July 22nd

Sarah had invited Roz for dinner, an event that happened more frequently nowadays. Roz didn't object; she liked to spend time at Sarah's place for a number of reasons, one (and not least) of which was tall, blue-eyed and far too caustic. At the moment, she and the man in question worked together to wash up the dinner dishes. They'd been at it for some time when she finally found the courage to speak about something that had bothered her since Sarah had mentioned it the day before.

"If you need some help moving this weekend, I'd like to volunteer." She didn't look at Greg as she spoke. That way if he says no I won't have to face him, and then maybe we can both pretend I didn't ask. Greg didn't say anything. Roz put the last plate in the washer and reached for the silverware. "I just thought . . ." she began, then fell silent. This is a bad idea.

"Tell me why."

Roz placed some spoons in the holder with unnecessary care. "Why what?"

"Why you'd want to waste your time on a long, boring ride to a town you've never had any desire to visit." He watched her, his gaze impassive. There was a cool detachment there she found unsettling, as if he weighed her response by some criterion she would never be able to understand. The thought made her hackles go up.

"I didn't offer because I want to see Princeton," she said, and stuffed a half-dozen butter knives next to the spoons. "I thought you could use an extra pair of hands. If you don't want my help, just say so. Don't get all—all judgmental on me."

His brows rose. "I'm using a moving company. That isn't being judgmental. I'm a cripple, someone else has to move the heavy stuff."

Roz felt her face heat. "You don't want me to go. Fine. Forget I asked." She shut the washer door and locked it, started the cycle, and turned away, only to find she was nose to nose with Greg. Actually it was more like nose to chest. "You're in my way," she said to his tee shirt.

He stayed where he was. "I never said I didn't want you to go," he said. He sounded amused.

"You didn't have to. I figured it out on my own." She felt her temper begin to rise. "Maybe my IQ isn't anywhere near as big as yours, but I can draw my own conclusions."

"And reach one that's completely wrong," he said. "Typical touchy female."

"Touchy?" Her voice grew in volume and intensity. "Touchy? I am not touchy! How can you even say that! I'm the damn Goddess of Sweet Reason, and don't you forget it!" She paused. He was laughing. "Oh, fuck you!" she snarled, and stalked off to the back yard, to pace around Sarah's garden and fulminate.

God, he's such a jerk! I don't know why I bother! Roz dropped into the windsor chair finally and stared at her feet. Her anger faded as quickly as it rose. He's never going to let me in. I'm just something to pass the time while he's here. Once he moves on, he won't even remember me. The thought struck cold.

"Hope you're enjoying your little self-pity festival." Greg spoke from somewhere behind her. She didn't bother to acknowledge him. "You made a number of erroneous assumptions based on one statement."

"Ooooh, five dollar words," she taunted the empty air. "I understood perfectly." You'll be ashamed of me if we meet anyone you used to work with. I'll embarrass you.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, a sign she knew by now meant his small store of patience was at an end. "I asked why you wanted to go."

"And I told you."

"You told me some of it." He moved around in front of her. She refused to look at him. "Not all of it. Spill."

"Nothing else to tell," she said.

"Stop it." His harsh voice cut like a buzzsaw through soft wood. "You're throwing a hissy fit. It makes you look stupid, and you're usually not. Stupid, that is," he added, to make it clear. "Tell me the rest."

Roz closed her eyes for a moment. She battled with the strong desire to make him wrong and the knowledge that he was correct-she was being less than truthful. Her native honesty won out finally. "All right." She sighed. "I'd like to see what your life there is—was like."

"Ahah," he said. She raised her face to his, ready to blast him, only to find he watched her closely. His vivid gaze held a hint of humor. Quickly she looked away.

"Oh, go to hell," she muttered. "I'm not weird for being curious."

"Didn't say you were. Still want to spend the weekend with me in Princeton?"

She folded her arms and glared at the woods beyond him. "Get lost."

He came a little closer. "You'll go." The confidence in his tone irked her, but she ignored the provocation. "By the way, you're not getting the front seat. I always ride shotgun."

"Baloney," she said, just to give him a hard time. "We'll flip a quarter for it."

"The hell you say!" His obvious amusement made a lie of his scowl. "That would be the camel's nose in the tent. Forget it."

"Oh yeah? And what would come next?" She got to her feet, struggled with her pride for a few moments, then cast it aside and put her arms around him in a loose embrace. So what if he does leave me behind eventually. At least we're together right now. I can live with that. She knew it wasn't true, but she let it stand.

"Total anarchy," he said. His focus moved downward, where her hands rested on his hips. She'd noticed that before—anytime he was touched he had to look at the place where contact was made. "Horrors galore. Dogs and cats living together . . . too terrifying to think about." He gave a mock shudder. Roz smacked his flank gently, let her hand move around to cup his cheek. He tensed, then relaxed a bit.

