By Kim and Linda

© July 2001

September 3, 1998

To: MPierson@pharmacy.net

From: DReynolds@pyrex.com

Subject: Wedding!

Michael! I got the RSVP back yesterday from you--I'm *really* glad you're going to be able to make it out! (Not that I ever really thought you wouldn't, since you said you were coming while you were out here--but still.) Looks like you're bringing Randy, too, from the sound of it? I'm really looking forward to meeting him. So I can check out the competition ;-)

I'm certainly curious about the surprise you said you're getting for me and Will--I have to admit, you give the best surprises <g> You know we're registered at Dillards, right? Not that there's too much we need--we've managed to accumulate a whole bunch of stuff between the two of us (separately, of course).

You said you're coming out a day or two before the wedding, right? I have a block of rooms reserved for wedding guests at the Scottsdale Radisson; tell them you're with the Reynolds/Roberts party. Or you can just do your "I want the best suite in the place" thing that you do so well <g>

I have to tell you…I'm nervous. Not scared-to-death nervous, but…I don't know. I love Will, I really do. And he's--right for me, Michael. There will always be a part of me that belongs to you, that loves you. You're my dearest friend, we've been lovers for (well, let's don't talk about how long, hmm?) a while, and we've shared joy and sorrow together. We have *history*. I can't dismiss that--I won't dismiss it. Will knows I care for you a lot; he probably knows I love you--though it doesn't detract from what I feel for him. (Stop squirming, love. I'm almost done being mushy.) I just wanted to say…thank you. For giving me so much of yourself over the years. For being patient while I found myself…for teaching me so much. Sometimes I wish I had said yes to you; most of the time--like the night we had dinner and you told me about Randy--I'm glad I didn't. You should see yourself, Michael Pierson, when you talk about him. You…glow. You're a beautiful man, inside and out, and you deserve the best. I think Randy…sounds like he's the one to give it to you.

Be well, be happy, and I can't wait to see you in Scottsdale! I expect a dance at my reception--don't you dare disappoint me!

Oh! Side note--dinner at Monterey Whaling Company; they have lobster to die for :-)

See you in a few weeks, love! My best to Randy,

Danie

****************

To: DReynolds@pyrex.com

From: MPierson@pharmacy.net

Subject: RE: Wedding!

Hullo, poppet. You sound lovely, as always.

Absolutely nothing in the world would make me miss your wedding. Randy is actually looking forward to meeting you---I do believe he said something similar to your comment about "checking out the competition". I'll expect you both to behave yourselves---I remember how quick your hands are when you're pissed. Should I warn him to wear a cup for your first meeting? <bg>

Although on second thought, I'm not sure they make them that large. <vbg>

As for the present, you'll just have to content yourself with waiting. No hints, and I'm very glad you're not sitting here before me, or you'd have teased it out of me by now. I never could keep a secret from you. I will say that if Dillards carries it, I'll be rather surprised.

And yes, I know all about blending two households. We're still working on it, even after all this time. Randy and Miles have come to an uneasy truce; they simply ignore one another. Ah, well. It's better than living in an armed camp. I suspect you and Will shall have an easier time of it.

He's really a splendid fellow, poppet. In spite of myself, I like him. Honestly, I didn't wish to do so; I suppose I'll always view him with a bit of jealousy---he did, after all, catch my Favorite American Girl.

As for lodgings, we'll be staying in the Presidential Suite at the Radisson. Yes, the moment I knew you were getting married, I booked it. Always be prepared, I say.

Don't be afraid, poppet. As you say, Will is right for you. He *fits* you, complements you, in ways I never could. What we've shared has been wonderful, and you know I'll always love you. You'll always have a piece of my heart, Danie-girl.

We should be arriving two days before the ceremony. I'm not quite certain of a time, as we're driving out. Randy doesn't fly, and so we're taking the land route. It will be interesting, I'm certain.

I look forward to dancing with you---I remember how beautifully you dance.

Michael

******************

Michael: Early morning, just after sunrise, was a beautiful time in California. It was still cool enough to have the windows down, and a lovely fresh breeze blew through the windows of Randy's truck, ruffling my hair and tugging at the sleeves of my white shirt. Later, I'd have to roll them up as it grew warmer, for the moment, though, it felt good to have them buttoned down.

I adjusted my sunglasses and glanced in the rearview mirror once more. Pettigrew hung behind us, four car lengths, in a dusty black Ford Explorer. He was very good; sometimes even I didn't pick him up. I was certain Randy hadn't noticed him yet, and honestly, I hoped he didn't. Both Erich and Miles had been adamant that I take a bodyguard along; it was a long trip overland, and all sorts of things might happen. I tended to keep a very low profile; my media exposure since my divorce from Nicole was almost nil. But things could and did happen to people in my position, and so when they'd insisted I take Pettigrew with me, I didn't argue. I knew Pettigrew well from several assignments he'd had with me; he was a non-descript, utterly stable fellow who talked little and blended well into the background. I rather liked him, and felt comfortable in his presence.

I wasn't so certain what Randy might think about the whole idea of having a bodyguard along, so I didn't mention it to him. I supposed that had been a tactical error, and if he found out, there would be utter hell to pay. He hated any kind of interference in our lives, but was smart enough to realize the necessity of a bodyguard on a trip such as this one. The hell would come from my not telling him, not the fact of the bodyguard itself. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd put one on him. I'd had one on Nicole; small and delicate and petite, she had been an ideal target for kidnappers. Granted, Randy was none of those, and as strong as an ox, but still, connection with me brought a degree of risk, no matter how small.

But regardless of Randy's knowledge, Pettigrew followed us, a faithful, vigilant watchdog. And I did feel rather safer with him about. I wasn't accustomed to long road trips such as this had been, and felt rather out of my element.

I glanced over at Randy, absorbed in some political mystery/thriller. He read amazingly fast; it was nothing for him to devour a thick book in a couple of hours. The small back seat in the rear of the cab was littered with novels he'd already read or planned to read, their pages riffling noisily in the breeze.

Just for the hell of it, I ejected the CD playing and inserted one of my own, one he didn't know I'd brought along. In a moment, the harmonies of the BeeGees floated out into the early morning air.

Randy: I looked up when I realized I recognized "How Deep Is Your Love", and glanced over at Michael. "You are truly an evil man, you know that, right?" The grin I got in return seemed to indicate he didn't particularly care.

It'd been an interesting road trip thus far. I honestly hadn't realized it could be fun to drive this distance, but it was. We'd taken turns, switching off when one or the other got sleepy or our legs cramped up. It was interesting to see Michael *outside* the usual places I saw him. Even though I was used to seeing him at home, at play, in casual settings, this seemed different somehow. He looked good behind the wheel of my truck--and it took me a little while to figure out he was having a pretty good time. I should have warned him about the testosterone rush.

