Until You

"Listen," he said, "I'm tired of defending myself. You want to go around thinking I'm working for Eva, tailing you, well, be my guest." He gave her a chilly smile. "So long, Beckman. And I promise, if I have the misfortune to run into you again, I'll be the one calls the cops."

He turned sharply and trotted off, just fast enough to put some distance between them, wondering if he'd overplayed his hand and knowing there wasn't much he could do about it now.

"O'Neil!"

He thought about turning around, thought again, and didn't do it. Come on, he said to himself, come on.

"O'Neil?" Her footsteps sounded on the path behind him and then she danced around him and held up her hand. Her face, that beautiful face that haunted his dreams, was flushed.

"Listen," she said, "if I was wrong..."

"If?" Conor made a face, detoured around her and kept going.

"Okay," she said breathlessly, dancing past him again, this time putting out both hands and pressing them lightly against his chest. "Okay. Maybe I—maybe I over-reacted."

He stood still, folded his arms, and gave her a stony glare.

"Damn right, you over-reacted.

"

"But I'm sure you can see why I'd think..." She hesitated, then ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. "I mean, it just looked..."

She hadn't bought it all yet, not one hundred percent. But she would.

"Take my advice, Beckman. Pick a better time to run."

"Well, I thought dusk was—"

"No time at night's okay. Morning's the time. Lots of people pack it through here then, but hey, come to think of it, you might end up seeing me and we wouldn't want that to happen."

"If you run in the morning," she said, looking confused, "then, what were you doing here tonight?"

Okay, O'Neil, let's hear you get out of this one.

"I never got the chance today. The guy upstairs had a racket last night, went on until dawn so by the time I finally hit the sack, I overslept."

"So, you just happened to decide you'd take your run at night?"

She'd gone from looking confused to dubious, and who could blame her? He was doing the telling, and he was having trouble swallowing the story.

"Well," he said, with a smile he hoped was disarming, "it's one thing to give good advice and another to take it." He worked the smile up to a grin. "Besides, I'm a guy. I figure I can take care of myself."

She smiled back at him and he thought he'd done it. But then her smile disappeared, she didn't say anything, and he figured it was time to go for broke.

"Anyway, do yourself a favor. From now on, run when the sun's out." He nodded, touched his hand to his forehead in a quick salute. "Nice seeing you again."

He turned and walked away.

But she didn't call after him. What was the matter with her? By now, she was supposed to be properly and thoroughly chastised, supposed to say, hey, O'Neil, wait a minute...

"O'Neil? Wait a minute."

Conor closed his eyes, stopped walking and offered a silent thank-you to whatever gods might be looking down as he turned towards her.

"What?"

She came towards him slowly. She wasn't smiling, not exactly, but she wasn't looking at him as if he were the last man on earth she wanted to see, either.