Watching You

Chapter 4

The smell of freshly brewed coffee aroused her from her peaceful slumber.
She felt more rested than she had in ages. She opened her eyes to take
in her surroundings. Light from the hallway cast the room in shadows.
Grissom's spare bedroom was fairly large but hardly furnished. It was
obvious that he didn't have people over often. Or if he did they weren't sleeping
in the guest room. She didn't want to think about the women Grissom had probably
brought back to his place and into his bed so she shrugged the thoughts off and
began to search for her cell phone. She spied it on a nightstand beside the bed.
She flipped it open to check the time. The display read 7:17 PM. She still had nearly
four hours before she had to be at work. She was hoping to talk to Grissom about
this morning. He had come to her and comforted her. She needed to thank him.
She had needed his reassurance and for once he hadn't disappointed her. She wanted
to do something special for him but didn't know if he would let her.

It had seemed that lately they had begun to grow so much closer. She didn't know if it
was her maturing or him opening up but finally they seemed as if they were both
moving toward a common goal. She was glad that she had found the ability to
trust him again. In some strange way it was liberating that she had been honest
regarding her feelings for him, because she didn't have to hide at all. He knew her
motives. She only wished she could figure out where he stood. Not his official position
as a supervisor, or a mentor, but rather his position as a man. After being in his arms
this morning she was even more convinced that he was the only man she could ever
give her heart to completely. Now if she could just get him to accept it.

She padded down the hallway barefooted. When she saw Grissom, she stopped
dead in her tracks. She leaned against the wall and just watched him. It was one
of the most adorable sites she had ever seen. He was wearing jeans and a navy
blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Covering the ensemble was
a full length chef's apron that read, 'Chefs spice things up.' He like her was bare footed.
As he began setting the table, Sara realized that he had made them breakfast.
"Morning," she called as she made her way into the kitchen.
"Technically--," he started but she interupted.
"I know, I know, it isn't morning but humor me okay."
He grinned and nodded his head. "You hungry?"
"Famished and that coffee smells wonderful?"
"It's the good stuff too, Greg bought me a pound for Christmas."
"Yeah, I think he has a crush on you," she teased.
"Hardly, it's you he has the crush on."
Sara wasn't certain but she thought he seemed a little jealous. But she didn't want to read
anything into it. "Can I get myself a cup or is there some order to this feast you have prepared?"
She asked.
"No order, go ahead. Do you want strawberries, blueberries, or rasberries on your french toast, all
fresh by the way."
"Ummm, Grissom how 'bout a little of each." Sara rarely treated herself to a full breakfast.
She normally grabbed a Pop Tart or strawberry NutriGrain Bar on her way into work. Not to mention
that this was breakfast with Grissom, a truly momentous occeasion. So she intended to enjoy it
to the fullest. Sara filled her coffee mug and Grissom motioned for her to take a seat at the
table. She scurried over and sat down. In short order, Grissom followed with the much
anticipated tasty triangles. He placed three onto her plate and spooned the requested fruits
on the bread and sprinkled them all with powdered sugar. "Would you like syrup?"
"No," she answered, "but I'll take some whipped cream if you have some."
"I'll check," he said as he turned and walked back to the fridge giving Sara a nice view of
his rear. Grissom bent over to look towards the back of the fridge. Sara couldn't take her
eyes off of his ass. She found herself wishing he would bend over just a little more in hopes
of seeing the impression of his sac. 'Damn, caught looking,' she thought as Grissom turned
and stared slack-jawed at her. No doubt he knew she had been checking out his goods.
"Give me the cream," she said as she realized he was holding the red and white can in his
right hand.
Grissom left the obvious innuendo alone and handed her the cream before taking a seat.
Across the table Sara shook the can vigorously. Grissom knew there had been a valid reason
for not having diner with her and his fears were now confirmed. He couldn't sit across the table
from her without getting stiff. He was in deep and he didn't know how to dig out. After holding
her this morning and waking up to the smell of her hair and the feel of her warmth against him
he didn't know how much resistance he had left in him.
"Want some?" Sara asked as she gestured to the can.
He shook his head 'no' as he drowned his in maple syrup, "I prefer sweet and sticky."
"Uh huh," Sara responded and put the canister down.
"Dig in," Grissom said and began to do just that. He hadn't made french toast in awhile. He
had always thought of it as a comfort food. His first memory of french toast accompanied his last
memory of his father. He could still see his mother sitting across the table from him trying to
explain to her five year old son that his father wasn't coming back home anymore.
"Unnnmmmnnmm, dear God, Grissom, you can cook, this is the best french toast I have ever eaten."
"Thanks," he was happy that it pleased her. He had brought her so much grief he was glad he
could bring her joy as well.
"Where did you learn to cook?" Sara asked the question but she knew he would never answer it.
Grissom never shared personal information.
"My mother," he stated simply.
Sara couldn't believe he answered the question and decided to press for more info.
"Your mother taught you to cook? How old were you?"
"I don't know, Sara, I learned over the years." They sat in silence for a few minutes. Sara
was glad he had shared what little information that he had. She figured that was as much as
she could hope to get out of him today, but dammit, at least it was a start. She was wholly
unprepared for what came next.
"My father left when I was five. My mother raised me alone. She wanted me to be self sufficient.
She didn't want me to ever depend on anyone the way she had depended on him. It broke her
heart when he left. She had never worked, which had allowed her the freedom to paint. When he
left she had to find a way to make a living. At first she sold her paintings on the pier in Santa Monica
and was fortunate enough to get jobs painting windows in businesses around town. Eventually she was
able to open an art gallery. Things were never easy for her. My father never sent money. There weren't
many other single parents and she had to deal with all of this while losing her hearing. You see the kind
of strength my mother has in very few people. But I see it in you and I see it in Catherine. If I only ever have
half the courage the women in my life have, then I'll be twice the man my father was." A tear rolled from his
eye as he excused himself from the table.