It was just a little past seven now; pretty soon the desert would begin heating up in earnest, but with any sort of luck we'd be in Scottsdale by about two, maybe three at the latest. I hated early mornings with a passion, but it seemed the really smart thing to do to get up early this morning and get a couple hours of highway behind us before the sun came up to scorch everything in its path. The weather forecast for the Phoenix area for this weekend was calling for temps well into the hundred and teens--and I wondered why on earth anyone would choose to live out here. Give me temperate California any day.

I was a little bit nervous; we were going to meet Danie and her fiancée for dinner tonight. The Radisson Resort had a new restaurant just opened up, and Danie had recommended another place as well. I wondered how awkward it would be to have dinner with this woman. I slipped my bookmark into place and wondered idly if there was a bookstore near the hotel; at the rate I was going I was going to run out. Unless I found something else to occupy my time.

Which led to lewd thoughts about Michael, and I looked sideways at him, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. I grinned. "I can't believe you put that in. Now I'm going to be thinking weird *hair* thoughts for the rest of the day."

Michael: I laughed; I couldn't help it. I spared him a sidelong glance. "You know, you could get a white polyester suit, and grow out your hair...long and *fluffy*." I released the steering wheel long enough to make the appropriate hand motions, and predictably, he burst into laughter. "And then I'll get a big Stetson and boots and chaps---the cowboy kind. And I'll drawl a lot and walk bowlegged. Then we'll be perfect for one another."

Randy: "You'd look swell in chaps and boots, darlin'." I drawled the words out and Michael grinned; the grin widened when I continued, "I don't think either of us would be able to get the accents right. Much as I'm disappointed to admit that. Polyester is so me." I set the book down and stretched, yawning hugely. "I need coffee, Michael. I can't believe you made me leave after just one cup. Breakfast would be good, too. We need a restaurant." I reached down and dug through my travel bag for the stuff from Triple A I'd stashed yesterday.

Michael: I quirked a grin at myself in the mirror. Even if I did get a Stetson, I'd never quite blend in. Even without opening my mouth, I knew I could be spotted as a "foreigner"---I simply looked British, with my facial bone structure. Randy might have laughed at that, but perhaps not; England had a smaller gene pool to draw from than Americans, and we all had a vaguely similar "look" to us---I could always spot a fellow Brit in America even without hearing them. I gave a mental shrug.

"I'm not particular where we stop to eat, as long as we do so sometime soon. And we need petrol. I'd hate to run empty somewhere out in the desert---as much as I like heat, I'm certain I'd not like that."

Randy: "Denny's. We should be coming up to signs for Indio pretty soon." I folded the map to the area we needed and frowned at Michael when he gave me that snarky 'you're anal about that *too*' look he'd given me last night. We'd had a wonderful 'discussion' about how the map had to be folded to the place we were traveling on it--which ended in a pushing match which ended up with us both gasping and laughing from different points on the bed. And he'd still called me anal. "Anywhere there're Denny's, there will be gas stations." I tossed the map onto the dash, then stretched again. "Coffee, bathroom, breakfast. In that order."

Michael: I had an urge to just toss the damn map out the window, but realized that wouldn't be the wisest of actions, no matter how satisfying it might be. Surely a city as large as Scottsdale wouldn't be difficult to find simply by road signs. It might be worth it to see his look of horror and hear him swear, but I decided against it.

So, I behaved myself, and we drove on, chatting idly about this or that, as Randy looked out the window at the scenery. It was sere and severe, beautiful in its own way, though nothing like San Francisco and it's surroundings, and even further from the cool misty green of England. I felt an odd surge of homesickness for it; odd, as I'd just returned from there.

Indio rose up before us, and I took the exit. We filled up with petrol, and then proceeded to a place called Denny's where we took a window booth. As Randy went to the restroom, I saw Pettigrew pull up and park before coming in. He took a place at the counter after a quick nod in my direction.

Randy: It was already getting hot; I could feel it starting, the further the sun came up. Memories, long buried, of summers in Texas flashed through my mind and I almost laughed out loud. I'd gotten wimpy in the last fifteen years.

Michael headed for the restroom when I came back, and I was pleased beyond words when the waitress came over with a pot of coffee and two large orange juices. I hadn't ordered anything, which meant Michael had. Looking out for me. Looking after me. I scanned the menu while I waited for Michael. If we planned this right, we wouldn't have to stop again until we got to the hotel. I didn't mind fast food sometimes, but eating and then getting back into the truck to ride another so many hours wasn't my idea of a good time.

Michael slid into the booth across from me and I saluted him with the menu. "Let's plan to do brunch at the hotel Sunday morning. Even if we're up late partying, we can still make it."

Michael: "Sounds lovely. I suspect we will be up rather late," I said, perusing the menu. Egad. I suspected that nothing here was remotely healthy. I chose what looked like the least offensive breakfast and hoped for the best.

Leaning back into the booth, I unwrapped the tea bag, and popped it into the cup of hot water, then turned my saucer upside down atop it to let it steep. Looking up, I saw Randy looking at me with a smug grin. I returned it.

"Tea is the mark of a civilized man," I replied with some asperity. "One ought to give it the proper respect and prepare it with grace."

He continued to look at me down his nose. It was a good attempt, but I could do it much better---how could I not, with a nose the size of mine? I sighed, and decided to admit defeat. "Yes, yes, you're not the only anal one. Satisfied?"

Randy: "I am." I fought against the urge to snicker and managed to more-or-less subdue it though it wasn't easy.

We filled the time waiting for our orders by relaxing and watching the sunrise and making small talk. My belly was grumbling mutinous thoughts by the time the waitress returned with our plates and a refill on my coffee. I wondered if I could get her to leave the pot and decided probably not. Too bad Denny's wasn't like IHOP--how much classier could a place get, where they gave you a whole carafe at once?

I'd gotten eggs, bacon and hotcakes; Michael was frowning at his french toast with strawberries. I waited 'til the waitress left us, then nudged his leg with my foot. "It's not gonna kill you, honest. Denny's isn't gourmet food, but it's not horrible, either. Be a good boy and eat up."

Michael: I thought about offering him a rude gesture, then shrugged and dove in. It helped that I was starving, but even if I had not been, the food was surprisingly good.

"You realize, of course, that lovely young girls will be flinging themselves all over you requesting to dance," I said, and nudged his booted foot. "You do dance, yes?"

Randy: I paused mid-chew and raised my left eyebrow in imitation of him--which earned me another nudge--then swallowed before answering. "I don't suppose you're going to count line dancing in this, are you?" His eyebrow rose and I had to admit, he did it better. Ah, well. We couldn't all be Mister Spock. I took a drink of my juice. "Yes, I can dance. It's not my most favorite thing in the world, but I can do the whole Arthur Murray ballroom dancing thing if necessary." I frowned. "I dunno about the 'lovely young girls flinging themselves all over me' part, though. I don't suppose I could just sit out the reception?" A thought occurred to me then, making me frown again. "We are going--together, right? I mean, I don't expect you to dance with me or anything, but--?"

