Thanks to Frederick's unexpected kiss, plus Lucy's late evening nap, she was tossing and turning most of the night. No-one had ever kissed her the way that Frederick had, like a quick blast of fire. Or maybe lightning. Whatever it was, it had left Lucy stunned, all her nerve endings electrified, yet aching for more.

She dragged herself out of bed the next morning, poured some coffee down her throat, then ran down the stairs to knock on Janelle's door. Lucy was hoping her landlady was keeping to her usual routine this morning and was already awake despite the early hour.

Janelle answered the door carrying a huge mug of coffee, a pair of work pants slung over her shoulder.

"Morning! What brings you by so early, Luce?" she asked.

"Can you drop me off at my car when you leave for work? I had to leave it at the parking area by the city trail yesterday."

"What'd you leave it there for?"

Lucy gave her the short version of yesterday's events.

"I thought I heard a car outside pretty late last night. Were you running in the dark?" Janelle asked, making it clear that she thought they certainly weren't doing any outdoor activities last night.

"No, it wasn't like that. He just didn't want to leave me alone when I was half-blind." She rested her elbows on Janelle's substantial kitchen table and blew the steam away from her piping coffee.

"Did you tell him that I was right downstairs?"

"Well, no, but I wasn't completely sure. I didn't see your car."

"Did you ask him to look?"

"No, but—"

"Did you tell him," she interrupted, "That I helped you through that migraine you got your second day here, and that I made you promise to tell me if you had one again so I could keep an eye on you?"

"Hey, I took those stupid pills that make me, you know, stupid, for a few hours. I can't think of everything!"

"He stayed because you wanted him to stay. And he offered because he wanted to stay. You're a big girl. You're allowed to have men in your apartment after dark." She wagged a coffee spoon at Lucy. "Don't go brushing off a good thing because you're scared. Everything good is a little bit scary."

"Then you'll be happy to hear that I'm positively terrified about him coming over for dinner in a couple days," she said triumphantly.

"Atta girl!" Janelle crowed. She mussed Lucy's hair which, fortunately, hadn't been brushed yet that morning. Lucy rolled her eyes. Janelle was treating her like a teenager with a crush even though she couldn't have been more than a couple years older.

Janelle glanced at the microwave clock. "You'll have to tell me more in the car. I'll meet you out front in a half-hour."

* * * * *

Frederick sat in a makeup chair with his eyes closed while a petite blonde woman fussed with his hair. The drone of the hairdryer and the warmth on the top of his head was doing little to keep him awake.

It had taken him hours to get to sleep once he made it back to his hotel room. Mental flashes from his day had kept him from drifting off. Lucy's strong body as it jiggled just a little with each step while she ran; he often let her get ahead of him just for the view. Lucy's face twisted with pain when the migraine set in. The feel of her small body against his as he guided her back along the trail. The pretty sound of Lucy's laughter when he'd admitted to having spotted a skunk.

Lucy's face as it relaxed into sleep when she'd crawled into bed to sleep off her headache. This was the image that kept returning to him again and again. Her mouth had been slightly open, and her soft brown hair was fanned out on the pillow around her oval face. Her smooth, pale skin was bright in the darkness of the room. Frederick regretted his decision not to climb into bed and sleep next to her.

The hairdryer switched off and Frederick felt fingers working something goopy into his hair. He yawned widely, trying not to move. He didn't know what had possessed him to write his number on Lucy's hand. It was a juvenile thing to do, a kind of marking and claiming ceremony. It was ten years —no, more like fifteen —since he'd last written on a girl's skin.

Frederick stifled another yawn as the hairdresser announced him finished and he moved over to the make-up chair.

"Late night, Mr. Asherton?" asked a tall, thin man with skin the color of milk chocolate and a shaved head.

"Afraid so, Darrin. I'll need you to cover up the dark circles under my eyes," he said, saving Darrin the trouble of avoiding mention of the flaw.

"Anyone I know?" Darrin teased, glancing around the makeup room just as the door swung open.

