A/N: We've met Sarah. Now, let's meet Chuck. Better yet, let's get them together. Great response to this story, so thank you. I hate no traffic stats! Reviews are the only proof that anyone is even reading my story, so please consider dropping a line to let me know what you think.

During this time, I was busy with rehearsals. The biggest performances of the season for the orchestra were the week before Christmas. To prepare, we had 12 hour rehearsals each day the week before the holiday.

As musicians in an orchestra, we had long days with lots of downtime, but days we spent at the concert hall. I practiced individually when I was at home. At the concert hall, we rehearsed in sections. Then the groups of us were further broken down into instrument types. So I practiced with the string section, and also with the violins. Cello, viola, and bass rehearsed separately and then later with the violins as part of the string section. While woodwind, brass, or percussion rehearsed, we waited around, just as they did while we played. It was important to know your part first, but also how everything worked together. Being the first chair, my downtime was significantly less than the other violinists, because I had to know all of the components, just as the conductor did. That made my days even longer.

I was glad I had a chance to see Ellie that first day of rehearsals, because all of my time was occupied for the next five days. It was also helpful that I was mentally occupied with rehearsal, because it kept my mind off of worrying about what my holiday would be like, at Ellie's house, with a relative crowd—compared to my usual lonely day.

The Thursday of that week, Ellie surprised me with a phone call. I saw the missed call on my phone. It was strange, because I know she knew how busy my week was going to be. She rarely called during weeks like this. I started worrying, thinking maybe something could have been wrong, for her to call me midweek while she knew I was working 12 hour days.

I called her back once I got home to my apartment.

"Sarah, I'm sooo sorry. I know I'm bothering you. But I wanted to ask…you something." She sounded apologetic, almost like she wished she didn't have to ask me.

"Go ahead, Ellie. I hope I can help," I added, trying to ease her discomfort.

She sighed heavily. "Saturday night, there's this…I don't know, I guess you could call it a Christmas party…for the hospital, at LACMA, you know, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. But it's specifically for donors of the hospital, all the bigwigs. That kind of thing."

"O…kay," I said, wondering about the end goal, what she was really asking me.

"Sarah, would you…go with my brother? As his plus one?" Ellie asked. I could almost hear her cringing, imagining her face all crunched like she was waiting for me to protest.

I was shocked. It took a few moments for me to get my bearings. "You're setting me up on a blind date with your brother?" I blurted.

"No!" she shouted, so loudly that I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment. "It's not, not really. Ugh," she growled in frustration. "It's not a date, Sarah. It's just…my brother…is a major donor. He does not want to go. He's always been able to avoid this gala when he was in New York…but now they know he relocated. Now, it looks really bad if he doesn't show up. I was supposed to go with him but, of course, now I can't because Devon's parents are flying in from Connecticut. I hate last minute stuff like this!"

Her brother…Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome…was rich too? And he couldn't find a date? He had planned on taking his sister?

What was up with him?

It was an awful thought, and I hated myself for going there. Was I any better? Miss Chinese food Christmas no friends perpetually available but not dating anyone…

What a pair, I thought sadly.

"Ellie, I…I don't know…" I stammered. "Even if it isn't a date, I don't know him. I can't imagine how awkward that will be. Maybe worse than if he goes alone. I'm not…"

Outgoing…chatty…friendly…I couldn't choose which word.

Happy. Ouch, that was unexpected.

That one truly surprised me. I don't think I'd ever said that, acknowledged that…but, echoing there in my head, I knew it was true. Christmas was smothering me, making it all too apparent that there was no joy, no peace, no true happiness…inside me, or in my life.

"Busy," I finally said. Where had that come from? I hadn't planned on answering that way. Ellie's profuse thanks silenced any further protests.

A fancy dinner, a glamorous party…with a handsome rich guy? There were worse things, I told myself. I had been working long, crazy hours. A brief break would be nice. Just what I needed.

I convinced myself I would go. I would accompany Chuck to the Christmas party. I would go on a blind date that wasn't a date. Well, semi-blind. I'd seen him. He just hadn't seen me.

It wasn't until I got off the phone with Ellie that I started panicking.

Had Ellie mentioned this to her brother? Or was she springing this on him? Was this her idea, and he knew nothing about the proposition? He didn't want to go at all. Why would he then agree to go with someone he'd never met?