Michael: I set down my fork. "We are going *together*. Absolutely together. Expect me to stick as closely to you as a burr." I reached out and ran my fingers over his knuckles, and smiled at him. "Per sempre, Caro."

Randy: Well that resolved a tension I hadn't really been aware of, until it was gone. I returned the smile. "Per sempre." Somehow, weird as it was, it was easier to think 'forever' than to say 'I love you'. Whatever. It worked for us.

I downed my juice and finished up my eggs. Michael pushed the last couple bites of his toast around his plate then pushed it away. The waitress came over with the check and smiled as she set it down and gathered the plates up. "Can I get either of you anything else?"

We both shook our heads and I reached for the check. "No, we're good, thanks." Her eyes lingered on Michael for a moment before she smiled and turned away, and I grinned at him. "You sure do appeal to the population at large, darlin'."

Michael: "It's the nose," I said sagely. "It's because of the old wives' tales, you know." I grinned at him. "Though truthfully, this nose should by rights belong to you, not me."

Randy: I sputtered, then coughed. "I thought that was measured against feet, or toes, or something?" His response to that was blown away as he stepped out the door. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him as I waited for my change.

He was leaning against the truck when I came out a moment later, and I caught the keys as he tossed them my way. "No more reading time, huh?"

Michael: "You've been lazy long enough," I replied. "It's my turn to sleep."

He made a rude noise, and I climbed up into the truck. Already it was hot; just standing waiting for him to unlock the doors had brought a fine sheen of sweat to my forehead and the small of my back. Time for air conditioning, I supposed.

We pulled out, sedately for Randy; I suppose it had something to do with the highway patrol cruiser sitting on the lot opposite us, and headed back for the highway. Randy popped out the Bee Gees CD and replaced it with a country one. I wondered if I should be alarmed that I recognized who sang.

I sprawled in the seat and watched the countryside slide by, watched the sun crawl up the sky, growing white-hot as it went. Cool air ruffled my hair from the air conditioning vents, swirling around like my thoughts. Full and sleepy, a thought popped into my head. "Did you really think I'd shuttle you into a corner, as if I were ashamed of you?"

Randy: I gave Michael a glance out of the corner of my eye and shrugged. "I don't think you're ashamed of me, darlin'...and obviously at least one person at this wedding knows you're with me since you told her...I just wasn't sure. I guess...I'm not sure, since we're out of familiar territory. We're careful at home because our private lives don't need to be made public...but we're a long way from home, now."

Michael: I shifted a little in the seat. "I've never been ashamed of any partner I've ever had. I'm certainly not ashamed of you. You're my choice. I've never been aggressive in pushing my preferences into people's faces, but I won't hide you away, either. That would be wrong."

Randy: I reached out and touched Michael's thigh, giving him a sidelong glance. "Wrong or not, I'd understand if you did. Really." His hand touched mine, then settled over it for a moment. Not really holding hands, just a brief touch, but it warmed me in a way not even the sun beating down could do. When he moved it away I missed it. "Tell me about Danie. When did you meet her? How long have you known her?"

Michael: My smile faded into one soft with memory. "I met Danie years upon years ago. I hadn't been long out of university, but long enough to have a position at the London facility. I met her at a pub...I'd just gotten back from vacation in Italy. Quite the little minx...she picked me up."

Randy: Years upon years. He'd told me had quite a lot of history with her...I flashed on the picture of the cabin he'd bought, now neatly tucked away in a card, along with the deed to the place. It was a beautiful thing, not really a *cabin*, but townhouse in Aspen, all ski lodges. There was also a gift from us tucked in my luggage, some crystal knick-knack Michael said Danie would like. "Did she live in London?"

Michael: "No, she was an architecture student---she and a couple of girlfriends were making a whirlwind tour of England and Paris and Italy. Danie never made it past London." I grinned, remembering how bright her blue eyes had been, how golden her hair, how smooth her long tanned legs, how she'd smiled so sweetly, so confidently at me. "I fancied her immediately, and we spent most of our time in one bed or another...we did get out occasionally to eat, or to take long drives to the country. It was a very lovely and relaxing time...and when she returned to America, we stayed in correspondence...letters and phone calls, and when I could, I flew to see her. We became close friends and lovers. I grew to care for her very much."

Randy: "Why didn't you marry her, then?" I didn't remember his ex-wife's name...Nicki? Nicolette...something like that. Nicole. It was Nicole. But if he'd cared for Danie...where was she in the picture? I didn't get it, and was fairly sure I wasn't going to get it...but I was willing to try.

Michael: I shifted a little, rearranging myself in the seat. I looked out the window instead of at Randy. "She refused me," I said quietly. "I wanted to marry her, but she turned me down." Surprising, how it still stung, even years later. "She was right, of course---we fared much better apart than together." I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "But that's ancient history."

Randy: Well now that was weird. I had a lot of trouble with the visual of anyone, much less a youngish, single woman who was already involved with him, turning Michael down, but I supposed there were mitigating circumstances to everything. I wasn't sure it bore further prying, though; it seemed to be if not painful then at least still a little tender. I reached out and squeezed his thigh gently in apology then changed the subject. "I'm not teaching this semester, Michael. Thought it might be nice to be home a few more nights each week."

Michael: "Really?" I smiled at him; the thought of actually having more time with him was very pleasing. "I won't say I'm not happy to see more of you, but don't you love to teach?"

Randy: "Well, yeah." I shifted in my seat then reached for my sunglasses. Too damn bright out now. "I do love to teach. But it seems more important to...be at home. I can teach again next semester, if they need me, and there are always seminars I can do. And I need to get busy and get some work done anyway...I haven't published any articles or papers in a while, which was pointed out to me recently." Dr. Jacoby, once my faculty advisor and still my mentor in many things, pointed out I was getting behind in my push to move forward in the scientific community. And if I wanted the position with the Foundation I had to get off my ass.

Michael: "Admittedly, I don't know much about the academic community other than my own time spent at university. Are you under a lot of pressure to publish?"

Randy: "Some," I admitted, looking sideways out of the corner of my eye. "The scientific and academic communities generally rely on information disseminated by their own; if no one is making any theories or proofs or hypotheses, then nothing is happening. It's necessary too, to get ahead--if I want to move up within even your organization, I have to be published, be working on my own theories on things. It's the way things work." I gave him a lopsided smile. "Unlike a lot of other professions, science doesn't promote just because you've shown up for work every day or done a good job with the latest batches of measles inoculations."

Michael: "Somehow, I have this visual of a bunch of bespectacled scientists with long white lab coattails flying, holding up shields of pocket protectors and having duels with slide rules, " I said with a laugh. "Not quite that exciting, eh?"

