Housewarming
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters or the concepts; just borrowing them!
Category: Michael and Maria
Summary: Post-episodic piece to follow ID and Michael’s emancipation. Spoilers: Shows aired through “Independence Day”
Rating: PG
Feedback: Love it!
* * * * *
They stormed his new apartment like a hurricane. First came Max, Isabel, and their parents, toting cleaning supplies and boxes filled with old dishes, pots and pans, and a new microwave oven that Mrs. Evans insisted he would find invaluable, despite the fact that he could operate the standard gas variety. Once the tiny kitchen cupboards were stocked and the entire place smelled of lemon carpet cleaner, Mr. Evans shook his hand and Mrs. Evans kissed him on the cheek, and the two of them took off, leaving Max and Isabel to grin at the look of surprise on Michael’s face.
“What was that?” he asked, sinking onto the battered couch and shaking his head with wonder.
Isabel laughed. “That was my mother on a mission,” she said, sitting down next to him.
A knock on the door caused Michael to jump and look nervous. “They’re not back already? There’s nothing left to clean.”
“I’ll get it,” Max told him, looking amused. He crossed the small room and opened the front door. “Hey,” he said, then turned to Michael. “You’ve got more visitors,” he told him. “But they don’t appear to be armed or dangerous,” he added, stepping back to reveal Liz, who had a bakery box in her arms, and Alex.
Liz stepped into the room, looking around. “Wow, Michael. This is pretty nice.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed, following her inside.
Michael shrugged, watching them file into the apartment. “It’s okay. Beats the previous accommodations. So, uh… how you guys doing?”
Liz smiled. “Maria’s working, Michael.”
He looked flustered. “Did I say anything about Maria? I just asked how you guys were.”
Max and Liz traded looks and Alex just smiled at Isabel.
“What?” Michael asked, his tone exasperated. “Fine. Whatever.”
Liz laughed and handed Michael the box she was carrying. “Here you go. A little housewarming present. I thought maybe you’d like this.”
Michael looked surprised. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you look inside and find out, idiot,” Isabel muttered.
He lifted the lid and peered into the box, then looked up with a smirk. “Cake?”
“Yeah,” Liz grinned. “I heard you kind of liked the chocolate cake at the Crashdown, so I brought you one.”
Michael looked embarrassed, remembering the night he, Isabel and Maria had been waiting at the café while Max and Liz went to see River Dog. He had polished off the better part of a chocolate cake just like this one and never paid for it. “Maria told you, huh?”
Everyone started to laugh. “Don’t worry about it, Michael,” Liz told him.
Michael took the cake over to the kitchen and sat the box on the counter. “So… anyone want some?”
“Here,” Alex said, following him over and handing him a plain brown paper bag. “You may need this, too.”
Michael pulled out an industrial size bottle of Tabasco sauce. He grinned at Alex. “You know, you’re starting to grow on me, Whitman. Thanks.”
“No problem,” Alex replied. “And no cake for me. We actually have to get going. I’m due home and Liz has to work. We just wanted to come say congrats on the new digs.”
“Yeah, Michael,” Liz said with a soft smile. “Congratulations. On everything.”
He nodded, then looked down, uncomfortable being the focus of everyone’s attention. “Thank you. Really.”
“So,” Max said, seeing how awkward his friend felt, “You guys are taking off, huh? We should probably go too, right Iz?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “We both need to get some stuff done. But we’re still meeting for dinner at the Crashdown, right Michael?”
“Right. Sure. I’ll see you guys there later.” There was a flurry of activity as Isabel hugged Michael and Max patted him on the shoulder and then everyone gathered their things and left. Michael inhaled deeply, appreciating the clean scent of the apartment and the sudden quiet. He sat back on the sofa and looked around, hardly believing that he was on his own. No more Hank. No fake parent pushing him around and throwing drunken insults his way. He was master of his destiny. Now he was free to come and go and search for clues to his past, without answering to anyone. It hardly seemed possible.
