Prologue

She watched the cool stream as it cut its way though the green banks and she smiled. It had been ten years since she was here in this spot and very little had changed. The sun felt the same, beating down on her shoulders. The gurgle of the water as it crashed over the rocks sounded like an old friend. And the smell. The smell of strawberries ripe on the vine in late July took her back in time.

She stripped off her stockings as she settled by the stream, not caring about the grass stains on her black dress, and plunged her feet into the swiftly moving water. As she lay back and closed her eyes, time slipped away, back to that last summer she was here, the summer she was seventeen.

~~~~~~~~~~

The letter lay on the small hall table when she came home from school, instantly recognizable by its delicate cerulean color and spidery handwriting. As Buffy laid down her keys, she knew at once who it was from. The only person who ever sent her letters. Her grandmother.

She picked up the envelope to carry with her upstairs. It was May. School would be done in two weeks. Could it be they wanted her to come this summer after all?

She sank down on her bed as she slid open the letter, the scent of lavender taking her back to a wealth of memories.

Summers with her grandparents in Sunnydale had always been the highlight of her young life. Every year from the time she was a little tiny girl, as soon as school was out she’d beg and plead with her parents to go stay with Gramps and Gram. Her mom came from a big family, several sisters and multiple cousins, but they lived far away on the east coast, distant relations she barely knew from photos and the biyearly Christmas visit. But her dad was an only child and so was she. As the only grandchild, she was the apple of his parents’ eye and they always welcomed her summer visits.

Gramps owned a small vineyard outside of town where he tinkered with the vines, as her dad would say, and he and Gram lived there in a old white house that never seemed to change. They were fairly isolated, no near neighbors, no other kids her age.

But Buffy rarely noticed. She had her own special room at their house, fluffy and frilly and covered in white eyelet ruffles her Gram sewed just for her, where she felt like a princess. And down by the stream that meandered on the edge of the property, her Gramps had built a small treehouse where she could hide away and watch the world.

She could go out and trail Gramps around all day, bugging him to tell her about the vines and what he was doing. Or Gram would show her how to bake one of the cakes she was famous for, or let her tag along to pick the strawberries that were her specialty. Her Gram always teased Gramps that one day her strawberry wine would take off and she’d put him out of business, but she really just made it for friends and family.

Yes, summers had always been good. That small white house in Sunnydale was a little place apart, her own secret garden, the place where she could just be Buffy.

And then her sophomore year of high school, her world fell apart. Fights of epic proportions could be heard nightly behind her parent’s closed bedroom door, at least the nights her father came home, while on the surface they insisted everything was fine. The transition to high school that year for a late bloomer like her, still chubby with baby fat and awkward at sixteen, had been less than smooth and teenage hormones had intensified everything. Her parents had been so eager to bundle her off to Sunnydale by the summer, yet for the first time, she hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to be excluded from whatever was making her family fall apart, from her few close friends, from the chance to just hang out like everyone else.

Everything had looked different that year. The white house needed a fresh coat of paint, the little treehouse seemed childish, her grandparents antiquated and behind the times. She didn’t want to be alone in the middle of nowhere. She wanted her friends, few though they were, her MTV, access to the nearby beach where the cool kids would hang out. Instead she spent the summer sullen and moody, complaining about everything, the lack of cable, how far they were from town, let alone a mall, how much fun her friends were probably having at the shore with everyone else. She’d ruined her own little Eden with her discontent.

For the first time, Gramps didn’t invite her to go down to the vineyard with him and help, and she fought constantly with her Gram about everything, from how much makeup she could wear, just a little chapstick and some light blush according to Gram, to how she was doing in school, not so well, to what chores she had to do while staying with them. Nothing was good enough for her and finally it was too much for everyone. She left early that year, going back to Los Angeles and home.

And then reality hit in a huge way, as the crisis she’d known was coming started them all on a roller coaster ride. Her Mom and Dad had separated at the beginning of the summer when she’d left for her grandparents, a fact no one had felt she should know at the time. It's complicated, Buffy. We just wanted to protect you, sugar. The explanations didn't soften the blow at all. She arrived back to find her mother packing for the move to a smaller house in a different part of town and her dad more and more absent.

Money was tighter as her parents’ divorce meandered through the legal system. She’d had to get a part-time job, and start worrying if she was really going to be able to afford to go to college after all. In the wake of reality, her priorities of trying to be pretty and popular seemed less important than they had before. Just getting through each day became the bigger task.

By Christmas things had leveled out and she felt more settled. It was like the roller coaster had crested a peak, and she’d finally hit the bottom where she could just coast for a while. And with the freefall behind her she remembered what had happened during the summer, and how she’d hurt two people who had always loved her and wanted to be there for her. Who’d never let her down.

So she wrote the first long letter to her Gramps and Gram, apologizing for the way she’d acted and they responded in kind with even longer letters. Actual mail almost seemed an anachronism in the days of instant communication, but she treasured each of those missives, written on this fine notepaper in the elegant scrawl that marked her Gram’s script.

The dialogue back and forth gave her an outlet for what was happening between her folks, a place for the pain and anger to go. Her grandparents were a sympathetic ear, having always liked her mom and none of them really understood why her dad had suddenly decided to walk away. Her mom called it a mid-life crisis, complete with the little red convertible, and Buffy wondered sometimes if she thought he was coming back when he’d gotten it out of his system.

She didn't think he ever was. And part of her was glad.

Every time her dad would invite her over for a visit to his new apartment, or she’d see her mom with red eyes, she got a little more jaded about the idea of love and romance and the whole fairy tale. She’d had friends whose parents had split, but she’d never thought it would happen to her family. Not to Hank and Joyce. They’d always seemed so . . . perfect. So in love.

She could remember, almost like an old movie reel, watching her dad creep up behind her mom, catching her off guard as he swept her back for a big screen style kiss - the kind the curtain came down on. Her mom had squealed and threw her arms around his neck, giggling as she called out his name. She’d been fourteen at the time, with nothing more than the usual share of unrequited crushes and more than one Tiger Beat star grinning from the walls of her bedroom at home. But she could remember thinking, one day, that’ll be me. In love. Because that, she was sure, was what it looked like.

But then the fairy dust cleared as her fifteenth year brought quiet arguments, her sixteenth outright fights, and now, at seventeen, the shattered bits of a couple she’d once watched with starry eyes. She knew better now. Love might have meant something back in her grandparents’ day, but not anymore.

But there were two people who had a different kind of love for her that she was sure was unconditional. Which brought her back to the letter. She began to scan the lines quickly, then leapt from the bed in her excitement as she found the words of invitation she’d been looking for. Come spend the summer with us. She flew down the stairs with the letter, babbling happily to her mom and begging to go.

She said yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day after school was done for the year, her dad picked her up and drove her up to her grandparents’ place. They didn't have much to say to each other, and conversation dwindled to a halt after the usual standard inquires about school and jobs. He mentioned he’d be leaving town soon for a working vacation, but promised he’d be back for the big Fourth of July weekend he always came and spent with them. It wouldn’t be the same without her mom, but she was glad he hadn’t forgotten. They listened to the radio then, forgettable adult contemporary tunes as the miles flew by, bringing them closer and closer to Sunnydale and a fresh start. Somehow Buffy knew that if she could just get back there, everything would be alright again.

When they arrived, her dad went in for a moment, carrying her suitcase onto the front porch as he gave his mom an awkward hug and shook hands with his father. The air hung with unanswered questions and he didn’t stay long, claiming work required him to hurry back. As the taillights of his car eased down the driveway and back to the main road, she was engulfed in the hugs of her two favorite people, chattering happily. She was home.

Gram held her at arm’s length, eyes twinkling, commenting on how grown up she’d become, and Gramps told her she’d become quite the looker. The last year had changed her, not just inside but outside as well. She’d lost the roly-poly look she’d had for years and her features had become more defined. She’d finally gotten something of a figure, some recognizable curves. She knew when she looked in the mirror now that she saw a young woman, not a little girl reflected back.

Gramps deposited the suitcases in her frilly room, still the same after all these years, and she welcomed the familiarity that last year has merely annoyed. Gram had followed her up to help unpack. She pursed her lips a time or two over a few of the halter tops and shorts, but held her tongue, with just a few clucks here and there. Buffy teasingly offered to loan her something for date night with Gramps, and Gram laughed at the ludicrous thought of her in a midriff baring top as she shooed her down to the kitchen for a snack.

They descended the steps together and returned to the kitchen where Buffy found her grandfather sitting with the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. At that moment she knew the summer was going to be different from any other.

And she was right.

Buffy blinked, blinked again, and then was fairly certain she blushed. He had electric blue eyes, that was the first thing she noticed, that held hers as though he could read her soul. Model worthy cheekbones and eyelashes she would have killed for, a soft, almost too delicate mouth, but a strong chin that saved him from appearing too feminine. His hair was unusual, not so much for Southern California, where a beached look was common, but for the small farming area her grandparents lived. He was dressed casually, in faded dark jeans and a old T-shirt, but he had a grace and elegance in the way he moved as he stood up when she and her Gram entered the kitchen, that belied the suggestion he was just a local boy brought in to help for the summer.

Gramps stood as well and pulled her over, obviously proud and ready to make introductions. She honestly couldn’t recall later if she’d said much. She thought she’d got out a hello, or pleased to meet you, but not much more than that. Buffy processed the fact that his name was William Aetherton, that he went by the unusual moniker of Spike, which her grandfather seemed amused by, and that he was there for the summer to work with him on a new hybird grapevine that Gramps had been toying with for years.

After the introductions had been made, they left for the fields, and Gram bustled around the kitchen, fixing some warm bread and strawberry jam as a snack after the long trip.

"So he’s staying here? You don’t usually let the summer guys stay here," Buffy sneaked a pinch of bread off the loaf as her grandmother smacked her hand away.

"He’s the grandson of your grandfather’s friend. Do you remember the Aethertons visiting when you were little?"

Buffy shook her head, but the name sounded familiar.

"Whoa, like Aetherton Wineries? Those English guys?"

Her grandmother nodded. "Those are the ones. Your grandfather and he were good friends years ago, back in the sixties when Aetherton was first buying vineyards here in California. William’s joining the family business soon."

"Oh." Buffy tried to sound disinterested. She hadn’t been able to peg his age, but was certain it would fall in the category of too old for Buffy, in Gram’s opinion at least. Better not to go down that road.

"He’s a polite young man, they haven’t spoiled him. Though with that mother of his," her grandmother tutted as she slid the bread in front of her. "But one shouldn’t gossip. Now eat up dear, you’re practically skin and bones."

Buffy grinned. Only her grandmother would see dropping the baby fat as becoming skin and bones. "Yes Gram."

She wanted to know more about Spike, but the moment had passed, so she let the subject drop and they talked about the changes in the last year.

"So Gramps is really cutting back huh?"

Her grandmother nodded. "The Thurmans have leased most of the fields this year. He just can’t go like he used to. But he seems happy, says it gives him more time to work on his project."

So how it that hybrid coming along?"

"He says they’re getting there. They’ve cultivated samples and are still working on some more vines. He says if it tests well, it should create a much hardier stock against that new root rot that’s been plaguing vineyards."

"Great. So he thinks this time he’s got it?" Her grandfather had developed hybrids for years, some with varying successes, but had been working on this plant for more than a year now.

"He hopes so. William has been a big help in assisting, not just with the actual tinkering they do out there, but the business records and so on. He’s been studying the past year here, at UCLA, they have that program, you know, for vineyards. Smart boy, he’s also been doing business."

"Really?" Buffy quickly took a bite, secretly impressed and a little overwhelmed. That all sounded like a lot of work.

"Yes, though he’ll be headed back to England for his final year at the end of the summer."

So he was still in college. Hmmm. Something about her face must have given her away as she placed her plate in the sink and headed out to find her grandfather.

"Buffy?"

She turned, hand on the doorknob, as her grandmother looked directly at me. "Sweetheart. He’s too old, he’s from a different world and he’ll only break your heart, then leave."

"Oh Gran, please, don’t be silly."

Her grandmother merely raised an eyebrow as Buffy continued out the door.

Sometimes she wish she’d listened to her.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So you’re Buffy, right?" The honeyed tones of his accent startled her a little and she almost dropped the cup of coffee she had blearily poured after staggering into the kitchen.

She nodded and turned around to find him hovering behind her, looking just as edible as the day before. If he’d be a senior in college this fall, what would that make him? About twenty? Maybe twenty-one? That wasn’t that old, in the big scheme of things. After all she was seventeen and about to be a senior too. Her sense of romance might be dead, but her hormones weren’t. It was fate. Him, her, thrown together for the summer here . . . Her daydreams faded as his voice snapped her back to attention.

"Unusual name there, pet. Story behind it?"

Buffy shrugged and took a slow sip, trying to calm her nerves. "Not really. Just the name my mother gave me. What about you, Spike? Must be a story behind that one."

He grinned, making him possibly more adorable than before, at least until he opened his mouth "That there is, but not for the likes of tender ears like yours. Little girls aren’t meant for such tales."

Little girl? It wasn’t like she was seven or something. And where did he get off treating her like some kid? Cute mug or no, she decided, Mr. William Aetherton, a.k.a. Spike, was going to eat his words before the summer was over. She’d show him she wasn’t a baby.

Before she could act on this new impulse however, he’d gave her a nod and was out the door, a cup of coffee in one hand, a slice of something her grandmother had baked in the other.

And so her summer with Spike began.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When she thought back on it later, the first part of the summer was something of a blur of familiarity, much like past years. A regular quiet rhythm to the days and nights.

Mornings were early, not much sleeping in, and there were her summer chores do be done. Part of the housekeeping, feeding the few animals they kept, a cow and a small number of chickens, because her grandmother insisted baking was better with fresh eggs and milk. She’d never minded, everyone had to work to earn their keep and it was a welcome distraction.

But then her days were free, and she’d take off to her favorite place, the bend of the stream where the water was deepest and she could paddle around and cool off. She’d swim, lay on the bank, read, and just enjoy being lazy.

By lunch, she’d come back, help Gram get everything together for whoever was going to be around that day. Maybe help afterwards with some project, as Gram liked to call the various crafts she did, or tag along after Gramps.

But this summer there was that one additional note that varied the regular tune of the days. Spike.

She didn’t made much progress with catching his attention at first. Or proving anything to him. He spent his days working with her grandfather, and while he was pleasant enough at meals in a general sense, it was always in that vague, barely aware of her existence sort of way that adults sometimes had, as though she were part of the scenery.

It drove her nuts. So getting his attention became her pet project as the last weeks of May slid into June.

Phase one was learning her subject.

They had converted the old carriage house into a bachelor pad of sorts for him, really just a bedroom/sitting room and small bathroom to the side. Very plain and functional, sparsely furnished. She’d checked it out one day when he was out. Just surveyed the room, because she wasn’t a snoop. Though she really did want to check out the suitcase at the bottom of the bed.

She discovered he ran every morning, very early. She’d happened to glance out her window as the sun came over the horizon and saw him slowing under her window, wiping the sweat from the early morning jog off his torso as he panted from the exertion.

It was a beautiful sight, and she found herself setting her clock just a little earlier to catch it.

Then he’d disappear back to his little apartment and grab some breakfast before disappearing into her grandfather’s office, until Gramps would join him and the two would head for the greenhouse.

He often had dinner with them, but occasionally took off into town at night, to do what Buffy wasn’t sure. She hadn’t yet figured out a good reason to ask if she could ride into town with him sometime, but she was working on it.

She found as she watched him that the initial allure began to fade into something oddly more comfortable, yet at the same time even more intriguing. He was a conundrum, projecting this air of being all big and bad, but an incredible gentlemen to her grandmother and always respectful to her grandfather. He seemed to really take his advice to heart, to listen to him. And that impressed her.

But he continued to virtually ignore her. And that was just plain annoying.

She decided she needed to move to the next phase. She’d observed long enough. It was time to take affirmative action.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Buffy, good morning dear, would you like to join in?" Her grandfather beamed at her as she silently slipped though the door to the greenhouse where he worked with his experimental vines.

She noticed Spike roll his eyes slightly at her interruption, but he didn’t say anything, just kept deftly cutting away at the stake he was sharpening.

"I’d love to Gramps, I’ve missed working out here with you. I just didn’t want to interrupt anything important."

"Oh, no, you’d be a great help." He turned to his young assistant. "You should see her Spike, she’s got quite a deft hand." He gave Buffy a set of gloves and the tools she’d need to work with before setting her in front of the latest round of vines they were preparing to graft.

Buffy listened as her grandfather reminded her of the procedure and showed her the vines she was to work on. She nodded with understanding, it was just like she’d done in the past, and quickly began as her grandfather turned back to his work. A comfortable silence settled over the room and Buffy found herself sneaking peeks at Spike across the table. His brow was knit with concentration over the calculations he was now focusing intently on and his lips moved silently as he worked though whatever problem was before him.

Why did he have to be so aloof with her all the time? She was sure he had to get lonely sometimes to. She loved her grandparents dearly, but there were times when she really wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t from the greatest generation. If he’d stop being so stupid, they could definitely hang out or something. Her eyes drifted to those lips again and she grinned a little. Or something indeed.

Her brain started to drift off on that track, one of her more pleasant daydreams that involved her, Spike and those lips. Except she wasn’t really sure how to get started on that. What with him not noticing her and all.

As she mulled possibilities over in her head, she noticed her grandfather had stepped out and the two of them were now alone. Maybe she should say something , something witty and adult that would make him see her differently. She racked her brain for an opener as she watched him work. Nope, she was coming up blank.

"Buffy? What the hell are you doing?" His barked question brought her up short as she looked down at the vine in her hand that she had ruined. He stalked around the table and removed the grafting knife from her hand.

"This is why we don’t let little girls play in here. Do you know how long it took to get to this point in your grandfather’s research, how hard he’s worked on these vines? You’re just lucky this was the only one that you ruined."

Her voice was small as she said, "I’m really sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention."

He snorted. "You guess? Yeah, you’d guess right. Now why don’t you run back and play with your dollies and leave this to the grown-ups. I’ll salvage this before your grandfather gets back."

Her eyes narrowed as she drew herself up to what was admittedly not that impressive a height. "I do not play with dolls. I’m seventeen years old, I’m not some little kid. I made a mistake, but I can fix it."

He stepped closer to her, invading her personal space until he was just inches from her face as he used his fingertips to tilt her chin up so their eyes met. "You think you’re a grown-up Buffy?"

Her heart was trip-hammering at his presence, the faint smell of some scent she didn’t recognize but that seemed to be very Spike wafting around her and clouding what little judgment she had left, but she managed to choke out a stammered, "Yes."

He laughed then and stepped away. "Just cause you look like one doesn’t mean you are. You have so very much to learn, little girl. Now get out of here and let me fix this mess."

He thought she looked like a woman? She started to reengage him, but he’d already turned his back in a dismissive gesture and she exited the greenhouse. She had screwed up, she’d been drifting and daydreaming and had almost ruined the plants. She’d apologize to her grandfather. But that other, the way he looked at her? Well that required some thought. Maybe he wasn’t quite so impervious to her as he acted.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The buzz of the alarm clock the next morning startled her and she rolled over to hit the button as she flopped on her back. Ugh, she was never going to be a morning person. But, there were some things worth getting up early for. She grinned as she slid out of bed and wandered to the window to wait for her favorite runner.

But there was no Spike.

She frowned and glanced at the clock. Had he overslept? He was always here this time of the morning.

What if he’d fallen or something? She hastily threw on her shorts and a t-shirt as she hurried down the stairs to where her grandmother was starting the morning coffee.

"Good morning Buffy, I guess everyone’s off to an early start this morning."

"Huh? I mean good morning." She shook her head. "Sorry Gram, still a little fuzzy. What did you say?"

"Oh, just William and your grandfather got such an early start this morning. They’d already left before I could make them breakfast."

"They left? Why? Where’d they go?"

"Los Angeles. They’re taking in those samples to the labs on campus. I’m glad William will be with him, you know how your grandfather hates that drive."

"Oh." She thought for a minute, "Gran, that one I messed up yesterday, was it okay?"

"It was fine Buffy, your grandfather wasn’t mad at you."

"Good. I really didn’t mean to."

"He knows dear, it’s alright."

Buffy poured a cup of the strong smelling brew that was getting her synapses firing. "So when are they coming back?

"A few days. It’ll be good for your grandfather to get away. Hopefully, it’ll give him a bit of a breather, he tries to do too much around here still, and he’s not as young as he once was."

Buffy smiled. "I know, but you and Gramps will still be around and kicking when you’re a hundred, Gram." She grabbed her mug. "Well, I’m up, guess I’ll go get started." She dropped a kiss on her grandmother’s soft cheek and headed for the door.

As she absently scattered the feed for the chickens, she pondered what had happened yesterday. She shouldn’t have been such a spaz, should have been more focused. But he’d noticed her.

Those few seconds, when he’d been so close. She shuddered. There had definitely been something there. Maybe not quite flirting. He’d been too annoyed for that. But he had looked at her, for what seemed the first time.

And if he’d noticed her then, he’d notice her again. She just needed to come up with ways to spend more time with him, preferably alone. And with him gone, she had a few days reprieve to come up with a plan.

She smiled as she moved to pet the gentle cow who stared at her wide-eyed. This was going to be fun.

It was Thursday by the time Spike and her grandfather came back from LA. Buffy was still hadn’t managed to craft a subtle yet believable scenario to corner him alone.

Until her grandmother did it for her the next day.

She’d been washing up the dishes from lunch when the first twinge hit her. By the time she’d finished drying everything and putting it away, the cramps had started in earnest. She’d trotted upstairs to the bathroom to find her monthly visitor had come early. Crap. She stared at the blood and groaned. Now, where had she packed her tampons?

She hunted under the sink without success. Maybe she’d left them in her room? A thorough search revealed nothing. How could she have forgotten to pack them?

"Gram? Can you take me into town? Like now?"

"What ever for, Buffy?"

Buffy trotted down the stairs. "I need to get some things." At her grandmother’s blank look she grimaced and added. "You know, girl things, Gram."

"Oh, right dear."

Just then Spike popped his head in the door.

"I’m going to post these letters, Mrs. Summers, can I pick up anything for you while I’m in town?"

"Well, actually, Buffy needs some . . ." she looked at her frantically motioning granddaughter. "Buffy needs a ride into town to pick up a few things. Would that be alright with you?"

He shrugged. "No problem."