Someone like me…

It hurt…how utterly inadequate I felt. I knew objectively that I was attractive. I was tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a relatively svelte figure. Men stared at me, sometimes ogled me. But that was always just how I looked, superficially, nothing substantial. Beauty is only skin deep, right?

I was aloof, stoic, standoff-ish. It was the way I decided was the best way for me to be. The real me I kept her hidden.

None of this was Ellie's brother's problem. But still, I had this awful fear that I would…let him down. This stranger who would probably be mad at his sister for being stuck with me, stuck doing something he would rather not do.

Then I panicked again. It was Thursday…I had another 12 hours at rehearsal on Friday, and then the gala was the next evening. I called Ellie back and asked her more specifics about where, when, how. She told me to meet Chuck at the museum where the party was. I told her I knew what he looked like, and she asked for a selfie from me so she could show him, so he would know who I was.

I almost did it right there, while we were still talking, but I stopped myself. I was wiped out from a long day and I thought I looked terrible. I told her I would send one before Saturday, feeling awkward as I heard her amused chuckle, probably caused by my shyness, my need to take a good picture. It was so stupid. I couldn't rationalize why I wanted to do that, or why it was so important.

But then it was even worse. I went to the department store and bought a new dress. Not just the dress, but shoes and a matching purse. Lingerie that coordinated with the dress, new stockings. I rarely spent money like that on myself, but it was Christmas, and I didn't have anyone to shop for but myself anyway, so I told myself it was ok. So much so that I sat at the makeup counter in the store and had the associate paint my face, giving me instructions on the perfect application. I got my nails done and my hair cut. All in the few hours I had left to myself before the date. Then I took the selfie, about three hours before the party, and sent it to Ellie.

I arrived at the museum on time. I was ridiculously nervous. Me…who could stand on a stage in front of thousands of people and tune the orchestra, my one note reverberating through an entire concert hall, all eyes in the hall focused on me and me alone. That could be stressful, but it never made me nervous…no jitters, butterflies, no stage fright, ever, despite the stress.

But walking into that foyer…knowing that was where I was supposed to meet him…my palms were sweaty, my stomach churned, and my hands were cold and blotchy.

There weren't a lot of people in the foyer. I saw a few men in suits. My dress was tea length, deep sapphire blue with spaghetti straps. I searched for another woman, but I couldn't see one. I started wondering if there was more than one party going on, if I was under or overdressed. Would it make the situation even more awkward…if I was in my party dress and everyone was wearing an evening gown with gloves or whatever? Or what if my dress was too much? Too low cut, too tight?

I started freaking out, feeling like the walls were closing in around me, thinking maybe this wasn't such a good idea…when I backed into someone. Hard.

I turned, stepping on a foot…and found myself two inches from Ellie's brother, his hand on my elbow to keep me from jabbing his stomach by accident.

He was muttering his apology, but stopped abruptly as he saw my face. "Sarah?" he asked, his eyes going wide as he regarded me. "Sarah Walker?"

I should have answered him. I wanted to answer him. I think I even tried to answer him, but my voice caught in my throat. My mouth was too dry to articulate words. I hadn't been prepared to be this close to him.

He was handsome from a distance. Up close, as I gazed upward, even from my considerable height because he was so tall, he was…exquisite. Strange word to describe a man, but such an apt description. He wasn't movie-star handsome, or bodybuilder handsome, but he had strong features, an easy, unaffected way about him that showed on his face. His eyes were hazel, the green in them bright in contrast to the dark navy suit he wore. His jaw was angular and masculine. He had an electric, beautiful and beaming smile that wrinkled the skin on the bridge of his nose and the skin beside his eyes. He was lean and trim, with sinewy arms beneath his athletically cut jacket. I could smell his woodsy cologne, subtle and not cloying, mixed with peppermint, maybe from a mint he'd just chewed.

"Yes," I finally managed, once I shook myself awake from the dreamy state I was in. "You…you must be Chuck."

He nodded, releasing my elbow, self-conscious all of a sudden that he was touching me. He blinked hard several times, shaking his head slightly side to side. "Ellie showed me your picture…but you're…even lovelier in person. Beautiful."