He stood and walked into the tiny galley kitchen. The cake box was still sitting on the counter, so he opened the refrigerator to put it away and was surprised to discover exactly how much Mrs. Evans had already stored there. A quick survey revealed the cupboards were also fairly well stocked. He felt an unfamiliar pang, akin to guilt. The Evanses had done so much for him the past few days, had been so kind, despite the way he had acted toward them. He owed them his freedom. Michael didn’t like feeling in debt to anyone.
The idea sparked another thought. Max and Isabel’s parents were definitely not the only adults who had helped him recently. Michael groaned inwardly, thinking of the look on Amy DeLuca’s face when she had caught him in bed with Maria, recalling with perfect clarity the sensation of her swatting him with her newspaper and screaming at him to get out. And yet, she had still come down to the Sheriff’s office and gotten him out of jail. He had no idea what Maria had said to her, how she had convinced her. All he knew for sure was, one minute he was cooling his heels in a cell, the next he was standing in Valenti’s office with the two DeLuca women. He hadn’t bothered to stick around to see what happened next. Instead, coward that he was, he had found Max and Isabel waiting for him outside and the three of them had taken off. “Still running,” he muttered to himself. With a groan that was audible this time, Michael got up and shrugged into his jacket. He was beginning to realize there was more to being an adult than just living on your own.
* * * * *
Michael stood outside the small shop and stared up at the neon green sign hanging above the door: ROSWELL RUMORS. He had never been inside of Amy DeLuca’s store – had never had a reason to go in. Now here he was, ten minutes before closing time, peering through the glass front door. The store was dimly lit, but he could see Maria’s mother behind the back counter, helping a last minute customer. Other than that, the place appeared deserted.
After a brief hesitation, Michael pushed the door open. An electronic chime rang out the first few notes of the theme to “Close Encounters,” causing him to pause in the doorway. Mrs. DeLuca glanced in his direction, but she went right back to helping her customer, so he continued the rest of the way into the store, closing the door gently behind him. He started walking around, careful not to bump into any of the overflowing shelves and display cases that were crammed into the small room. Roswell Rumors had an eclectic array of primarily alien-themed merchandise. There were t-shirts and key chains, pens and stickers, pillows and posters. Michael paused, recognizing a blow-up alien doll similar to the one that had been in the back of Maria’s car the day he had “borrowed” it to go to Marathon. Staring at the inflatable figure, he recalled how annoyed he had been when he had climbed into the back seat and discovered exactly what was in the big cardboard box. For some reason, it just made him smile today. He could picture Maria in the front seat of the car, hands waving, scolding him: “Don’t touch that, it’s sensitive!”
Michael continued wandering around quietly, poking through the displays as he waited for the customer, who seemed in no hurry to leave, to realize that it was six o’clock. He saw that the few items that didn’t deal directly with the crash seemed to fall into a general hippie category. There were tie-dyed clothes, flowing Indian-print skirts and scarves, a selection of crystals and Tarot cards, plus assorted jewelry, candles, round tinted sunglasses, and a bizarre range of books that covered topics from astrology to aromatherapy to star-gazing.
In one corner of the store he discovered an endless variety of the oils and extracts that Maria always seemed to have on hand in tiny glass bottles. Curiously drawn to them, he found himself sorting through the testers, cautiously sniffing the various scents. When he opened a small bottle labeled “Tea Rose”, Michael felt a sudden rush, as if Maria had just entered the room. The light fragrance was so definitely Maria – sweet and flowery and gentle, with just a hint of underlying strength and a touch of spice. It went straight to his head and made him just a tiny bit dizzy, the way she did. He found himself so absorbed in the sensation that he failed to hear the door chime, or the snap of the front door closing.
“That’s Maria’s favorite,” Amy said, when she drew near and saw Michael clutching the bottle, a distracted expression on his face.
He looked up with a jolt, nearly spilling the perfume. A faint blush tinged his cheeks, though he would not have thanked anyone for telling him so. “I, uh… thought it seemed familiar,” he said awkwardly, carefully replacing the stopper and placing the bottle on its shelf.
