Jessica watched the lovely winter scenery pass through the gondola window. She ignored the crowd around her, waited for her opportunity to retreat from the hubbub and find her favorite place on the mountain. As the gondola slowed with a sway, she clunked out, retrieved her skies and left the others behind. Dropping skis, she clipped her boots into them and traversed the flat area, slid through the trees on a trail few knew about, then perched herself at the pinnacle of a steep slope. Silence.

Closing her eyes, the wind spoke softly through the pines far below. Her heart ached and a tear trailed down her cold face. With a huff, she brushed it away.

"This is for you, baby."

She planted a pole and hopped into her first turn, shushing down the mountain with perfect technique and grace. Cold wind rushed over her damp face, her breath caught, heart thumped pleasantly. Her body was fluid and sure, comfortable riding the snow. Midway, she stopped, looked around. A long eared rabbit skittered through the nearby trees and she noticed deer tracks across the slope. She had done it, exactly as she'd promised she would. She was the first down the soft powder. Looking back at the rhythmic, continuous pattern she'd marked on the pristine surface, she knew he'd be proud. She knew he was watching. Her face rose to the bright morning sky.

The slope took a sharp turn and she could see the village below. The resort sparkled in the glittering light. It was starting to lightly snow and more and more people were gathering at the lifts. She pushed herself into speed, knowing it would be her last run, her only run. Some promises she just couldn't keep.

Jessica efficiently stored her skis and poles in the provided locker, removed the heavy boots and tucked them along with her thick jacket and gloves before locking it. Pulling on her walking boots, she realized she was hungry, thought about an early lunch but had little interest in eating alone in a restaurant. Pizza would be delivered to her room and it would suffice. Walking past the front desk, she considered checking out, catching the first flight back to the states and home as she'd planned, but she didn't. This was curious. A passed decision always held ramifications. Some good, some not so good. One year ago they'd passed on a decision to see the doctor for a ski trip. Now, she was alone.

What did it matter? She sighed and entered the elevator. It had started to snow heavily and she was glad she'd come in out of the cold. She wanted a drink from the courtesy bar, a long hot bath and to cry herself to sleep. She'd call later for a flight home.

"Hold it! Hold the door!"

Instinct forced her hand to the door, pushing it opened. She didn't want to ride with anyone; there would be another elevator in less than a minute. But what was done was done. The man charged inside like a wind funnel and dropped a large suitcase. With a pleasant grin, he pushed back his long dark hair.

"Thanks, mate."

Jessica waited. "Floor?"

"Oh, uh," he pulled his key from his pocket. "Six please," he said proudly.

She pushed the button, then her own floor too, just to make sure, and watched the gauge over the door.

"So," he cleared his throat. "Is it always this cold here?"

She turned, intending to remind him that he was in the Canadian Rockies, after all. But there was something endearing about his mannerism, the friendly look on his face. And there was that funny Australian accent.

"Yes," was all she said but she smiled as she returned her attention to the numbers, passing far too slowly for her liking. In fact, the elevator was moving slower than it should be. It suddenly stopped with a jolt between floors. The lights flickered, darkened then a backup lamp snapped on, bright and harsh.

"Holy fuck," said the man.

"Yeah, holy fuck." Jessica looked for a phone compartment, frustrated that her cell was up in her room. No phone on the elevator. "Oh, oh."

"We're stuck?" He asked with a wicked grin.

"Looks like it."

He stepped past her and pressed every button until it lit up, flickered, then went dark.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, mate, always wanted to do that." He actually giggled.

They stood silent for several moments. Jessica's mind was running wild. Why the hell didn't she stop at the front desk like she planned? What was going to happen now? And how long would she be trapped in the small space with a stranger?

"Anyone in there?" A voice boomed from a speaker high in the corner.

"It's God," the stranger said with a chuckle.

"No, not God. The closest thing to Him right now. Frankie, the engineer. How many in there?"

"Two of us," they said together.

They waited then finally Frankie responded.

"Well, sit tight, it's going to be a while. Least you're not trapped on a chair lift, ay?"

"That's not funny, Frankie. How long?"

Jessica watched the stranger conduct a dialog with the disembodied engineer and wondered about him.

w

Holy fuck was right. He had arrived late, needed to be at rehearsal first thing in the morning and wanted to review his notes before he dropped off to sleep. What the hell time was it anyway? The transpacific flight to LA was tough enough, sitting beside a woman with a crying baby. The crying baby followed him all the way to Alberta. He was sure he'd never get used to the time changes and grueling travel, no matter how many times he flew around the world. And he hoped that would be often.

He never should have tried to sneak home for a little rest. He'd be paying for it. He still wanted to get some time on the ice that afternoon after a little kip. A bit of practice. Hopefully he wouldn't fall and break something. Lord knew he wasn't good at it. But the director, Jay Roach had assured him it would look fine. It was the first time he wasn't worried about remembering his lines, he was worried about bloody scrapes and a broken nose.

So much for planning. There he was, trapped in an elevator. But if he had to be trapped, what was better than to be stuck with a pretty shiela? He'd make the best of it. This was an area of expertise that never concerned him. He'd have her comfortable and laughing in no time. Maybe even get a dinner date out of it. These kinda things always turned out pretty lucky for him.

Frankie told them it could be hours. He raised an eyebrow at the woman then heard the click, indicating that Frankie was gone.

"Well, my name's Russ. Yours?"

"Oh, I'm Jessica. Nice to meet you. I think."

He laughed. She was obviously nervous. "Afraid of tight spaces?"

"Not really, but this is uncomfortable. Don't you think?"

He shrugged, looked around. At the walls, the ceiling, into the bright light. "Well, a bit I guess. May as well get comfortable." He slid down the wall and sat on the floor. She sat across from him. He couldn't help but look at her. She was interesting. Small, long dark hair pulled back in a careless ponytail. Her face was lovely, flushed pink from the cold and he liked her eyes. The shape of them, how they looked, lowered like they were. Modest. Shy. She was really uncomfortable. He had to do something to ease that.

"So," he asked, crossing his arms, legs at the ankles. "Did ya ski today?"

Her eyes shot up, sadness sparkled in the moisture there. What the fuck did he do? He was only hoping for a little conversation.

"Yes," she finally answered. "And what's an Australian doing at a ski resort? I didn't think you guys liked the cold."

"We don't," he smiled, happy that her eyes were watching him, no longer ready to cry. "I'm working on a movie here. I was hoping to get some practice in this afternoon. Wonder how long we'll be stuck."

"Practice? Skiing?"

"Ice skating. Hockey. I suck."

"So, you're an actor, right? Act like a hockey player, it'll be fine." She idly picked imaginary lint from her tight ski slacks.

"That's what the director said."

"Are you a good actor?"

"I try. Try pretty hard. I like it. It suits me."

She nodded.