He reached for my hand, to shake it politely, but I was still flustered. His palm felt just as sweaty as mine, but his grip on my hand was gentle, like a caress.

His eyes went through me, almost to the core. I blushed, warm all over, feeling like all my blood had rushed to my feet. Beauty was only skin deep, perhaps, but what he said he meant completely, like he had looked straight into my soul. No one had ever paid me a compliment like that. No compliment had ever made me feel like that.

"I recognized you from the…parking lot. Did Ellie tell you about that?" I asked, chuckling nervously, wondering why I was broaching such an embarrassing topic when I was already so ill at ease.

He laughed. The laugh was pure, deep, full of genuine, contagious mirth. I found myself smiling in spite of myself. In just a few seconds, Chuck had put me at ease with his gentle nature. "She did. Captain Awesome had a belly laugh over it."

I made a confused face. "Captain Awesome?" I asked.

He laughed again, needing a moment to recover. "Oh, yeah. That's my nickname for him. Ellie doesn't call him that…which is why you have no idea what I'm talking about."

He was nervous and rambling, I realized. It was endearing, cute. This guy is nervous rambling…in front of me? My brain couldn't reconcile what I knew and what I was seeing.

"Everything he does is awesome. Jumping out of airplanes, rock climbing, flossing…"

I laughed hard this time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like that…or even, sadly, if I ever had.

"It's a noun, adjective, and/or adverb in almost every sentence he says. Which is weird because it sounds really California…and he's from Connecticut originally."

"Yeah, Ellie mentioned her plans for tonight got derailed by her in-laws' unexpected arrival," I added.

He sighed, shifting on his feet a little nervously. He looked away, but then back at me, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Yeah, about that. I'm sorry my sister drafted you to come to this thing with me. I hate this kind of stuff to begin with and then if I'm here with you only because you were doing my sister a favor and you didn't want to be here either–"

I almost put my hand over his mouth to make him stop. He wasn't just rambling, he was spiraling. "Chuck, it's ok," I said, interrupting his muttering. "I needed a break. Work is crazy and this was a nice distraction. I just hope I dressed appropriately. I've never been to a party like this before."

He flashed me a crooked grin, which made me believe what I said had calmed him a bit. "It's not black tie. I called the front desk. Hence the suit," he said, gesturing down at his attire. "Your dress is…perfect. Stunning, in fact."

I blushed again, feeling the heat on my skin…and a strange accompanying heat deep inside me. It was thrilling and disturbing at the same time.

We stood in awkward silence for just a few seconds. He shook himself like he was waking up, then stuck out his arm for me. I slid my hand onto his arm. We walked together into the main function room, where all the tables and chairs were set up.

People were milling all about the room, which was a relief. For an instant I thought we might be late and everyone would already be seated and turn and stare at us. Fortunately, we snuck in unnoticed. We walked through the maze of tables. One of the waitresses dropped a handful of cloth napkins on the floor as she was fumbling with a tray. To my surprise, Chuck took the tray from her, then gestured towards the napkins. Before the girl could stoop, I bent down and picked them up. She thanked us with a shy smile.

Chuck didn't stop until we were at the last table before the podium. I saw his name placard on a folded card before the dinnerware on the table. Charles Bartowski. I never thought to ask Ellie his name, forgetting that she was married, and that their last names could be different. Under his name were the words "Guest of Honor." While I was standing behind him, he folded that card down and tucked it under the edge of the saucer at his place. I don't think he knew I saw him do that.

He pulled my chair out for me and I sat. In front of my place was Ellie's name, and under it "Guest." He sat beside me, then reached for Ellie's place card and tucked it under the edge of my plate. "I don't want anyone to think you're my sister. My lack of knowledge about you would be ridiculously embarrassing, don't you think?"

Anymore embarrassing than a blind date? I thought. My mind racing, I thought to myself, the only way to make that better was to talk to him. Learn something. It was polite and respectful.

"Ellie said you run a software company?" I prompted.

"Carmichael Industries," he replied, lifting his water glass and taking a sip. My eyes followed the movement, my gaze on his hand as he smudged the condensation on the glass and it left tiny wet puddles on the white tablecloth. "I started the company while I was still in college. Took me several years to get it off the ground. Lots of hard work. We do cyber security. About 50/50 private firms and government contracts."

"Who's Carmichael?" I asked, wondering.