Amy DeLuca merely nodded. She reached out and straightened some alien dolls on the adjacent display, then began to work her way around the room, methodically tidying the merchandise. It was clear she was preparing to go home for the evening. When she reached the counter, she opened a drawer below the register and pulled out a large night-deposit bag, then looked up at Michael expectantly. He still stood across the room, silently watching her. Amy sighed softly. “Michael, why are you here? Did you want to talk about something? Because I have to count out the drawer and I can’t count and talk at the same time,” she informed him.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Of course.” He started slowly across the room, as if trying to buy some time. “I just wanted to, uh, thank you,’ he said quietly, his gaze turned downward. “For the other day. Talking to the Sheriff.” When she didn’t say anything, he looked up. It was impossible for him to read the blank expression on her face, but deciding she couldn’t possible remain that placid if she was really angry, he continued.
“I also wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the other night. Or rather, morning.” His eyes dropped again and he started pacing back and forth in front of the counter. “I know Maria must have told you… uh… that nothing happened,” he said quickly, “but I wanted to tell you I was wrong. To come over, I mean. I shouldn’t have put her in that position. It won’t happen again.”
Amy DeLuca sighed, loudly this time. Maria had been stubbornly close-mouthed regarding Michael’s situation, but between the rumors flying around town and what she had learned from Jim Valenti, Amy had a pretty good idea what Michael had been running from when he had sought shelter in her daughter’s bedroom. Her heart ached for him. She couldn’t imagine what it did to a child, growing up in a home where there was no love, no warmth, no safety. And as angry as she had been with Michael that morning, seeing him curled up in Maria’s bed, she just couldn’t bring herself to be harsh with him now that she knew the particulars.
He had looked up at her when she sighed and she could see his eyes. Big brown eyes filled with hurt. Oh, it wasn’t on the surface, but she could still see it, buried deep down beneath the armor, beneath that defensive, rebellious posture. Maria had him pegged – he was one of those guys, those tough guys who never admit to having feelings, to needing you. This was what drew her daughter, part of what she saw in him, and it made Amy want to sigh again. DeLuca women never seemed to take the easy path. So be it, she thought.
“All I did was tell the Sheriff the truth,” she said finally. “He wanted to know where you were that night, so I told him.” Amy paused, thinking Michael might interrupt, but he remained silent, his expression guarded. “I do appreciate, however, your own reluctance to tell him where you had been.” Another pause. Still, he said nothing. “Now, as for finding you in Maria’s bed. You’re right. It won’t happen again,” she said sternly. “It’s all well and good for me to believe that all you did was sleep, and for some unknown reason I do believe that, but that was this time, Michael. I was sixteen too, not all that long ago, strange as that may seem, and I know what temptation can do. I am much too young to be a grandmother. Do you understand me, young man?”
Michael wanted to say something, but the images that were flashing through his mind at that moment left him pretty much speechless. He had a sudden vision of Maria sitting propped up in a hospital bed, her cheeks flushed, a brown-eyed baby in her arms. He just nodded.
“Good,” Amy said. Her expression softened at the slightly panicked look on Michael’s face. “I understand you’re on your own now. I have to say, considering what I know of your former foster father from seeing him around town, you’ll probably be much better off. But if you should feel the need for a home-cooked meal or anything like that, you’re always welcome in my house.” She reached out and gently patted him on the cheek. “Just please, use the guest room in the future.”
Michael shook his head slightly, as if not sure he was hearing correctly. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, why would you even trust me?”
“I trust my daughter, Michael. And Maria told me you’re a good guy.” She smiled at his look of surprise. “But, I already knew that. After all, you are my favorite wrestler.” She winked at him, then went over and opened the cash register. “Now surely you have somewhere else to be. I need to get this deposit to the bank.”
“Thank you,” Michael said. “Again.”
“You’re welcome.”
* * * * *
When Michael arrived at the Crashdown, Max and Isabel were already sitting at their usual booth. The café was fairly quiet and Liz had pulled a chair up to the end of the booth and was chatting quietly while keeping one eye out for new customers. She stood as Michael slid into the booth next to Isabel. “Hey, Michael. Cherry Coke?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He watched her head behind the counter, then turned to Max. “So, did you guys get a chance to talk yet?”
Max raised his eyebrows. “About?”
Michael looked unimpressed. “Oh, gee, Maxwell, I dunno. Maybe about the fact that you got drunk off your ass, kissed her on a spot-lit stage in front of half of Roswell, and then took off like Valenti was on your tail.”