"What do you do, Jessie?"

w

She wanted to answer, I mourn, I cry, I avoid facing everything. But instead she told him something else, something vague, what she figured he expected to hear.

"I'm sort of between things right now. I own a business, everything's up in the air at the moment."

"What kinda business?"

He looked genuinely interested, as though he really wanted to know.

"A restaurant. My . . um . . . my husband and I owned it together."

"What kinda restaurant. I'm hungry, so be real descriptive, love."

She appreciated the fact that he didn't ask about Brian. About why the business was up in the air.

"It's a sort of nouveau cuisine place. Blends of unique flavors from different styles."

"More explanation, please." He had the nicest grin.

"Well, some entrees are a mixture of Caribbean and French cuisine. Some are combinations of Cajun and African. Like that."

"Christ, sounds fantastic. Oh, you hungry?" He dug deep in his jacket pocket, pulling out a tiny bag of peanuts from the plane.

"No, thanks. Looks like a feast," Jessica giggled. "And you look like you need the nourishment."

"Is that a fat crack?" He asked, tearing into the small bag, nuts flying everywhere.

"Not at all. You look good. Perfect for a hockey player."

"An actor," his eyes sparkled. "Trying to look like a hockey player."

"I bet you're better on the ice than you think."

"Bet I'm not," another giggle that made her laugh. "You ice skate?"

"No."

"So," he said after a long quiet moment. "You're a skiing restaurateur, right?"

"Something like that."

"What else? There's gotta be more than that. There always is, Jessie."

"I'm a widow." Blood thumped in her ears and her heart jumped. Why on earth had she told him that? She shuffled to her feet, leaned against the wall.

"I'm sorry."

What an interesting person. He said it like he meant it, not like everyone else. With fear, as though they were thrilled it was her and not them.

She spoke the words she'd wanted to say for months. Without the need to comfort the stranger, she was free to let it out. "So the hell am I . . . oh, Jesus. That sounds self pitying, doesn't it?"

"Fuck no. It sounds true. Gotta be tough. What are ya gonna do about the restaurant?"

She shrugged. He patted the floor next to him and she sat, her shoulder nearly touching his.

w

Well, this shiela was full of surprises. He felt for her, sure she was hurting much more than she wanted to show. He had no personal experience with such a loss; death of a spouse was up there as one of the top toughest things in life. He knew there was absolutely nothing he could say to comfort her. Best to move on; see how much she wanted to share with him. Maybe with a bit more insight, he could reach her aching heart. Soothe it a little.

"Tell me somethin', love. If you could do anything on earth, besides the restaurant, what would you do?"

"I have no idea, not even a clue."

"Ah, well then it's not time to decide. That makes it simple. Jessie, all ya gotta do is keep your eyes open. The answers are always right in front of us, ya know."

"They are? Could have fooled me."

"I know," he chuckled. "Sometimes it's so much easier not to see them. I do that shit all the time. Always flat on my arse trying to find the right way. But I figured somethin' out a long time ago."

She turned to him; her brown eyes glowed with intense interest.

"If it's supposed to happen, it will."

A laugh escaped her lips. "That's far too simple! Even for an actor."

"Hey!" He offered her a peanut he found on his lap. She refused, of course. "Was that an actor crack?" He popped the nut into his mouth.

"No. I just thought acting was a hard life."

"It is, hopefully it'll get harder too. That's the only way I'll know I'm doing the right stuff."

She was looking at him, really looking at him, listening to every word he said.

"Life, well, my life, is like everything else, mate. Ya get what you put into it."

"And I'm not putting a damn thing into it right now."

"It's time for rest, Jessie. Time for a little TLC, that's all. Is that why ya came to ski?"

"No."

"No?"

She turned, crossed her legs Indian style and faced him. Damn but she was pretty. Especially with that vulnerable look about her. He usually avoided women like Jessie, sure they wanted a hell of a lot more than he had to offer, even in friendship. They were clingy and unhappy all the time. But Jessie was different. There was an abundant strength in her pain. A passion in her situation that was more attractive than her lovely face and perfect little body.

"So, why are ya here?"

She struggled, redid her ponytail, looked around the small elevator.

"Come on, love. I know why I'm here. You gotta know why you're here."

"I made Brian a promise." She wasn't looking at him. Her focus was on her hands, knotted tight in her lap.

"When did he die?" He asked softly, wanting to touch her hands, see them relax. He didn't.

"Two months ago. Russ, it was horrible. Last year, we came here for a vacation. The first we'd taken in three years, the restaurant and all."

Again, he restrained himself. It was only natural to want to hold a person in so much anguish, but he could tell it wasn't the right thing to do. "Go on."

"Brian was supposed to see the doctor for an annual check up. He said he was feeling fine, you know. So we moved the appointment back. We came here and fell in love with the place. Even booked the same room for this year, making a commitment to take time alone together at least once a year."

Russ nodded, imagining her in the same room, deep in memories of her dead husband. Without wanting to, he pitied her. His hand moved out, pushed a stray lock of shiny dark hair from her face. Waited.

She continued, her voice strained but amazingly controlled. "When we got home, the restaurant was hopping, really taking off. We were so busy he never went to the doctor. I completely forgot about it." Tears rolled down her face. She looked into his eyes. "Why didn't I remember? Why didn't I make sure he went?"

"Jessie, this is not your fault, love."

"Right, I know. I know." She sighed. "I know. It was Brian's fault too. You know, I'm really pissed at him for this. He was having chest pains for months and never told me. Never once! When the first heart attack happened, he almost died. That was in October. He was recovering, but I think he knew. He told me to come here no matter what and have a good time. And me, like an idiot, I promised. I'm not having a good time. This is awful! How could he ask me to do this? He was my whole fucking life?"

He reached out, embraced her. Listened to her soft sobs against his chest as his hand ran circles on her back.

"Brian died during a surgical procedure. He never said goodbye but he made me promise to go play in the fucking snow. Jesus, all I want to do is go home. Hide somewhere."

"Shh," he said, a tear in his own eye. He tried to see Brian's point of view. Obviously Jessie was his whole life too. He wanted her to remember him, cruel as it was. He probably knew he wasn't gonna make it.

"I'm sorry." She tried to leave his arms, but he held her tight. "I don't mean to do this. I'm sorry."

"It's okay to mourn, love. It's important. Human."

w

Why did it feel so good to be held? Was it because Russ was a perfect stranger? Because he seemed genuinely interested? Was it because he was just a kind man who couldn't wait for the damn elevator to be fixed so he could get the hell away from her? She was terribly uncomfortable and retreated to the opposite wall, pushed her tears away and tried to smile.

"So, tell me about this movie you're making."

His eyes were actually sad, wet.

"Please," Jessica begged softly.

"All right, love. It's a movie about a small town in Alaska. A town obsessed with pond hockey."