"You're copping a feel." He sounded shocked. "Little miss 'let's get to know each other first' is making a move."

"You have a nice ass. I can't help myself. Shut up." She gave him a gentle squeeze. "We'll ask Sarah. Whatever she decides goes."

"You say that because you think she'll agree with you, but you have no evidence to back up your conclusion," Greg said. "Bet she'll tell you it's my spot."

"Bet she won't." Roz narrowed her eyes at him. "Want to put some money where your mouth is, buster?"

"I'd like to put my mouth somewhere, all right . . ." he said in a lascivious undertone, and she couldn't help but snicker.

"Yeah, sure. I hear a lot of cheap talk." She kissed him. "See you in the morning," she said softly.

"You could share my bed," he said, and sounded hopeful. "That way Sarah won't have to wash up another set of sheets."

"Aren't you considerate." She brushed her lips over his, tempted. "Not yet," she whispered. He sighed. Slowly his arms came up to hold her, his touch tentative.

"And I'm supposed to sleep now. Thanks a lot."

"You'll find a way," she said, half-amused, half-repentant at his reply. She slid her hands up and down his back. "I'm . . . I'm not teasing you."

"It's a good thing I know that," he growled.

"Hey, it's just as bad for me," she said. "I want you too, you know."

"Mmm." He didn't sound convinced. Roz smiled.

"You've got excellent architecture," she said. "I can't wait to do some exploring."

"You must have a jones for broken-down shacks," he said. Roz caught the echo of old pain in his words.

"I like classic form," she said, an attempt to offer comfort in truth. "You've got it, amante, trust me."

Greg gave her a long, steady look. His blue eyes were bright and searching. "Amante . . ." he said, and drew out the word. "I'm not your lover yet."

Roz only smiled. She gave him a final lingering kiss and left him alone in the shadowed kitchen.

July 23rd

"You get the front seat going to Princeton. Roz gets the front seat going home." Sarah tossed her overnight bag in the wayback. "Problem solved."

"Problem not solved," Greg said. "Shotgun's mine when Gene's not here."

Sarah gave him a narrow glance. He looked annoyed, but that was probably an act; he could be hard to read at times. "I thought you'd like having the option to stretch out after working hard," she said, her tone mild.

"You're trying to avoid a confrontation," he shot back. "If you don't give the front seat to Roz she'll be upset."

Sarah picked up the empty cooler and set it beside her bag. "I'm not trying to avoid anything," she said, careful not to smile. "Duke it out between the two of you. Just be ready to go in fifteen minutes. We have a long drive and a lot of work ahead of us."

When she came out of the house with the last load of necessities it was to find Roz in the back and House in front. Without comment Sarah got in, put on her seat belt, started the engine and headed down the drive.

An hour later they stopped at a gas station with a mini-mart and loaded up the tank and the cooler. At least she and Greg did; Roz was stretched out on the seat, asleep. "Probably faking it," Greg said as they moved through the aisles. He grabbed several bags of cheddar- and pizza-filled Combos and put them in Sarah's basket.

"She's a working woman," Sarah said as she debated over Dove milk or dark chocolate bars. "She was up at five yesterday and didn't finish until twelve hours later. Probably didn't stop for lunch either. Kyle pushes her to do too much."

Greg reached in around her, snagged a handful of both bars and tossed them in the basket. "She lets herself get pushed. He doesn't force her into extra hours."

"There's overt force, and then there's the guilt trip technique." Sarah threw in some Almond Joys for good measure. "She's not pouting, she's tired."

"She shouldn't have come then."

Sarah shook her head at his obliviousness. "She wants to be with you," she said. "Would you hand me some pepitas please? The plain ones."

Greg obliged. "She's got better things to do with her time," he muttered. "Like get some decent sleep."

"She wants to be with you," Sarah said again. "Come on, let's find some pop and iced tea."

"We need little chocolate donuts," Greg said. Sarah chuckled.

"Breakfast of champions," she said. "I wouldn't object to a sausage biscuit either."

When they returned to the van Roz sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Any caffeine?" she asked, and sounded a little plaintive.

"Not for you," Greg said before Sarah could speak. He held out a bottle of apple juice.

"Why?" Roz made no move to take the juice.

"You didn't get enough rest yesterday," he snapped. "Caffeine will only make things worse. Drink the damn juice and go back to sleep."

Roz stared at him. "Okay," she said, brows raised as she accepted the bottle. He ignored her and took a sausage and egg sandwich from the bag of breakfast goodies placed in the well between his and Sarah's seats.

"Food too," he said, and tossed her the sandwich. Roz fielded it and glanced at the label on the wrapper.

"Thanks." She smiled a little. "I didn't know you cared."