~~~~~~~~~

"How on earth did you convince him to let you drive this car for the summer?" Buffy patted the seat of the perfectly restored Desoto that was her grandfather’s pride and joy. "He adores this thing."

"And well he should, she’s a bloody classic. I did a bit of a tuning on her first off when I came, he knows I respect her."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please, not you too. This is a car, Spike, not a person. What is it with you men?"

Spike shot her a grin and patted the dash lovingly. "Ignore her baby, she’s just jealous."

"Whatever." Buffy leaned back into the seat, but couldn’t help smiling. They were talking, actually carrying on a conversation. This was great. Now she just needed to keep the ball rolling.

"So how was L.A.? Did everything go well with the presentation?" As his face shut down she realized the wrong turn. Yep, remind him what an irresponsible little kid you were with the vines, why don’t you, Buff?

"It was fine. No thanks to you."

"Spike, I wasn’t careful enough and I’m sorry. I know how hard you’ve both worked on this project and I should have been more responsible if I wanted to be involved."

She was pleased to see him glance over at her with a look of respect. "It worked out alright, short stuff. Don’t worry about it."

She smiled as he parked in front of the post office and turned to her. "So, what did you need to get?"

Yeah, like she was going there. "Oh, I’ve just got to run to the drugstore and pick up a few things. Shall I meet you here when I get done?"

"That’ll be fine."

She bounced out of the car. Despite the sucky cramps, she was excited. He wasn’t treating her so much like a kid anymore, he was actually talking to her for once, instead of down to her. He’d seemed to even warm a little after her apology. Maybe he’d want to hang out with her now. Not like there was much else going on in Sunnydale to entertain him on a Friday night. She might even work up the nerve to ask him if he wanted to catch a movie later at the little duplex here in town.

She crossed the street and hurried down the row of main street shops to the pharmacy to quickly find what she was looking for. She grabbed an extra bottle of Midol and a Coke as well and waited patiently while the clerk rang up her purchases and she paid.

"Do you have a restroom I could use?"

The bored clerk nodded towards the back and she hurriedly took care of the necessaries and gulped a couple of the pills. There, better now. She bounced out of the store and turned back towards the car, hoping she hadn’t kept him waiting too long.

And stopped dead, the cool air of the drugstore sealed off behind her as the door slid shut. Across the street Spike was standing by the car. Waiting. But he didn’t look bored.

Oh no.

He'd found the local entertainment. In the form of some skank, who was leaning back against the car with her breasts thrust out so far she might as well have been offering them to Spike on a silver platter.

Buffy narrowed her eyes and headed back across the street.

"Hey, get what you needed?" Spike called out as she stalked towards the car.

She held up the paper shopping bag, "All done." She plastered a fake smile on. "Are you ready to head back now, Spike?"

"Hmm, oh yeah." He dragged his eyes away from the other girl’s ample charms. "Yeah, I’m ready. I’m sorry Buffy, forgot to make the introductions. You two don’t . . ." He gestured between them.

"We haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Faith, and you must be Buffy."

"That’s right. Nice to meet you, Faith."

The dark-headed girl’s eyebrow raised just a hair as she caught the chill in Buffy’s voice that indicated it was anything but nice.

"Buffy, Faith’s going to ride back with us. We’re going to catch a show at the drive-in tonight and she said she didn’t mind the extra trip. We’ll drop you off, okay?"

"Great." Buffy started for the car just as Faith slid into the front seat. Next to him. "Oh, sorry, shotgun, B."

"It’s Buffy." She gritted her teeth and opened the door to the backseat. The very spacious backseat. That would no doubt be occupied tonight if they were going to the drive-in. Suddenly her cramps seemed to get worse.

Spike pulled the car into reverse and headed for the road out to her grandparents’ place.

"So, you go to school around here?" Faith looked over her shoulder.

"No, I’m just here for the summer, I live in L.A."

"You in high school?"

"Yes. I’ll be a senior this fall." Buffy paused. Faith didn’t look that old to her, except in a jaded ho-bag kind of way. "How about you?"

"Oh, I’ve been out for a few years. Never was much for the school thing." She turned back to Spike, clearly dismissing Buffy as competition. "And how about you, big guy? I bet you’re a college boy, aren’t you?" She slid a little closer to Spike on the seat.

Buffy groaned. Could this get any worse?

Thirty minutes later she watched out her window as Spike and Faith drove away back towards town, and she realized indeed it could.

~~~~~~~~~~~

And then after dinner, as she lounged on the couch reading while her grandmother cross-stitched and her grandfather yelled answers at Jeopardy on the television, she realized the night had yet to hit bottom.

The portable phone rang next to her head, startling her, and she grabbed the receiver and passed it to her grandmother without answering.

"Hello? Why yes, she’s right here Joyce. How are you?" Her grandmother listened for a moment, her face growing troubled. "Oh yes, that’s well . . . I’m just so sorry. Hank’s disappointed us all."

She motioned for her to come closer. "I’ll put Buffy on now."

Buffy took the phone and then headed for the privacy of the porch as she answered, "Mom?"

"Hey sweetie, you having a good time?"

Buffy could hear the crack in her mother’s voice even as she tried to sound cheerful for her. "Mom, what’s wrong?"

"Honey, it’s about your dad."

"Is something wrong with him?"

The sigh carried over the lines. "Well, that’s something I’d like to know as well. But no, Buffy, he’s not hurt."

"Then what is it, Mom?"

"Buffy, your dad decided to stay in Europe for a while longer. He asked me to tell you he won’t be back for the weekend of the Fourth."

"Oh." Buffy clutched the receiver a little tighter. She was used to him not always keeping his promises by now. "Is it work?"

Her mom’s laughter had a tinge of irony to it. "Not exactly. Buffy, you know how your dad got the bachelor pad and the new car?"

"Yeah?"

"He also got the young secretary girlfriend as part of his midlife crisis package. He’s . . . well, they’re touring Europe right now. That’s why he won’t be there." Her mother didn’t bother trying to hide her bitterness.

"Oh." She knew she was starting to sound like a broken record. "Mom, how long has he been seeing her? Is she new?"

"No, baby, she’s not. It seems she’s been there since the beginning." Sobs were starting to clog her mom’s throat now. "That bastard was seeing her the whole time, before he even left. He just didn’t want me to know until after we’d finished the settlement."

"Oh, Mom, no! How could he do that to you?"

"I’m sorry Buffy, I shouldn’t have said that. He’s still your father."

"Don’t worry about it, Mom, he is a bastard." She shifted the phone to the other ear. "Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to come home?"

"No, Buffy, no. You stay right there. Your grandparents are good people and you’ll be better off there. I just wanted you to know he wouldn’t be coming."

"You know, Mom, it’s okay. I guess somewhere deep down I kind of thought he wouldn’t make it this year. Are you sure you’re alright? You want to come up? I know Gram and Gramps would love to have you."

"No, sweetie, I’m taking a few weeks off to go see your aunt. There’s just too many memories up there at your grandparents for me right now."

"Okay. Be careful. I love you Mom. Call me if you need me."

"I will. I love you too, Buffy."

Buffy disconnected the call and sank down on the porch steps as the screen door opened. "Buffy, are you okay?" Her grandparents were both standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, I’m okay." She surreptitiously wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye. "I guess it’s not that big a surprise, is it?"

The sorrow on their faces was almost too much for her to take as she gently laid down the phone and backed down the steps. "I’m going to go for a walk, just down to the creek. Is that okay?"

Her Gram’s voice carried through the growing dusk. "Just be careful dear."

~~~~~~~~~

She slipped down the path she’d run down a thousand times, ignoring the tears that were now falling freely. She didn’t know why, after all this time, that it seemed so much worse to find out about her dad’s infidelity. At least now there was a reason, of sorts. At least now it wasn’t just that he didn’t love her and her mother enough. It was just that he wanted someone else more.

On second thought, that was worse.

She could hear the music of the stream now as she wiped her eyes, furious that she was wasting time crying over him. And then another sound that caused her to look up to find Spike, sitting at the edge of the stream in her usual spot.

Alone.

"What are you doing here?"

He looked around and took a long slow drag off the bottle in his hand. "Could ask you the same thing, short stuff."

She plodded over and sat down beside him. "Can I have a drink of that?"

He noticed the tear tracks on her face now that she was closer. "No. Not contributing to the delinquency of a minor tonight. What’s the matter?"

She busied herself untying her shoes and carefully set them to the side so she could stick her feet into the stream.

"Don’t want to talk about it. Where’s the ho bag?"

That raised a chuckle. "The ho bag?"

"Yeah. Faith. Thought you two were going to the drive-in."

He took another drink. "Plans changed, took her home. Decided I wanted a night to myself."

"Yeah, that’s what I was hoping for as well."

"I was here first and ‘m not leaving."

"Didn’t ask you to. I can be alone with you here."

"Thanks ever so."

They fell silent then, watching the moonlight play across the water that continued to run quietly along its banks. She found herself still wiping away tears that seemed to fall of their own accord.

"You might as well tell me what the waterworks are about. It might make you feel better."

She glanced at him. "Make you a deal. You tell me why you’re down here hitting the bottle instead of out on a hot date first."

He shrugged. "Just family stuff."

She was surprised by his admission. "Same here." He met her eyes then and she saw a spark of understanding , a reflection of her own pain and disappointment. She found herself telling him everything as he sat quietly and listened.

"My dad, he’s kind of been a big sleaze lately. And my mom called to tell me he wasn’t going to come up to visit like he promised. He is, at least he was, cheating on my mom. With his secretary." She laughed sadly. "Isn’t that such a cliché? And now he’d too busy with her to come see me either."

He turned towards her then and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Buffy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a prat, didn’t know what was going on."

She wiped her eyes one last time, feeling soothed somehow just to get it out. "I’m okay. It’s just, I don’t know, just hurts."

His hand remained on her back, rubbing small circles of comfort. "Yeah. It does."

She looked at him expectantly.

"So it’s my turn, I suppose?" he asked.

She nodded silently.

"’s a bit ironic really. Your dad’s a tosser who can’t keep it in his pants and my mom’s the one who’s runs around cuckolding the old man with any willing dick she can find."

She cringed a little at the venom in his words.

"She’s been doing it since I was a little tyke. If I weren’t the spitting image of my grandfather at this age, I’d wonder sometimes if I was even really an Aetherton. But she’s gone one step too far this time." She noticed the crumpled letter laying on the ground beside him for the first time. "Grandfather wrote me. She’s taken off again, with my father’s best friend. He’s gone off on a bender and Grand says he expects he’ll probably kill her if he finds her."

"Oh." His dad’s best friend, how awful. She impulsively leaned over and gave him a quick hug. "Spike, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" She drew back a little, but took his hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze. "Or do you need to go home?"

"No, that’s why he wrote me. Grand’ll calm Father down, he’s always been able to before. Mum’ll come back around at some point, begging him to take her back. I just hope he’ll stand up to her this time."

He took another swig off the beer and then passed it over. "Here, guess you might need this after all."

She took a tentative sip of the bitter liquid, swallowing quickly to get it past her taste buds. "Ugghhh."

He laughed at that. "Not much of a drinker, I take it."

She wrinkled her nose. "Nah, I’m pretty much a lightweight."

"So’s your mum alright?"

"She’s getting there."

"Good."

The silence that settled between them this time was comfortable. The usual soft noises of night sounded as time passed and they simply sat, hands still connected until she knew she needed to get back to the house.

"Thanks for listening to me, Spike. It helped." She stood up and brushed off the seat of her shorts as he too climbed to his feet.

"Same to you. And hey, chin up, short stuff. Men aren’t all like your dad. You’ve got a hell of a grandfather up there who would make anyone proud."

"He is pretty great, isn’t he?"

"Yeah, he is."

As they stood there, she was suddenly struck by something. "Are we having a real conversation?"

"Yeah, I guess we are. You know, I have to admit, I think I misjudged you, Buffy."

She was surprised and warmed by the admission. "Oh really? How’s that?"

"Your grandparents never stop talking about you, you know that? I think I was just expecting some sort of spoiled brat, or a little princess, and didn’t give you much of a chance. I’m sorry ‘bout giving you such a hard time before, in the greenhouse. You didn’t deserve that."

She smiled. "Thanks, Spike. You know you’re not so bad yourself, at least when you aren’t ignoring or lecturing me."

He grinned in acknowledgment of what she was saying as he wiped the sweat from the bottle off on his pants and stuck out his hand. "How about we take this from the top?"

She couldn’t suppress the big smile on her face at the full throttle charm, no matter how uncool it might be. "Hi, I’m Buffy Summers." She stuck out her hand as well and he grasped it firmly.

"Hello, Buffy Summers. I’m Spike Aetherton and I’m very pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you as well."

He tilted his head to the side as he regarded her in the shadowed night. "Well, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Now how about I walk you back to the house before your Gramps sends out the dogs to find you?"

They started up the path side by side and Buffy felt a little like that roller coaster might have started to climb again. But unlike before, this time it felt good.

Chapter 3
Whose bed have your boots been under?
Whose heart did you steal I wonder?
This time did it feel like thunder, baby . . .

Buffy twirled across the kitchen with a spoon clutched firmly in her hand as she belted out in sync with Shania blasting across the airwaves on Gram’s favorite station. While her delivery might leave something to be desired, and she had serious doubts as to whether or not she was on key, she thought she had the dance moves down as she pirouetted and gyrated across the linoleum in her socks.

Whose bed have your boots been under?
I wanna know . . .

"Do tell, little missy."

Buffy yelped and leapt into the air at the really horrible version of a Southern accent behind her. She turned to find Spike leaning against the doorway, a smirk firmly affixed to his face at the startled look on hers.