"What part do you play?"

He straightened his shoulders and squared a serious gaze on her. "I'm Sheriff John Biebe."

She chuckled. "Are you the lead?"

"No," his head shook and he searched for more stray peanuts. "It's an ensemble piece." He crunched a few peanuts and grinned. "I'm an aging hockey player who gets cut from the Saturday Game. Then the New York Rangers come to town to play pond hockey."

"Oh no! Well, at least you won't have too many scenes to do on ice skates."

"One is too many, trust me." He laughed at himself and she ginned.

"I've never heard a man giggle like that before."

"Yeah? But it's a real manly giggle, mate," he growled and she laughed. "How long are you here?"

"Um," she hesitated. Did she want to tell him she was leaving as soon as she could? Did she really want to leave yet? "I just arrived last night."

"So you're gonna be around then."

She shrugged. Maybe not. She honestly wasn't sure. "Are you filming here?"

"Nope. Rehearsals and skating practice for the bloke from down under. A week. Is it gettin' cold in here? Or is it just me?" He rifled through his suitcase.

"A little cold." She didn't want to admit she was shivering.

"Mum bought me some thick socks, they're in here somewhere. Here ya go. Two pairs of nice warm gloves." He crossed the elevator on his knees and slid a sock on each of her freezing hands, then went back to his side and did the same.

He grinned and bobbed his brows.

"Oh please, not sock puppets. Did you have a deprived childhood, Russ?"

"Nope," his covered hand said. "Had a great childhood. You?"

"Perfect," she moved her hand. "Jeeze, how come mine isn't as good as yours?" She fingered the sock, trying to get it tight over here hands.

Russ slid beside her and helped her tug the wool knit up over her sweater sleeve, holding it secure. "Now try."

"This is so much better. Hello there, mister actor." She made her voice squeaky.

"Nice voice."

"Lambchop."

"What?"

"When I was a kid, there was a children's television show, and a sock puppet named Lambchop was the star."

"Well, give yours a different name or I may drool all over the elevator. I'm fuckin' starving."

"Sorry, how about Rosita?"

"Hola, Senorita Rosita," his puppet said with a perfect Spanish accent.

Suddenly the elevator jerked and he quickly wrapped an arm around her, concern in his eyes. "It's okay love. They're just working on it."

"Are you sure? Maybe - "

"I'm sure, right Frankie?" he shouted. "Hey! Frankie? Mate!"

Silence jangled her nerves and the elevator jerked again. She held tighter to him. "Frankie!" they shouted together.

The intercom crackled. "An hour ago I was God, now I'm just plain Frankie, ay? Everything's fine. Almost ready to bring you back to the lobby. Another minute."

As he spoke the elevator resumed its lighting and regular hum. Smoothly it dropped and Jessica returned Russ' socks.

"Thanks."

He quickly stuffed them into the suitcase. "Dinner?"

"It's only one o'clock."

"Well, lunch. How about it, love?" He looked up at her, fighting the zipper on his luggage until she knelt and helped him.

"Lunch. All right."

w

Score! Russell thought as he dropped his suitcase on the bed and ran for a quick shower. In ten minutes he'd meet her in the hotel dining room. He checked his wallet; made sure he had enough cash on him and grinned. Someday he wouldn't have to be doing that. Well, actually he didn't have to do it so much anymore at all. Life was good and he was doing well. It was habit that made him think about such things. It wasn't that long ago when a tin of soup had to last him two days. Something told him he never wanted to forget those times, that it was important to hold on to them. After all, everything could turn on a dime.

He showered and changed, felt fit and strong. Ready for anything. Russell took the stairs down to the lobby. Not that he was superstitious, but why tempt fate?

Ready for anything. Exactly what was he ready for anyway? Jessie was a mourning widow. He wasn't asking for anything from her. He just liked her, her smile, her personality. Christ, he hoped she realized he wasn't some kinda hoon, just looking to get laid. But she was meeting him, so perhaps she already understood.

Not that he wouldn't like a little action. He'd been so busy. Work controlled everything, including the satisfaction (or lack thereof), for his libido, which was always working just as hard. But he was a decent bloke and he knew Jessie wasn't the right woman, it wasn't the right time. It had been a while since he'd had a close female friend though. A week with someone to talk to and laugh with would be an absolute joy.

He sat in the dining room, glanced over the menu and waited for Jessie. He eyed an affectionate couple in a rather seductive embrace across the restaurant and thought about love. About romance. Wondered if there would be room in his life for such things. It was easy to get laid. A wink, the right kinda smile, a few well chosen words. But he'd always wanted more. Some things had to be sacrificed. Look at poor Jessie. A booming business, full life. No time alone with her husband and now he was gone. Life is fragile. And so is love.

But there were several kinds of love and he was suffering from a lack of most of them. Of course he had his family. Great support there. And the band. There was no real love in his life and that created a huge emptiness that sometime hurt. Plus, he was sorely lacking in the friendship department. The kind of friends you could call anytime of the day or night and just talk to. He found himself with a deluge of fond acquaintances as his career moved ahead, but not the deep kind of friendships that nourish him, the kind where he could give as much as he got. And of course, there were his fans. Unfortunately, most of them where currently on another continent far, far away.

He wasn't about to dwell on it, Jessie had just walked into the restaurant and whole room seemed to brighten. He waved for the waitress, unsure if his need for close conversation or food was more important at the moment.

"Sorry, took a little longer than I thought," she said, sweeping into the seat and reaching for the menu.

The waitress came to the table and Jessie gave a wicked grin. "I'll have the grilled chicken salad, and he'll have the left side of the menu," she teased.

"Well, not all of it." He ordered another beer, a steak sandwich, fries and salad then leaned back and watched her fidget with her napkin. "You're not still uncomfortable, are ya? I don't bite, least not when real food is on the way."

She didn't smile and he felt that twinge, the one that said oh-oh.

"Russ," she started slowly, looking like his grammar school teacher when he'd done something completely unacceptable. "Um . . . can I ask you something?"

"Absolutely."

"What are we doing here? Because I'm not, well you know."

"Let's see," he looked around like an undercover agent, leaned close and whispered. "What are we doing here? I was thinkin' we were starting a nice friendship. 'Cause Jessie, I really could use a friend. You're the only person I know in the Northern Hemisphere right now, mate."

She thrilled him and leaned closer, played along. "That's good, because you're the only person I know in all of Canada."

Relieved that that was cleared up, he felt comfortable continuing with a little light conversation. "Left side of the menu, huh? Lemme guess, your husband was a tall, thin man who looked like he just stepped outta GQ, right?"

What the hell possessed him to say that? For a moment he thought he'd really blown it, that she'd go off into a rant of tears that would ruin the entire afternoon, but Jessie surprised him yet again. A laugh that reminded him of wind chimes made his heart thump.