Randy: "I'll have you know I've *never* dueled with my slide rule. Now, my protractor, maybe--" I broke off when Michael snorted again and laughed silently at the rude gesture he made in my direction. When I had to stop or risk injury to my ribs I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "In reality, no. Lab work can be exciting, definitely...there's nothing quite like realizing you've made a breakthrough where you didn't expect one...but its kind of like...waiting, waiting, waiting punctuated by this high that lasts for a minute or so while you do a burn on adrenaline, then it's back to the waiting, waiting, waiting."

Michael: "I'm quite certain I'd never fare well as a scientist," I replied. "I'm patient, but not that patient. I like results. I like working with people, like steady forward direction. Lizzie is more like you in that sense. I think that you and she would get along wonderfully well. Someday, I hope you'll meet her. She would love you, I'm certain."

Randy: "Lizzie, the 'I'll-listen-in-if-you-go-to-get-him Lizzie'?" Michael laughed and nodded. "I'd like to meet her sometime. I'd like to meet all your family." Privately I had my reservations about his brother Simon; from things Michael'd said he didn't seem like a very open, understanding person. But hey, I believed in giving everyone a chance--along with the rope to hang themselves, if necessary. "You said you have nieces and nephews too, right? How many of each?"

Michael: "Simon has George and Emmie---lovely, lovely children, very sweet-natured, which is, I suspect, wholly due to Anne, his wife." I offered him a crooked grin. "Sarah, my other sister, has a little baby also---Thomas. I saw Thomas for the first time last week. He has his father's red hair." I forbore to say I wished he could meet my family; there was little to be gained by dredging up old memories about flying.

Randy: "I love European genetics--they're much easier to track than American. Smaller gene pool." I hated sunglasses; I knew Michael was laughing at me, though he kept a mostly-straight face. "You have red hair somewhere in your family, darlin', or little Thomas wouldn't have it. Red is a dominant recessive gene; have to have two in there somewhere."

Michael: "Well, there was Aunt Lydia---she had red hair," I said reflectively. "She was also mad as a hatter. Completely daft. Kept sheep in the house. Very nasty. One wore Wellies when visiting with her."

Randy: "*Sheep*? In the house? Euw." Michael laughed at my reaction and I grinned back at him. "Boy. I can honestly say I don't know that there were any family members anywhere in my tree who kept sheep in their houses. Uh. Did you visit often?"

Michael: "Only under threat of having riding privileges taken away for a couple of weeks. Mother would pack us all into the Bentley, and we'd motor over to see her. She considered it her duty to go see Aunt Lydia, though we all knew she hated it...she hated the sheep. And we were never allowed to drink the tea....Aunt laced it with gin."

Randy: I laughed out loud at that one. "Why do I get the feeling you probably snuck the occasional drink when no one was looking?"

Michael: "I'm terribly shocked that you should think such a thing of me," I said with a grin, and he turned his head long enough to give me a *look* over the tops of his sunglasses. "Really, though, how often have you seen me drink anything other than the occasional glass of wine? I don't drink to excess anymore."

Randy: "No, you don't drink much." I shifted my attention back to the road. We were crossing over into Arizona, and honestly, I wouldn't have noticed the difference but for the signs which said 'Now leaving California' and 'Welcome to Arizona'. Heat waves rose off the asphalt spreading out before us and I shook my head and groped behind my seat for the cooler we'd filled with ice and bottled water earlier. "You said 'anymore'--did you, at one time?"

Michael: "I've been young and very, very stupid, yes," I replied. "We always had wine with the evening meal---mother is Italian, after all---so I'm accustomed to that. But once I moved out into my own flat, I did the wild nights routine...drinking to excess, chasing everything that had a pulse and was slow enough for me to catch. Male or female didn't matter much, as long as it felt good. Then one night I discovered I shouldn't drink quite so much---it makes one terribly, terribly foolish." I drew a deep breath, pushing away the memory. "So now, I seldom drink. At functions, I drink water, or at the very most, a couple of glasses of wine. Nothing more than that."

Randy: I nodded. "Makes sense. I haven't ever drunk much; beer once in a while and that's about it. I don't care for the taste much--especially hard spirits--and unfortunately, alcoholism lurks within my genes; my mom's mother had a problem. So I figure I'm better off just not having much to do with it." I glanced over at Michael, surprised to see him slouched a little, since I couldn't recall knowing anyone else in my life--except maybe Brian--who had better posture. I opened my mouth, a dozen different things flitting through my mind, then closed it again. I had my fair share of memories I wasn't ready to share yet; he was entitled to his.

Michael: One of the many things I loved about Randy was that as curious, as impatient, as impetuous as he could be, he also had the sense when to back away gracefully. I felt suddenly cold, and moved the vent away from me. He glanced at me, eyes hidden by sunglasses, as were mine, but if he had questions, he kept them to himself. Smart man.

I turned my face to the window and watched the arid scenery until I grew drowsy by the sameness of the landscape and the motion of the truck, and fell asleep.

Randy: I watched the truck eat up the road while Michael slept. It was hot, even with the a/c on, so I went through several bottles of water. We passed through numerous tiny towns and road stops, none of which merited any particular notice. I changed CDs a couple of times, then found a radio station I liked; it played a pretty good selection of older and new country hits. When Michael woke up I'd look for an oldies station, but for now, this was great.

When I started seeing signs for Buckeye and Avondale and Tolleson, I knew we were getting closer. We were still a good solid couple of hours away, but we were getting there--which increased both my anticipation and my apprehension.

We'd decided since we were driving all this distance to make it a vacation of sorts--we both took a week off, though Michael wasn't really "off". He planned to take a day trip out to the Phoenix plant and check up on things there. I was amazed at what could be done to turn a vacation into a working trip.

I was looking forward to a couple of lazy days poolside, and maybe check out some of Phoenix. It would be too hot to do much hiking in the area, unless we wanted to drive up to Flagstaff, which didn't really appeal to either of us. That was fine; there was likely plenty to see and do in the area.

Avondale/Goodyear, and time to get gas again. I snuck a look at Michael; it always amazed me how vulnerable he looked when he slept. The only time his guard really went down, though he'd been lowering it more and more around me lately. I didn't wake him; if he woke when we stopped, fine. If not, that was fine, too.

Michael: Although he closed the door gently, it was enough to wake me. I glanced around; evidently, we were stopping for petrol. I felt stiff and my head ached from sleeping in an awkward position; I'd be glad when we arrived at the hotel and I could take a shower, stretch out on the bed.

The heat hit me like a club as I opened the door. I'd forgotten just how hot it was here; I suspected it was selective memory loss. How Danie could live under such conditions was beyond my ability to comprehend.

I smiled at Randy as he pumped gas, and then stretched. A trip to the restroom, then into the store to get a cold bottle of tea with lemon. By that time Randy was at the counter, and I added my bottle to his, giving him a gentle nudge to the ribs.