So, Buffy, whose bed have your boots been under? Don’t let me stop your musical stylings to this melodious noise."

She reacted to his sarcasm- tinged words by marching over and snapping off the radio before turning back to him. "Cute, Spike. I suppose I could ask you the same."

He laughed. "Ahh, but a gentlemen never kisses and tells, now does he, pet? So I’ll keep my footwear’s placement to myself. Now, on a far less interesting note, I actually came to find you, have a chat."

She tried to ignore the little skip her heart made at that announcement. They’d been much friendlier over the last few days, but mostly in a joking sort of way. The sort of bond that shared pain could create, which was great. Having a friend who understood was . . . it was like it filled a hole up that she hadn’t known was there.

Starting over and meeting the new Spike hadn’t make him any less attractive to her though, quite the contrary. That kind of attention from a guy like him? Well, it didn’t hurt the ego any. But now that they were starting to get along, she wondered if her earlier daydreams of a summer fling would be a bad idea. She actually kind of liked this friends vibe, and she’d hate to mess that up. Wouldn’t she?

"Oh? Need something?"

"Your grandfather and I both do actually. He could use your assistance on this next bit we’re working on. And I think he’s right, you can do this. You will be careful this time, won’t you?" He smiled, but then his voice grew a little more serious as he leaned forward. "He’s not been feeling as well lately, Buffy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but on our trip to L.A., he tired out pretty quickly."

She nodded. "He does seem frailer than before. Is he . . has he told you something’s wrong?"

"No. But he’s shakier, it’s harder for him to work on the vines with a steady hand, so I thought you might be willing to assist."

Buffy tossed the spoon in the sink. "Absolutely. I’m in. And I know how serious this project is, I’ll do a good job. When do I start?"

"How about tomorrow? But can you make it appear a bit of a volunteer on your part? That you just wanted to get out there again? This is a bit of an end run around behind his back, I’m afraid, but I agree with your grandmum he needs to take it a little easier."

"No problem." She ducked her head a little. "I’ve kind of missed it really. I always liked pottering around out there with him, but I didn’t want to be in the way."

"You won’t be. Good. I’ll see you in the greenhouse then tomorrow about 8:00ish?"

"I’ll be there." He turned to leave and she stopped him. "Oh, and Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. I appreciate you looking out for him like this. I don’t know what he would have done without you this summer."

"He’s a good man. Puts me in mind of my grandfather."

"Do you miss him?"

Spike dropped back into a chair at the kitchen table as she poured herself a glass of water, and at his nod to her silent gesture, poured one for him as well.

"Yeah, I do. Went home right after exams, before I came here, spent a week or so with him and the old man. He’s still going hard as ever. I’m not sure anything’s ever going to stop him. Did you ever meet him? I know he’s been here before."

Buffy shook her head. "No, I never did. Gramps has talked about him a lot though."

Spike took a drink of the water and contemplated the glass. "Yeah, he practically raised me. Training me up to follow in the family footsteps, like him and my father."

"Is that what you want to do? Be in the wine business?"

"I suppose. Been raised for that since I was a tot. What about you, you going to take over from your grandfather? Sounds as though your dad’s well out of it."

She snorted. "Yeah, you can say that again. Bastard."

"Well at least we got lucky with the older generation didn’t we? He held up his water glass. "To grandfathers, may they live long and in good health."