"Oh no! Brian was a heavy man, not much taller than you, and twenty five years older. How could anyone trust a skinny chef?"

"You got a point there."

Lunch arrived. As they ate and chatted about everything from the weather to their favorite cars, his mind worked on two levels; analyzing Jessie, sizing her up, trying to figure her out. Brian's age indicated far more wisdom than he'd previously given the dearly departed man credit for. There was much more to Jessie's turmoil than met the eye. Was he interested in deciphering the puzzle? Was he willing? The answer was a resounding, hell yeah. She intrigued him. The lovely animation of her expressions, the gracefulness of her movements, even the musical rhythm of her voice as she spoke tugged him deeper and deeper. It promised to be an enlightening week and he just might have made a life long friend; a concept that greatly appealed to him.

After eating, he couldn't help it. A yawn escaped. "Sorry, love. I'm bloody exhausted."

"Then you need to get some rest. You've been traveling all day. When did you leave Australia?"

"Yesterday, been traveling since."

"Then get some sleep before you drop. Lunch is on me. It was fun."

"Lunch is on you? Well, only if dinner tomorrow is my shout. I'll be working with a coach all evening, probably get a bite with him tonight."

"You have to skate today? But you're so tired."

"It'll be fine. Just need a little kip, that's all. Can I call ya tonight?"

Her eyes dropped with that shy expression that tingled in his chest.

"If you like."

"Room?"

"812."

"Promise it won't be too late. I gotta go, love. Talk to ya later."

And she did something he wasn't expecting. She reached out as he stood and squeezed his hand. Then she smiled.

w

Jessica took a good book to the hotel public lounge and read in front of the crackling fireplace. The wall of windows glittered with drifting puffy snowflakes and she curled on a big overstuffed chair.

The next time she looked up, it was dark, white twinkle lights illuminated the fresh snow; the mountain loomed purple in the background. How did the time pass so quickly? She hadn't read for that long in years. When she entered her room, she realized that once again she hadn't checked out at the front desk. But she'd take the risk of passing on a plan. Just maybe it wasn't the best plan anyway.

She took a long hot bath and crawled into bed, the television low and glowing. As she drifted off, her thoughts were a hodgepodge of things. The restaurant kitchen, bustling and happy. The mountain. Her sadness and her grief. Grieving. Something she really hadn't done yet. She wondered what she'd do the next day, and the next. The rest of her life. She thought of Russ, his grin and his kindness.

It was nearly eleven when the phone rang, a loud nerve jangling sound.

"Hello."

"Did I wake ya?"

"No," she lied, shuffling to sit up in the bed.

"Yeah, I did. Sorry, love. Go back to sleep."

"No, no. Talk to me."

"All right. How was your day?"

"You mean after that elevator incident?"

He laughed. She imagined his face, how his eyes crinkled.

"Very pleasant. I read. How was your practice?"

"Next subject, please."

"Okay, what's your agenda for tomorrow?"

Conversation flowed comfortably, then they became quiet, but it wasn't a strained silence, it was relaxed, easy.

"What're you gonna do tomorrow?" He asked.

"I don't know, Russ. Haven't really thought about it."

"I've been thinkin' about you and I had an idea. Wanna hear it?"

"Shoot."

"I'm thinkin' Brian had a plan, love. I think he wanted you to find something here. Not sure what, but I think you should ski. Maybe whatever it is, it's gonna come to ya up on that mountain."

She shrugged, realized he couldn't see her and laughed.

"What? Bad idea?"

"No, no. Not at all. It would be just like him to do something like that. I was laughing because, oh, never mind."

"Can't do that, woman."

"I was laughing because I forgot you were on the other end of the phone line. I thought you could see me."

"Lemme guess, you shrugged, didn't ya?"

w

The next day started early for Russell. Six AM meeting with the director, then rehearsal till two. After that he planned a little practice before the coach arrived at five to press him to frustration. And finally, dinner with Jessie.

He met the rest of the cast for the first time. He was crazy about the little boys playing his sons, thought the blokes on the team were terrific and liked Mary McCormack who would play John Biebe's wife. Overall, he enjoyed rehearsal. The group was creative and fun. He expected an enjoyable experience making a movie with them. All he needed to do was figure out how to spark things up. Ideas flew and he grinned then called home and asked a mate to overnight an Aussie flag. That should light a real fire under them all.

Around two thirty, as he walked toward the ice rink, carefully picking his way through skiers heading to a lift line, he gazed at the slope wondering if Jessie was up there. A figure gracefully shushed down toward him. He didn't recognize anything but the smoothness of her movement. Elegant, graceful. It had to be her. He stood and watched, enthralled until she came to a quick stop, pushing a cloud of icy snow right at him with a giggle.

"Hey!" he smiled. "I knew that was you."

She tugged off her hat and goggles. "How was rehearsal?"

"Great. Did ya have a good time up there? Jesus, you're pretty damn good at that."

She shrugged then looked at him and they both laughed. "I do that a lot, don't I?"

"Yeah, ya do. Well, since I got to see you in action, I wondered if you'd like to see me." He lifted one of the ice skates draped over his shoulder.

"You're not going to fall, are you?"

"It's a guarantee I'll fall, love. Me on ice? Not a pretty sight."

She looked as though she was seriously considering the ramifications of watching him ice skate.
Her pretty brows curled then she nodded.

"Just give me a minute to put my equipment away," and she skied away.

He waited, shivering in the cold, listened to happy conversations, watched little kids ski in a long line, balloons tied to their wrists and wondered if he could do it. Ski. As technically well as Jessie. Probably not. Not because he wasn't capable. He just didn't have time to perfect such a sport. Or snow back home to practice on. No frozen ponds or ice rinks either, thus his current situation. With the right circumstances, he was always motivated to do better than his best. Russ wondered what it would be like, skiing gracefully down the slopes beside Jessie. He smoked several cigarettes, his fingers freezing, considered waiting inside, but decided against it. Something in him wanted to see Jessie walking toward him. And there she was. He tossed the butt and grinned.

Russell led her into the rink and insisted she rent skates.

"Are you nuts?"

"No, it'll be nice to have someone out there who isn't better than me."

"But, but."

w

Skates tied tight, she tried to stand as Russ circled the rink. He was no where near as bad as he suspected. At least he had balance. Jessica on the other hand, could hardly figure out how to stand on the carpet, much less the ice.

He moved with marginal confidence, managed to avoid other skaters and even turn to skate backwards until he hit the ice, butt first with a laugh so loud she could hear him over the crowd. What a remarkable man, she thought, to be able to laugh at himself like that. So much about him surprised her. His insight above all. He was dead right. She needed to do what she'd come to the mountain to do. Ski. Relax. Have some fun. And discover Brian's true intention for sending her there.

Suddenly, Russ was at her side. "S'go, love. You can do this."