Randy: I nudged him back and smiled at the cashier. Her eyes were darting back and forth between me and Michael, obviously trying to decide if she was reading what she thought she was reading. I took my change and answered her "have a nice day" with one of my own.

Michael ended up about two steps ahead of me back to the truck, and was standing with his head cocked toward the driver's side. I shook my head. "I'll drive the rest of the way. Another hour or so should--hopefully--see us there. Or damn close anyway." I pulled the door open and heaved myself up into the seat, wiping my forearm across my face. "How the hell does anyone live here?"

Michael: "I like warmth, but this is a bit much even for me," I said, leaning over the back of the seat to rummage about in my duffle bag for my Advil. Once I'd taken a couple, and washed them down with the cold tea, I began to feel a bit better.

I watched a bead of sweat slip down Randy's long neck, and had a strong urge to lean over and lick it off, then to nibble on the back of his neck, just beneath his hairline. But now wasn't the time for that...perhaps when we got to the hotel, we'd have time for a bit of a romp. I'd brought some things with me; if we felt like it, we might play a bit.

Randy: I took a moment to study the map and the directions before easing us back out onto the interstate. The amount of traffic was increasing, marking our entrance into the city.

Here and there were buildings popping up, light tan and a curious whitewashed color highlighted by the blue sky. I had to admit; I'd never seen such a clear sky before. It was pretty, though the glare was a bit hard on the eyes. Spiked, prickly saguaro cactus rose up from smaller clumps of other cacti and desert plants. The ground looked parched, beyond arid, and as beautiful as it was in a stark sort of way, I still wondered why anyone would want to live out here. It made me almost desperate to see green again. "I know you've been here before, but is this the first time you've driven in like this?"

Michael: "Yes, I've just seen it from the airport to Danie's home, and if we were out and about anywhere. It makes me miss England terribly. Though I'm certain that this part of the country has quite a few British tourists...it's certainly different from home, and we tend to love sunny places. My brother Jamie has been here, once when we first opened the Phoenix operations. He said it was quite lovely for a visit, but that he could never live here. We both liked New Orleans, with its sense of age and decadence, much better. Mardi Gras with Jamie was quite interesting." I smiled at the memory. "I had thought of staying in New Orleans, but now, I'm very glad I moved on westward."

Randy: I was, too. "Is your entire family involved with the business? I got the feeling before they weren't...but now, I'm re-thinking that?" I cursed silently when I realized I had to turn and I wasn't in the correct lane. Michael let out a very undignified yelp when I surged across three lanes of traffic, ending up in the right lane just in time. I glanced over at him. "Sorry."

Michael: "Please tell me you didn't do that while I slept," I said, wincing as several horns blared out their disapproval. He slowed somewhat as he took the exit, but not by much. His grin flashed brightly, wholly unrepentant. "Never mind. I suppose what I don't know will save my sanity." I shook my head. "As to your question, no, I'm the only one actually in the business, though Simon is just as knowledgeable. He's an investment banker, and works out of London. He keeps an eye on things there for us. Jamie is an artist---he specializes in portraits, and is quite good---his works hang in the homes of many influential people. Sarah is a writer. She writes terribly mushy romances under the pseudonym Evangeline Westlake. Bodice-rippers, I believe she calls them." I slanted a look over at Randy, and the corner of my mouth crooked into a smile. "Most of the heroes on the covers of her books look remarkably like you. Are you certain you've never posed half-naked with a scantily-clad maiden swooning in your arms?"

Randy: "Positive." Michael's mouth quirked a little further at the dry tone and I slanted a glance at him--quickly, since Phoenix traffic was proving comparable to San Fran. "So you have a CEO, an investment banker, a novelist, an artist and a doctor in your midst. Your mom must be pretty proud of y'all. How many are married?"

Michael: "None of us are indolent, that's a certainty...father would never allow us to be the idle rich. He had a very strong work ethic, and mother, in her own way, was just as iron-willed. It was my place to follow him into business, as eldest and as his son, and he steered Simon toward banking as a career; he saw it a beneficial adjunct to the business. Sarah's too soft and gentle for the competitive world Simon and I live in, and Jamie too sensitive. Lizzie would've done very well, but we knew from the time she was a child that she was destined to be a doctor---she would always operate on her dolls and stuffed toys, and then sew them back up." I had to laugh; the visual, even years later, was still vivid. "As for marriage, I've been married and divorced, as you know. Simon's been married for ages, and has two children. Sarah married two years ago, and now has a baby boy. Her husband Stephen, is a highly placed barrister---um, lawyer. Jamie is still unmarried---he has had several affairs, and shows no signs of committing to anyone."

Randy: "And Lizzie's single." Michael nodded, eyes still watching the passing scenery, though I knew his attention was on me. I checked the map quickly and made the lane-change with considerable more grace and time to spare. We were moving around the airport now, heading into Scottsdale. I smiled and shifted, rolling my shoulders. It'd been a long morning and I was ready to stop, to get out of the truck and stay that way. "Be there in just a little bit, I'm thinking." I paused, then looked at Michael over the tops of my glasses. "Does your family know you're with me? I mean, obviously Lizzie does. But what about your mom? Does she want grandkids from you?"

Michael: "I've not talked to Simon or Jamie, but Sarah was there with Thomas. Mother and Nonna know now; I think Nonna knew the first moment she saw me; she's very astute. As for children...." I shrugged. "I suspect they realize they shan't see any from me. Whilst I was married to Nicole, they had high hopes, but when that didn't work out, and I showed no sign of settling down with any other suitable young lady, I think that logically, they understood that Pierson heirs would come from the others. Mother and Nonna are disappointed, I know, but are wise enough not to bring it up anymore."

Randy: I frowned, trying to work out the logistics in my head. "England--Britain--got rid of the laws of primogeniture for the most part, right? So your 'heirs' as such would be any of your sibs' kids who show promise and or interest in the business?"

Michael: "I was speaking primarily of heirs in the family sense. Someone to carry on the name. George, specifically, and perhaps the next child---Anne's pregnant. As for Lizzie---she always said that if she married, she'd keep her maiden name, and if she ever had children, they would carry that name. As for the business---that remains to be seen. None of us intend to force children into it if that isn't their inclination. Lizzie would've been good, had she not shown such an interest in medicine, but even then, I doubt father would have let her work in it...he was quite the chauvinist. I, however, am not of that mindset. If any of them, regardless of sex, show an inclination, I'll certainly be glad to mentor them. But that is quite far away, as they're all still very small."