She nodded and raised her glass. "To grandfathers."

~~~~~~~~~~~

As July began, the more temperate days of June began to give way to the muggy heat of mid-summer. The weather forecast called for a string of days with record breaking temperatures to come as Buffy headed for the greenhouse. She pulled her thin t-shirt away from her skin that already felt as though a film of sweat was covering it.

"Hey, short stuff." Spike jogged up next to her just as she was about to go inside.

"Stop calling me that." She poked him in the ribs.

"What?"

"That stupid nickname."

He grinned at her. "Awww, is Bitty Buffy sensitive about being vertically challenged?"

She frowned. "It makes me feel like I’m twelve. And I’m not. And it’s a stupid name, William." She drawled out his given name, knowing how much he disliked it.

He held up his hands and backed away. "Ohh, Buffy’s playing hard ball. Very well. Truce, short stuff."

At her glare, he tugged her ponytail. "Fine, fine, just Buffy."

"Thank you."

Gramps joined them then and the playful bickering stopped as they picked up on their work from the previous day until the clock showed noon approaching. Her grandfather sat down heavily and Buffy looked over in concern. Since Spike had approached her a few weeks ago, she’d taken to watching her grandfather more closely, and she’d seen things she hadn’t caught before. The way he was just a little slower in all his movements. How his hands trembled when he reached for something. How tired he seemed at the end of the day.

It worried her more than she wanted to admit. He was one of the constants in her life, and she wasn’t ready for him to be gone.

"Gramps, you okay?"

He looked up at her then, the sweet smile that reassured her despite the lines around his eyes.

"I’m doing just fine." He gestured to the worktables. "We’re doing well with your help, Buffy. I’m so glad you decided you wanted to be involved again."

She ducked her head shyly at the praise. "No problem, Gramps."

"Well I believe it’s time for lunch. We’d best head for the house. Wouldn’t do to invoke your gram’s wrath now would it?"

Spike caught her grin. They’d been late for lunch last week and Gram had lectured them all soundly about the importance of regular meals. So promptness was a must.

"After you, just Buffy." Spike held the door for her with a sweeping gesture as she passed through after her grandfather, then fell in step beside her. Since she’d started working with him every day, things between them had changed for the better. He’d become part big brother, part pest, part confidant.

The best times were in the evenings. After dinner she’d wander down by the stream and Spike would join her. They’d talked for hours some nights, just watching the water as they talked. He’d tell her about his life back in London, regale her with stories of college life, anecdotes that amused her, though she sometimes suspected he was making things up for dramatic effect.

It always was certainly more exciting that anything in her little world and made her long for the end of high school even more. She enjoyed those times together, surprised that he listened so attentively to her tales of high school life, something that seemed trivial and beyond boring for someone like him. But he’d laugh at her stories, ask questions, and grant her one of those heart-stopping smiles before her tug a lock of her hair and suggest they head back in.

He also teased her mercilessly, now, and she responded in kind, a constant banter between them which always kept her on her toes. But she never knew quite how to take his comments and playful hugs. Did they actually mean something? Or was he just kidding around with her?

But she did know she liked it. And hoped he didn’t stop.

They started for the house through the sweltering heat that had deepened during the hours in the more temperate greenhouse. Her grandfather shaded his eyes as he stared at the cloudless, shimmering sky.

"You know what I think? I think we need an afternoon off. Let’s start the holiday early." He turned to Buffy. "Why don’t you take off down to that swimming hole of yours and cool off. You’ve been working hard, all cooped up with us. Need to get a little sun in your cheeks, girl."

She couldn’t help a little thrill of excitement at the prospect. It had been days since she’d managed to just laze down there and it would be so nice to cool off in the water. Still she felt bad abandoning them to go play. She shot a glance over at Spike.

"And take that one with you, boy’s too pale."

"Mr. Summers . . ."

Her grandfather waved them off. "Nope. Not another word. Off with you two. I’ll have your grandmother pack your lunch. Tomorrow’s the Fourth, we’ll all be headed into town for the day and there’s nothing to be done this afternoon that won’t wait."

"Okay. See you in a minute, Spike. Got to go change into my swimsuit."

She ran into the house without a backward glance. If she had, she might have seen that the look on Spike’s face was a mix of trepidation and desire.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike closed the door to his room and sat heavily on the bed. He was supposed to head off for an afternoon swimming with Buffy. Which meant Buffy cavorting around in a skimpy little swimsuit. Buffy frolicking in the water, beckoning him in. Buffy lying all golden and bronzed in the sun, waiting for him to join him.

He laid back and covered his head with his pillow, muffling his groan. This would such a bad idea.

She’d gotten under his skin that first day. He’d been with the Summers for about two weeks before she arrived, and his hosts had never stopped talking about Buffy. Buffy this and Buffy that. They clearly adored their granddaughter. Except from the way they spoke of her, he’d expected a little girl, someone twelvish, perhaps, with bows in her hair.

Instead there’d been this nymph with blond hair and hazel eyes who didn’t look twelve in the slightest standing in the doorway staring at him. She was wearing a pink t-shirt that hugged perky breasts, and white shorts that highlighted the tan of her legs that ended in little pink shoes with butterflies on the toes. Utterly feminine. Utterly beautiful. Utterly innocent.

And utterly off-limits.

Oh, he’d known that from the start. Buffy was no-man’s land as far as he was concerned.

Except that she was hard to ignore.

He tried. First he’d snubbed her. Pretended she wasn’t around, smiling that cute little smile, tossing her hair in that long ponytail she wore half the time. For some reason it always drove him especially crazy when she wore it that way, made him want to run his fingers through it, play with those long strands and slowly release all those curls.

Ignoring her wasn’t easy. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was a good-looking bloke who had his fair share of attention from the fairer sex. Buffy was an innocent. He could tell, just from her reactions to him, that she wasn’t like some of the girls he’d run into on the campus, the teens who crashed the frat parties, probably more experienced than he was. She still had a sweetness to her that was both refreshing and alluring. But for all her naiveté, she was clearly interested in him. He’d caught her watching him out of the corner of his eye, blushing when he’d looked her way. The fact that she’d had a crush hadn’t made it any simpler.

But he’d have been fine if it hadn’t been for that night by the river. Before he’d been able to put it down to a big case of lust for forbidden fruit and kept his distance. Buffy was ripe, poised on the cusp of womanhood and oh so ready to be plucked. He was just a man, he could hardly expect to be immune to that. But it didn’t mean he had to act on it. She wasn’t the first girl he’d thought was hot and she wouldn’t be the last. And the price for getting involved with her just wasn’t worth it.

But that night, when she’d poured out her heart to him and he’d done the same, something had clicked. He’d really seen her for the first time. Not the body or the face, but her. And he’d found something he didn’t know was missing. A friend.

So for awhile he’d told himself that was all it was. He wanted her companionship, the back and forth and snarkiness, her bad quips and goofy laughter. Someone he could chat with at the end of the day, here in this isolated place.

Not that he didn’t want to be here. Being here had been good, he’d needed the break and there was a strange peace to the place that he couldn’t explain, almost as though it were some magical pocket where time stood still. He thought that was half the reason his Grand had insisted on him spending the summer here, and not back in London where he’d had partied half the night away with the social set he was supposed to mingle with, being seen and seeing all the right people. It was part of the business, he knew that, contacts and whatnot, but sometimes it just got old. He was happier here, at this moment, with her.

But this afternoon was still a bad idea.

He sighed and stood up, rifling through the dresser and pulling out a pair of black trunks. He didn’t want to cross the line with her today. No matter how everything tumbled out, being more than friends with Buffy would be a disaster. So he’d keep it simple, the light, teasing rapport that had been working so well. Think of her as his kid sister.

His kid sister in next to nothing, dripping wet, rubbing up against him as they played in the water.

He looked down and realized he was already more than half-erect at the thought. Yeah, apparently his brain refused to see her as a relative. Which was probably good, otherwise he was really a perv.

He pulled on his trunks and threw a towel over his shoulder. This was going to be a long afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy debated for all of a split second before grabbing the pink two piece. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor as she wiggled into the bottoms, settling them around her hips. She tied the top in place before throwing a tank top over and sliding on a loose pair of shorts. Sunglasses slid on top of her head, her multi-colored beach towel under her arm, sunscreen in her hand and she was ready to go.

She paused for just a second in front of the mirror. Her cheeks were bright with excitement and her eyes sparkled. An afternoon to play with Spike. She felt a tremor of nervousness at the prospect coupled with a shimmy of excitement. At this point, she had no idea what could happen. Or would happen.

But an afternoon with sun and fun and Spike? She couldn’t see the bad.

She pounded down the steps to meet him.

"You can’t be serious?"

She poked him in the arm as they strolled along the path to the river. "Don’t laugh, I’m very committed to saving the planet. Cars are bad for the earth."

He chuckled at her self-righteous expression. "You don’t seem to have any problem with being a passenger I’ve noticed." He adopted a high falsetto tone. "Oh Gram, I need to go to town. Can Spike take me, he’s so handsome." He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

"Oh please, I never said that."

He winked. "But you wanted to."

"Whatever. Anyway, it’s just, cars and I, not mixy."

"Buffy, it’s a machine, not a person, you just get in and drive." He paused for a minute. "Except maybe for your grandfather’s De Soto."

She rolled her eyes. "Again with the whatever. It’s just not that simple."

"Sure it is, you’ve got a wheel, a gas pedal and a brake. Very simple."

"Yeah, until I touch one of them," she muttered.

"You want me to teach you how?"

She snuck a glance over at him.

"I’m a very good teacher," he added persuasively.

She felt her heart flutter just a little faster as the words filtered through her brain. She imagined he would be a very good instructor, and not just with driving. With other things.

Like kissing. Which she should not be thinking about. But every so often, he’d look at her just so and she’d feel it, like a bolt of lightening, this need, this tightening inside, that she imagined only he could soothe.

"Buffy?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Earth to Buffy?"

She laughed it off. "Sorry, I was being a real space cadet there. So you’d really be willing to teach me?"

"Absolutely." He waggled his eyebrows. "I like to live dangerously."

"Okay, then. When do we start?"

"How about tonight?"

"Tonight?" She let out a small eep. "No, no, no. I need some time to, you know, get in the right frame of mind."

"Yeah. That’s part of your problem. You’re overthinking. Driving’s got be like a reflex, you just go for it. So come on, we’ll do it tonight."

He looked so excited she couldn’t really say no, could she? "Alright, but I’m warning you. We need a big field or something. I hit stuff."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The water was cold, but not in the bone-chilling way it was when the weather was mild. No, now the temperature was soothing, a relief to skin left drenched by the unrelenting rays.

Spike had followed her down the path carrying the basket her grandmother had given her along with a measured look which Buffy chose to read as "Be careful and don’t drown," rather than what ever other warning it might have been.

She’d caught just the faintest of protests as they’d headed out the screen door, and her grandfather placating her gran. But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She turned back to Spike.

"The water feels so good right now. Want to go in first?"

He sat down the basket with a shrug. "Suppose so."

Her mouth went dry as she watched him take off the t-shirt he’d worn, leaving him a pair of black trunks and a smile. She realized too late she was gaping and that he’d seen it. He did a slow revolve, stalked towards her like a runway model and then winked.

"See something you like?"

She stuck out her tongue and tried to play off the rising blush. "Just blinded by all the white." She slid her sunglasses down. "Yeah, that cuts the glare."

He snorted and tossed her glasses off her nose. "Yeah, yeah. Alright, you had your peep show, give me mine."

She raised an eyebrow. He raised one back. She reached for the button on her shorts.

And then gasped as she came up sputtering from the shock of being tossed into the cool water. "Spike!"

He was doubled over on the bank laughing as she stalked out of the water. "Oh, you are gonna pay for that, mister."

"Yeah, if you catch me!"

She ignored his plunge into the water as she struggled with the sodden fabric and managed to get the shorts and t-shirt off. She found a branch and hung them over it to dry in the sun before turning back to the river where Spike was lazily floating in the pool of slow running water that curved into the bank.

"You’re in for it now, buddy," she muttered as she waded back into the water as quietly as she could. Apparently not stealthy enough though. He rolled over, still mostly submerged as she headed in his direction.

Something in his expression made her pause as she waded in. For the moment at least, the playful teasing smile he wore so often around her now was gone. In his eyes instead was something that made her supremely aware of herself, of the way his eyes traced the pink top that clung to her breasts and the bottoms that hung on her hips, of the . . . hunger that was there, as though he could devour her with just a look.

And then he ducked under the water and the moment was gone, leaving her shaking her head and wondering if it was just her fevered imagination that left her feeling so hot and bothered. Until something grabbed her foot.

She shrieked and flailed and kicked until he popped up in front of her laughing so hard she thought he would fall over. She helped him out.

When he reemerged, he was still laughing. "You should have seen your face when I came up. Thought the creature from the black lagoon had you or something?"

"Are you crazy? You don’t grab people like that. They could have heart attacks. There are things under the water, Spike."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Fish and . . . and stuff."

"So," he paused for a minute, "let me just get this straight. You’re afraid a big, bad fish is going to come along and do what exactly? Swim by you?"

She crossed her arms. "Still not funny."

"Whatever. Let’s go short . . . just Buffy and have lunch."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So what’s this thing tomorrow going to be like?"

"Oh, the thing in town?"

"Yeah. All stars and stripes and rah, rah, rah?"

She shrugged. "Kind of. It’s more social. They have these goofy contests and stuff, three-legged races and pie-eating contests, things like that. Lots of food." She rubbed her belly. "I usually eat myself sick, with the hamburgers and watermelon and Gram always brings her strawberry shortcake and . . ."

He rolled over on his back. "Sounding good so far."

"It’s fun. The adults sit around talking most of the afternoon, the kids play games, the teenagers just hang. Everyone waits around for it to get dark, then they light the fireworks. They’re amazing, you can see’m for miles around." She rolled over on her towel so she could face him. "So, you are coming?"

"Of course. Have to figure out what makes you Yanks tick, you know, part of the whole reason I came over here."

She rolled her eyes. "You do know it’s a celebration of kicking England’s ass?"

"Not even going to debate the reasons you got lucky with that one."

"Fine, fine." She reached for the lotion and added a little more to the bridge of her nose where she always got a little too much sun. "You get some of this?"

She looked over at his rapidly reddening back. "Spike? Did you not put on sunscreen?"

He glanced back and frowned. "No, didn’t think about it."

She was kneeling by him in a flash. "Stupid man You’re going to be a lobster if you aren’t careful." She squirted the cold lotion on to his back and ignored his exclamation as she stated to rub the cream into his skin.

He had a beautiful back. It was an objective fact. Beautiful the way his muscles rounded over his shoulders across the defined blades that her hands smoothed down to the taper of his waist. She repeated the motion, sliding her hands down, then up, then down, taking her time to spread the lotion evenly across his skin. Because that was all she was doing. Really. Over and over.

Until he rolled over and grabbed her hand mid-swipe, his eyes dark. "What are you playing at, Buffy?"

"N-n-nothing," she stammered.

He searched her eyes for a minute and seemed satisfied. "Sorry, pet. Thanks for putting that on for me."

"You’re welcome." He let her hand go.

The sun was further across the sky now, the shadows starting to lengthen as they sat, locked in the tension of the moment.

"You want let’s cool off again?"

She nodded, and followed him back to the water. There were things going on here that she didn’t understand. Spike had been mercurial all afternoon, bouncing from playful to sullen to guarded and back and she didn’t understand what she was supposed to be doing. Mixed signals.

And they said women were confusing.

"You want to play a game?" she asked.

"Alright. You know how to play Marco Polo?" he answered.

"Of course, silly. Who doesn’t know that one?"

"Good. Let’s play." The sunny smile was back in place now that they were back on their usual turf.

"Who’s it?" She got up from the towels and headed toward the water, leaving the tension behind.

"I’ll be it." He was only steps behind her.

"Alright, but I’m warning you, I’m good at this."

"So am I. Now off with you." He stood waist deep in the water and started counting off as she swam a little ways away.

"Ready?"

She didn’t reply. He smiled. "Marco?"

"Polo." She instantly dived and came up several feet away. "Marco?’

"Polo."

The game continued for several minutes. He was right, he was good, clueing in on the splashes and ripples and honing in on her as she stayed just out of his reach. She was breathless and giggling after his last swipe just caught the string of her swimsuit as she wiggled out of reach. She couldn’t resist sticking out a tongue he couldn’t see as she made her getaway.

Except he’d somehow anticipated her move and made the same turn she did, causing her to stumble right into his outstretched arms with a muffled oof.

"Gotcha," he murmured in her ear as he held her upright while she struggled for her balance in the slick bottom.

"Guess you win." She was caught in his eyes, so close, as his arms banded around her waist and kept them together.

"Guess I do." She knew he must be able to feel her heart, which felt like it was about to jackhammer out of her chest, the slight tremble of her hands as she held on to him and watched his lips move closer to hers. He was going to kiss her. She could feel it.

"You are so very beautiful, Buffy." His lips brushed her ear as he tightened his hold for a brief moment and then set her steadily on her feet. "And so very dangerous."

He turned and backed away, heading towards the shore.

She watched him walk away in disbelief before following. Just as he mounted the bank and reached for his towel, she caught his arm and forced him to face her.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Well, maybe I’m a little slow. Run it by me again. You almost kissed me, Spike."

"Yeah, I did. My apologies, I was out of line." He went back to drying himself off and reached for his shirt.

"Nu-uh, it’s not that simple. Why didn’t you?" She moved closer. "You wanted to. I wanted you to."

He jerked the shirt over his head and shrugged until it settled around his shoulders. "Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll talk."

"Why can’t we talk right now."

His eyes pointedly drifted to her breasts. "Because you’re distracting me."

"And that’s a bad thing?"

He sighed. "Yeah, Buffy it is. Please, be a pet and get dressed and we’ll chat this out."

She felt as though she’d won some sort of victory at his admission and so she complied. Her clothes were dry now, if wrinkled, and she slid them over the swimsuit as she made her way back to where he was sitting on the bank, feet dangling in the water.

It reminded her of the night they became friends.

She settled beside him.

"How old are you Buffy?"

"Seventeen, you know that."

"And how old am I?"

"Twenty-one."

"Where do you live?"

"Los Angeles."

"And where do I?"

"Spike, this is stupid."

"Just answer the question."

"London."

He nodded as though he’d made his point.

"Spike, that’s why you won’t kiss me? Cause you’re a couple of years older and you don’t live around here? That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. Why Gramps is years older than Gram, like ten or something and it’s not like you’re in London now, and . . ."

And then he was kissing her and the whole world stopped. As first kisses went, it was more than memorable. The gentle slide of his mouth across hers, the way his tongue sipped at her lips, causing her to sigh and pull him closer. And then the world spun faster as he groaned into her mouth and the soft kiss spiraled into something harsher and wilder. She felt the grass at her back and her fingers clutching in his hair, trying to draw him even closer as everything in the universe narrowed to the touch and taste and feel of his lips on hers.

And then she was bereft, alone as he dragged himself away and shakily put a few feet between them, a slight tremble in his hand as he ran it shakily through his hair revealing that she wasn’t the only one affected by what had just happened.

He steadied himself before he spoke quietly, still not meeting her gaze. "That’s why Buffy. Because it’s not just all of the above. If that’s all it was, I probably would have kissed you before. But this, between us, this is playing with fire."

He turned eyes on her that seemed strangely old. "You don’t want to be burned now, do you?"

The Fourth of July was always something of a high water mark for the summer, the turning point where the days grew numbered and the start of school and return to home became a looming reality. And yet it was always something Buffy looked forward to, for the small town brought out their patriotic fervor in fine array for the day, hosting an old-fashioned parade and festival which culminated in the big fireworks display that could be seen for miles, held at the local high school ball field.

It was a day that in years past had been filled with memories of watermelon and fresh grilled burgers, strange and goofy contests, the pie competition where her Gram always brought home a colorful ribbon, and the sheer exuberance of the day. A throwback to things she didn’t ever recall seeing in the more jaded L.A. suburbs where she lived the rest of the year.

And while this year was exciting for all the same reasons, there was one more that Buffy could not deny. William.

Yesterday had been a revelation. That kiss. She touched her fingers to her lips for a moment. That kiss had blown her away with the possibilities. And while he might say that it was playing with fire, she wanted to feel that heat.

She wanted to make him burn.

She took one final look in the mirror and blew herself an approving kiss. The white halter top was just low enough to hint at cleavage without getting too much of an evil eye from her grandmother she hoped, and her red shorts . . . well, she hoped she could slide in the car before anyone noticed their length or lack thereof. Bright red lipstick a shade darker than she normally wore outlined her lips and she’d darkened her lashes with the new mascara she’d gotten the week before at the drugstore in town.

She debated over the hair, but had finally decided on an upswept ponytail, even if it did make her look a little younger. Yes, she was pleased with the effect and hoped Spike would be goaded into a reaction.

Buffy trotted down the stairs and out the door to where her Gram was putting the final container of food for the picnic into the backseat of the car.