She groaned and stepped onto the ice, inching her way.

"Don't lean forward, and for heaven's sake, don't lean back," he grinned, skating backward and holding her hands, pulling her along. "Kinda like the blind leadin' the blind, isn't it?"

Soon she was on her own and he could have skated circles around her, but he stayed close, protective, always laughing his contagious giggle. Everything went well until a bevy of little kids soared past them, leaving Russ and Jessica in a heap, twirling on their backs, legs intertwined and arms sprawled.

"Enough!" she begged. "I need some hot cocoa."

"Great idea."

Watching him relax, she noticed things she hadn't the day before. The pretty color of his eyes, how he ran his hand through his hair. The size of those hands. Large, strong. He talked about the movie, about a script he was considering. He was like a man on fire, blazing with passion and excitement. Russ was wrong, acting didn't suit him. It drove him. Made his heart pump and his mind fly higher than anyone she'd ever known. She liked him. He was more than just a kind man she'd met in a stalled elevator. He was something special and she wondered how far he'd go. Her imagining was that he'd be a star. She suspected it was his imagining too.

"What time shall I meet you for dinner?" she asked when he became quiet.

"Well, I was thinkin' about seven. Too late for you?"

"No that's fine. In the lobby?" She noticed the big man heading their way and Russ' reaction to him. Assumed it was the coach.

"The lobby, seven. We'll have a drink first."

He introduced her to Jacques, his mean and torturous coach and the huge ex-hockey player shook her hand softly. As he led Russ onto the ice, he looked back with a help me, please! look on his face that made her smile all the way back to the hotel.

w

"Just what the hell are ya doing?" Russell asked his reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror. He was starting to feel things he wasn't supposed to be feeling toward the poor widow. Except that she wasn't a poor widow. She was a beautiful, vibrant young woman. The kind he was always attracted to.

"A drink, dinner, and that's it, mate. Do not cross the line with this one. Serious danger on the other side of that line." He brushed his hair back, slick and wet. Wondered whether he should shave and decided against it. He liked the minimal beard and so did the director. He wasn't going to concern himself with whether Jessie liked it or not. But . . . did she?

As he rode the elevator down, he wondered what book she'd read the day before. Which slopes she'd skied. What she'd be wearing. He looked down at himself. Denim oxford shirt, jeans. Jesus, what if she'd dressed up? As the elevator slowed at the lobby, he shook his head, realizing he was already too fucking close to the line.

Thank God, she stood near the elevator wearing jeans and a pretty pale pink sweater that made her face glow. Or was it the smile she gave him that brightened her eyes?

Jessie drank gin, he had a beer then they headed for the dining room.

"Maybe tomorrow night we can go someplace else for dinner," he said after the same waitress asked him if he wanted the right side of the menu this time.

"There's a nice pub across from the rink. I can meet you right after your skating lesson."

He was going to tell her he had a conference call with his manager and Michael Mann, but didn't want to jinx it. He wanted to tell her he needed to study lines, but he also wanted to spend time with Jessie.

"Love, can we make it at seven again? I have a few things to do."

"Oh, of course. I forgot you're not on vacation. You're working."

He was determined to keep a safe distance from falling head over heels for Jessie. It was smart. It was practical, rational. Logical. But sometime during dinner, as they laughed and talked about family and growing up, he tossed his resolve out the window. He was enjoying her company and she seemed to be enjoying his too. So, what the hell, right?

"Let's go," he said, standing with a grin.

"Where?"

"You'll see." He'd made a simple, smart plan for the evening. Dinner with the pretty widow, walk her to her door, then off to meet the crew for drinks. But he didn't want to go without her. So he led her to the very pub she'd mentioned earlier. Inside, a rousing cheer rose from the crowd in the corner, taking up most of the space and jostling each other playfully.

"Oi, mates! You gettin' pissed without me?"

w

Jessica was a bit overwhelmed. Shocked that he'd only just met those people. They loved him, all vying for his attention, listening to him when he spoke. He pointed out the actors and the support crew then simply announced, "Jessie, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Jessie."

Liquor and beer flowed and she found a comfortable seat at a table, listened to the various conversations and watched Russ. He played the room, made them laugh and brought out the best in each and every one of them, as though he knew exactly what they needed to be their best, even in a bar. He was generous with his attention and his smile, and she often found his eyes seek hers.

"I'm Crystal," said the blonde woman next to her.

Jessica turned with a smile. "Nice to meet you. What do you do on the movie?"

"I'm the scrip doctor. I fix some of the dialogue. It's a precarious job, you know. Most of the script is perfect and I will really need to work hard to find things to do with it, otherwise," she ran a finger across her throat with a grin.

Jessie sipped her gin.

"So, aren't you the lucky one," said Crystal, shouting close to Jessica's ear over the loud music. "He's really got eyes for you."

"Oh, oh no. It's not like that. We're just friends."

"Really," and Crystal's focus on Russ changed, heated. She even licked her lips.

Jessica suddenly felt awkward, even angry. What on earth? She thought. Was she jealous? That was impossible. But Crystal was definitely the last person on earth she wanted to sit next to, much less talk to. Not that the woman had much to say anymore, all off her attention on Russ.

Jessica slipped to the lady's room, figuring it would be easy to just duck out and go back to the hotel unseen. As she washed her hands there was a strange ache in her heart. It wasn't that she felt she had any right to Russ' attention, she'd just come to accept and enjoy it. It was no time for her to even consider attraction to a man, her husband not in his grave two months. The idea appalled her. She needed to get to her room where she could think through her feelings. Try to understand them.

She walked out of the restroom, her eyes down and literally bumped into an immoveable object.

"Where do ya think you're goin'?"

Russ looked pretty upset. Jessica tried to smile.

"Oh, um. I was getting a little tired, that's all. I thought I'd just go back and let you have fun with your friends."

An eyebrow rose, there was a glint of flame in his eyes. "Jessie, I just met those people. They are not my friends. You are."

"I'm sorry. I . . . just thought . . . I- "

"Fine, ya wanna go, let's go." He took her arm and led her outside.

w

Russell was eight beers into a nice buzz, and about six layers in too deep with Jessie. After all his planning, there he was, reacting like he always did. Getting territorial, possessive, frustrated. It wasn't till the cold hit him, flashing an icy sober sensation along the sweat on his face, that he realized what he was doing. Even if he did have a relationship with Jessie, it was no fucking way to act. He released her arm and stopped walking. She turned.

"I'm sorry, Jessie."

She stepped close, set her gloved palm on his beard. "It's okay. You were having so much fun. Seriously, I can get back alone."

"Mum would kick the shit outa me. I'll take you back."

They walked in silence, and not the comfortable kind. His mind was swimming in beer and desire. At her door, he set his hands on her arms, looked into her eyes. He wanted to say a thousand things but was pretty sure every one of them would be wrong. His body took command and his lips met hers, soft, wanting.

