oh dear," he said lamely. This whiplash of emotions was seriously disorienting.

Oliver let the moment slip by, and forced himself to concentrate on the half box of letters and parcels remaining.

When Rita and Norman returned, Shane left for her lunch break, and Oliver ate the sandwich he'd brought from home at his desk. And so went the next two hours, when, just as predicted, they began hearing the telltale pitter pat of sleet blowing against the windows. Rita went to take a peek.

"Wow. It's really coming down," she said.

"If this keeps up, the roads will be terrible," added Norman, joining her at the window.

Not ten minutes later, an announcement came over the intercom.

"Attention. Due to reports of worsening road conditions, all nonessential workers are welcome to leave early today, with no penalties. Be careful going home!"

Norman and Rita looked at each other, then back at their boxes of mangled mail.

"Go, you two," said Oliver. "You have farther to travel than we do."

"But what about the bet?" asked Rita, looking worriedly at Shane.

"Your safety is more important than that," Shane replied. "I'm close enough to walk home if I have to. Those old letters will be here tomorrow, right Oliver?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. You must go while you can."

"Is it all right with you if I drive Norman home?" asked Rita. "I know it's breaking the rules…"

Shane barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes; as if Rita hadn't driven him home yesterday too. "Since it's sort of an emergency situation, I think we can overlook it."

"Thanks, Shane." She walked over to give her a hug, then she met Norman at the coat rack.

"You two should go too," encouraged Norman. "The DLO isn't considered essential in times like these."

"I think I'll stay a bit longer," Oliver said.

"Me too," added Shane.

"Okay. But don't wait too long."

"We won't," Shane and Oliver said together.

"Be safe, and let us know when you get there," said Shane.

When the couple had been gone about a half-hour, Shane wandered curiously to the window. The ground and street were covered with tiny white pellets, falling so fast they made a hissing sound as they hit the ground. She was tempted to leave, but she had one more lead she wanted to track down on a particularly damaged letter.

A loud thunderclap made her jump, and suddenly the sleet turned into freezing rain. It pelted the windows in long sheets, and Shane shivered at the sight.

"This isn't good," she commented worriedly.

She felt the warmth and the familiar tingle from Oliver's proximity. She glanced sidelong to see him standing beside her, his blue eyes intent on the barely discernable scene outside the window. A text came through with a ding on Shane's phone. She took it from her pocket.

"Rita and Norman made it as far as Norman's apartment," she said. "Rita says the roads were like an ice rink, and they narrowly avoided running off the road."

"That settles it then; I don't think we should go out in this," he said. "Better to be stranded here than out there on the road."

"What?"

"I doubt if either of our cars could make it safely home. Maybe someone else has a four-wheel drive, but even then, the safest plan would be staying here."

"Here? In the DLO?" She asked, her mind racing at the unwelcome prospect.

Oliver nodded gravely. "Let me have a look to see who is still here."

She watched him leave, his broad shoulders more pronounced in just his dress shirt and suspenders. She idly observed his strong forearms. It was a strange part of his anatomy to admire, but it always gave her a thrill when he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves in preparation to getting down to serious business.

You've got it bad, Shane, she thought, amused with herself. She rubbed her arms against the cold and left the window to return to her desk. At least she would be able to get more work done, although without Rita's gift of instant recall, the going was much slower.

Oliver returned, wearing a deep frown with lines of concern wrinkling his forehead.

"Everyone is gone," he announced. "like rats on a sinking ship. Is no one essential in this branch anymore?"

Shane's eyebrows rose in surprise. "They cleared out fast. The roads must be really bad."

"It would seem so. I guess we are stuck here."

"You don't want to at least try?" she asked, imagining how long and uncomfortable the night ahead would be, especially with just the two of them. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being here, alone with Oliver.

"I wouldn't advise it, Ms. McInerney. I looked out the bay windows in front of the building. Cars are sliding off the road or stalled and abandoned. I saw one accident just while I was standing there. The driver seemed all right, but his car was no longer drivable. He walked to the convenience store across the street, slipping and sliding the whole way. No, it is not fit for man or beast outside."

"Well, what will we do?" she asked.

"Hope the electricity doesn't go out. There is a couch in the break room where we can take turns napping, and plenty of snacks in the vending machine. I'm fully stocked with Yoo-Hoos, so I think we'll survive." He grinned at her, and she felt her face smiling back at him. He seemed almost excited by the prospect of this unexpected adventure.

She loved him this way, had missed his contagious enthusiasm when he was really passionate about something (usually a mystery in the mail).

She chuckled. "I guess we must make the best of it, as my grandfather always said."

He nodded. "That's the spirit, Ms. McInerney."

So, with the accompaniment of the constant tattoo of ice blowing against the windows, they got back to work. Occasionally, they would look up at the same time and smile at one another, the privacy of the storm enveloping them like a cozy blanket. Both of them felt as if nature's storm had taken the energy from their anger, and they were able to calmly focus on their jobs.

