The Loophole

Chapter 3

Sara stood in front of her closet, glaring and pacing and completely aggravated that she was a woman. Finally she picked up the phone.

"Grissom."

"Where are we going to dinner?"

He leaned back on his couch, grinning. "Greg, is that you?"

"I'm serious, Grissom. I'm a girl. This is how girls work."

"They make threatening phone calls?"

She flopped onto her bed in exasperation. "They need to know what to wear."

"Wear whatever." He flipped through the channels on his TV set, wondering what ever happened to that Jeopardy guy with the big head.

"You are not helping," she groaned. "If we're going to the diner, I need a completely different outfit than if we're going to some swanky place where the menu is in a foreign language. Where did you make reservations?"

"Reservations?"

"You're kidding, right?"

He clicked off the TV. "Give me some credit. I made reservations at Romano's, but we can go wherever you like."

"Romano's is fine," she said, playing with the fringe on a throw pillow. "I'm not wearing a skirt."

"That's fine."

"I don't wear skirts."

"Neither do I."

"I mean it."

He shifted on the couch, throwing the remote onto his coffee table. "What's this really about, Sara?"

She was quiet for a minute. "I'm not girly, Griss."

"I know you're not."

"I'm not going to show up for dates wearing miniskirts and push-up bras."

"Good, me neither." When she didn't answer, he sighed. "When did I give you the impression that I wanted you to change?"

She bit her thumbnail. "Never."

"Then take that at face value. I like you the way you are."

"I need to know ahead of time where we're going, because I hate standing in front of my closet wondering what to wear. It's the worst part of being a woman."

"Okay."

She was quiet again, and he took a sip of water, wondering what else was bothering her. "Griss, just so you know."

"Mm?"

"I have really good legs."

It was a struggle not to spit the water out. "Really."

"Oh yeah."

"Am I supposed to take your word on that?"

"You'll have to, because I don't wear skirts."

"Ah." He was silent for a moment, and she smiled, waiting for the question. "I am going to see your legs someday, right?"

"Not in a skirt."

"Out of a skirt?"

"See you at seven, Grissom." She hung up the phone and lay back on her bed, wondering how, after two days of marriage, they already sounded like an old married couple.

He arrived promptly at seven, brandishing a bouquet of flowers and a sheepish smile. "The lady at the flower shop said that gerber daisies are appropriate for a first date."

Sara accepted them shyly, rummaging through her cabinets for a vase. "Did she notice your wedding ring?"

"She did, actually," Grissom chuckled. "I started to explain, but she just waved me off and said this is Vegas."

Filling a glass vase with water, she glanced over at him, admiring his navy blue suit. "You look nice, by the way."

He ran his eyes over her cream-colored silk shirt and pants. "So do you. No skirt?"

"Don't start with me."

The daisies were red and orange. They clashed with her table and the walls, and she loved them.

"Let's go."

He waited until she was digging into her eggplant parmigiana to bring it up. "So, uh, my mom wants to meet you."

She froze. "You told your mom?"

"Yeah." He twirled spaghetti on his fork, trying to look nonchalant.

"Is she mad?"

He shrugged slightly. "She would've liked to have been there. But I think she understands. Somewhat."

"I can't believe you told your mom." She picked at her eggplant, suddenly finding herself without an appetite.

He watched her, knowing full well what this was about. "Nobody expects you to tell your mom, Sara."

"I know," she shot back defensively.

"I mean it."

She closed her eyes in irritation. "Don't act like you understand my family situation, Grissom."

"Okay."

"Because you don't."

"Okay."

He took a giant bite of spaghetti, chewing slowly while she stared at her plate. "I told her through e-mail."

"Oh? Didn't warrant a phone call?"

"My mom's deaf." He kept his expression deliberately mild.

"Oh."

"They do make phones for deaf people, but she doesn't like them. Prefers e-mail."

She nodded pensively, picking at her food.

"Just. wanted to help you understand my family situation."

This garnered him a small smile. She took a bite of her eggplant. "This is really good."

"So's this."

"Wanna split it?"

He nodded, and they divided their meals in half, pushing food onto each other's plates.

She loaded her fork with spaghetti and eggplant. "These go well together."

"Yeah. They do."

They walked from his car to her apartment slowly, holding hands. She stopped outside her door. "I'm sorry I snapped at you at dinner."

"It's fine." He stroked her palm with his thumb.

"I just." She couldn't look at him. "I don't have anyone."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have any family to speak of, and the only friends I have are the people I work with. I don't have anyone to call up and squeal to about how I got married."

He nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Anyway. I'll see you at work?" He nodded again, and she kissed his lips lightly.

She walked into her apartment and shut the door, throwing her keys on the counter and picking up a magazine with a sigh. The phone rang, and she grabbed it, sprawling out on her couch.

"Hello?"

"Sara? It's Gil Grissom."

Her brow furrowed. "Grissom? What are you doing?"

"Well, I was just wondering what you've been up to."

She shook her head slowly. "Uh, I walked into my apartment and sat on my couch. No time for much more than that."

"No, I mean what you've been up to, life-wise." He sat in his car, running his fingers over the steering wheel. "It's just. you're an important person to me, and I wanted to know what's going on in your life."

She couldn't keep the smile from spreading across her face. "Oh. Well. I got married."

"Married! You don't say! Who's the lucky guy?"

She walked over to the window, peering at him from behind the curtains. "Oh, just a guy I work with. His name's Gil Grissom."

"That famous bug guy?" He saw her and waved.

"He's not so famous."

He laughed. "Are you happy with him?"

She pressed her palm to the glass. "Happier than I am without him."

A breath. "Do you love him?"

She stared at him. "Yeah."

"I bet he loves you too."

"Yeah, probably. I'm really lovable."

He laughed again, and she closed her eyes, smiling.

"See you at work?"

"See you."