Jessie stiffened, but returned the kiss. He broke it off with a chuckle. "Think I drank a little too much."

"I think you could probably drink that whole pub under the table," she smiled.

"Tomorrow?"

"Goodnight, Russ. Now, please go back and have fun, okay?"

"Sure."

He was intensely aware of her watching him until he disappeared into the elevator. He didn't go back to the pub. He dropped on his bed, forced himself to focus, study lines and his notes until he fell asleep, still fully clothed.

w

His day was full, the pressure mounting. It was always the same at the beginning of making a movie, especially one in the multi-million dollar rage. Everything was important, on a tight schedule and moving ahead, ready or not. Russell was always ready. Things played on the lower level of his mind, the level Jessie occupied exclusively. It made him feel slightly stressed; sure he had a lot to make up for after his behavior the night before. Even rehearsal pulled on his every nerve. He knew what to do, why the fuck didn't everyone else? But he was patient, willing, compliant. They reworked lines and delivery until they were able to understand each other's rhythm and style. Frustrating and long as it was, Russ was satisfied with himself when it was over. Felt the thrill of accomplishment. He liked Jay's style and had successfully found his pace with the other performers. And there was one good thing about the long rehearsal; he'd miss his time on the ice for the day.

He rushed back to the hotel and tried to call Jessie before his important conference call, but there was no answer. It was only four; she might still be on the slopes.

The call with Michael Mann took hours. It was exciting, made him salivate. The challenge would be a remarkable opportunity to press the envelope, do even better. At six he had a quick appointment with the costume people. By quarter of seven, he was waiting in the lobby for Jessie, mentally rehearsing the lines that would retain the precarious friendship he wanted very much.

Seven fifteen, he checked his watch again, called her room from the lobby courtesy phone. No answer. He paced, looked in the bar, walked around the restaurant. At seven thirty, he went to the front desk.

"Hey, mate. Can ya ring up room 812? Jessie was supposed to meet me at seven. Gettin' a bit concerned."

The young man glanced at the wall clock then at his computer. Clacked keys then looked up.

"Sir, the guest in room 812 has checked out."

"What? When?"

"This morning."

Russell sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks."

He drank his dinner in the dark corner of the hotel bar. His mind ran in circles. He knew he was at fault. Of course she'd run. Jesus, he could hardly remember a woman stiffening like that when he kissed her. The shiela just wasn't interested, that's all. What the fuck was he thinking, anyway? Jessie was a widow. Not just a widow, but a new widow. Sleeping in the same hotel room she'd shared with her now dead husband and struggling with grief. How on earth could he expect anything else?

Of course he felt like shit, but there was more to it. He didn't know her last name, what city she lived in or even the name of her restaurant. It wasn't so much that he'd lost his chance with her, or that he had no way to really make it right. He'd lost that life long friendship he was hoping for.

He hurt Jessie by wanting to love her, and that was more painful than any of it. It wasn't the first time he'd fucked up royally, and certainly wouldn't be the last. He dropped money on the table and went up to his room.

What were the odds? He couldn't help but wonder. A broken elevator. A beautiful woman. And his legendary idiocy. The perfect combination for misery. It seemed like a terrible waste. There could have been so much there. If he hadn't drunk so much he could have talked her out of feeling uncomfortable. He could have fixed it. He thanked everything that was holy for the film. At least he had something to focus on. Something that would help him get over it. Russell didn't imagine she'd ever give him another chance. Chalked it up to yet another brilliant display of his patented, Crowe signature stupidity.

Days went by. He worked hard on and off the ice. Packed for the trip to the film location and lived out of his suitcase, waiting to leave the hotel and the memories of what could have been. He dove deep into the script he was currently working on and the one he was looking forward to. He drank every night with the cast and crew then dropped in a drunken haze at night.

Finally, itinerary in hand, they got the word they'd be leaving the next morning. The thrill of the rolling camera took over and he thought about every scene, how he wanted it to look and feel. He thought about the other actors, the way they reacted to him as the sheriff, about the noble character he'd be portraying. And as much as he tried not to, he thought about Jessie.

What would have happened if she stayed? If they'd moved ahead with the relationship he wanted? Friendship or otherwise? And what on earth gave him the impression they could have stayed close after she went home and he moved ahead with his life? There were hundreds of difficulties in the relationship department where he was concerned. Travel. Commitments that stretched years ahead. How could he expect any woman to be a part of that kind of scenario?

Self pity set in. The kind that made him want to drink. Heavily. But he didn't. He pushed himself on the ice, feeling the pressure of performance. He worked out in the gym and had an early light dinner. Wanting no one around him, he hid the entire evening in his room, reading, chatting on the phone with friends and family. He talked at length with his mum, missing home. Like all mother's she knew something was up.

"Who was she?"

"Who?"

"The woman tearing at your heart, love."

"Ahh, a sweet thing I met in a broken elevator. Nice. Widow."

"And?"

"And nothin', mum. She's gone home. Miss her a bit, I guess."

"Tell me somethin'. Why do you always let the nice ones get away?" She chuckled.

"No clue." No fucking clue at all, he thought as he hung up.

He took a long hot shower and lounged on the bed with the script in his hands, then drifted off to sleep.

w

A knock on his door. Russell twisted to glare at the alarm clock. Half past one in the morning. With a grunt he switched on the lamp and stretched. Tugged on a pair of sweat pants and walked to the door. Most likely it was one of the crew, out to drag him to the pub. No drinking for him that night, no matter what they said. With a massive yawn, he pulled at the doorknob.

"Hi."

Russell's breath caught, his chest ached and he couldn't say a single word. Jessie stood, wringing her leather gloves in her nervous hands and trying to smile.

"I woke you. I'm sorry. But there's something I needed to tell you."

He stepped back and she entered, leaned back against the wall, her eyes glowing and focused on his. He stood a safe distance. It was terribly unnerving for him, having had no time to rehearse or even plan a reaction to her surprise appearance. He was so sure he'd never lay eyes on her again. But she was there, in the flesh. He was grateful but too terrified to speak.

"I wanted you to know that I figured out what Brian wanted me to find here."

He nodded. The cat had surely taken his tongue.

Her hand reached out, set tenderly on his bare chest. "You."

Me? Me? He stepped closer, wanting the heat of her soft palm close to his heart. "Me?" He finally croaked.

"Yes. I was supposed to find you, to love you. So that I could live, move on with my life."

"Love me?" His hands cupped her face and he pressed her closer to the wall.

"Yes. I can love. And I do. I love you. I'll always love you Russ."

It was enough to explode his heart. He could take no more. His mouth devoured hers. Jessie was there, alone with him. And she'd spoken the words that twisted him, haunted him. Drove him. He wanted her more than he realized, wanted every inch of her, to taste her, savor her. To love her. And she moved with him, as gracefully as she moved down the slopes. Anticipating his desire, offering, holding to him as he held on to her.