Randy: I wanted to ask what Michael's mom and grandmother thought of me...of the idea of Michael being with me. I had the feeling that while he'd had a lot of male lovers, he hadn't had one in an actual relationship. As in, living together. But I wasn't sure how to ask that without coming off sounding awfully insecure, so decided to forego it. "Your father wouldn't have let Lizzie learn the business just because she's a girl?" Michael nodded and I shook my head. "Wow." Obviously from his comments he had no such qualms, but it was kind of weird to hear about it...sexual discrimination alive and well. I bet all his secretaries wore skirts and that he slept with a lot of them, too.

The sign for the Radisson Spa and Resort rose up in front of us and I breathed out in relief. Finally. Okay, bitching *not* allowed, because we could have flown and been here in just a couple of hours, and it was incredibly decent of Michael to do the driving thing with me--incredibly decent he wanted me along badly enough to do this. But it was still a long couple of days in the truck and I was very glad to be here. "Heads up, darlin'. Hotel looming ahead."

Michael: I'd have been a liar if I'd said I wasn't glad to see it. Even as large as the truck was, it still made my legs cramp up, made me restless. I was accustomed to movement; in my office, I paced all the time, so much so that Molly, my secretary, had often threatened to call in the tiger keepers from the zoo.

The moment we pulled up, we were surrounded by staff members---opening the doors, taking the keys from Randy to park the truck, helpful hands taking our baggage. I kept my duffle firmly in hand, declining offers to take it, though they could manhandle the rest of my luggage all they wished. We'd already sent the tuxes ahead, and Danie had custody of them; she'd insisted upon getting them for us and holding them safely.

It only took a few moments to register; when we stepped onto the lift, I saw Pettigrew entering the main lobby, eyes alert. I'd booked him into a suite across the hallway from us for convenience; it was as close as I'd allow. As the lift doors closed, I caught his eye and nodded almost imperceptibly; things were fine, and under control. I let out a soft sigh, and rotated first one shoulder, and then the other. I'd be very glad of a hot shower.

Randy: The bellhop who helped us with our luggage was polite, helpful, and informative. His name was Chet and he looked like he was in his early twenties. He was a full-time student at ASU, and worked at the hotel part-time on the weekends. We spent the few minutes in the elevator with him letting us know the layout of the hotel, pool hours, restaurant hours.

He let us into the suite and gave us a minute to look around before he started taking our bags upstairs. I'd never seen a two-story hotel room before, though this was far more than just a 'room'. We had a balcony upstairs off the bedroom that had deck chairs and a small table; the bed was king-sized and looked awfully comfortable. The main floor of the suite was a living room/dining area, with a small kitchenette and a wet bar, and a bathroom. And another bathroom upstairs. Floor to ceiling windows at the far end of the sitting area were covered in french blinds; I blinked when Chet opened them, letting some of the sunlight spill in.

"Your room faces to the east, so you'll have the morning sun--and it won't be so bad in the afternoon. I've set your cases out on the dresser and hung up Mr. Pierson's suits in the closet. There is a phone upstairs and down here, and the fire exits are at the end of the hallway." He gestured toward the right of the door. "Is there anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?" I shook my head at the same time Michael did which made me smile; just a couple of months and we were already in tune with each other that much. I headed toward the small refrigerator to see what was in there to drink; Michael had pre-ordered juice and bottled water, the rest we would do later. Michael walked Chet to the door and tipped him while I poured us both some heavily-iced orange juice. When he returned I handed him the glass and clinked mine gently against his. "Here's to arriving safely."

Michael: "Regardless of your driving," I said, and drank. Randy frowned at me, and opened his mouth to defend his honor, and it seemed the time to lean in and kiss him. My arm slid about his shoulders and drew him in closer. When I pulled away from his mouth, he started to protest again, and so naturally, I kissed him again. After I pulled away again, he was quite breathless, and his big hand closed in the front of my shirt and pulled me back.

"You're such an asshole, Pierson," he said before kissing me back.

That one was much longer, much deeper, and involved wandering hands and much rubbing against one another. When he reached for the button to my denims, I took his wrist, snatched up my duffle, and pulled him upstairs.

By that time we were both fumbling at one another's clothing, and managed to get ourselves naked with a minimum of damaged clothing. He pulled me down atop him, long legs locking around my hips, mouth sucking at my neck as I fumbled in my duffle for the lube. Once I found it, I untangled myself from him with difficulty, and licked down his smooth, sweaty body until I came to his cock, hard and full and hot.

He tasted so good, and I gave myself over into the scents and tastes and sounds of him as he moved beneath me. He begged and swore and clutched at me, and when I slid slick fingers into him, the little catching gasp he gave before the long deep moan made my heart turn over in my chest. I loved that particular sound almost above all others; the utter surrender of his body to mine.

His cock was too big, too thick for me to deep throat, though I would have, willingly. I suckled what I could and stroked the rest with my hand as I fucked him slowly with my fingers. His fingers tightened in my hair, but he let me set the pace, and it seemed too soon before his breathing changed, and he gasped and curled half into a ball about me, filling me with the hot salty-bitter rush of his coming, his body clamping down on the three fingers I'd worked into him.

It filled me with such joy to give him pleasure, to have him accept it; it was almost better than my own completion. I ached and throbbed to be within him, to join him in the mindless pleasure of orgasm and so surged up between his thighs, catching him behind the knees and opening his legs to give me room. He looked up at me, flushed and sweaty, his eyes almost black with arousal and excitement, and I knew I'd never seen anything so wonderful and satisfying ever before. "I love you," I said, and pushed into him, into his sweet hot body.

Randy: "Yes--" I gasped the word, too busy feeling the sensations rippling through me to focus much on talking. Michael knelt over me, his hands holding my legs up and open. I wrapped them around him and pulled him down to me to kiss again; seemed I never could get enough of kissing him. I whispered "love you, too," before latching onto his mouth.

It felt so good, our tongues mimicking the rhythm he was setting, his body hard and heavy atop mine. And the heat--it was as if a pool of it surrounded us; as if we were swimming in it.

We pulled apart at the same moment both gasping for air, and Michael grinned this hot, wicked grin at me before sliding out so slowly I thought I'd lose my mind. The grin stayed in place when he slid back in the same way, sending that heat to wind through me completely. I arched my hips and swore at him but he ignored me and repeated it until I was nearly mindless with pleasure.

Michael: I shifted him, and moved, just *so*, and he yelped in pleasure. He was always so gratifyingly noisy during sex; I never had to guess when something pleased him. His cock stirred and swelled again as I moved within him slowly, stroking that same spot over and over again, and one of his hands went to fist himself, jerking himself as I fucked him.

It couldn't last forever; orgasm rushed toward me, inexorable, and I tumbled joyfully into it, pouring myself into him in an explosion of pleasure.

Randy: I clenched myself around him, groaning through each contraction of his cock within me. The silver of his eyes changed hue to a deep, smoky grey, and he looked down at me, face contorted in pleasure. It made me wriggle beneath him, gasping as I clenched tighter around him, his moan making lust burn hotter inside me.