"Ready to go dear?"

"Sure am." Buffy peered into the back seat and made a face. "Gram, where am I gonna sit? Do I have to hold that stuff in my lap?"

"Why don’t you just ride with William, sweetheart." Her grandfather settled the last container and gestured to Spike who’d just joined them, keys to the Desoto dangling in his hand.

"Sure, you can catch a lift with me, Buffy." She turned to find Spike behind her, clad in faded jeans that looked so worn she was sure they’d be soft to the touch and a black t-shirt that defined his arms, and tried to not visibly suck in her breath at the perfection.

Her Gram was busy rearranging dishes for maximum space and barely glanced up. "That’s an excellent idea, William, if you don’t mind. We’ll meet you at the fairgrounds, alright?"

"Sure thing, Gram."

Buffy tried to control the bounce in her step as she headed for the car.

"Your chariot, my lady."

She slid inside and immediately yelped as her bare legs came into contact with the hot seat.

He laughed as he closed the driver’s door. "What you expect with shorts like that, shortcake? No protection." He winked at her and slid his arm around the back of the seat as he turned to back out of the yard.

He seemed relaxed, as if last night had never happened. She was a little confused by his nonchalance, but hey, it was better than back to the silent treatment. She noticed him glance over at her legs as he finished backing down the driveway and smiled. Oh yeah, it was working.

"Mind it we listen to some tunes?" She hid her grin and reached over to snap on the radio as they started down the road.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gramps and Gram were already at the fairground when they arrived, and though there was a brief raise of eyebrow by her grandmother as she actually got a good look at Buffy’s outfit, lunch went smoothly.

Buffy wandered the area set up for the fair, taking in the sights and sounds, but keeping an eye out for Spike, who’d slipped off after they’d eaten, saying he could use a break from the colonials celebrating kicking his country’s arse. She’d expected him to be back by now, but where ever he’d disappeared to, he’d done a good job of it.

As the hours slipped by, she started getting concerned until she spotted him in a group gathered by some picnic tables. His bright head stood out in the crowd and she headed towards the group until she realized he was talking to Faith.

She stopped, watching from the distance as the girl batted her eyes and pressed up against him casually as he sat chatting with a group of some of the day laborers who worked on occasion for her grandfather doing odd jobs around the vineyard. Spike leaned down to whisper something in Faith’s ear and Buffy could hear her low throaty laugh in response to the suggestion, then watched the flirtatious way she squeezed his arm.

She turned and walked back towards the main area, seeing red. It was like being kicked in the pit of the stomach, like having your balloon popped when you were four. Just bam, everything gone. All her stupid daydreams about how he’d be so wowed by her today had deflated in a second. She was never going to get anywhere with Spike, not in that way. He’d put her in her place, declared her too young and moved on to other, she tossed a furious glance over her shoulder at the still nuzzling pair, well-grazed pastures.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn’t notice Owen right in front of her. Owen was a local boy, one of the few her age, and her grandmother had already made several comments about the nice young man of the Thurber family who’d been asking about her. Buffy remembered him from a year ago, a gangly, pimpled guy who’d seemed inclined to hang with his buddies and shuffle his feet when he was around her.

But apparently the year had been good to Owen as well, for the guy in front of her hardly fit the same image. Taller, he’d filled out nicely, with a football player’s physique quite different from Spike’s lean . . . she shook her head. She wasn’t going to do that. Spike had made it pretty clear how he felt, over there cannodling with little miss ho-bag, and there was quite a hunk standing in front of her saying her name at this very moment.

"Buffy? Buffy? You in there?"

She batted her eyes and gave him a sweet smile. "Well hello, Owen, how have you been?"

She managed one quick glance in Spike’s direction as Owen led her off to the picnic table where some of the other teens were sprawled and was surprised to see him staring in her direction. She gave one final toss of her head and slid her arm through Owen’s, giving it a little squeeze and trying not to grimace at Owen’s rather direct glance down her cleavage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Owen was clearly proud to have her on his arm, and wasted no time in stopping by the table where her grandparents sat conversing with another older couple in the shade of a broad-limbed tree.

"Mrs. Summers, would you mind if Buffy goes with the rest of us to watch the fireworks out by the dam?" He’d smiled sincerely as he promised to take good care of her and bring her home right after.

As they started to walk away, her grandmother called out to her, "Buffy, can I speak with you for just a moment?" She pulled her aside. "Now, since it’s a holiday and such, if you’d like, you can stay out a bit later with the group tonight."

"Um, Grammy, is the heat getting to you?"

Her grandmother laughed. "No dear, I just remember what it was like to be young once, with a handsome young man wanting to squire me around. You go and have a good time with Owen. Just be sure to be home by midnight, alright?"

"Alright, Gram." Buffy hugged her before she trotted back over to the group of teens.

The afternoon hours passed and the sun began to wane as families started to pack up in preparation for the evening show. Owen suggested they head on out to the lake and Buffy took a last swig of the Coke he’d brought her and tugged down her shorts just a little as she trailed along with the group towards the parking lot. She halted her new date.

"Hey Owen, I’ll meet you out there, I just need to drop by the little girl’s room."

"Sure, Buff, I’m in the blue pick-up."

She nodded and visited the facilities, checking her hair and touching up her lipstick in the mirror. This was a welcome distraction. Who needed Spike anyway? Like he had the market cornered or something. Owen was cute enough and obviously interested. It was nice to be wanted.

Would Owen try to kiss her tonight? She imagined that he would, he’d been acting possessive, keeping an arm around her as they’d talked with his friends. She’d been flattered at first, glad to find someone who appreciated her, but the novelty had worn off a little over the course of the afternoon. He was just a little too big, too smothering. Not like someone else’s lithe body, pulling her into his embrace . . . She clamped down on that traitorous train of thought. She wouldn’t even begin to ponder that other kiss still lingering in her mind.

She’d just exited the bathrooms when an arm she recognized impeded her path.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t the social butterfly. Where’d your boy toy go to?"

She tossed her head, secretly delighted he’d come to find her. "Oh please, Spike, he’s just giving me a ride up to the lake to watch the fireworks."

He tugged her arm and pulled her around the side of the building where they were shielded from view. She tilted her head up to look at him, surprised by how dark his eyes had turned as he searched her face for something, what exactly she wasn’t sure.

"Do you want to go with him Buffy?"

His proximity was making it hard to breathe, as he boxed her in with his arms on either side of her against the wall, leaning in closer.

"I, I, guess so. It’s not like I have anything better to do."

He leaned back a little at that. "Touché, shortcake, touché."

"And stop calling me that!"

"What, shortcake?"

"Yes." She straightened up, memories of him practically nuzzling Faith earlier in the day returning. "I’m not a dessert."

"Oh, but you look sweet enough to eat."

She was nearly certain her knees started to buckle when he purred those words in her ear, but she knew she was in trouble as his finger slid teasingly along the hem of her red shorts.

"These are the color of those luscious red strawberries that grow in that field by the stream, just waiting to be plucked and eaten. And this," the same finger followed the plunging neckline of her halter top, teasing just beneath the edge, "is like the sweet whipped cream covering it all up, ready to be licked off and savored."

Her eyes fluttered shut, unable to do more than listen to the silken tones until she felt his finger brush against her lips, outlying the contours she’d just traced with her crimson lipstick. "And these, these are like sin incarnate, just begging a man to nibble on them. You taste so sweet, Buffy. Did you know you taste like strawberries?"

And then he kissed her and everything else just faded away. In later years she’d try to remember what it had been like, that kiss. It had been prefect, she remembered that, the way he traced her lips with his tongue, teasing his way inside. Their bodies had slid together as though made to fit each other and she’d whimpered and pushed closer as the intensity of the kiss had grown, his hands tangling in her hair, her hands sliding against his shirt, wanting to touch the smooth skin underneath more than anything. He groaned something unintelligible into her mouth as she rocked against him, sliding her leg up and around his hip as he ground against her, devouring her mouth as his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts.

She’d never felt more alive, more perfect, more complete at that moment until he suddenly jerked away and stepped back, panting, as she leaned back against the wall, trying to stay upright.

And then she realized why he’d pulled away.

"Buffy? You okay in there?" Owen’s voice drifted around the corner and she remained quiet, searching Spike’s gaze for some clue as to what was going on in his mind until she heard Owen walk away. Spike stepped forward and gently wiped away a smudge of her now smeared lipstick with his thumb. She could feel her whole body leaning towards him as though there were a magnetic pull between them.

"What am I doing?" he asked softly.

"I don’t know, what are you doing?"

"Making a mistake I’ll probably regret. You’re so damn young, Buffy, why do you have to get under my skin this way?"

He stepped away again, putting some distance between them. "Go with your friends."

"What do you mean, go with my friends? You pull me back here, kiss me like that, and tell me to just go on, and that’s that?"

He was back on her in an instant, pressing her against the wall and she gloried in the feel of him. "No that’s most definitely not that. But this is not the time nor the place for us to have this conversation. And if we stay back here, we’re likely to do something we’ll regret later. So you go with your friends, watch the damn show, and then come see me when you get home."

Her heart was jackhammering as his words sank in. He wanted her to come to him tonight. His tone told her he’d make good on the promise in the kiss if she’d only be patient, and she knew she could wait. He was right, this wasn’t the place. But come hell or high water, she’d be in his room later tonight.

"You’d better go before the big lug you’re with calls out the troops. I’ll look for you tonight and we’ll hash this out." He stopped her as she moved to leave. "Oh and Buffy? Don’t let him kiss you."

She smiled. "Want to give me some incentive not to?"

He growled and pulled her into a final breathless kiss which had her ready to beg him to take her back out to the farm this minute. When he finally released her, she managed to give him the promise he’d asked for.

"No kissing. I think I can handle that."

"Good, I’ll see you tonight, shortcake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’d made another quick run into the ladies room to fix her disheveled ponytail and smudged lipstick before meeting the others in the parking lot. The remainder of the evening was pleasant, and Owen had been polite, but she could tell he was disappointed when she fended off his advances and claimed a headache from too many sweets that day. He dutifully drove her home after the fireworks ended at ten and she was excited to see her grandparents were also making a late night of it and hadn’t made it back yet.

The only car in the drive was the Desoto.

Her heart felt like it might explode into a shower of brightly lit sparks, like those she’d just spent the last few minutes watching, as she walked straight to the small garage apartment and knocked softly on the door. He opened it and she stepped inside.

He stared at the amber liquid for a long time before he poured another drink. Knowing it was probably the worst of worst ideas, but he couldn’t resist. The fireworks had stopped a few minutes before, the pops and whistles fading away now into the usual almost silence of the farm at night.

She’d be here soon.

He been trying to suss out exactly what had happened this afternoon for the longest time now. Why had he followed her when he’d seen her with that poncy git? Nice little farm boy like that, ‘bout her age, it was exactly what Buffy needed.

Not someone like him.

But he couldn’t let well enough alone. Oh no. Despite his best efforts to put her off yesterday afternoon, he’d make a mistake with that kiss that had haunted him all night.

By the look on her face when she’d slid into the car this morning, she’d seen it as more of a challenge than anything. He’d resisted temptation at first, though he was hardly oblivious to the clear effort she’d made. But he’d kept his cool, enjoyed the spectacle and the food, and then promptly extracted himself from her presence. Because if he’d had to look at that halter top just low enough to keep him sneaking yet another peak at her soft cleavage any longer, he’d have lost it.

So he’d taken off and low and behold, the perfect distraction. Faith. Not one to hold a grudge apparently for him bailing out on their date and then never calling again. No, she’d been just a friendly as ever, though something along the lines of a cat in heat was probably the fairest description.

And it had worked for a bit. Warm, willing, slightly older, clearly well-versed in the ways of the world. Not an innocent baby who swallowed him up with her enormous green eyes and made him feel like he was someone special.

He didn’t want to be that someone. He hadn’t been that innocent in years.

So yeah, he’d seen her catch sight of them, taken in her hurt little gaze and the little snoot of her nose as she walked away. And he’d thought the problem was solved. She’d be angry with him when she got home, probably give him the silent treatment for a day or two, but she’d have gotten the message loud and clear.

And then he had to go and bollix it all up.

It had been hard to miss the farm boy who’d swooped in on her, the way he’d sized up her assets and swiftly made his move. Her quick take to the kid had surprised him a little, though he’d caught her glancing his way once, a toss of her head that said two can play at this game. And then she seemed to forget him, pranced off, clinging to the whelp’s arm as though he were God’s gift or something.

They’d done the rounds, stopped for approval from the grandparents, who were all smiles and waves as the pair set off. Faith’s tongue had been in his ear at that point, and her hand suggestively moving on his thigh in a way that should have entirely put Buffy from his mind. He’d tried to focus on her, and the no strings attached night she was offering him with a low whisper in his ear.

But all he’d been able to do was watch those bright red shorts strut towards the bathrooms while the boy ogled her rear. And in that instant, something had snapped.

He’d pulled away from the limpet attached to his neck. Faith was left looking pissed off at his abrupt disengagement, but he’d managed to get out some halfway plausible excuse to make a hasty exit in time to waylay Buffy before she rejoined her date.

She’d looked stunning as she walked out, lips freshly crimson, hair swinging just so. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from pulling her round the corner to hide them from prying eyes. Hadn’t been able to resist the lure of her sweet lips again.

But he also hadn’t expected the powerful reaction, the way she’d molded herself to him, meeting him with a matching hunger that told him this was a lost battle and he might as well surrender. If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop their clinch from reaching its logical conclusion if he hadn’t heard the boy coming back for her, and that knowledge had sobered him, despite several drinks to blur the reality.

Because he wasn’t looking for that. For someone with the kind of power that could make him lose himself entirely in her. He’d been down that road, learned the hard way that pinning your hopes on one person was a fool’s idea of happiness.

And in a strange way, he wanted to protect Buffy from that as well. This thing between them wasn’t one-sided, she was as susceptible as he was to the undertow that could pull them down. And she deserved better than that, better than him, for the first bloke she fancied herself in love with.

Except right now, she couldn’t see that.

He stubbed out the solitary smoke he’d allowed himself inside tonight. It wouldn’t be long now. And he still had no idea what to do.

The knock on the door startled him out of his reverie and he tossed back the dregs from his glass and moved to open it..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was backlit by the lamp glowing in the room, a haze around him as he leaned in the doorway and smiled down at her. Her stomach was doing those little back flip things that made her feel like she might lose her lunch or might learn to fly, she wasn’t sure which at the moment. He was so beautiful.

He stepped back and gestured. "Come in, Buffy."

The way he said her name, that slight inflection his accent gave it, made it seem less stupid, almost exotic to her ears. He rarely used it, favoring her with every nickname in the book when he teased. But now, now he was regarding her steadily, seriously.

She’d thought about him all evening, closing her eyes and reliving this afternoon, the way he’d smelled, the slide of his hands on her, the groan he’d made as she’d moved against him. Owen had nudged her a few times to keep her with the flow of the conversation and she’d tried not to appear too spacey in front of the others. But she’d really just been counting the minutes until the final red tendrils of fire died away across the sky and she would be with him.

She’d imagined it differently though. Him sweeping her through the door, carrying her to the bed, laying her down, like a good Harlequin romance novel. Which she knew was sort of cheesy, but she wasn’t really sure what would happen at that point. Well, she knew the technicalities and terminology for it all, thanks to good old sex ed class and her mom’s blushing birds and the bees talk, but her knowledge of how it all actually went down was based on a blurry mix of second-hand conversations and rumors she’d always thought maybe weren’t true.

She shifted nervously and wished they could just skip straight to the kissing. When he kissed her, she didn’t, couldn’t think really, it was all about the sensations. But this, this was scary. She tried to swallow, wished she had some water or something, because her mouth seemed was so dry.

But instead he seemed to want to talk. Talk? Huh? Where were the heaving bosoms and thrusting members? Wasn’t that how this was supposed to go now? He’d seated himself at the table and poured another glass of the whiskey, gesturing her to the other seat.

"Thirsty, kitten?"

She wasn’t really sure she could stomach the hard liquor at the moment, she was already on a bit of a roller coaster ride. "Um, no, I think I’ll be okay."

He grinned and chuckled a little and she felt herself start to relax. "Wasn’t trying to get you schnockered there pet. I have some cola."

She brightened at that. "Oh, yes, please, that’d be good."

He poured her a glass. She continued to shift nervously in her seat until he slid it in front of her. She took a big gulp, refreshing her throat, then placed the glass back down as he leaned forward, reaching for her hand.

He slid his fingers around her wrist, seeming fascinated with its slimness and bone structure as he traced the skin above her pulse point in a way that made goose pimples stand up all over her skin. She almost jumped when he finally spoke.

"Buffy, what are you after here?"

The dry mouth was back. "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean what’s this thing we’re playing at? Just wanting a few smooches, some good stories to carry back to your buds? Little bit of slap and tickle? Something . . . else?"

"Oh." Slap and tickle? "Oh. Um, no, I mean, I don’t know, it’s not that, I mean, I haven’t really thought about it like that." She cursed her tongue and brain for sounding entirely incoherent at the question.

He nodded. "Didn’t much think so. You know what I think?" He was still keeping her enthralled with his gentle movements on her wrist.

"What?"

"I think there’s something between us. An attraction, yeah?"

She nodded, "Uh-huh."

"But I also think that could give us some problems, what with us being friends and all. Because we are, aren’t we Buffy? Friends, that is?"

"Yes. But does that mean we couldn’t be something else?"

"Like what?"

She searched her brain. What was the phrase she’d heard Cordelia toss out? Right, she had it. "Couldn’t we be friends with benefits?"

He laughed a little at that. "Well, well, never underestimate today’s youth I suppose. So is that what you want Buffy, a friend who you can play with?" The way he caressed the word play almost made her shiver at all its implications.

"I, I think so."

He watched her eyes until she started to lower them a little, then caught her chin and lifted her face so she couldn’t hide from him. "You sure that’s all you want, nothing . . . deeper?"

She couldn’t quite decipher what he was trying to say to her. There was something in his tone, in the nuances of that word that caused her breath to hitch just a little at the wealth of possibilities that it held.

"I’m not sure."

He leaned back then and she followed him forward, wanting his touch, even the slightest contact back as he returned to toying with his glass.

"Well, that’d be the problem here, pet. You don’t know precisely what you want. And that’s how someone ends up getting hurt." He tilted his head and his eyes softened as he tried to make it easier. "You know that Buffy, we’ve both seen it."

"But Spike, who would get hurt, if we both, you know, want to do stuff?" She gave a little gasp. "Oh, do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, no girlfriend. But there are other people involved who could get hurt here." She looked puzzled until he pointed at her and then him. "Maybe you, maybe me."

She bit her lip. "Does this mean you don’t want me then?" She knew her voice sounded small, almost pathetic, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes were closed tightly, not wanting to see his face. All her pretty daydreams were rapidly disintegrating and she was starting to think this was yet another one of his attempts to talk circles around her as a fancy way of rejecting her. She wished he’d just said that from the start.

He was on his knees in front of her chair, her face in his hands before she could move. "Does this feel like I don’t want you?"

His tongue traced her lower lip gently where her teeth were still embedded and she whimpered just a little at the soothing contact. He pulled her to the edge of the seat with one hand, while the other tangled in the end of her ponytail and guided her head towards his slanted mouth.

It wasn’t quite like either time he’d kissed her before. Not new and unexpected. Not wild and dangerous. It was gentler, reassuring, and yet she could feel her whole body softening towards him as he tilted her head back and kissed a trail down to her collarbone, murmuring something against her skin that she couldn’t quite make out, but that set her blood to racing at the vibrations of his lips on her sensitive skin. She shivered against him and tried to pull him closer as she ran her hand over his shoulders to the muscles in his back, bunching and tensing beneath his skin.

They sat that way for a long time, her holding him against her, feeling his heart beating against her body, his lips still buried against her throat as their breathing gradually slowed from the initial rush.

She slowly pulled away and raised his head, "Spike, I don’t understand what’s going on here. You’re confusing me. Why don’t you tell me what you want?"

He smiled and she was more than a little distracted as he nuzzled her just a bit without replying and then she caught herself and pulled his head back up again.

"No way, mister. Don’t be distracting me like that."

She got the full on Spike power grin that time and it was kind of blinding as he traced the neckline of her halter again. She had to congratulate herself on the wardrobe choice, he’d definitely seemed taken with the outfit.

"Like you weren’t trying to be distracting all day in this?"

She had to smirk a little at that. "Maybe. What makes you think I wore it for you? Maybe it was for Owen."

He shot her a disbelieving look and goosed her ribs just a bit, enough to get a giggle and a swat out of her. "That’s the git’s name? Pfft, you expect me to believe that?"

"Conceited much? You think it’s all about you?" He flexed his fingers again and she squirmed. "Okay, okay, I thought you might like."