Free of coat and clothes, Jessie tugged at his sweat pants, her palm taking an easy slide over his raging hard on causing him to groan with something close to ecstasy.

"Jessie, Jessie," he whispered again and again. "Jessie."

Laying her on the bed, he moved over her, sucking her lips with relish, wanting more, so much more, and wanting it fast. But he contained himself, rose on his arms and looked down into her eyes.

"Baby, you're here."

"I'm here. With you. Where I belong."

w

"I'm here. With you. Where I belong." The words tumbled from Jessica's heart, unedited, un-thought. Words she felt, like the fire of his hands, the weight of his body.

At his first approach she was afraid. Unjustified fear. She knew she was safe in his hands. But she had only been with Brian. He was her first love, her only love until the funny Aussie blew into the elevator. Made her laugh, opened her to talk, to share her pain. He would now fill her body as he'd filled her heart.

Brian was older. In his early fifties. He had always been gentle and tender with her. She knew no other way. But Russ was young, powerful. Filled with passion Jessica had only dreamed of. Did he know she needed his fire to go on? Did he understand the tremendous effect he had on her?

His mouth was luscious, his kisses sweet and searing with intensity, moving along her neck. She gasped with anticipation, the shivers crawling the length of her entire body. His hands were demanding but easy with her, soothing where he pressed, massaging where he pulled. She was feeling every muscle of his body tense and release, then she felt only what he wanted her to feel.

His mouth nursed at her breast, adoring each nipple, kissing, licking, sucking as he groaned with delight. Tingles traveled from his touch, buzzing in her teeth, shooting down to her belly and she melted beneath him. Was this the kind of love she was made for? The kind of man she was fashioned and formed to please? To please her? They were harmony together, the music simple, driving to a level then climbing higher as her heart pounded louder to the beat.

It was a cadence, a strong driving climb they were taking together. His mouth kissed her mound drawing a gasp. Her hands slid into his soft hair and he looked up at her, asking permission with an expression that brought tears to her eyes. Didn't he know she was his? Every part of her? She smiled and pushed his hair back, watching his face move between her thighs. No thought could be deciphered after that moment. She was lost in his touch.

w

Russell was buried in heaven, in the soft private flesh of a woman he felt so connect to, he was unsure where he began and she ended. Not a thought had traveled through his head that didn't include her since the moment he first spoke to her. Even talking with Michael Mann, his mind traveled the possibilities of being near Jessie, in the States. Of her being with him as he did the film, sharing his excitement about it. About the future. When she was gone, he never thought of moving ahead, forgetting the lost opportunity. He mourned the loss of something special. He was sure of the possibilities at that moment, having her, soft and willing in his grasp. Jessie was something he wanted more than air. A woman to be with him. Beside him. To share a life he was building. To love and be love by.

His thoughts spurred him on; his tongue went from tender caresses to sliding deep into her. His hands, so large on her hips, felt every tremble he was creating. There was so much he wanted to give her. But first, he wanted to give her this.

With careful pressure, he slid his fingers deep into her silky hot path. His lips clamped onto her swollen clit and he sucked a rhythm as fingers curled and pressed. It was slow, hot. The build was elegant like the woman coming to fulfillment at his touch. The flavor of her was wonderful; he almost wished it would take even longer. She tasted like summertime, family, joy. She felt like promise.

Twice he slowed his movements, permitting her to catch her breath. But he could take no more. He wanted to see her reach the top, shudder at his command. His voice was low, rumbling against her shaking, wet pussy.

"Now, baby. Come for me now."

w

Jessica had never experienced such a sensation. One of bursting forth, growing beyond herself. As lightening soared from her very center, she struggled, shook, cried out his name. The shaking continued as she flew even higher, sound crashed inside her brain, alerting her to the fact that it was indeed a unique and special moment. And she floated, drifted in the heavens until the slow decent into his arms, into his voice. Soothing, loving. Expressing gratitude and she smiled.

"I love you," she sighed into his shoulder.

"God, Jessie. Have you any idea the power those words have for me?"

"I love you," she repeated, then gasped as he climbed over her, pressed her knees opened with his and entered her, slow. Painfully slow. She gasped and groaned at his length, his power. His remarkable control.

When his cock reached her womb, pressing, knocking at the door of her femininity, she moved even closer to him, wanting him even deeper, more connected. He accommodated, thrusting further with a grunt. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers and she licked it, tasted his passion.

They danced, hard and fast, wanting more and more, giving as much as they had, and Jessica reach climax yet again, clamping down and trembling on his moving cock. With a yell, Russ thrust one last time, slamming deep and pouring into her.

w

"Will ya stay with me, Jessie?" He whispered. They were relaxed, so quiet together after the storm of lovemaking. Her hand ran tender circles on his chest and he kissed her hair.

"How can we do this, Russ?"

"Baby, I understand ya got things to take care of at home. The restaurant. Sell it, Jessie. Come and stay with me. I'll take care of you always. Love you forever."

She smiled, looked into his eyes. "I believe you."

"I mean, it won't be easy, love. We'll travel all the time, but when we stop movin', it's at a wonderful place I bought. A farm. Quiet. Simple."

"Oh, quiet and simple sounds wonderful. It sounds like a place where you can regain yourself."

"A good place," he nuzzled into her neck, kissed her softly. "A perfect place. Home."

"And I suppose it's in Australia, right?"

"Right. My family is close by. It's a good place, Jessie."

"If you are there, it must be."

They'd made love so many times he'd lost count. All he wanted was to sleep in her arms, feel her around him, with him.

"Jessie, I love you."

And with that, Russell gave himself to the first real deep sleep he'd had in so long, he couldn't remember.

w

Jessica watched him sleep. Reveled in the beauty of his face, the softness of his lashes against his cheek, the relaxation of his hands. Hands she would love forever.

But how was it going to work? She wondered. She too had family. Did she want to leave them? And how would she explain such a thing? Falling in love before Brian was cold in his grave? She had no doubts that Russ loved her, that he'd take care of her. No doubt that he would go far in his career, become something remarkable. But what would she be? If she traveled with him all the time, stayed with him at his farm, what would she do? Jessica was used to striving for her own goals. Granted those goals came to an abrupt halt with Brian's death. Was her drive to accomplish still there? Or had it died with him? And what would Russ think of her wanting to be something on her own?

Even if he encouraged her, how would that maintain the life he described? Traveling all the time, resting in Australia then traveling more? It was enticing. First, to be with the amazing man holding her heart in his big hands. But more than that, a man on the way to the stars.