He laughed again, his cheeks florid. "Uh…my character from a video game I used to play with my best friend when we were in high school." He was looking at the table top, not at me, while he said that, like he was embarrassed.

I wasn't expecting that answer. He was so…genuine, so sweet. I had only met maybe two other men I would have classified as rich, board members for the orchestra or something related. Pretentious as all hell and nauseating to talk to for longer than five minutes. He was the exact opposite of my expectations. It was a relief.

He was still disconcerted. I worried for a moment what he saw on my face, because he started stuttering, "You…though…you…Ellie said you're a violinist?"

Now I was fixated on my water glass. "First chair with the Los Angeles Symphony," I told him. "That means–"

"Wow," he breathed. "I know what that means. I play the flute. Or, I mean, I used to. Kinda stopped in college. But we had concerts at school and the band teacher…" He stopped his own rambling, giving himself a self-depreciatory growl. "I'm sorry I'm rambling. I'm just really nervous. I don't…go out much. Not that this is a date…or we're out or not out or–"

This time I did put my hand over his mouth. His eyes flew open wide over the hand muffler. I acted instinctively, and shocked myself.

His lips were so soft against my palm. I wondered what they would feel like if I kissed him.

And then I completely freaked myself out and yanked my hand away, like his skin had burned me. I was now just as red, not only my face burning, but my neck and chest as well. "I am too, Chuck. Can we just…you know…relax? Don't feel awkward and I'll try not to feel awkward and we can just…relax."

He breathed out a heavy sigh, his shoulders loosening from his stiff posture. He sipped his water again. "That's an impressive accomplishment, Sarah. First chair, I mean, not…you know…relaxing."

He laughed nervously again, and I giggled. He was nervous about appearing nervous. It was adorable and unexpected.

And then I thought about what he'd said. My job, my accomplishment. It was all I had in the god-blessed universe, other than my friendship with his sister. Telling him that, though, was too much, and I stopped myself.

After that, it was easier. We talked about generalities, like the weather, the news. Ellie was a common denominator with us, so we talked a lot about her. I left out the parts I knew were sensitive–Chuck's divorce, their childhood…things I knew had troubled Ellie in the past. Light and easy, that was my plan.

Eventually everyone who was standing sat down. Our table was filled with two other couples. They were all older…and the type of rich people I had experience with. I focused on Chuck so I wouldn't have to talk too much to anyone else.

When the food was served, Chuck made it a point to subtly show me which fork or spoon I needed, seeing as the place setting was more complex than any I had ever seen before. He focused on me.

I don't think I'd ever had a conversation with anyone who paid that close attention to me–what I said, what I was doing. He was acting as a buffer with the other rich people, talking to me, and making sure I didn't commit any social faux pas all at the same time. Sounds silly, but I felt like he was my hero during all that. Not that I was a damsel in distress, not by any means. But I had the feeling he was trying to keep me safe, even if it was only from awkwardness.

He was charming and disarming. And so sweet I swore he was making my teeth hurt.

When I had a moment to think, I would ask myself, Why was he alone? He seemed like every girl's dream. He'd been divorced for two years. It didn't make sense to me.

As we were eating dessert, I started to feel chilled in the large room. I never said anything. I don't even think I rubbed my arms or shivered. I did have goose bumps, but that was enough. Chuck took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. "Cold?" he asked, after he had done it.

"Thank you," I murmured, tucking it around me. The suit was a wool blend, soft but still a little scratchy on my bare skin. I felt surrounded by his scent, dizzy like I was drunk. I watched him then, in just his white shirt with his tie. I could see his lean muscles across his shoulders under the shirt, the fine definition of the muscles in his arm and chest.

I was attracted to him, I thought with a jolt. When was the last time I had felt this way? When was the last time I had let myself get close enough to someone else to feel this way?

I was in my early 30s…and I had only been with three different men. My high school boyfriend, my sort-of-college boyfriend, and a guy who played the French horn in the orchestra who I had gone out with for a while. I had never been in a real, serious relationship. I had never been in love, never been told by someone else that they loved me. My experiences were only right of passage, passing the time…and scratching an itch.

Bryce, my last romantic association, also my orchestra mate, had never wanted anything other than sex. He made that clear from the start. He asked me out for dinner and while we were eating, he propositioned me. It wasn't romantic, but it was sexy. Ever since I first saw you, all I can think about when I'm around you is how it would feel to have sex with you.