A young woman wearing oversized sunglasses, her brown hair pulled back under a wide headscarf, swept into the room, and headed straight for Frederick.

"Frederick! Morning, darling," she chirped. She shouldered Darrin out of her way and dropped air kisses over Frederick's cheeks.

"Good morning, Neva," said Frederick. He returned the kisses, never touching her bare skin. "Lovely to see you here so early."

Only a half-hour late was early for Neva Straughter.

"I need to look my best today, don't I? Plenty of close-ups," she said.

"Morning, Miss Straughter," said Darrin. He did not meet Neva's eyes.

"Darrin!" said Neva, feigning surprise to see him beside Frederick. "How are you this morning?" Darrin started to speak, but she spoke over top of him. "Make sure you use your best waterproof lip stain on Frederick today. Those lips have a long day ahead of them," she purred. She dragged the tip of a french-polished nail across her own lower lip, then sauntered to her own makeup chair and hollered for a Colombian espresso.

"Her?" Darrin asked after Neva had popped in her ear-buds and slouched in her chair with her eyes closed, a flurry of makeup girls swirling around her.

"No! No, just trying to get into character. We're shooting the romantic climax today," said Frederick.

"So when you're kissing Miss Straughter, will you be thinking of whoever kept you up last night?"

"It wasn't like that. I was out with a friend. No-one you would know."

Darrin dabbed a makeup sponge under Frederick's eye with more force than usual. "A girl from town? I didn't think you were the type, Mr. Asherton."

"I'm not, Darrin. I would think you'd know that by now."

The crew all knew which cast members wanted nothing to do with fans, which would chat politely and take photos, and which were willing to meet 'privately' with the most attractive ones. Frederick made sure everyone knew he was the 'chat and a photo' type. He knew it was good business, and he honestly enjoyed meeting people who were excited about the same movies he was. However, he had no interest in women who only wanted to brag to their friends that they'd banged a movie star. Worse were the ones who thought that because they were enamored with him, that he must be ripe to fall for them, if only they could spend five minutes alone with him.

But Lucy wasn't like that, he was nearly certain. Once she'd gotten past her initial surprise, he knew she'd worked hard to treat him like anyone else. He could imagine her laughing that easy, infectious laugh if she could see him now, wearing more makeup than she did. She'd even invited him to a private dinner at her apartment rather than subject them both to a public spectacle.

He wondered if Lucy would be willing to make a spectacle of herself someday. It was a lot to ask. She was so grounded, even shy at times. Maybe the gentlemanly thing to do was to cancel dinner before anyone's feelings got hurt.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, then exhaled with relief when he saw that his phone had no service again. He decided she'd be at work now, anyways. He'd call her later this evening to cancel. And in the meantime, he could spend the day imagining that the date was still going to happen.

Darrin was right. When Frederick held Neva in his arms today, he would be thinking of Lucy and that all-too-brief kiss.

* * * * *

"That dessert was wonderful," said Frederick, putting his fork down on his plate.

"I'd tell you how I made it, but I was sworn to secrecy by my grandmother on her death bed."

He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Lucy.

"It's true! Her final words to me were 'tell no-one about the apricots'."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound, rich and smooth as thick caramel over Hagen Daaz. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to betray your grandmother's trust. Your secrets are safe."

"Thank-you, sir. I just knew that you were a true gentleman," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. She stood up and gathered a few dishes in her hands. Frederick did the same and followed her to the sink. Fine cologne drifted in the air before him.

"I think I will risk asking where you got those smashing socks, darling," he said. She looked down at her feet and almost dropped the plates.

Oh, crap.

"I, um, forgot I was wearing those. I had some shoes picked out to wear tonight, but I guess I forgot to put them on," she said. She turned away to put the dishes down on the counter when she felt her face flush.

"And here I thought you knew I had a soft spot for R2-D2," he said.

"C3PO is on the other side," she said sheepishly. She turned back to face him and pointed her toe to show the inside of her ankle.

"And are those TIE-fighters in between?"

"You know your ships. I like the Millennium Falcon better, but it doesn't chart as well."