Watching him breathe a regular sleep rhythm that made him seem unreal, Jessica felt the moment slip away. That amazing moment when she really believed it could work. She saw the future. A future where he would eventually tire of her, possible leave her for a woman more interesting. Could she sacrifice herself just to watch that happen? Give him all her love and wait patiently for the heartbreak of losing him? The heartbreak of them losing each other.

She loved him too much for that. Too much to let either of them hurt. Carefully she slid from his arms. Taking the note pad from the desk, she went to the bathroom.

w

The first thought to slide through Russell's mind as he drifted up from sleep was to tell his mum he hadn't let this one get away. That this was the one. The forever woman he'd been looking for his whole life. A woman who understood where he was going and loved him enough to take the hard road with him. But when he opened his eyes to gaze upon her, all he saw was a note, white and harsh in the early morning sunlight.

He sat up and read the tight script. His heart trembled and he could hardly breath until he'd reread the note several times. With a sigh, he lay back on the bed, starred at the ceiling and felt tears drip into his hair.

Jessie loved him. She would always love him. But, she was gone. And still, Russell had no idea where to find her.

CHICAGO, 2002. THREE YEARS LATER

Russell walked the streets. It was late to search for a place to eat, nearly nine-thirty, but he was hungry and sure someone would serve him something. Unnerving as it was, he strolled alone. After the kidnapping scare, he wasn't willing to stop living. Stop exploring. But he was usually far more careful than he was that particular night. His jacket was tossed over his shoulder, tie loose and the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. He needed a little comfort food, something to ground him. Heartache pulled in his chest. Would he ever have the kind of love he wanted? Needed? Was it even logical to expect it? But after all, he was only human and he wanted it.

As he glanced into a restaurant window, he wondered. Why was he always in the same damn position? Alone. Floating without an anchor. Did he need to make that big decision? Most likely. It was time. Time for a change, for marriage. Children. He wasn't getting younger. He could wait no longer. He needed to open his heart a little wider, that's all. Let someone inside.

Something caught his eye. The menu, posted in the window boasted the most unusual entrees. Fusions. Caribbean and French. Cajun and African. He pushed the door opened and reached out to the nearest waiter.

w

"Harvey, there's some fresh rosemary in that reach in, can you toss it to me?" Jessica called, then stepped back to catch the bundle of flying herbs. "Thanks."

She was expediting the last of the dinner orders, garnishing plates, inspecting each item before setting it on a tray for the wait staff to serve.

"No good, Matt. Drop a few more sweet potato chips and hold this lamb in the window. Paula! Table six is up."

Waiters and waitresses bustled behind her, the line moved with efficiency and her staff was on overdrive. It was Sunday evening and they were all off on Monday. She knew they were revving up for an after hours bar hop and she was determined to hold their focus.

"Need a baker for table fourteen and I can sell this ticket. S'go guys. We're almost done."

"Chef?"

She turned. "What are you missing, Aaron?"

The waiter shuffled his feet. "Um, Russell Crowe is in the dining room."

The waitresses and Freddie, her resident gay, went nuts. The kitchen became a circus, squeals and shouts drown out her demands. Jessica climbed up onto a side counter and shouted.

"Hey! Hey! Listen to me, dammit!" Finally, silence. "I'll say this once and only once. Do not bother him. I'm telling you . . . Freddie . . . and company. If any one of you disturbs that man, it'll be your last day here. Got it!"

Freddie looked like he was going to cry and the woman were pretty pissed, but she wouldn't have the man subjected to whatever they might do to him. She turned to Aaron. "All right?"

"Well, he's asking for the chef."

"Matt," Jessica climbed off the counter and returned her attention to the plates in the window. "Go on out and get your compliment."

"But chef," Aaron cleared his throat. "He hasn't eaten anything yet. And he specifically asked for you."

"Me?"

"Yes. He asked for, um, Jessie."

She blinked. No one called her Jessie. At least no one in Chicago. "Well, ah, tell him I'm not in."

"But I can see ya are, mate." Russ stood just inside the swinging door, handsome as she remembered, wearing that grin that sparked his beautiful eyes.

The kitchen fell silent, mouths agape.

"Russ," Jessica's heart jumped and a smile spread across her face as he stepped forward and took her into a sweet embrace. He looked up, glanced around then chuckled. "Can we go someplace for a cuppa, love?" He whispered into her ear. "Looks like your staff can handle things here."

She turned to Matt. Receiving a reassuring nod, she led Russ to her office as her sous chef shouted orders and got the ball rolling again. Jessica unbuttoned her white jacket and tossed her tall paper hat on the desk. She couldn't help but just look at him. Drink in his presence, his abundant energy. "So, what are you doing walking the streets?"

"Lookin' for something to eat," he leaned against the closed door. "But coffee will do. I saw a Starbucks about a block away."

"No, I've got a better idea."

She led him through a door and up a flight of stairs. There, she switched on a lamp. Russ looked around. She was proud of her apartment. It was the entire second floor of the building, sprawling and eclectic, decorated with her favorite things. He followed her to the kitchen.

"This your place?" he asked, pulling out a kitchen chair.

"Yes." She poured water into the coffee maker and measured fresh ground coffee.

On the chair sat a pair of running shoes. Shoes large enough for his own feet. "And ya don't live here alone, I take it."

She turned, shook her head.

He set the shoes on the floor and plopped on the chair. "So," he said when she settled beside him. "Things are goin' well?"

"Yes, very. We have three locations. He runs the restaurant about five miles from here."

"Another chef, then?"

"Another chef."

"What's his name?"

She gave a wicked grin. "Russell."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Is he good to you?"

"Very."

Russ nodded, lit a cigarette and she reached for a saucer, she had not a single ash tray in her possession.

"Um . . . we're getting married in a couple of weeks."

"Ahh, well. We just can't get the timing right, now can we Jessie?"

He didn't look at her and she could feel his disappointment vibrate the air around him. She set her hand over his. "Russ, if for one minute, one single blessed minute, I thought we could make it work, I would have never left you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know, love."

She was desperate to change the subject, lighten the horrible weight on her heart. "I saw A Beautiful Mind. Jesus, it was amazing Russ."

He shrugged, dragged deep on his cigarette. "Amazing script, fantastic director."

"Remarkable performance," she said when he fell silent.

"Sweetheart, I think I'm gonna pass on the coffee."

"You just got here. Why?"

He lifted her hand, placed a tender kiss on the palm then held it tight, spoke softly. "Jessie, I can still remember how you taste, love." His eyes met hers and her heart ached, cried out.

"I'll always love you, Russ."

"I know, baby. But I think I should go." He leaned close and kissed her cheek.

Standing with a soft groan, Russ walked toward the door then turned. "Not sayin' goodbye, love. Ya never know. Someday, I just might get the timing right."

Jessica went into his arms.

"God bless you with everything good, Jessie."

"He's already blessed me with you."

And Jessica watched him leave, wondering if the moment when she knew, really knew it could work had just slipped through her fingers. Again.