"Oh, I do very, very much."

And then they were kissing again and somehow the tie on the halter had started to loosen as his fingers grazed the sides of her breast gently. She gasped a little as he palmed the soft mound in his hand, smoothing and caressing the underslope in a way that made her toes tingle with anticipation of where he might touch her next.

He pulled back with a visible effort as she caught the top before it fell down entirely and held it to her breasts. He was breathing hard and she felt a little thrill of satisfaction that she’d done that.

"This wasn’t how I planned it."

She arched an eyebrow, "Really, how did you plan it?"

"We were going to chat things out, get clear on where we stood."

She sensed more talking coming up and tried to head things off. "I thought we did that already. Remember? You over there, me over here." She wrinkled her nose. "Not of the good."

"Maybe not, but Buffy, I don’t want to hurt you. Do you understand that? I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep, and the end of the summer will come before we know it."

He was deadly serious, and a part of her knew that he was right to be concerned, to lay some ground rules between them. It was oddly touching that he cared enough to want her to understand he couldn’t promise her some kind of big uber love thing.

She reached out and cupped his face. "I get it. You can’t promise me forever. You’re not gonna be my one and only. I know that Spike. I’m seventeen, not stupid. I don’t want that either. Friends with benefits, remember?"

He leaned into her hand, his eyes still locked with hers. "You sure about that?"

She nodded. "I’m not as good with words as you." She tapped his lips lightly with her finger and giggled as his tongue gave a quick swipe that caught the tip. "You on the other hand sometimes don’t know when to shut up. But yeah, I’m sure. Spike, I like you. You’re gorgeous, you’re fun to hang with, and your kisses are um . . ."

"Amazing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Did I mention conceited? But yes, amazing. I like this. I don’t have expectations or whatever it is you’re afraid of, okay? We’re clear."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She seemed so calm when she said it, and he really did believe she meant it. She didn’t know what it was like to have love consume you, it was all a bit of a game with her. And he wasn’t planning on being a fool again and make it anything other than that to him. He’d tread lightly on her heart, enjoy snogging her and no one would be the worse come September.

"Well then, since we’ve established I don’t know when to shut up, I think I’ll try to change my reputation a bit and prove you wrong."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood and caught her up in his arms to carry her over to his bed, where they both landed in a heap as he tossed her onto the mattress. She laughed and pulled him closer.

"So what are you doing now."

"Gonna teach you how to have a good long snog."

He had to laugh at the look on her face.

"Um, a what?"

"Let’s see, what’s the American term, ah, yes, make out, I think. Not as economical a phrase, takes time away from the important stuff."

He was worrying her earlobe now and she had to agree. Less talky, more kissy was good in her book.

She was just about to tug his tee-shirt from his jeans so she could explore the chest she’d admired so the day before when the sound of a car turning into the drive startled them both.

He rolled off the bed and peered out the window towards the driveway.

"Pet, I believe your Grands are home."

She was already up, refastening the halter more securely and sliding her sandals back on.

"I’ll go in the back." She stopped and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "See you in the morning, Spike. Best Fourth ever."

And then she was gone, slipping quietly out the door and around the back. He saw the faint movement behind her window screen and then a quick wave that let him know she’d made it, as the Summers continued talking quietly and carrying in the remains of the day’s feast from the car around front.

They were a factor he’d forgotten about for a while, and he still felt that Mrs. Summers in particular wouldn’t appreciate his courting of her little girl, even if he had the best of honorable intentions. Which he didn’t. He’d be willing to bet a good bit that the friends with benefits line wouldn’t hold much water with her. Well, that was a bridge they’d cross when they came to it.

For now, he had the rest of the night to dream of Buffy. And, he adjusted his jeans that had been unbelievably tight for most of the last hour, to take care of more pressing matters.

Buffy huddled beneath the covers, feigning sleep when she heard the predictable creak on the third stair as her grandparents ascended.

"I’ll just be a moment, I’m going to check on Buffy," she heard her grandmother whisper.

The door opened softly with a gentle squeak and a small sliver of light that just registered through her closed eyes. She felt the slight dip as her grandmother sat on the bed and touched her shoulder.

"Buffy? Did you have a good time?"

She responded with a muffled sleepy mmmphf, not wanting to reveal her swollen lips and still flushed face to too much scrutiny. Her grandmother took the hint and with a gentle kiss to the barely exposed crown of her head, rose and walked to the door.

"She get home alright?" Her grandfather’s voice was soft, but audible in the hallway as her grandmother stepped out the door to join him.

"Poor little thing’s worn out."

"It was a busy day."

"Well, I’m just glad to see her spending some time with young people. Sometimes I think we do try to keep her too much too ourselves out here," her grandmother said.

"Well, maybe we should call the Thurbers, invite them and their boy to dinner?"

She could picture the thoughtful look on her Gran’s face. "Perhaps so. She’s at that age when boys become so important. And Owen is a nice young man, very polite. It might distract her."

"Distract her?" Her grandfather was clearly puzzled.

The sigh in her Gran’s voice was that of a long-suffering female. "From William, dear."

"What’s wrong with William?"

"Nothing, dear. He’s just not right for our Buffy."

"I think William’s a fine boy." Her grandfather’s voice sounded surprised.

"I know that, and he’s been a big help. But he’s dangerous." Buffy stiffened as she listened to her Gran’s reasoning. "It’s not that I don’t like William, I do. But don’t you see? William could charm the rattles off a rattlesnake. He’s the forbidden fruit, the older man, and if we allow Buffy to nurse a crush for him, he’ll only hurt her, even if he doesn’t mean too."

There was a sigh from her grandfather, and a mild protest as they moved down the hall and out of her range of hearing.

"I suppose you know more about these things that I do, my love. But I really don’t think it’s like that. Buffy’s still so young."

She turned over then and pulled the covers down as she breathed out her own sigh. She’d worry about all that tomorrow. Nothing could ruin tonight for her, she thought as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning!" Buffy bounced into the kitchen.

"Well, someone’s chirpy this morning. You enjoy the fireworks with Owen?"

"Oh, um, yeah, they were pretty."

"Such a nice boy. The Thurbers are good people."

"Uh-huh." Buffy’s head was buried in the refrigerator as she searched for the milk. "Mrs. Thurber’s really sweet, we stopped by their house for a minute on our way to the lake. She said something about you being put in charge of the centennial."

She turned with the bottle in her hand, grinning as she watched her grandmother blush, just a bit.

"Well, it’s nothing really."

"Nope, now don’t you downplay that. I know what a big deal that is. And you’re the committee head. That’s awesome, Gran!" She circled the table and gave her grandmother a tight hug.

"Well thank you, dear. I hope I can do a good job with it. It’ll mean a lot of work, we really should have started months ago."

"When is it?"

"Well, the kick-off is in September, but we’re planning for events all year."

"Cool. Let me know if I can help, ‘kay?"

"Thank you, Buffy, I may just do that. I think we’ll need to create some programs and such, and I believe your grandfather’s computer has some sort of design program on it. Do you suppose you could help with that?"

"Absolutely."

"I’ve got to start working on the committees. That Jennings woman is insisting that she should head the distinguished speakers list, but really, I think she wouldn’t be able to nab a speaker if she used a butterfly net. She just thinks it’ll make her more important."

Buffy laughed. "I’m sure you’ll get it worked out."

Her grandmother nodded. "I suppose I’ll get to work calling around and rounding up people. Are you working with your grandfather today?"

"I had planned to. Though we should be finishing up the project soon. It’s nearly ready to send off to the professors at UCLA."

"That’s good, perhaps he can rest some then. I’m glad he’s consented to let someone else manage the harvest this year."

"You talked him into it?"

"Yes, he finally agreed. William will be gone by the actual harvest, but he’s agreed to help with the advance work, that made your grandfather feel a bit better about it."

Buffy crunched another bite of cereal as she glanced out the window. Where was Spike? He usually came in about this time to grab some coffee before heading out to the greenhouse. She started to ask, but remembering the whispered conversation she’d overheard last night, decided against it. He was probably already outside.

"Well, I guess I’d best get out there." She rinsed her bowl and placed it in the drainer, then dried her hands.

"Very well, dear, I’ll see you at lunch." Her grandmother was already immersed in the list she was creating and Buffy knew she was excited to have this project to focus on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He heard the door open before he saw her, and watched as she searched the greenhouse before calling out, "Gramps? Spike? Anyone here?"

"Back here, pet."

She was grinning as she hurried to the door of the corner office where he sat at the computer. "Hey."

"Hay’s for horses, love."

She stuck out her tongue, her eyes lighting up at the banter. "Whatever, oh master of the English language."

"Least I don’t butcher it like you do, Miss Mixy. There’s no "y" on that word, shortcake."

"Mmhmm. Where’s Gramps?"

"Went into town for a bit."

"Oh he did? So we’re all alone out here?"

"Well, your grandmum’s about, I expect."

"Oh, she’ll be busy for a bit."

He leaned back, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time since she’d appeared in the doorway. She was glowing this morning. There was no other word for it as she watched him, eyes aflame with something that made him both hard and helpless as she advanced on him.

And then just as she got to the edge of the desk, her nerves seemed to falter and she seated herself on the edge of the wooden corner, offering him a shy smile before becoming seemingly fascinated by the screen.

He had to grin, the strange mix of bravado and trepidation was just another part of her charm and danger. "Spreadsheets get you hot, love?" He reached for her and swung her around to sit in his lap. "Here, give you a better view if you find it so fascinating."

She let out a small gasp as she found herself seated on his legs, her arm unconsciously looping around his neck as she steadied herself. She lost all interest in the screen as she met his grinning eyes.

"Good morning, just Buffy."

"Good morning."

He kissed her then, a soft, almost chaste meeting of the lips that lingered and grew. He set the pace, soft kisses, languid touches, nothing that could get out of control . . . at least he hoped. With a final kiss he pulled away to watch her eyes slowly flutter open, her pupils dilated and hazy as she slowly refocused on him.

"Wow."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Wow?"

She blushed a bit. "Um, yeah, that’s a heck of a good morning."

"Glad to know I impress." He was about to continue when they both heard the creak of the greenhouse door open and Buffy slid off his lap and back to the desk corner as her grandfather carried in the mail he’d retrieved.

"Morning, Buffy, Spike. How are the spreadsheets looking?"

He returned to the work for the day, but couldn’t help feeling that everything seemed just a little brighter than before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You want to go for a swim at lunch?"

She looked up from the report she was transcribing. "Gramps not need us?"

Spike shrugged. "He thinks we’re in good shape and I agree. We need to finish a few more of the analyses, but we need another week of data before we can do that, so we’ve got a bit of a lull. He suggested we just work half-days this week." He frowned. "Course, this might having something to do with your grandmum as well. Is she in charge of some project?"

Buffy laughed. "Uh-huh, she’s been named the head of the Sunnydale Centennial Committee, and she’s taking it pretty seriously. She rope him in?"

Spike grinned. "Must have, he went up to the house for a minute and came back muttering something about that damned festival and your grandmother volunteering him along with herself."

Buffy laughed. "Yeah, she’s got me booked for some stuff too. You better watch out, you’re probably next on her list."

He groaned good-naturedly. "Didn’t know I was signing on for committee work when I took this job. But would you like to go for a quick swim . . . cool off for a bit?"

The way his eyes darkened as he looked at her made her temperature rise and she suspected that she’d be more likely to heat up than cool off. That didn’t stop her from saying yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Grammy! What’cha doing?"

Her grandmother looked slightly exasperated. "Trying to sort out all these forms and put together some kind of phone list for everyone."

"Can I help?"

Her grandmother glanced up from the papers. "Absolutely. You can look up the phone numbers I don’t know and add them to the list. But Buffy?"

"Uh-huh?"

"After you’re dry?"
Buffy looked down and realized her still wet swimsuit was dripping all over the kitchen linoleum. "Oops, sorry, Gram, I’ll be back in a minute."

She raced up the stairs and tossed the swimsuit over the shower rod to dry before sliding into dry clothes and wringing her hair out again. She paused for just a minute to note her flushed cheeks, bright from the sun and Spike’s kisses as they played in the river. She smiled to herself, savoring the memory and then headed back to her waiting grandmother.

"Okay. Buffy dry and ready for action." She gave a mock salute and pulled out her chair.

"Alright, here’s the phone book, just look up the names there aren’t numbers beside. I swear, I didn’t realize we had so many new people in town."

Buffy bent to her task and started to flip through the jumbled list. "Gram, which O.Thurber is the right one here? The one on Sandy Creek or the one on Shady Lane?"

Her grandmother peered over the top of the list. "Oh, that’d be Thurber Sr., on Sandy Creek."

"Okay, got it."

"That’s Owen’s grandfather."

"Oh?" Buffy’s tone was noncommittal as she flipped to the next name.

"Yes, nice folks, the Thurbers. Owen’s father is going to actually bring in the harvest for your grandfather this year." Her grandmother’s voice was warm. "I was thinking we ought to have them over for dinner sometime soon."

Buffy bit her lip and flipped another page. Well, set-ups didn’t get much more blatant than this. "Well, gosh, Gram. I think it’d be great for you to have them over. You and Gramps don’t have enough company. In fact, maybe you should even go out somewhere with them."

"Oh, I think a home-cooked meal would be so much nicer. You’ll help us entertain them, won’t you Buffy?"

Well, how could she refuse, really? She’d just have to be sure she stayed as far from Owen as possible that night. "Sure, Grammy, you know I will. Just let me know when they’re coming."

Her grandmother looked pleased and Buffy bent to her task as the phone rang.

"Buffy, would you be a dear and get that? I’m just not up to talking to anyone else right now."

"Not a problem." Buffy grabbed the cordless receiver from its cradle. "Summers residence, this is Buffy."

She was surprised to hear her mother’s voice on the other end of the line. "Buffy, how are you, sweetie? Was the Fourth good?"

She mouthed to her grandmother, "Mom," then headed for the back porch to settle into the swing.

"It was good, Mom. The usual Sunnydale celebration, but fun." She couldn’t quite keep the edge of excitement out of her voice, despite her neutral words.

"Oh, sounds better than just good. Did you meet a boy?"

"Mom! Please."

Her mom’s laugh was a warm chuckle that made her a little homesick across the line. "I think that’d be a yes, but you can tell me all about him when you get home."

"How are you? Did you have a good visit with Aunt Arlene?" Buffy waved at her grandfather as he headed up the stairs and into the house.

"I did, I’m still here in fact. I had some time built up, and I was able to get the gallery covered."

"Well, I’m glad. You’ve been working too hard, Mom, you need a break."

"I’ll be back in Los Angeles before it’s time for you to come home, though, and I was hoping we could sit down and talk then, Buffy."

There was something, not ominous precisely, but intrusive on the tranquillity of her current situation in those words that made Buffy feel a lump rise in her throat. "Is there something wrong, Mom?"

"No, no, honey, in fact, I think for the first time in a while, things are finally looking up. But everything’s still very preliminary right now, so I’d rather wait until you get home before we talk, okay? But, I promise, I’ll tell you everything then."

"I guess, Mom." Reluctance was evident in her voice, but her mother took the grudging acquiescence.

"Then that’s settled. So what have you been up to?"

Buffy settled further into the cushions of he porch swing to chat, and pushed down the little flicker of disquiet that her mother’s comments had caused.

Chapter 8

They lay on the bank of the stream, watching the stars rolling overhead in the cloudless sky. As the weeks had drifted by since they’d begun their . . . flirtation? . . . romance? . . . she’d noticed they’d both avoided labeling what was between them. And she was okay with that.

"You come down here at night often when you’re here for the summer?"

She nodded. "I’m sort of a night owl, always have been. It used to drive Gram crazy, she’d wake up to find me gone when I was little." Buffy shrugged. "She finally decided since I always came to the same place, I was safe, so I don’t think they even pay attention to me slipping out anymore." She pointed to the flashlight lying by her side. "I just have to always take that with me."

"Probably not a bad idea, that one turn is tricky, what with the roots and whatall." Spike sighed and took her hand in his, sliding their fingers so they slowly interlocked. "Can’t blame you though. I don’t know of many more peaceful spots on Earth. Maybe at my grandfather’s country place." He gestured with their joined hands. "Has a stream just like that running through it, very quiet like."

"Do you go there much?" Buffy asked.

Spike shook his head. "Not often anymore. Mother never liked the country, always wanted to be in London, and so I just went for short visits when I was small."

"That’s a shame."

"Yes, it is. I may have to go out there more when I get home."

His hand tightened on hers involuntarily as he mentioned leaving. It was another on the lists of subjects to avoided. They were in a special place, one that wasn’t quite real, and if they didn’t speak of it, the illusion remained intact.

After a few minutes of silence, Buffy broke the quiet, leaping into the far distant future as an alternative. "So what are you going to do after college?"

He was quiet for a long minute, and she wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have gone there, shouldn’t have brought up anything outside the here and now that was safely in their comfort zone.

Then he spoke. "I’ll work for Aetherton."

She rolled to her side and looked at him. "Is that what you want to do?"

He rolled to face her as well. "It is. There was a time, a few years back, when I didn’t want to. Wanted to strike out, be something beside what everyone expected."

"Like what?"

He waved a hand lazily in the air. "Don’t rightly know, mostly just teenage rubbish. Writer, poet, well, rock star really." He flashed her a grin she could just make out in the limited moonlight of the waning moon.

"Rock star, huh?"

"Well, the chits do go for that sort of thing. Bet you’ve had a boy band of two on your walls, yeah?"

She giggled. "Maybe. Course I’d believe that more than poet."

He jumped up and gestured about as he ceremoniously declaimed,

"How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here we will sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony."

She clapped, laughing at his mock seriousness as he bowed. "Okay, now that was good. Did you . . .?"

He chuckled. "No, I can’t take credit for that one, props to the Bard. Hence the not becoming a poet, you see."

"Aw, I’m sure you’d have been good. But seriously, you really want to work with your family?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do. I went through a rough patch in school, fell in with the wrong crowd as they say, and then Grand took me out, kept me at home a term. I hated him at the time, but it was the best thing that ever happened. I got straightened out, started going to the office with him after I was done with lessons for the day, and it was just like this whole other world for me."

"How so?"

He rolled over so that he was lying beside her, staring down into her face, but his concentration wasn’t on her, she could see in his eyes. He was off in another world as he told her about the way he felt helping create something, the ownership in seeing the grapes form and flourish and then become something even more. When he was done, she couldn’t help touching his face.

"Wow, that’s amazing. I didn’t know you felt that way about it. I guess it really isn’t just a job to you."

He shrugged and turned his head to kiss her palm. "So yeah, there you have it. What about you?"

"I don’t know. Nothing like that, like what you’re going to do. I mean, I don’t really have a dream. I’d like to travel, maybe write for travel magazines or something like that." She laughed. "Or maybe it’s just teenage rubbish."

"Nah, sounds like you have more sense than I did."

He was gazing into her eyes now, and though his face was mostly shadowed as he leaned over her, she could sense the desire there. This was the way it had been the last few nights, the calm beginning, them talking and laughing the way friends do, and then at some point, somehow the currents would shift, and she’d feel the tension growing, the need to touch him, kiss him, be in his arms.

It was exhilarating and a little frightening at the same time, as though she were walking a tightrope without a net. The knot in her stomach, of anticipation and something else was building, making her want to do crazy unpredictable things, bare herself to him completely, go beyond the super intense make out sessions that always stopped, but a little further than the night before. Never quite where she wanted to go, but always short of where she was afraid of arriving.

"Buffy?" His voice was rough, full of want and she felt her pulse jump in response, her whole body grow soft and languid in anticipation of what was to come.

"Yes, Spike?"

"Can I kiss you now?"

She didn’t bother to respond, just met his lips as she sank her fingers in to the soft strands of hair and pulled him down to meet her, their bodies intertwining in the grass as the water continued to rush by, and the crickets kept chirping. But for her, the earth had shrunk down and stopped on its axis to that one tiny place, with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She eased the door closed behind her, turning to give him a half-wave before she disappeared inside and up the steps, careful to avoid the third one that creaked. Her grandparents seemed fast asleep, judging by the snores, and she slid quietly into her room, shedding her clothes and groping in the darkness for a t-shirt to sleep in.

Her skin still felt electric, tingling from the touch of his hands and lips, and she was too wired to sleep as she made her way to the window and looked down, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. His light was still on, and she could see a shadow behind the shade, moving around as he got ready for bed.

She glanced at the clock. It was after 2:00am. They’d been out later than ever before, and it had been so hard to pull away when he’d finally lifted his head, and whispered they’d best be heading back. She’d agreed, albeit reluctantly.

It was hard to think when she was with him. Hard to do anything but just feel. But afterwards, when she was alone in the dark with time to think, she knew that she’d been mistaken about something. With every day that passed it was becoming downright impossible to pretend he was nothing more than a friend with benefits. Because he was starting to become much more than that.

She touched her fingertips to her lips and then to the screen of the window just as the light below went out. "Sweet dreams, Spike," she whispered, and turned to slide into her own bed.

She opened the door to her nightstand and pulled out the small volume inside. She doubted the ineffectual little lock to the side would keep out anyone determined to read it, but there was a sense of security that her innermost thoughts and feelings were protected from prying eyes.