At about four o'clock, Oliver went back to his IRM box to find that it was empty. His eyes swung over to Shane, busily working on her computer. She was obviously not finished, or he certainly would have heard about it.

He'd won the bet.

He sat with this information, letting it sink in. Would his winning this wager help their relationship, or irrevocably hurt it? Then again, would she really want him to pretend and let her win? He decided he would leave it to Father Time. If Shane didn't finish her own box by five, he would, calmly and without braggadocio, tell her that he'd won.

By five o'clock the freezing rain had stopped, and Oliver had heard no excited exclamations of victory from the women's corner.

"Quitting time," he announced. She looked up from her screen.

"Darn. I only have a few letters left." She stretched her arms above her head, rolled her shoulders, then stood up to stretch her legs. She'd been in that position for hours, and was in dire need of chocolate. "How many more do you have?"

Oliver got up and walked over to her. "Ms. McInerney, I have a confession to make. Well, technically, two."

She looked up at him curiously. "Oh?"

"The first is long overdue. It's about last Saturday."

Her expression grew instantly wary. "What about it?"
He took a deep breath. "I owe you an apology, for my words, as well as for my actions that night. I am not very practiced in the art of…courting."

Her lips quirked at the old-fashioned term, but she said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

"You are more than a mere friend to me, Shane. You must know how-how deeply I care for you."

Shane held her breath, hoping, longing to hear more.

"I'm sorry that it ended so terribly," he continued. "I realize I can be a rather gruff, obstinate man, set in my ways, and I'm trying to work on that. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, and perhaps give me, give us, a second chance?"

She regarded him a moment in wonder. It was as if the past few days' pain had melted away with the sincerity of his words. She felt her eyes water and wiped at them in embarrassment. "Of course I forgive you, Oliver. And I admit that I might have overreacted a bit yesterday. I was hurt, because I thought I had been wrong to believe that we had moved farther along in our relationship than we had. And I felt that you were blaming me for everything that happened at Montaldo's."

He found himself reaching for her hand. "Not at all, please believe that. If anything, I blamed myself."

For a moment, as they stared into each other's eyes, she thought that he might kiss her, but instead, he drew her into his arms, embracing her firmly to his body, caressing her back. He perhaps meant to comfort, but the feel of his warm hands had her pulse racing, and she held on tightly, closing her eyes and allowing herself to revel in their closeness. She inhaled the classic scent of bay rum and bergamot as they swayed together, neither wanting to let go.

"What was the second confession?" she asked dreamily after a few blissful moments.

"Hmm?" Oliver too was in a daze, a haze of love and desire surrounding him. She smelled so good, felt so right, so warm and soft beneath his hands.

She pulled away a bit to look up at him, but was taken aback by the dark, sensual expression in his eyes. "Your uh, second confession?"

"Oh," he said absently. "That. I won the bet about an hour ago."

"What?"

Oliver slowly came back to himself when she moved to leave his arms. "The bet. I won. I got lucky in my last few letters. They merely needed tape to repair them and send them on their way. Then I had a couple that were totally irretrievable, and I sent them to be destroyed."

"Why didn't you tell me, Oliver?"

"I thought you might be upset."

"Over a stupid bet? I can handle losing, if it was an honest win. I'm sorry that I made you feel afraid of how I might react."

Oliver sighed in relief and gave a self-conscious chuckle. "All of this mess was so pointless. We have to start recognizing that we're both humans, with human faults, and give each other the benefit of the doubt."

"Agreed," she said, and gifted him with the wide, sunny smile he'd been missing the past two days. "So, you and Norman won. I have to say I'm impressed, since you did it without benefit of a computer. What charity is getting my hundred bucks?"

"Well…my church choir needs new robes. We've started a fund to buy them."

"Done," she said.

"Thank you. That will be much appreciated." They stood in front of her desk, feeling a little awkward now that they'd resolved all the misunderstandings and offered apologies.

"You know," she said, "I was just about to visit the vending machines. Feel like getting something to eat?"

"Sure."

Both of them felt a new lightness in their steps as they walked out of the DLO toward the employee break room, their footfalls loud in the empty hallway. They'd of course been there after hours, when everyone was gone, but under these circumstances it seemed especially eerie.

Oliver offered his credit card to swipe in the vending machine, and together they picked out their dinner for the night: crackers, nuts, beef jerky, and, of course, chocolate bars for dessert. Shane bought a soda for herself and a bottled water for Oliver to go along with his Yoo-Hoo. They sat down at a table and began opening and sharing their bounty.

Oliver thought of the list of questions he'd written down for Shane in his suit coat pocket back in the DLO. Neither of them had brought up the other part of the wager, and he wondered if he should pretend he'd forgotten about it. But no, in the spirit of their new glasnost, he would ask those questions when they got back to their office. He was about to make this suggestion when, just as he had feared might happen, the lights went out, and they were plunged into darkness.

A/N: Don't you just love the trapped together trope? I admit that I do. Their night together will continue, along with the promised questions…