Greg opened a box of doughnut holes and popped two of them into his mouth. "I don't," he said, and chewed noisily. Sarah hid a smile at the note of defiance in his tone. She chose a sandwich and unwrapped it.

"There are extra pillows in the wayback for anyone who needs them," she said.

"I'm not proud," Roz said, and set aside her breakfast. As she turned to search for a pillow Sarah caught Greg as he watched Roz, his expression inscrutable. He glanced at Sarah and then shifted his gaze to the passenger side window.

[H]

"This is a really decent apartment."

Greg looks at Roz, who stands in the middle of his living room after she's brought in boxes and packing tape. Her expression is one of inquisitiveness. He braces himself for a barrage of questions, but she doesn't say anything else.

"It's a place to live," he says after a moment. "Not mine any more now."

Roz glances at him. "Where do you want to start?" she says finally.

They work their way through his books and journals. Roz is efficient, quick and thorough; she does the legwork while he puts things in boxes. At the end of two hours half the shelves have been cleared. Sarah has packed up his table service, such as it is, and cooking utensils. She and Roz exchange a word or two now and then, but otherwise it's quiet. Greg gives a thought to some music, but the stereo's been taken apart and he never even considered a kitchen radio. If I ever get another place of my own I'll have one. The thought is a bit of a surprise—not the radio, the place of his own.

"We're gonna need more boxes," Roz says. "Is there a supermarket or a liquor store anywhere close?"

It's on the way back from the Acme that he thinks about whether he should take the bike out of storage. It's not a new thought, he's considered it from time to time, but now seems to be the opportune moment. I could ride it home. To fly down the highway on a warm summer evening . . . a rush of excitement fills him. Have to check it out, it's been sitting for a while. Need to run it by Goldman too. He frowns. Where did that last thought come from? He's an adult. He can do as he pleases. Still, when he comes back to the apartment he tosses a couple of boxes into the living room. "There's more in the van," he announces, and goes into the kitchen where Sarah wraps some mugs in newspaper.

"I'm riding the bike back home," he says. Sarah pauses with a mug in her hand. She gives him a shrewd look.

"You have a helmet and leathers?"

"Yes, Mom," he says, heavy on the sarcasm. She nods again, unperturbed.

"Okay."

A little disgruntled at her easy acquiescence, he limps into the living room and resumes his spot on the couch. Roz brings over a stack of trade paperbacks.

"You have a motorcycle?" Her voice is quiet.

"Only room for one on a CBR1000," he says—not really a truthful statement, but he has his reasons. She doesn't reply, only goes back to the shelf. Greg puts the paperbacks in the box, watches her. When she turns around he drops his gaze, makes a big deal out of the placement of the books.

"So I get the front seat after all." She sounds impassive.

"Goody for you," he says. "Need more books here, the box is half empty."

She comes over with an armful of soft-covers. "That model's awesome. We'll have to do some riding when we get home."

"You have a bike. Seriously." He does look up at her this time, doubly surprised at her statement.

"No, but my cousin Jay lets me use his old Honda. It's a '72 CB 500. He just had the carbs cleaned. No rust, and it runs pretty good. And you can sit pillion." Her green eyes gleam. "But only if you make it worth my while." She sets the books on the coffee table and goes to get more. Greg sits there for a moment, then gives himself a mental shake and dumps books in the box; he no longer cares if they fit or not. He has other, more enjoyable things to think about at the moment, and not only the knowledge that he'll take his sweet ride home.

A few hours later they stop for a break. "I think we're about two-thirds of the way done." Sarah pushes a wilted curl from her cheek and surveys the bedroom. "Just the bathroom and anything in here you don't want to go back with you tonight."

"Dinner first," Greg says. "Then we bag it for a few hours." He glances at Roz but says nothing further.

"Sounds good to me." Roz stretches. "What's available around here?"

They stop on the way to the motel to pick up some Thai takeout. Without seeming to do so Greg watches Roz, who comes in with him to order. She doesn't zone out or disengage; she takes an interest in her surroundings, to the point where she asks one of the servers behind the counter about some items listed on the menu. At last Greg taps her on the shoulder.

"Grab the food and let's go," he says, and heads to the van.

'What was that about?" Roz says much later, after they've munched their way through fresh rolls, panang curry, lad-nar, ginger beef, chicken ka-prow, pineapple fried rice and plum duck. Now they sit on pillows on the floor, propped against Roz's bed, stuffed to the gills, and watch wrestling on a muted tv. Sarah's asleep on the bed behind them, out cold if her soft snores are any indication.

"You mean you flirting with the cute young guy behind the counter." Greg sips his beer. "Don't know. You tell me. You're the one who kept me waiting for hours while you gave him the eye."