Max looked sheepish. “Oh, that.”
Isabel chuckled. “Leave him alone, Michael. He’s pulling a typical Max and doing nothing in hopes that it’ll all go away. I’ve given up.” Isabel stopped talking as Max glared at her and she noticed Liz approaching the table with Michael’s drink.
“Here you go,” she said, setting the soda in front of him. “You guys know what you want for dinner?”
“Sure,” Max said quickly, a warning eye on his sister. “I’ll have a Martian Melt.”
“Will Smith for me,” Isabel chimed in.
“Michael?” Liz asked. She smiled at the distracted look on his face. He was staring past her, as if looking for someone. She waved her order book in front of his face. “Michael? You know what you want to eat?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Michael’s focus came back to Liz, then he glanced down at the menu in front of him, as if he hadn’t had it memorized for years. “I guess the Skywalker sub. And some Saturn rings.”
“Okay,” Liz said. “I’ll just go put your order in.”
As soon as she was gone, Isabel elbowed Michael. “You’re getting as bad as Max, you know. Mooning over Maria like some love-sick puppy.”
“I’m what?” Michael snapped back. “You’re dreaming, Iz. And speaking of which, go skipping through dreamland recently? Maybe visiting your new buddy, Alex?”
“Alex and I are just friends,” she insisted, though her face was suddenly flushed. “I made that perfectly clear. And I do not go skipping through people’s dreams,” she added. Catching the look Max sent her, she glanced down. “At least not unless strictly necessary. And even then, there is no skipping involved.”
Watching their exchange, Max grinned. “Maria got off shift right when we got here,” he told Michael.
“Did I ask?” Michael questioned his friend.
“No. But I thought you might want to know, anyway. She seems to be going out on a limb for you quite a bit lately,” Max observed.
Michael was all ready to make a quick, snappy retort, but then he just deflated. “I know,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he kept denying everything that had been happening with Maria. He wasn’t sure if it was that he felt guilty after the grief he had given Max over Liz, or if he simply wanted to hold it all close to keep it safe. His dealings with Maria were something private, something that was only his. He had never in his life had anything that just belonged to him. Maybe, if he talked about it, if he shared it, it would all turn out to be a lie.
It seemed Max understood. Michael guessed maybe Max knew how he felt because of his own feelings for Liz. But regardless of his reason, Max turned to Isabel and started to talk about school, steering the topic safely away from human-alien relations. By the time Liz brought over their meals, no one seemed to remember they had been talking about Maria. Except maybe for Michael, who still had a faraway look in his eyes.
* * * * *
It was still early when Michael let himself into his apartment. Max and Isabel had wanted to do something after dinner, but Michael had begged off. He knew they were still worried about him, about his being alone, but he was actually looking forward to the solitude. It seemed that since he had made the decision to stay in Roswell after all – since he had gone that morning to the Evanses’ house to make breakfast for the family – he hadn’t had two minutes to himself. Even living with Hank, he had always managed to spend a good deal of time alone, and he was beginning to realize that he needed that space, that peace and quiet.
Sinking down on the old sofa, he examined his surroundings. He knew that, despite what his friends had done to clean the place up, it was still barely livable as far as they were concerned. It was small and dingy and lacked everything but the most basic of amenities. He was going to have to find a job to pay the meager rent, and he was going to have to put in regular appearances at school in order to prove that he was capable of living alone. But Michael didn’t care. For the first time, his life was his own.
The knock at the door was so soft, Michael almost didn’t hear it. He crossed the room, wondering which of his wayward do-gooder friends had decided to put in an appearance this time. His bets were on Isabel. It would be just like her to show up again, checking to make sure everything was okay. But the knock didn’t quite fit; it was too timid for Izzy.
He did not expect to open the door and find Maria. She stood there, smiling shyly at him, her blue-green eyes peering up through a fringe of lashes. She had that huge bag of hers slung across her shoulder and she smelled like tea roses. It was funny how, now that he knew what the fragrance was, his nose seemed more tuned to it, more ready to pick up on the subtle sweetness as he stood in the open doorway gazing down on her.