"Chart?"

"Yes, well, I took up knitting a while back because it's supposed to be good for your stress levels. Didn't help much, but I thought it was fun anyways. I knitted these socks for myself last winter."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're shitting me," he said, the phrase sounding incongruous in his polished accent.

"I could make a pair for you, if you would like," she said impulsively.

"Really? I'd love that," he said, sounding pleased. "Oh, but they must take hours to make. I couldn't ask that of you."

"I honestly don't mind. The nights are long here, and there really isn't much to do."

"Hmmm. How about a trade, then," he said, and placed the serving dish in his hands onto the counter. He stood mere inches from her elbow. "Are you busy Saturday?"

"No. Why?" She could smell his fine cologne even more strongly now. It went surprisingly well with apricots.

"How about a day on the PPZ set? I can bring you in, show you around, find somewhere for you to watch the filming?"

"That sounds like so much fun! I've never been on a movie set before."

"Ms. MacKinley, I believe we have a deal," he said. He held out his hand for her to shake. She took his hand, and he held hers for a long moment.

"Should we take our wine to the couch?" she asked when the tension became too much for her.

"Lets."

Frederick followed Lucy to the couch. He didn't think he'd ever seen her this relaxed and comfortable. Frederick was glad he'd never worked up the nerve to call off the date. Lucy's number had been in his hand several times the evening after he'd decided to end it. He'd even gone as far as to pick up the phone and dial a few numbers. But every time he started to call, he thought, "I'll never see her again," and then he hung up the phone.

Maybe having Lucy come to the movie set would do the talking for him. She'd see that his world, his make-believe life where everything was temporary and nothing was as it seemed didn't interest her. She'd see his life as he did, and that would be their goodbye.

* * * * *

A contented silence stretched between Lucy and Frederick. A small fire popped and crackled in the fireplace, casting a soft, flickering light around the room. Abruptly, she noticed where she was, what she was doing...and who she was with. The enormity of it made her suddenly restless.

"I'll just put on some music," she said, hopping up from the couch and crossing the room to her small stereo. "What are you in the mood for? Classical guitar? Ironic pop? Jazz?" she asked.

"Have you got any Spice Girls? They're still quite big in England."

"Erm..."

"Oh, Lucy, you don't have to look quite so horrified! It was a joke."

"You didn't look like you were joking." She fiddled with her MP3 player for a moment, pretending to browse her digital music collection.

"Keeping a straight face is a big part of what I do for a living, Lucy. It follows me into my personal life."

"Oh, right. About that music?"

"What have you got for jazz?" he asked standing and preparing to follow her to the stereo.

"Nothing on here, but I think I've got a couple CD's," she said, bending from the waist to look at the titles on the shelf under the stereo.

Lucy heard a thump, followed by a small splash and a low curse. She stood up to see Frederick leaning forward in front of the coffee table and rubbing his shin, his white wine all down the front of his white button-up shirt.

"Oh, are you OK?" she asked, stifling a giggle.

"Yes, I'm fine. I didn't see the coffee table when...well, never mind. I barked my shin and spilled my wine. I'm sorry about the mess."

"It's fine. I'm just glad that you brought white wine instead of red."

"Tell me where you keep the washcloth," he said. She considered arguing that she should clean it up because he was her guest, but he spoke with such authority, she figured it would be a losing battle.

"Kitchen sink, over the faucet. I'll see if I can find you a dry shirt."

"I'd appreciate it," he said, plucking the sodden fabric away from his chest, then letting it fall back with a soft, wet slap. It clung to his well-formed chest like a second skin, and she could see one small, dark nipple through the wet fabric.

Yum.

"I'll be right back," Lucy said, averting her eyes before her glance turned into a leer. She went down the hall into her bedroom and rummaged for a shirt large enough to fit her tall guest. She had her hand half-way down a stack of pajamas when she froze.

He'd been staring at her ass.

She had been bent over to look for a CD when he'd walked into the coffee table and spilled his drink. A silly grin spread across her face.