We had almost nothing in common and we rarely talked about anything meaningful. But he was nice to look at, nice to have sex with. Courteous, I guess is the right word. He was no James Bond, no expert lover…but he had patience, and he always made sure I was satisfied. I'd never had an orgasm with a man before I was with Bryce. For the short time we were together, that was enough.

But he moved away, D.C. I think. It just sort of ended. He told me he was moving. He packed up his apartment, and we had sex at my place until the night before his flight out. That was it. Just a goodbye at the door. No phone call, no follow up. But I didn't feel anything either, not like that. He was nice enough, I guess. But I didn't cry, I didn't miss him. I missed having sex with him–that regular access and then abrupt cessation was hard for me.

But I wasn't the type of girl who picked guys up at bars and had one night stands. My friends in college did that, my friend Carina the prime example. We were almost 34 and she still did that, in whatever city she found herself as her career moved her around the globe. I had to know someone to be that intimate with them, at least a little. The problem was, once Bryce left, I never let anyone get close to me. No one knew me, and I knew no one. So I slept alone and I lived alone. Bryce moved three years ago; that was the last time I had even been on a date, let alone had sex.

I never minded it. I never felt lonely, even though I was always alone.

Until I sat there, next to Chuck Bartowski, watching him wolf down a piece of chocolate cake in a shirt and tie while I was wrapped in his jacket. Everything about him attracted me. I could feel my loneliness like a disease, eating away at every part of me. Being with him made me feel lonely. So strange…so unnerving.

I did everything I could to ignore it. I had no dessert and instead drank four glasses of wine…and I never drink. I was borderline tipsy, even though I know I was doing an excellent job of hiding it. I was so warm from the alcohol I was flushed. I had to give Chuck back his jacket.

Giving it back to him felt like I had ripped off a limb. Even though I was sweating, I ached to be wrapped up in it again. Or better…in his arms.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Like the answer to a silent prayer, he asked me to dance.

The dinner was over and the dance floor was crowded. The band was pretty good, alternating between Christmas music and secular dance music.

He danced expertly. Not the usual stumbling in place or swaying back and forth. He stepped correctly. "Wow, you dance too?" I asked, only knowing exactly what I had said as I heard it.

"As opposed to what?" he teased.

"The perfect guy," I said, then literally bit the inside of my cheek to stop my uninhibited words.

That made him stumble over my feet, step on my toe. He apologized profusely. I kept my head down, focused on his shoulder that was at my eye level. I could feel the warmth of his burning cheeks from what I'd said, even if I couldn't look at him. "My…uh…sister…and Captain Awesome…they made sure I could dance for their wedding. Waltz, tango, salsa…I'm good for all that. Just not…fast dancing. And I may know the girl's part of some of those. If you notice, just lead."

I laughed, giggling like a little girl.

The music changed. I recognized the piece–The Christmas Waltz. A Frank Sinatra song, one I remembered from a long time ago when I was little.

"Do you know how to waltz?" he asked quickly.

I rearranged my hands, stepping in time to the song before he looked down at my feet. One, two, three, one, two, three. The song was instrumental, of course, for the music was provided by just a small band.

Chuck smiled, then sang the words softly, under his breath to me as we danced.

"It's that time of year...When the world falls in love...Every song you hear seems to say...Merry Christmas...May your New Year dreams come true...And this song of mine...In three-quarter time...Wishes you and yours...The same thing too…"

His voice was rich, clear, a sonorous tenor, even evident as he sang under his breath. I loved music, lived music, but no one had ever sung to me before, even just a Christmas song. I became acutely aware of the fact that the other couples on the dance floor had stepped back, almost clearing a path for us. Apparently, we were exemplary waltzers.

I stepped closer to him, reaching my arm around his waist instead of resting my hand in his. A little forward, but not overbearingly so. He didn't blush, only pulled my other hand close to his chest and held it there tenderly.

We looked like an actual couple, not two strangers who'd met two hours ago. I began to imagine that the people all around, watching us dance, thought we were together. Married maybe, or boyfriend and girlfriend.

My heady feeling from the wine kept me from bolting out of his arms in fear at that random thought.