It took only another minute or so after Michael came for me to bring myself off again; comparatively it was a much smaller orgasm, but it felt good, spreading warmth all through me, making me all shivery and goose bumped. Michael draped himself over me and we laughed at the sticky wet that spread over both of us then I kissed him, tasting his mouth, and we lost ourselves in the gentle pleasure of kiss after kiss.

Michael: I loved how he stroked and petted me; he'd become much freer with his caresses. I wondered if former partners had just rolled over and gone to sleep, as he'd always seemed surprised when I liked to touch or kiss afterward. I gave a mental shrug. Their loss, my gain.

I pulled him closer and wrapped myself around him, burying my face in his sweat-damp neck, content. I felt drowsy, but not really inclined to sleep; I'd slept that morning in the truck. Randy's hand traced little patterns up and down my spine; for all I knew, he was writing complex mathematical equations. That thought made me smile.

After awhile, I began to get chilled; I could feel a cool draft from the air conditioning wisp across us, and Randy warmed only the front of my body. I tugged Randy from the bed and into the shower; he groused a little, but was sleepily compliant.

The bath was suitably luxurious and pleased the sybarite within me. The water poured down from above us in sheets; it made me think of a waterfall in the tropics somewhere instead of a hotel in Arizona. I made a note to myself to make full use of it in the morning when I wasn't completely sated as I was now.

Randy: Partway through the shower I roused, shaking off the sleepies. It was a very cool bathroom, better appointed in some ways than our bathroom at home. I could practically see Michael's mind whirling, considering renovations and whatnot. If I'd learned anything in the last several months, it was that he was definitely a man who enjoyed his creature comforts--and the bath ranked right up there near the top.

I washed him down, he washed me, then we groped and kissed under the spray for a few minutes. Nothing specifically designed to arouse, simply to make us feel good. I liked touching Michael; liked it a lot.

I got out first, giving him another moment to stand under the water, and grinned when he emerged, shaking his head to dislodge excess water. He caught the towel I tossed him and swiped it over long, lean muscles while I watched appreciatively in the mirror. "You gonna give Danie a call and let her know we're here?"

Michael: I wrapped myself into a huge, fluffy hotel robe. "Suppose I should; it would be the decent thing to do." I gave his arse a pat as I passed, and neatly avoided his return swat. In the bedroom, I picked up the phone and settled myself into a huge, decadently comfortable chair, one leg draped over the arm of the chair. I dialed her number and waited patiently whilst it rang. After seven rings, she picked up, sounding a little breathless. "Hello?"

I couldn't help but smile at the familiar, much loved sound of her voice. "Hullo, Danie. It's Michael."

"Michael!" Her voice was almost, but not quite, a squeal of surprise. "Are you in town now? Tell me you're here, already."

"We're here, love," I said, as Randy emerged from the bath, naked and his short hair still damp. "We just got in not very long ago. We're at the Radisson."

"Ah. You're close then." The sparkle in her eyes, in her voice, was nearly visible even through the phone lines. "Twenty minutes away. I owe you tuxes. Can you guys meet us for dinner tonight? Will has office hours today, but he's done at five."

"We're looking forward to it," I assured her. I wondered if I would always feel this odd little catch whenever I heard her voice, whenever I saw her; I suspected I always would. It was a sweet ache, and oddly comforting. "Where would you like to have dinner? It's my treat."

She laughed softly, her voice edged with breathlessness. Not regret, but maybe a little sadness mixed with the joy. "We have a variety to offer you here. Monterey Whaling Company, Mother Tuckers, or Salsa Picado, if you want something spicier. Or Will and I can come get you, and we can decide then."

"Let's do that, shall we?" Randy hitched up onto one hip on the arm of the chair beside my leg, and I reached to stroke his thigh. "I'm not sure what Randy would like, though he does like spicy food." I gave his thigh a little squeeze as he grinned down at me.

"He probably likes meat, too." The wink in her voice came through as clearly as if she were standing there in person, doing it. "But we can decide then. We'll be there at six, unless you need more time, and Will drives a silver-blue Expedition."

I mouthed the question "Six?" at Randy, and he nodded. "Six would be lovely, Danie," I replied. "We'll be waiting."

"We'll see you then. Dress...dressy casual. We're not up to ties and suits, considering what's coming, and we'll see you downstairs." She paused a heartbeat, then added softly, "Bye, love."

"Bye, Danie-girl," I said warmly, and then she rang off. I clicked off the phone, then cleared my throat before looking back up at Randy. "They'll pick us up at six, then."

Randy: I eyed him closely. "Lot of emotion there, isn't there, darlin'?" He eyed me back for a moment, then gave a me a slight nod. I sighed softly. "Thought so." Part of me wanted to be jealous--wanted it very badly, as a matter of fact. But I couldn't find it within myself to allow it out. I was with Michael now, and I wasn't going to begrudge him his memories. I leaned over and kissed him soundly before releasing him. "How about a snack to tide us over 'til dinner?"

Michael: A phone call brought us a selection of fruit, cheese, and crackers, and a plate of sushi for me---Randy rolled his eyes at that choice---and we sprawled on the bed, snacking and looking over the tourist guidebooks Randy had brought with us. We argued good-naturedly over places to go, sights to see, and then it was time to get ready for dinner. A quick shave, and then I dressed in fine black trousers and a black silk sweater; I remembered the nights became surprisingly cool.

Randy: I fidgeted my way through shaving and dressing, and kept reminding myself there was no reason to be nervous. Just because we were going to meet Michael's ex-lover, and long-time friend...no, no reason to be nervous.

I studied myself in the mirror as I fussed with the comb; I needed to get myself a haircut soon. Maybe tomorrow at some point. Michael said "dressy casual" whatever the hell that was; I supposed it meant jeans weren't the best option. I settled for tan khakis and a button-down short-sleeve shirt that alternated deep forest green and tan stripes. And my boots. Michael looked good in his standard black-on-black; I wasn't sure if he owned anything in "dress casual" but black. I hadn't seen him in anything else, that I could recall. Maybe we'd have to go shopping at some point. I laughed to myself thinking about, then slipped my watch on and headed down the stairs to meet him.

It was ten 'til six on my watch when we headed out the door and toward the elevator. The tiny butterflies inside my stomach were fluttering madly and again I asked myself 'why'. It wasn't like I was really jealous--or was I? Interesting conundrum to keep my brain occupied for a while, anyway.

The sun was starting a slow descent toward the west when we walked outside, and even though it was nearly six, the heat hadn't lessened; if anything, after the cool and dim hotel room, it seemed stronger, whacking me upside the head as we stepped out into it. I didn't see any vehicles in the near vicinity, so settled myself onto bench. Michael watched me prop one leg across the other and grinned at my slightly battered boots peeping out. I smiled back. "Hey--we're truly in the west now. Boots are essential, darlin'."