When she had composed herself, she went back into the living room. It was her turn to be treated to a rear view of Frederick on his hands and knees, wiping the floor under the coffee table.

"I found you a shirt," she said. He straightened quickly, holding her blue checkered washcloth in one hand.

"I think I got it all. Most of it landed on me," he said, running his free hand through his thick hair, which had fallen into his face while he was cleaning.

"Thank you. You really didn't have to," she said, then handed him the shirt.

"No trouble. Thanks for the shirt." He slung her shirt over his shoulder and headed into the kitchen with the wash-cloth. "Can I leave my wet shirt in the sink?" he called.

"Sure. I can wash it for you, if you like."

"Absolutely not. You cooked for me tonight. You are not doing my washing, too."

"Okay, okay. I'll just put that music on now." She returned to the stereo, careful to point her posterior away from her guest in the kitchen. Relaxing jazz piano poured from the speakers. Frederick walked down the hall, undoing buttons as he went, but disappeared from view before he'd revealed more than a peek of pecs. Lucy could tell that he was built like a male dancer, though: power without bulk.

A few moments later, he dropped his soggy shirt in the sink, then came back into the living room wearing the shirt she had handed to him. It was a 'one size fits all' t-shirt that she had gotten at a charity run a few years back. It was so large on her that she wore it as a summer nightgown. On him, it fit almost perfectly, and while slightly faded fluorescent orange wasn't his best color, it looked much better on him than her.

"Well, bonus points for the impromptu wet t-shirt contest. You win, by the way. But negative points for such a cliché move. I mean really, spilling a drink on yourself at a girl's house?" she teased, settling herself down on the couch as he did the same.

"If I am acting young and giddy, it's only because I feel that way," he said, fixing his mesmerizing eyes on hers. The music spun and swirled in the air around them. Her heart seemed to be sitting higher in her chest than usual and throwing in extra beats here and there. After a moment, he rocked his shoulders back and forth a little in time with the music, moving with his usual grace.

"Dance with me," he rumbled.

"Oh, no," she protested. "I respect you far too much to expose you to my quote-unquote dancing."

He stood up, looking far more regal than anyone had a right to while wearing a bright orange shirt that said 'Running For a Fix in 2006' across the chest.

"Stand," he said, the word a soft command, and held his hand out to her.

She stood.

Frederick wrapped an arm around her waist and she draped hers around his shoulder. He grabbed her free hand and pressed it to his chest. She found the pose incredibly intimate. Lucy was relieved to find that Frederick's idea of dancing involved only swaying more or less in time with the beat.

She got the same feeling she did when he was guiding her back to their cars when she had the migraine: their bodies knew what to do, were in sync even though her mind was whirling and bouncing in a thousand directions. Was he going to try to kiss her again? Would she let him? What if it went farther than just a kiss? She did invite him to her home, after all. Maybe he'd taken that to mean more than just dinner. God, she was stupid sometimes. She'd just been trying to avoid a public spectacle. She was starting to think that staying home was just as nerve-wracking as going out would have been.

The way their bodies seemed to be communicating without her interference led her to wonder what it would be like if they did follow this thing through, if it would feel this effortless during other activities? It wasn't like she'd never had a physical relationship before, but she didn't want to jump into bed with someone who was on his way out of town—and out of her life—for good in the very near future.

* * * * *

The slow, romantic song ended and an energetic, playful one began.

"I, um, think I'll sit this one out," Lucy said, untangling her arms from Frederick's and giving the fire a poke before settling back onto the couch. "Would you like some more wine? Or coffee?" she asked, hinting that the evening was coming to a close.

He refused the coffee, but said he'd have another half glass of wine, claiming another early morning on the set the following day.

When Lucy took their empty wine glasses to the kitchen, Frederick followed. He thanked her again for making him dinner. "You're really quite a good cook," he said.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," she laughed, standing at the counter as she tried to get the cork a little ways back into the wine bottle.