“Hey,” she said, looking a bit nervous. “Sorry to just come over so late. I wanted to come earlier with everyone, but I had to work.”
“Liz told me,” he said. Then realizing he was blocking the door, he stepped back so she could get by. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” She came inside, brushing against him in the narrow doorway, making his pulse quicken slightly. She looked up as if in apology and made her way over to the sofa.
“Have a seat,” he told her. “You want anything?”
“Uh, no, thanks.” Maria sat down and dug into her bag. “I actually just wanted to bring you this,” she told him, handing him a flat rectangular package that was wrapped in alien-print paper. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “The paper’s from my mom’s store.”
“You didn’t have to…”
“I know,” she cut him off. “I wanted to. A little housewarming present.” She shrugged as he sat next to her and started unwrapping the gift. “It’s not much,” she told him as he drew the paper away. It was a large set of glow-in-the-dark star stickers, complete with charts of the constellations to aid in proper placement. Michael turned it over a couple of times, marveling at the sweetness of such a simple offering, then looked at Maria.
She was picking at a thread that was coming loose from the cuff of her shirt, avoiding his gaze. “I thought maybe you’d like to put them on your ceiling,” she said quietly. “If you don’t want to, I’ll understand. I can just return them,” she said, reaching out to try to take them back. When Michael held them out of her reach, she finally looked up.
“No,” he said simply. “I don’t want you to take them back. I want to put them on the ceiling.” A small smile graced his face. “They’re great. Thanks.”
A soft light seemed to shine from Maria’s eyes. “Okay.” She blushed slightly. “You’re welcome.”
Michael stared at her for a moment, trying to decide what to say. He knew what he wanted to tell her, knew the thoughts he wanted to convey, but finding the right words was a different story. He set her gift down and stood to pace the room restlessly, hands in his pockets.
“Is something wrong, Michael?”
“No. I just….”
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, sounding hurt.
He looked at her sitting there, seeming so young and vulnerable. When did this happen? he wondered. When did I start seeing her as something other than a pest who couldn’t keep her mouth shut for more than a second and a half? “I don’t want to you to go,” he reassured her. “I have something to tell you.”
She nodded, but she didn’t seem particularly relieved. Instead, she looked apprehensive. Of course she is, Michael thought. Every time you open your mouth around her, it’s to hurt her.
Michael crossed the room and sat back down next to Maria. He reached out and gently took her hand in both of his, catching the look of surprise that flickered across her face. “I don’t really do this too well, do I?” he asked ruefully. “All I wanted was to say thank you. For the other night.” He looked down at the hand he held. So small, yet so strong. He felt her squeeze his own much larger hand gently as he watched. “I also wanted to tell you I’m sorry you got into trouble with your mother. And that I appreciate that you got her to fix it with Valenti.”
“You’re welcome. And don’t worry about my mother. I think she’s pretty much recovered from the shock,” Maria teased.
Michael heard the soft tone of her voice and looked up, relieved that they seemed to have regained their footing with each other. The awkward moment had passed. But there was still something he needed to know. “Why did you help me?” he asked quietly. Maria’s brow wrinkled and the look in her eyes told him she thought the answer to his question was obvious. But he still needed to know, and he realized he would have to be clearer with her. “I’ve done nothing but push you away,” he said, unable to disguise the regret in his voice. “I told you not to help me if I was in trouble again. I’ve avoided you, been nasty to you. And yet, I show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and you just take me in.”
“You were all wet.”
“Why did you help me?” he persisted.
Maria looked uncomfortable. She tried to extricate her hand, but he held firm. “Michael, you can’t just order someone to feel differently,” she said hesitantly. “I care about you, whether or not you approve, whether or not you want me to, whether or not you feel the same way about me. I can’t just stop because you have to be a wall or whatever. And I help the people I care about if they need me,” she finished, her voice barely a whisper. “Besides,” she added, finally looking up and meeting his eyes, “you came to me.”
“You never asked me what happened.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”
“Max or Isabel would have asked me.”
“That’s not why you came to me instead of going to them,” she said, certainty in her voice. That wasn’t what Michael had meant, but he was intrigued at her confidence.
“What makes you so sure?”