Roz gives him a dry look. "I don't do come-ons," she says. He lowers his bottle.

"Because Mommy did. That's original."

"That isn't all of it." She smooths a hole in the knee of her jeans in an absent manner. "Anyway, I was just curious about the differences between the curries."

"You've been leading me on for ages," he says, incredulous at this brazen lie. "Last night-"

"I'm not teasing you. Said it once—I want to get to know you, and vice versa." Her smile glimmers in the soft light. Greg leans over a little to look straight into her eyes. She holds his gaze, steady and open. When he bends that last degree and kisses her she returns it without hesitation. At the end she says "I meant what I said. You don't have to test me." She doesn't sound upset though.

"There's no fun in that," he says, and kisses her again.

July 24th

The movers had just locked down the back door on the truck when a motorcycle glided down the street. It was a Honda in battered but still bright Repsol colors, one side marred by a large scrape. Roz shaded her eyes and followed the bike as it pulled in behind the van and sat idling. The rider wore leathers and a helmet, the tinted visor raised up. She walked over to him, and admired the ease with which he carried himself. He's different, she thought. More confident. More . . . himself.

"Nice wheels," she said. He looked away.

"Thanks."

"Okay, then. See you at home," she said when he fell silent.

"No dire warnings to be careful or drive safe. I'm impressed." He sounded derisive.

"You obviously know how to lay down a bike if that road rash is anything to go by, so you don't need me to nag you." Roz stepped back. "Have fun. Eat a bug or two for me."

Greg's head lifted toward her. After a moment he nodded. A crooked smile revealed a dimple in his cheek. He put down his visor, revved the engine, looked in the rear view mirror, then moved out into the street and was on his way. Roz watched him until he was lost in the distance. Then she walked to the apartment house, even as a part of her wished she was with him.

They'd been on the road several hours when her phone rang. Sarah checked the caller ID and answered. Roz glanced over at her, brows raised. Greg, Sarah said silently. Roz nodded, checked the side mirror, passed a truck and turned up the music on the CD player a little. "Hey, how's it going?" Sarah said. She put the phone on speaker.

"Where are you?" Greg paused. "That's Hendrix." He sounded surprised.

"We're an hour from the state line," Sarah said. "Good ride so far?"

"That's 'Red House'," Greg said. "Not the Woodstock version, though. You've got Valleys of Neptune."

"We stopped at the Record Exchange," Sarah said, and fought not to chuckle at the chagrin in Greg's voice. "And Hoagie Haven. I bought two bushels of peaches at Solebury House too, in case you're interested."

"That means you two won't get home until tomorrow morning," Greg said. "Bet you didn't think of that while you were spending Gene's money."

"I make my own paycheck, thank you very much," Roz said.

"We'll be fine. If we have to stop and grab an hour's sleep I'll call you," Sarah said.

"Don't do the rest areas on the Extension," Greg said. "It's not safe." Roz made an unsuccessful attempt to hide a chuckle. "I heard that," Greg said. Roz rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I didn't nag you. Can't we have a little fun?" she said in a loud voice. "Don't bogart that spliff, Sare. The night's still young."

"Hardy-har-har, you're so amusing," Greg said. "Keep an eye peeled for staties outside Scranton. I'm in Binghamton now."

"All right. See you when we see you," Sarah said. "Peaches for breakfast, though probably not the ones you're thinking of."

Greg sighed. "Jesus." He hung up. Sarah ended the call and looked at Roz, who raised her right hand. They gave each other a solemn high five and broke into laughter.

July 25th

"Hey, we're here." Sarah's soft voice brought Roz out of her doze. She yawned, then unbuckled the seat harness and sat up. In the faint pre-dawn light it was just possible to see Greg's bike parked in the extra spot off the drive. He's okay. A profound relief crept into her tired mind.

"We'll take care of unloading a little later," Sarah said. "Let's sleep in and have a late breakfast, we've earned it."

"Cool." Roz opened her door and hopped out, stretching stiff muscles. She took her overnight bag from the back seat and slung it over her shoulder, picked up Sarah's as well and headed for the front door. As she approached it opened to reveal Greg. It was clear he'd climbed out of bed; he wore a disreputable pair of old sweats and a tee shirt, and his hair was tousled. Roz watched him as she came up the step and stopped in front of him.

"Well, we're back," she said after a short silence. Greg reached out and relieved her of Sarah's bag, then unhooked hers from her shoulder. She was about to turn away when he took a step forward and kissed her. His lips were warm and a little chapped. Then he retreated within the house to disappear into the dim interior. Roz watched him go.

This is home because he's here, she thought, and then I love him.

"Coming in?" Sarah stopped next to her on the step, weighed down with full shopping bags. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Roz said, not tired at all now. "I'm good." She followed Sarah into the house and closed the door behind her.