"Everything about you is surprising, Lucy," he said behind her, suddenly serious. Lucy put down the wine bottle and, butterflies caroming in her stomach, turned to face Frederick. Her lips parted when she saw the intensity of the vibe he was giving off. His posture, his face, everything about him exuded desire. He stepped towards her, surrounding her with his arms by resting his hands on the counter, his body not quite touching hers.

"You make me laugh. You cook for me. You fix my injuries." Frederick lowered his head, leaning even closer to Lucy, but staying a tantalizing hairsbreadth from making contact anywhere. Lucy's skin felt electrified, hyper-sensitive and buzzing, ready to spark at the slightest touch. She was breathing faster.

She turned her head so they were face to face, his green eyes blazing down into her own. Before she thought about whether she should, or where it might take her, she stood on her toes and kissed Frederick. His mouth was soft and warm under hers, and for an impossibly long moment, time stopped and neither of them moved.

But when she made contact, the charged, invisible barrier between them began to fall, and soon Frederick returned her kiss with enthusiasm. He held the sides of her face, kissing her with more urgency. His tongue pressed against her lips and she opened to him, her entire world condensing to lips and hands and heartbeats. She wrapped her arms around Frederick. He took this as a cue to pull her closer and kiss her even more deeply. One of his hands twined into the hair at the back of her head. The other roamed her shoulder blades, the curve of her lower back, and then cupped her backside.

Lucy spun Frederick around and started to walk backwards out of the kitchen, never breaking the kiss. She was thinking of the couch, but suddenly found the back of her calves bumping into the edge of her bed instead. That would do, too.

They tipped sideways and fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Frederick rolled so that he was lying full-length on top of Lucy, kissing her like he was suffocating and she was oxygen. Lucy matched his pace, her hands roaming his body as his explored hers. She felt the soft hair at the nape of his neck, the strength she knew was in his shoulders, the heavy warmth of his body pressing down on her from her breasts down to her thighs.

This was so easy. Their bodies were in sync, moving together almost as one. There was none of the awkwardness, the negotiation usually involved when starting a physical relationship with someone new. This felt like they'd done this a thousand times before, but with all the sizzle and thrill of something brand new and undiscovered.

Frederick kissed her ear, then her neck, then mumbled something into her shoulder. She didn't catch his words, but his meaning was clear. He was having a darned good time, too.

Something started niggling at the back of Lucy's mind. She pushed it away for a while, sinking into the sensations that were flooding her body, the building heat in her nether regions, the certain knowledge that Frederick was feeling it, too. But the thought grew more persistent, eventually screaming loud enough to be heard over Lucy's long-neglected sex drive.

"Condoms!" she blurted. "Er. I...that is, I don't have any. Do you?"

"Damn." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "No. No, I don't have any either. Buying them is...well, if I walk into a shop and buy condoms, everyone tells everyone what I'm up to, don't they?"

"This is a town of 800 people. If I walk into the pharmacy-slash-post-office and buy condoms, everyone will tell everyone what I'm up to," she countered. "Besides, everything in this town closes down by six at night."

"Double damn," he said, flopping onto his back and letting out his breath in a big whoosh. He lay still for a moment. "Your friend downstairs?" he suggested hopefully.

Lucy was horrified to realize that, for a moment, she considered it. Instead, she said, "I just couldn't. I've only known her a few weeks." Besides, even if Janelle did have what they needed in her medicine cabinet, she'd never let Lucy hear the end of it.

Frederick drummed his fingers against the bedcovers. "I could ask her," he offered. Lucy smacked him with a pillow.

She considered suggesting that there were other things they could do, even without protection, but given the screaming of her hormones, it seemed like playing with fire.

Sometimes being a responsible adult sucked big time.

* * * * *

The next morning, Lucy popped out of bed the second as her alarm went off. As soon as she'd had enough coffee to become verbal, she dialed the phone.

"Hey, Violet?"

"Hi, Luce. You're calling early."

"Yeah, I was hoping to catch you before you made your trip to the city."

"You just caught me. I'm leaving in a few minutes. What's up?"

"I have a favor to ask..."