Maria smiled. “Why didn’t you tell Valenti where you were the night Hank disappeared?”
He shrugged. “I figured he wouldn’t believe me. No point in dragging you into it.”
“Michael, my mother had already walked in on us. It isn’t like you were keeping me from getting into trouble.”
“What did she say to you, anyway?”
Maria sighed, then decided to let him change the topic. She had already made her point – it was obvious from the look in his eyes. “She gave me the standard mother-daughter lecture that she’s been handing me since I hit puberty,” she told him. “With a slight elevation in volume to account for the circumstances. But she believed me when I told her nothing happened.”
Listening to her, it occurred to Michael that Mrs. DeLuca had not told her daughter of his appearance at the store or about their discussion. He was impressed, and grateful. “She trusts you,” he stated quietly.
“Yeah, she does,” Maria admitted. “Which is pretty amazing when you consider how much I’ve been lying to her lately. She’s a really good mom, when it comes down to it,” she said. “That’s why I knew she’d talk to the Sheriff for you.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had to lie to her,” Michael said. “I know a lot of it has been about me, Max and Isabel.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it.” Maria squeezed his hand again. “I’m sure she wouldn’t believe the half of it if I told her the truth.” She grinned.
Michael let out a short laugh, recognizing the veracity of her statement. The entire situation was pretty ridiculous. He reached out with one hand and ruffled her tousled blonde hair, then froze when he realized what he was doing, his hand caught midmotion against her cheek.
Maria’s smile had faded at the easy, affectionate gesture. She reached up and caught his hand and gently drew it away from her face. “I’m sorry, Michael. I… you can’t keep doing this to me. It’s too confusing.” He pulled his hand away and dropped her other hand as well.
“I know. I don’t mean to….” He stopped, unsure again.
“I know,” she told him.
He let out a long sigh of frustration. “I meant what I told you, about needing to be a stone wall. It’s better if I have no attachments, nothing here I care about. It’s the only way. I don’t want to hurt anyone when we find a way to go home.”
Maria saw the war taking place in his heart as clearly as if it were taking place on a fifty-foot screen. “Michael, I understand. I just think you should concentrate on the life you’re living right now. I know it’s important for you to find out about yourself, but do you have to shut out every spark of happiness while you’re on this quest?”
“I don’t want to make things hard for you.”
“No, Michael. You don’t want to make them harder for yourself. You’re afraid that if you let yourself care, if you form an attachment, it’ll be enough to keep you here, that it will be too painful to go. You’re afraid of getting hurt. But life is filled with decisions and people get hurt every day. Don’t you think it might be worth the risk?”
“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters,” Maria snapped at him. Michael shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “We’re talking about your life. How you spend your days, how you get through your fears and share the joys and…” She was silenced suddenly as he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her deeply.
When Michael finally pulled away, Maria was breathless. “Now, maybe you’ll let me get a word in,” he muttered. “When I said it didn’t matter, I meant that it was too late. I can’t be a stone wall with you, Maria. You’ve already gotten to me. I do care about you. I thought I could push you away, somehow turn back the clock and make myself stop feeling, but it doesn’t work. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t undo you. You took a sledge hammer to that damn wall,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, seeing the tears that were starting to spill down her cheeks.
He took her head in his hands and gently brushed away the tears with his thumbs. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,” he said. Then he leaned in again and kissed her, a sweet, tender kiss unlike any they had ever shared. Maria wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, returning his kiss and deepening it. She twined one hand in the spiky-soft hair at the nape of his neck and moaned softly. It was a long time before either one of them were able to speak again.
Michael finally broke the kiss. He sat back, pulling Maria after him so she was cradled in the circle of his arms and leaning against him comfortably. “So,” he said. “Does this mean you forgive me for being a jerk?”
He could sense her smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re forgiven, Spaceboy.” She cuddled closer and sighed when his arms tightened around her.
“Thank you,” he said. “And thanks for my housewarming,” he added. “I think the place feels much warmer.” When she giggled, he kissed the top of her head and hugged her again. “So,” he said, loosening his hold on her and sitting up. “You wanna help me hang some stars?”
Maria looked into his eyes and grinned. “Sounds like a blast.”
***
END