Michael: I smiled at him. "I suppose they are," I conceded. "I'll just have to pass on them though...that's more your style than my own." I glanced down at my own black Italian loafers; I couldn't imagine wearing cowboy boots.

A flash of silver-blue caught my eye. Danie and Will. I watched as the doorman stepped up to open her door gallantly for her, and watched as her long, long, tan legs, amply exposed by the blue dress she wore, slid from the vehicle. She gave this sexy little wiggle to rearrange her dress

and beamed at the doorman.

Ah, she was still lovely, still enough to make the man stare at her; when she smiled like that, few could resist her. Her bare arms and legs were a lovely tan, and she'd pinned up her long blonde hair into a simple, elegant style that suited her immensely. It left her neck bare, and I could remember very well how smooth it was beneath my lips, how she smelled right behind her ears, how soft her hair was.

Her blue eyes caught mine, and she smiled as I stood up. A moment later, she filled my arms, and I staggered a little from the force of her hug; Danie was not a little petite woman. Her arms and cheeks were cool from the air-conditioned cab of the SUV, but her mouth as she kissed me was warm and sweet. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Will coming up behind her, grinning, and I freed one hand to offer it to shake. He grasped it, and Danie wriggled from my arms to slide one around Will's waist. I felt somewhat bereft, but smiled at them both. "Danie...Will...I'm so glad to see you both again."

Randy: I climbed slowly to my feet as Danie, Michael and Will greeted each other, taking the moment to gather myself all together. Danie...wasn't anything at all like I'd pictured. It occurred to me, seeing her, that Michael had a picture or two of her in his jumble scattered throughout the apartment; seeing her in the flesh now I recognized her from the pictures.

She was much taller than I'd expected. For some reason I'd gotten it into my head that she was small and petite; in fact, she was anything but. Tall and slim, she had a very athletically proportioned body which made me think she ran or swam regularly--she had the same long, lean muscles Michael had. No tremendous curves, which I actually found a relief, for reasons I couldn't discern. Her hair was an ash-blond and swept up into a simple sort of knot at the back of her head. If I recalled correctly, she had short hair in Michael's pictures. And blue, blue eyes. Her dress showed off her tan, and highlighted her eyes--but I could see intelligence sparkling within. I wanted to dislike her, but I felt drawn to her, a kindred spirit of sorts. She was happy, shining almost, and it was a draw, definitely. Moths to the flame, though unlike probably every other man watching her right now, my draw wasn't sexual. She just looked like a fun person to get to know.

Her fiancee stood behind and slightly to the side of her, and I could tell at a glance he was older than either Danie or Michael--by a good decade, unless I missed my guess. But he wore his age well; the tiny lines around his eyes that I saw as I drew nearer to them were laugh lines. Will looked to be a man who laughed easily--which was probably part of the draw to Danie. His hair was long--much longer even than hers looked to be. He wore it pulled back in a neat, understated tail, and in the light I could see silver sprinkled liberally through the brown. His eyes gleamed behind silver wire-frame glasses. He was shorter than either Michael or I, but not a small man; obviously he kept himself in shape as well. He and Danie both smiled at me as I stepped to Michael's side and Danie didn't give me but a half-second's worth of warning before she launched herself at me and pulled me into a hug.

"You must be Randy! I'm *so* glad to meet you." It only lasted a moment, but it was enough of a surprise that I found myself staring down at her, nonplussed, before I found my voice.

"I must be. Hi, Danie." I found a smile as she stepped back, still studying me. Will stretched his hand out.

"Will Roberts. Nice to meet you."

I shook his hand; good grip. "Randy Taylor. Nice to meet you. Both of you."

Michael: I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Randy's green eyes had widened in alarm as Danie had hugged him; obviously, he'd not been expecting it. I'd forgotten to warn him that Danie was a very expressive woman, and very free and easy with her affection. Will and I shared an amused glance; I was fortunate he wasn't a jealous sort, as Danie always greeted and said goodbye to me with enthusiasm. He well understood how she was, and how she didn't mean anything by it other than genuine affection.

I stepped in closer and my hand brushed across Randy's arm and broad shoulder; it was a subtle but clear gesture that showed he was very much my partner. Randy glanced at me, and I smiled at him; normally, we seldom touched in public. I simply wanted him to feel that while I'd always love Danie, she was in my past, and he was my present and my future. He caught on quickly, and his smile was pleased and warm.

"Now that we've all met...if only superficially, I vote that we continue on to dinner---I for one am looking forward to a good meal instead of diner food."

Danie laughed and called me an elitist, and I didn't bother to deny it. Will helped her up into the cab, and I pointedly didn't watch as her short skirt rode up even higher, though I know Randy did, out of simple curiosity. He and I settled into the back seat, and I reached over to squeeze his thigh.

Danie, bless her, kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way to Salsa Picado, and she was skillful enough to make it sound unforced and genuine, though I caught her sneaking glances at Randy when he wasn't sneaking glances at her. I knew they were sizing one another up, evaluating the opposite side of the coin, so to speak. I wasn't sure whether to be amused, or worried, but settled for amused. I hadn't quite been in this situation before; if I'd had dealings with former lovers, I'd never had a current lover along at the time.

Randy: The ride to the restaurant was interesting, to say the least. Danie chatted mostly about the wedding, bringing Michael up to date on a couple of acquaintances they had in common, asking after his mother and grandmother. Another flash of jealousy--I was going to assume Danie'd met them. If Michael proposed at some point in the past, she'd met them at least once. I wondered if I'd ever get to.

Will chimed in occasionally, and Michael added his comments when called for, but Danie carried the bulk of the conversation--and I saw another similarity between us in that. It was weird in the extreme; I wouldn't go so far as to say we were clones or carbon copies, but I saw some of me in her and her in me. It was a little disquieting, actually.

Will dropped us at the front door of the restaurant. It was done hacienda style, like so many of the buildings I'd seen as Michael and I drove through Phoenix. A large neon chile made up the bulk of the sign; the rest proclaimed "Salsa Picado!" in bold, bright colors. I grinned; we were on home territory with this. Spicy Mexican food was my favorite.

Danie put our name in--there was already a line forming--then squeezed back in between Michael and me and cocked her head in my direction. "So."

"Yes?" I regarded her suspiciously. If I had to say she reminded me of anyone, it would have been Sandy, my nearest, dearest friend from school.

"Michael says you do science stuff for a living." She paused and elbowed Michael who coughed discreetly. "I know he's not terribly science-oriented, so--what exactly do you do, Randy?"

Not terribly science-oriented. She said it a helluva lot more tactfully than I ever had. I grinned. "Science stuff, huh? Well... yeah. I'm a bio-geneticist. One of the guys in white lab coats who helps Michael stay in business."

He coughed again and I grinned. Danie laughed. "Do you like your job?"