She flipped the pages, finding the last entry and penciled in the new date. July 20th. And then she stopped.

How did she put this into words, the way she felt? It was something fragile, like a butterfly just climbing out of its chrysalis and slowly stretching its still damp wings, this thing between her and him. It was exhilarating and terrifying and life-altering all at once.

Deep down, she wondered if it was actually love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It’s done?" Her grandfather glanced at the calendar. "Why we’re more than a full week ahead of schedule."

"It’s finished. I’s dotted and t’s crossed. Proofed it twice myself last night just to make sure. Buffy took a look through as well."

"Excellent. If we can get it in the mail today, I’m declaring the rest of the week a holiday." Her grandfather turned to Buffy. "This is supposed to be your summer vacation, young lady, although I appreciate all your hard work. You’ve made your grandmother and I very proud this summer."

Buffy couldn’t help but beam as her grandfather hugged her. It was about this time last year when they’d had the mammoth fight that had sent her home, causing the rift it had taken nearly a year to heal. To have her Gramps look at her with that twinkle in his eye again was priceless.

"And you, sir." She watched as he turned to Spike. "I intend to call your grandfather tonight and let him know how well you’ve done on this project. You’ll be a real asset to the business, and he’s lucky to have you."

"Thank you, sir. I’ve enjoyed working with you. I’m sure this is going to be a real boon to the vineyards in this area, to have this new hybrid. Should really help with that disease that’s been such a plague."

"One can only hope. We’ll see what Professor Jenners says after he reviews the results, of course. Now William? Why don’t you run this into town, see if you can get it posted today." He handed the boxes to Spike, who headed for the door.

"Oh, Gramps, can I go too, maybe pick up some things at the drugstore? Oh, or maybe we could go see a movie." She mock pouted. "After all, I have been slaving away."

Her grandfather laughed. "Well there’s a sales pitch I can’t resist. Certainly, you may, if Spike doesn’t mind. I’ll tell your grandmother." He reached in his pocket and handed her some folded bills with a wink.

"Do you mind?" Buffy turned to Spike, who was ginning benevolently.

"Of course not. Come on, Buffy."

The sun was shining, the grass was green, the birds were chirping, and all was right in her world as she slid over to sit closer to Spike as he drove. He threw his arm over the back of the seat and turned a lazy grin in her direction.

She giggled and gave him a quick kiss. It didn’t get much better than this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Done and done. It’s all up to the good people of Fed Ex now." He opened the door to the Desoto and slid in beside her, giving her a quick wink. "I do believe you and I have some free time now, shortcake. What do you want to do? You want to go to that movie? Or want me to take you shopping?"

Her eyes lit up. "Shopping, ohhhh. And I have cash!" Her face fell as he could see her mentally ticking off possibilities. "There’s not anywhere good to shop in SunnyD though, except that little old ladies boutique at the end of Main. Let’s do the movie thing instead." She bounced excitedly on the seat.

He regarded her with amusement. "As the lady wishes."

He navigated the short trip to the Sun, Sunnydale’s oldest and only movie establishment and parked in the empty expanse of asphalt that adjoined.

"What you up for? Action? Adventure? Romance?"

She grinned. "I’m fond of romance myself."

Minutes later, they were back in the car.

"Who doesn’t have matinees? I mean, really," Buffy huffed as she fastened her seatbelt.

"Pet, they’re closed for an extermination. It’s not a conspiracy."

She arched a brow. "Are you mocking me? I was promised a movie. We were going to have a date."

"A date? Oh-ho, is that what this was?"

She crossed her arms. "Fine, make fun of me."

"Aw, now, shortcake, don’t be that way. How ‘bout I make it up to you?"

She perked up. "Really? How?"

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "Let’s see. First, I’d like to start from the top, do things properly."

She regarded him expectantly.

"Buffy, would you like to go out with me?"

Her face bloomed with a smile. "Absolutely."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Shortcake, you will never cease to amaze me with how much food you can put away." Spike shook his head as she slurped the last of her milkshake.

"You calling me fat?" She arched a brow.

"Nope, just saying. That’s one crazy metabolism you’ve got going on."

She just smirked as she dipped another fry in ketchup. "So what’s next?"

"Well, I thought we’d go for something new. Something novel. Something earth-shattering."

She chocked slightly on the fry as a mental image of something earth-shattering they could do together flashed through her brain. She grabbed her drink and quickly washed it down.

"I thought we could put Buffy Summers behind the wheel of a car. I never did give you that driving lesson, did I?"

She sat down her drink. Not nearly as exciting as what she‘d been imagining. But dangerous none the less.

Buffy shook her head. "Nope. And you promised, too," she pouted at him.

"Oh look at that lip, gonna get it."

"Spike!" She squealed in protest as he leaned across the table, but let him capture her lips anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So this is the best place?"

Buffy nodded. "Big level field. Nothing to hit. Buffy can’t kill anyone."

"All right then." Spike put the car in park. They were several miles out of town now, and with the radio silenced, the world around them was quiet. "You ready to start?"

Buffy shrugged. "Ready as ever. Thought you promised me a fun date?"

"Now, pet, stop looking like you’re about to face the executioner. It won’t be that bad." He laughed at her continued dire expression.

"You just wait until I get behind the wheel. You won’t be so perky then, cupcake."

He laughed and crossed to the other side of the car as she slid behind the wheel and adjusted the seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The engine died as Buffy failed to find first for the fifteenth time. She banged her head against the steering wheel punctuating her words. "I will never be a driver."

"Well, I think we’re going to have to take this to the next level."

She peered at him with one eye. "There’s another level."

"Yup. Personalized driving instruction with yours truly."

"I thought that’s what I was getting already," she grumbled.

"Hence the next level. Slide the seat back."

She complied and he slid across and hoisted her up into his lap. "Alright, princess, let’s try again. Put your left foot on mine, ‘kay."

She positioned herself atop his lap and placed her hand over his on the gearshift.

"Alright, shortcake, get ready to go for a ride."

It took a few more attempts of feeling the slight change in pressure that signaled the elusive thing he kept referring to as the friction point, but she closed her eyes and followed his lead and suddenly, it was there.

"I felt it, I think I‘ve got it. Let me try."

He moved his feet out of the way and she made the next shift successfully.

"I did it, Spike, I did it!"

He took control again and brought the car to a quick stop as she did a happy dance of joy in his lap.

"I did it, Spike!" She turned and wound her arms around his neck in a celebratory hug that evolved into a kiss that drove all thoughts of motoring from her brain.

It wasn’t enough. She navigated the obstacles of gearshifts and steering wheels, searching for more contact that he willing gave, embracing her curves as he pulled her back in for another mind-blowing kiss. She finally pulled away with a gasp. He pressed his forehead to hers as they both drew in ragged breaths.

"That was . . ." She trailed off with a shiver as he traced the vein in her neck with his tongue to the tattoo of her pounding pulse.

He raised his head and met her eyes and the passion there burned like a white-hot flame. "Yeah, it was. Buffy?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You want to move to the backseat?"

A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful feedback - I really appreciated every comment!

Chapter 9

They had been simmering for days now. Little glances, stolen kisses, nights by the stream. But when she turned in his lap and wound her arms around his neck, he knew. They’d just reached the boiling point.

He wasn’t sure who kissed whom first, but he was lost in the softness of her lips so quickly that it didn’t matter. He slid his hands to her hips as she straddled him, slowly tracing her curves as their tongues intertwined.

He hadn’t made out with a girl in a car in . . . well. He wasn’t sure if he ever had. It wasn’t comfortable, the gear shift jammed into his leg, the steering wheel that must be pressing into her back. But the chance to delve into her sweet mouth, to feel the press of her warm body made it bearable.

When she finally drew back, he couldn’t help but follow, not wanting to lose contact with her skin. She tilted her head back and let him taste the salt of her skin. He could feel the pounding of her heart against him. Or maybe it was his.

But it wasn’t enough.

Before he thought about it, the words had left his mouth, asking her if she wanted to move to the backseat.

She didn’t answer for a moment and he started to retract the suggestion, trying to reel in the rushing blood that had entirely drained his brain of coherent thought. Before he could speak, she wiggled free of his embrace and he turned to watch as she slid over into the back seat.

In the midst of their complete attention to each other, he hadn’t noticed the growing clouds and patter of rain that had begun to fall. It was the flash of lightening splitting the sky and illuminating the backseat that froze the moment in his mind. There she was, hair dishelved and falling around her shoulders, lips swollen and pouting as she beckoned him with one crooked finger to join her.

He didn’t even think twice before he was there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike sat down at the bar and raised a hand to the bartender. "Beer."

"Coming right up."

Willie’s Place was the only bar in the one-horse town that was Sunnydale, but it was everything he needed for tonight. Quiet, dark, full of individuals who seemed content to stare as morosely into their drinks as he planned to with his.

The bottled American brew stopped in front of him and he didn’t bother with the glass plunked beside it, just raised the bottle and took a swift slug. He’d planned on something stronger, and maybe he’d get there before the night was through. But for now, the beer would mellow the edges and help him sort through things.

He almost snorted. Yeah. Like a few brewskies were going to fix what was ailing him. He wasn’t his father. Not going to crawl into a bottle and refuse to come out when relations with the fairer sex spun him.

He drained the rest of the bottle and started to call for a second, then stopped. This wasn’t helping. He threw a crumpled bill to cover his tab on the bar and strode out the door.

The Desoto sat in the gravel parking lot, gleaming in the moonlight. He opened the door and slid behind the driver’s seat, the sense memory of the day wrapping itself around him like all-encompassing blanket. He closed his eyes and it was as if the few hours since he’d left her had never passed. He was there again. With her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stepped out into the rain which had begun to pour in earnest and hurried for the warmth of the back seat. He shook off the water as he slid in next to her.

She pointed and giggled, "You got all wet."

"Yeah, I’m not going to be the only one, c’mere."

She mock struggled as he wrestled her back into his lap, squealing as he pulled her against his damp t-shirt and kissed her.

"Spike, this is unacceptable." She tried to sound stern but managed something closer to breathless. It was a sound that was oh so sexy to his ears, knowing he‘d made her that way.

He nuzzled her neck. "It is?"

"Mhmm." Buffy traced a finger down to the hem of the t-shirt. "I think this has to go."

There was a devil dancing in her eyes as she wound her fingers up under the shirt, inching her way up his abs. He pulled the shirt over his head with one hand and tossed it into the floorboard before leaning back for her perusal.

"Now I don’t that this seems quite fair, shortcake."

She dropped to press a series of open-mouthed kisses across his chest and worked her way slowly back up to his lips.

"What’s not fair?" she whispered against his mouth.

He’d entirely forgotten for a moment in the pleasure of her soft touch. Buffy wasn’t usually so playful. She always let him take the lead before, her lack of experience making her shy.

Apparently she’d gotten over that.

"You mean I get all this, and you have nothing fun to play with?" She trailed her fingers down and traced the edge of his jeans, causing his cock to jump in an effort to reach those hot little hands.

She leaned back and crossed her arms, slowly drawing the pink t-shirt over her head, leaving her clad only in a simple white bra that stood out against her summer tan and pink shorts she’d worn for their trip to town. It covered more than some of her swimsuits, but the intimate curtain of rain falling around them shielded them from the world, making the way she’d bared herself to him so much more revealing.

And then she reached behind and with a quick motion divested herself of the bra as well, taking his breath away completely. Her bravado faltered at the last bold move, and she started to cover herself, but he stopped her, catching her hands and drawing them away.

"Oh no. Let me look at you." He leaned forward, trailing his hands up her arms to outline the perfection of her small breasts. "So beautiful."

They were soon sprawled across the wide seat, tangled in a haze of passionate kisses. She arched against him as he caressed the sweet curves of her body and drew one peaked nipple into his mouth, burying her hands in his hair and pulling him closer.

They’d never gone further than this before. Even when her unpracticed touches and tentative kisses had made him so hard he ached, he’d managed to pull away before they’d reached the point of no return because it hadn’t felt right. Not yet.

He knew that she was a virgin. Not in so many words, but he knew. And the thought of being her first was something that filled him with exhilaration and trepidation by turns. The way she looked at him, the emotion in her huge green eyes made him want to fall into them and trust himself that he could do this right. Make it everything it should be for her.

The sounds she made as he feasted on her were music to his ears and suddenly, he was tired of waiting. He wanted her, wanted to be buried inside of her, making her body shiver and shatter beneath his, taking her to heights she’d never been.

He wanted to be her first.

He kissed his way down her stomach, ignoring her little whimpers of protest at his leaving until he reached her shorts. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him intently, and he waited until she gave him a little nod to pop the button and lower the zipper. He slid them down her legs, leaving her only the brief coverage of a scrap of satin.

"Fair’s fair." Her voice was a whisper.

He nodded and unbuttoned his own jeans, shucking them off and laughing at her expression as she realized he was now entirely naked.

"Buffy . . ."

She was already on top of him, and he groaned at the slide of her silk-smooth skin flush against his and the wet heat that blanketed his erection as she rubbed against him, one thin layer all that separated them. Some part of his brain was straining to remember if he had a condom in his wallet and where in the floorboard that would be, but the rest was given over to the sensations that were threatening to engulf him.

He dipped a finger down between them, tracing the lace trimmed edge of her panties before sliding beneath the fabric and testing the flood of slickness that made him shudder with anticipation at what was to come. He fought for control for a minute, trying to slow things down as he captured her lips in a kiss, needing to know.

"Buffy? You sure?"

There was a trace of hesitation in her eyes, which he’d expected. And as hellish as the ride home in this condition would be, he could still stop if she said no. He could, really, he could.

"Spike, I’m sure." She smiled gently, her self-possession returning as she caressed his face, eyes huge and luminous. "I love you."

She met his lips in a gentle kiss, and though her lips were still warm and sweet against his, she couldn’t have more effectively doused his ardor if she had kicked him out into the cold rain .

She loved him.
Those three little words changed everything.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the fragrance that haunted his dreams at night, knowing he might not have the chance again. He couldn’t do this. He kissed her gently, savoring the softness of her mouth against his and then gently pulled away.

"Buffy, I think we’d best head home."

A slap would have been less painful, he realized too late. Her doe eyes widened unbearably and he could see the shock and hurt forming.

He reached past her for his jeans and her shirt, refusing to meet her eyes as she blindly accepted the garment. How could he explain the layers of reasons, the complicated paths that made her love for him something he should never have courted? He didn’t have the words.

"Spike?"

He deliberately ignored her until he’d buttoned his jeans and slid his t-shirt over his head. Taking a breath, he glanced at her. She seemed small, hunched on the seat in just her t-shirt.

"Buffy, don’t look like that." He turned his watch so she could see its face. "It’s late, your grandparents are going to be sending out a search party. Don’t fancy your grandmother rapping on the glass in the midst of a shag now, do you?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Good girl. I’m going to go ahead and start back." He dropped a last impersonal kiss on her cheek and shut the rear door. He didn’t look back in the mirror as he turned the car for home.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The neon lights of Willie’s Place faded in the distance as he drove away. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to focus on the music pouring from the dash instead of the thoughts spinning in his head. He finally gave up and switched off the knob, leaving the purr of the engine to fill the void as the headlights split the dark road ahead.

The road to the Summers’s place loomed to his left and William pulled into the driveway, killing the engine after a glance up at her room. She must be there, he could see a shadow across the shade and the slight illumination that he reckoned was her bedside lamp.

What was she doing up there? Thinking about him? Still angry with him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trip home from the field was made in silence. She finished dressing and slipped back into the front seat. He fiddled with the radio. She occupied herself with grooming, pulling a succession of items from her small purse as she brushed and straightened herself so expertly he’d never have guessed she was the same girl whose mussed hair and swollen lips had driven him wild just minutes before.

The silence between them was deafening and with every mile that passed, the wall between them grew higher and higher as bricks of regret and resentment hardened in place.

The rain lessened as he drove and the skies were clear again when he parked the car in front of the house. She reached for the door as soon as the car rolled to a stop and he cleared his throat.

"Buffy . . ."

"I need to go, Spike."

The door slammed with a vengeance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He needed to talk to her, offer some explanation. He owed her that much.

He got out of the car, shutting the door in a good imitation of her own anger as he stalked back towards his room. He needed a cigarette in the worst way, vows to give them up be damned. He rummaged through his drawers and finally found a half-crushed pack in the bottom of a suitcase.

The small stoop looked directly at her window, but he chose to sit there anyway. Torture was good for the soul. He lit the first cigarette and inhaled deeply, waiting for the peace of the smoke curling through his lungs to calm him.

This was all his mother’s fault. Well, if he was going for complete honesty, it was his own, but she made a good scapegoat. Every other male in his family thought so.

She at least had some responsibility in the matter. After all, it had been her idea to send him to the la di da dah private boarding school, designed to "make him into a gentleman" and give him all the right social connections. It wasn’t the school the Aetherton men had always attended, but it was nearer the city and his fellow scholars included sons of the rich, the famous, and the titled.

He wasn’t a good fit, quiet and bookish, and the first few terms had been hellish. But then another student, Liam, had enrolled and for some reason had seen fit to take him under his wing. This had entailed much breaking of the rules and routine visits to a nearby pub where the barkeep paid little mind to the age of his clientele . . . or to the extracurricular activities of certain of his waitresses.

It was there he’d lost . . . in retrospect, he’d lost much in that seedy dive, but at the time he’d merely thought he’d lost his heart. She was slim and willowy, with ivory skin and ebony hair, a Snow White stepped from the pages of Grimm. Drusilla. There was something that set her apart, a fey air that he’d mistaken for an otherworldliness that put her above the others.

He’d watched her for six months, sitting next to Liam and others as he sipped at a pint and pretended not to stare. But on his fifteenth birthday, everything had changed.

She’d served them a round, and Liam had pulled her aside, whispering something into her ear as he’d gestured in William’s direction. He’d wanted to die then, to crawl under the scarred and battered old table and disappear, geeky glasses, floppy hair and all. But Drusilla had followed Liam back to their table and slid along the bench to rest next to him. He was acutely aware of the warmth of her thigh against his, her breath tickling his neck as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"They tell me you’re the birthday boy, William."

The mere fact that his goddess had said his name was enough to rob him of speech. "T-t-t-hat’s right."

She’d clapped her hands together, delighted, and her enthusiasm had caught even him.

"Oh, very good, we must have gifts!" She’d scampered off and he’d felt a sense of loss at the deprivation of her body pressed against his side. But she was back soon enough, bearing another round, and then another. They toasted William’s birthday and Drusilla reappeared by his side, cooing at him, asking him about his school, his family, his girlfriends. He’d found himself babbling on, the ale and her nearness loosening his tongue as he rambled far too much about his grandfather’s money and how important he was in some desperate hope of impressing her.

If he’d died at that moment, he’d have felt his life complete. Liam had ordered another round of shots then, and he’d toasted with the rest. By the time Drusilla pulled him to his feet, he’d been swaying and feeling more than a bit nauseous.

"Come with me, sweet William." He’d followed her blindly down the passage to the dark alleyway behind.

What had passed in the alleyway had to have been the most clumsy deflowering in the history of the universe. He’d been torn between absolute pleasure and the distinct feeling he was about to upchuck as she’d guided him into her. He’d told her he loved her as he came and passed out immediately afterwards.

He’d been mortified, and fully expected to never see her again. He stopped going to the pub. Liam told him she’d asked for him, but he was too embarrassed to return.

Until the night he found her in his bed, having somehow slipped onto the campus. Had he been a little older, or a little wiser, he might have seen her for what she really was. But she’d called him her prince. After that, her wish was his command.

He’d never known love would hurt that much.

Within a year, his grades had fallen and he’d slipped from near the top to almost the bottom of his form. She remade him entirely from the outside in, until everything about him was a reflection of her desires. He spent more time in her dive of a flat than at school, and she’d led him down the rabbit’s hole of designer pharmaceuticals that were the source of the fey quality of which he’d been so enchanted. Her demands for money grew more incessant as time passed, but he was helpless to resist. His parents had been on one of their splits at the time, and no one had noticed the letters piling up from the headmaster at home until he forged a check from his grandfather to cover a debt she owed to one of her suppliers.

The world crashed down then. His grandfather showed up at Drusilla’s flat and dragged him into the street. He’d been so stoned he hadn’t even tried to resist. She’d never even looked up.

He spent the holidays in a detox center and his Grand had picked up the pieces, hired a tutor, arranged for Spike to live with him permanently. But the first thing he’d done when he was released from rehab was go back to her. His key to her flat still fit His place in her life obviously didn’t. She was in bed with Liam. He’d shut the door behind him before they‘d even noticed, vowing to never trust his heart to anyone again.

He’d never looked back. There’d been random girls, casual flirtations, the occasional one-night stand with someone equally as jaded and world weary. Exactly what he wanted. All fun. No strings.

Until he met Buffy.

When she’d looked at him today, heart in her eyes and told him she loved him, he knew she meant it. She was no Drusilla. If anything, she was the anti-Drusilla. If he’d met her when he was fifteen . . .

But he hadn’t. And he wasn’t capable of loving her back, not the way she deserved. He’d tried to warn her. Hadn’t thought it would come to this.

In three weeks, he’d be gone. He didn’t want to hurt her, he just didn’t want to take her heart with him. He needed her to understand that.

He stubbed out the cigarette, watching the glow of the ash fade to black. In his heart he knew this wasn’t a selfless act on his part, a desire to be the stand-up guy. It was self-preservation at its finest. She’d wormed and wiggled her way to a place he hadn’t let anyone reach since Dru, and now she was in so deep he wasn’t sure he could get her out. But he had to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She slipped out early and headed for the strawberry field, buckets bumping against her thighs rhythmically as she walked. She began at the edge of the closest row and worked her way down until she had nearly filled the first bucket to capacity.

Picking the berries gave one plenty time for reflection. The events of yesterday replayed as she lifted leaves and sorted the ripened fruit from the still-developing. The lunch in the diner. The playful side of him that he rarely showed had been out in full force, bantering and teasing. She’d loved every minute of it.

And then, afterwards. Her cheeks flushed at the memory and her body still tingled at the way he’d made her feel. She’d wanted him, wanted everything, and though he’d given her a gentle kiss as he pulled away and handed her the crumpled shirt from the floorboard, it was obvious that there was more to his desire to leave than just a fear that they’d get back too late. She’d tried to ask him if it had been her, if she’d done something wrong, but the words had died in her throat. By the time they’d reached home, all she’d wanted was to get out of the car and away.

She made it through dinner. Faked enthusiasm for her day out, told them about the driving lesson without adding details of its ending. She must have mustered an expression approaching normality, because she didn’t catch one of her grandmother’s sharp knowing looks directed her way.

She’d excused herself early and headed to her room, staring at her diary, flipping through the past entries where she’d recorded the events of the past few weeks as sleep eluded her for hours.

Somewhere in the dark of night she’d realized telling him she loved him must have been what caused him to pull away. She felt stupid that she hadn’t seen it before. He’d known, somehow, told her they’d be playing with fire. But she’d been so naïve, sure she was adult enough to just be friends, have a fling.

It was so real now, how she felt for him. Maybe telling him had been her mistake, but it was the truth and a part of her was glad she’d let him know. She glanced overhead, pulling herself from her self-reflection. The sun had begun its climb, drying the dew and warming the green field and she was about done.

Buffy stood and stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of her back after the awkward crouch to pick the berries off the vine. She pulled one from the top of her bucket and savored the sour-sweet bite of the fruit against her tongue.

"Buffy?"

She turned, shading her eyes against the brightness. He was backlit, a halo round his near white hair. She felt a sense of relief wash over her. He’d come to find her.

"Hey, Spike, what are you doing out here?" she called out to him.

"Came to see you, wanted to see if we could talk."

She picked up her buckets and he moved to her side. "Let me take that for you?"

"Sure."

They started towards the house, following the same path they’d traveled together so many times over the summer.

"About yesterday. Buffy, I’m sorry."

"It’s alright." She bit her lip, knowing they had to go further if they were going to get past this. "Um, Spike, exactly what are you sorry for?"

"For pushing you to . . ."

She stopped in the path and turned to face him. "Spike? Look at me. There were two of us there. I knew what I was doing. I wanted you. I thought you wanted me."

He sighed. "Buffy, you remember when we first started this?"

"Yeah?"

"We were supposed to be friends. Nothing more than friends. And I don’t think that’s true anymore."

She felt a little twist inside. "So? What’s wrong with that?"

"Because, it’s not fair, to us, either of us, to get this involved." He caught her chin and made her look at him as she started to turn away. "Buffy, I know that you wouldn’t just sleep with someone if you didn’t . . . care about them a great deal. And I don’t want you to care for me like that. I value our friendship too much."

His words hit her in the gut and she stepped back, away from the touch of his hand. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "I think you overestimate your own appeal, Spike. But I get the message."

She turned on her heel and headed towards the house without a second glance.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback on the last chapter :)

Chapter 10

"Did things seem frosty in here to you tonight, Elizabeth?" Henry dried the last plate as his wife handed it to him from the now emptying sink.

"Are you referring to how Buffy pushed the food around her plate and went straight upstairs to sulk after dinner, and William managed to look everywhere in the room but at her? Or that they’ve been this way for the last three days?"

"Well, if you want to be very observant, that’d be about it." Henry stacked the plate in the cabinet with the others. "Do you suppose they’ve had a fight?"

Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder. "I’ve asked Buffy, she’s pretending everything is fine. Won’t tell me anything. Perhaps it’s time to corner the other party."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How are you, William?"

Spike carefully placed down the glass he’d finished rinsing and turned from the sink. "I’m well, Mrs. Summers. And yourself?"

"Just fine. Could I speak with you for a moment about something?"

"Of course." Her tone was no nonsense and he quelled a slight queasiness inside. There was something about Mrs. Summers that always made him want to sit up a little straighter, and be sure to say ma’am when he addressed her. And now . . . Had Buffy gone to her? Talked to her about what had happened?

She sat at the kitchen table and he followed her lead, drawing out the chair with a scrape that sounded painfully loud to his ears, even over the sounds of the game show that drifted from the living room.

"Would you like some lemonade, William? I made some this morning."

He’d actually just finished a glass. "That would be lovely, ma’am."

She busied herself preparing it for a moment. When she placed it before him and sat down, he took a tentative sip. The liquid was tart on his tongue, drying out his mouth as he waited for her to speak.

"William, I’d have to be blind not to notice the attention you’ve been paying my granddaughter."

He swallowed hard and took another sip of lemonade as she continued.

"Which I understand. Buffy is a lovely young woman, and well, circumstances being what they are, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t noticed her. But she’s also someone who’s been hurt a great deal, and she’s so very young still."

"Mrs. Summers . . ."

She held up a hand and halted him. "William, let me finish, please. I respect you. I think your grandfather has done an admirable job in raising you. And I know you haven’t always had the easiest of circumstances, either. I don’t believe you would deliberately toy with my Buffy’s heart. But William, in a few short weeks, she’ll go home, and so will you."

"Mrs. Summers, I know that. And yes, I agree with you, Buffy is . . . very special. If circumstances were different . . . . But they’re not. Buffy and I, we’ve talked, and we’ve reached an understanding. I value her friendship, more than she knows, and I don’t want to endanger that."

He was startled when her hand softly covered his, as it lay on the table, and gave it a soft squeeze. "Thank you, William. You‘re doing the right thing, for both of you." There was a softness in her face that made him feel as though her concern wasn’t just for her granddaughter that took away some of the sting of her gentle warning.

"You’re welcome, Mrs. Summers."

She rose from the table and disappeared into the living room, the strains of the Wheel of Fortune theme sounding through the doorway. He contemplated the glass of lemonade but found no answers. Maybe it was time for something a little stronger. So much for not being his father.

He pushed back the chair, and disappeared into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Buffy, you got some mail today. It’s on the table in the hall." Her grandmother’s voice carried from the kitchen as she came down the steps.

"Mail?" Buffy trotted out into the hall and flipped through the envelopes. She ignored the largish one with a Royal Air Mail stamp, and kept going until she found one in a colorful envelope with a cartoon cat stenciled in the corner. A big smile broke out as she snatched up the envelope. Had to be Willow. She hadn’t heard from her in weeks.

"Oh, and Buffy, can you take that letter from his grandfather to William? He didn’t come in for breakfast this morning. He must be in the greenhouse."

She made a face in the direction of the kitchen but picked up the letter and headed outside across the yard. Why couldn’t he get his own mail? She wasn’t his delivery girl. She wasn’t his anything. He’d made that clear enough.

She pulled open the door to the greenhouse and leaned inside. "Spike, are you in here?"

"Buffy?" He popped his head out of the office, sounding surprised. They hadn’t spoken since that day on the path, except for oh so polite exchanges at dinner or whenever her grandparents were around. She’d even stopped going down to the river at night, not knowing what she would do if he were there too.

"Mail delivery." She crossed to the doorway and proffered the envelope, waiting for him to take it. He just stood there, arms crossed, eyes drinking her in with a hunger that she felt to her bones.

Everything froze and she let herself pretend for just a moment that things were alright between them. He still had the power to make her body flush from head to toe with just a glance and her heart to ache with the need to be close to him. She missed everything, from the way his hair smelled when he buried his face in the curve of her neck, to the funny pet names he called her, to the way he really listened when she spoke. As if she were something special.

She hated that he’d taken that all away.

"It’s from your grandfather." She shoved the envelope at him until he took it and turned on her heel. She thought maybe he called her name, but she pretended not to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sighed as he watched her walk away.

He hadn’t meant to stare at her that way, but it had caught him off guard, seeing her waltz in like she had for so many weeks, bright hair bouncing round her shoulders and beautiful smile that lit up his morning. Except this time the smile had been missing and he was the reason.

He tapped the letter that now lay on the desk. Maybe he should talk to Mr. Summers about leaving a few weeks early. Not prolong the strain of seeing her everyday until the eventual parting which meant holding her at arms length. They were all but done with the reason he’d come for the summer, just loose ends to tie up. It might be best for them both if he simply left.

He picked up the envelope and dug through the desk for a letter opener.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy settled comfortably against the tree. She’d missed this. The quiet solitude of her place by the stream. Somehow, as the summer had rolled by, she’d stopped thinking of this as her place, and had started thinking of it as their place. It was time she reclaimed it.

She impatiently ripped into the envelope, eager to hear what Willow had been up to and all the gossip from home. She scanned the scribble she was familiar with after years of passing notes in class to each other.

There were the usual greetings, but the heart of the missive soon became apparent. Willow had met a boy. And not just any boy. A boy who was sweet and cute, and best of all, liked her back.

As Buffy read through the pages, with stories of trips to the movies and walks on the beach, she couldn’t help but make comparisons to her own summer romance. She wondered what Willow would say. She could imagine sitting down with her at their favorite coffee shop, Willow urging her for details over a cup of something steaming and frothy.

She’d tell her that he was older, charming, drop-dead gorgeous. That he had eyes she could get lost in, and the sound of his voice made her toes curl. That when he kissed her the whole world fell away and nothing else mattered.

And Willow would squeal with excitement over the dreamy guy who sounded so perfect.

And then she’d have to tell her the rest. That it was never meant to be anything real. That he didn’t love her. That he didn’t think she was worth taking a chance on.

Buffy walked to the edge of the stream and slowly ran her fingers through the water as the tears welled up in her eyes. She’d been angry, at first. Then numb with disbelief. Maybe it was finally time to accept it. Time to move on. Her tears fell into the water, to be carried away by the swift moving current.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike opened the letter. Heavy weight paper, rich cream color, embossed crest at the top, bold signature in heavy ink at the close. Very much his Grand. He missed the old man.

His father was on some sort of retreat, which Spike read between the lines to mean rehab from his latest bout with the bottle. His mother was apparently somewhere in the Aegean, cruising with her latest. His grandfather was fine, however, aside from the fact his usual round of yearly check ups were coming up.

Spike grinned. His grandfather’s detest of the medical profession was longstanding, and he always tried to find ways to ditch those appointments every year. He wondered what ruse he’d come up with this year.

He read on. Family talk done, he knew his grandfather would move to his real love, business. It appeared that the latest quarterly numbers looked good, and the preliminary reports on expanding the California vineyards would be done before the end of the month.

He was a bit surprised by the close. His grandfather was a reserved man, not prone to open displays of affection. But the final lines of the letter caught him off guard. The words penned there expressed affection and pride in him, in what he’d accomplished and in what he would become. Words that any son would love to hear.

As he slowly read over the letter once more, he knew his decision was made. It was time to go home, where he belonged, where he was needed.

He’d committed to going to Los Angeles at the end of the week to meet with the professors who had assessed their research and to get feedback on his grandfather’s proposal to finance further development. He’d do that, then see about booking an earlier flight for London.

They’d both be better off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy turned the next clipping in the file folder as she slowly sorted through the research the librarian had dropped off.

"So you were born here, Gram?"

Her grandmother nodded. "In this very house. My father was one of the original settlers of Sunnydale."

"Really?" Buffy asked. "Wow, I didn’t know. Dad never talked about that kind of stuff."

Her grandmother’s expression was resigned. "Henry never carried too much for Sunnydale. He always wanted something bigger. Your grandfather and I had hoped he’d want to take over the vineyard, but that wasn’t to be, I suppose."

They were quiet, lost in their thoughts for the moment as they continued sorting.

"Was Gramps from here too? Did you grow up together?" she asked.

Buffy was surprised at the faint pink that stained her grandmother’s cheek and the small smile that played at her lips. "No, your grandfather wasn’t from here. He was from back east, New York."

"How did you meet then?"

"Oh, he came to work here for my father. It was during the Depression, hard years, and so many were without. Papa hired my Henry on, said he seemed a likely sort, if a little soft."

Buffy smiled, thinking of her grandfather’s weather face and toughened hands. "Gramps was soft?"

Her grandmother chuckled. "Oh yes, he was something of a city boy back then, came from a good family in New York City, who’d sent him off to college. He’d gotten a degree in botany, which was tolerated as he came straight back, went to work with his father on Wall Street as was expected. And then the crash wiped them out."

"So he came here instead?"

"He did. Head full of knowledge, but not a lick of practical experience."

Buffy grinned. "But he stuck around? Found something he wanted?"

"Yes, I suppose he did."

A noise at the door caused Buffy to turn to see the topic of their conversation in the doorway.

"Gramps, come here." Buffy patted the seat beside her. "Gram was just telling me about how you came to work here."

Her grandfather took the proffered seat. "Oh yes, that was a good many years ago now, wasn’t it?" He grinned at his wife. "Your father certainly did put me through some hoops to win your hand, Elizabeth. But it was worth it."

Buffy quirked an eyebrow. "Oh really? Did your dad not like him, Gram?"

Her grandmother gave her a speculative look, as if reluctant to pursue the topic. "I was just a bit young, Buffy, and your grandfather didn’t want me rushing into things. Your great-grandfather wasn’t sure Henry would stay, you know."

Buffy eyed the pair. "How young were you?"

"Young enough. I was completely smitten when he first arrived." She smiled, "It took him a year to work up the nerve to try to court me, though."

Her grandfather snorted. "Work up the nerve indeed. More like get you to thaw!"

"Did you play hard to get, Gran?"

Her grandmother laughed. "No, not really. I kept waiting for your grandfather to ask to call on me and stop just making moon eyes and he never did. So I decided to try to make him jealous."

"With that insufferable Snyder. Still don’t know what you saw in him," her grandfather grumbled.

"Not a thing, sweetheart, as you well know. Just needed to wake you up."

They gazed into each other’s eyes and Buffy couldn’t help but envy the love that still radiated off them after all these years.

"So after you gave Gramps a little nudge, everything worked out?"

Her grandfather chuckled. "You’d have thought she was Rachel and I was Isaac, the way her father made me work for her, prove myself. Her father wouldn’t let me start calling on her officially until she turned eighteen."

"Eighteen? You couldn’t date until you were eighteen?"

The faint pink slipped back into her grandmother’s cheeks. "Well no, not officially. I was the baby of the family, and so everyone was just very protective."

"But you still saw him, didn’t you?" Buffy crowed. "Why Gram, I’d never have guessed."

"Now, Buffy. It’s not as though your grandfather and I were doing anything improper."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I know Grammy, it’s just romantic. Love at first sight, Gramps working for you, just everything. And still in love."

Her grandmother smiled across the table. "It was. And we still are."

"Well, on that note, I’m going to leave you two love birds alone." Buffy rose from the table with a wink.

"Don’t forget, Buffy, we’re having the Thurbers over for dinner tonight. I’ll need you to help me a bit in the kitchen and to set the table."

"Sure thing, Gram. See you later."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Thurbers arrived promptly at six o’clock, Owen in tow. Buffy had just finished setting the table when she heard them in the living room and she straightened her hair and moved to the doorway.

"Hey, Buffy." He smiled down at her and she wasn’t sure if she liked having to tilt her head back so far to return the greeting. But she did.

"Hi, Owen. How’s your summer been?"

They chatted on their way into the dining room and Buffy found herself seated next to him, with Spike directly across from her as the meal began.

He didn’t look at her, seemingly deeply enthralled by Owen Sr.’s description of a new pruning technique they were using as the vines ripened towards harvest.

She focused on Owen Jr. instead. Football seemed to be a defining factor in his life at the moment, as every conversational gambit seemed to come back around to it. She gave up and went with the flow. Practice would officially begin next week and he’d been running drills since the beginning of July.

Scintillating.

She glanced across the table at Spike, trying to imagine how the evening would have been if he’d been next to her instead of Owen. He was so animated, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he laughed at some joke. She loved the way he laughed.

Why couldn’t it have been for them like it had been for her grandparents? They’d overcome all kinds of obstacles and still loved each other after all these years. She stared at the beans left on her plate, pushing the green clumps around into an abstract design. She guessed she just didn’t inspire that kind of devotion.

"So there’s a little get-together later tonight, some of the team and their girls. Kids from school. Think you’d like to come?" Owen’s voice broke through her longing.

She wanted to say no. The thought of hanging out with a bunch of strange people didn’t really appeal at the moment. But then she noticed he was looking at her, from across the table, his bright blue eyes waiting for her to make a decision. Almost a challenge.

She lifted her chin and turned to the boy next to her. "I’d love to, Owen."

"All right!" Owen sounded excited enough for both of them.

Which was good, as she’d already turned away, waiting to see if Spike would react, if the blue would dim or he’d blink and look away. He did neither. She was the one who broke the stare and turned to ask her grandmother for permission.

Chapter 11

Owen’s headlights illuminated the scene in bright relief for a moment as they pulled into the clearing already populated by a bevy of pickup trucks and cars. A fire to the side cast a reddish glow over the teenagers clumped in groups, cans of beer clutched in their hands as they engaged in the age old rites of the young.

“You ready?” Owen cut the ignition and turned to her.

She forced a smile. “Sure thing. Looking forward to it.”

She didn’t bother to wait for him to open the door for her, sliding off the vinyl seat that had been sticking to her bare legs in the still, close heat of the evening, and wrenching the old door handle before he could round the hood.

“Owen! Didn’t think you were gonna show, man!” One of the clumps broke apart to reveal what must have been half the Sunnydale football team, and Owen immediately headed in their direction, keeping a firm grasp on her hand.

“Hey, Larry. You guys remember Buffy, don’t you?”

Larry squinted in the dim light. “Right, met you at the Fourth. You’re the Summers’s granddaughter? From L.A.?”

“That’s me.”

“I’ll be back in a minute, babe, just going to get us a few drinks.” Owen headed for a couple of open coolers under one of the nearby trees. Buffy watched him walk away. Babe? That was weird.

Larry moved closer and took her in, before drawling with a leer, “Guess we know why Owen was late getting here.”

“Um, yeah,” Buffy shifted awkwardly, suddenly regretting the high heeled sandals she’d donned in a fit of petulance before she left. In fact, in retrospect, the whole outfit, from the daisy dukes, to the strappy halter, to the nose-bleed shoes, was hardly appropriate for some field in the middle of nowhere. She’d only gotten out the door past the evil eye of her Gram because the Thurbers were still sipping coffee on the living room sofa and she knew her grandmother wouldn’t make a scene with them there.

But standing in front of Larry’s knowing smirk, she wondered if the combination all said slut just a little louder than she’d intended. Or maybe not, since she’d fully intended all of it for Spike’s consumption as she strutted by him on Owen’s arm.

“Hey, Buffy. Haven’t seen you around. Your gram keeping you busy?”

Buffy turned in relief to the sound of a female voice. “Hey. Amy, right? How’ve you been?”

“Not to bad. Thought I’d come rescue you from these big lugs.”

Buffy tried to not let her evident relief show as she linked arms with Amy. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, Larry, would you tell Owen I’ve gone to chat with the girls?”

“Sure, Buff.”

Buffy was acutely aware of Larry’s eyes on her butt as she walked away. Pig.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Thurbers had left shortly after Buffy had pranced out on the arm of that poof, and he’d excused himself moments after. Within minutes he’d changed out of the nicer dress shirt and pants he’d worn for dinner and into his usual t-shirt and jeans. He stared at the keys on the table.

Should he go after them? Did he have the right?

He’d thought her grandparents had seemed a tad uneasy about agreeing to the date. The details of the party had been sketchy and if the Thurbers hadn’t assured them that it was just some harmless fun, he doubted they would have consented. Buffy meant the world to them, and as he’d seen first hand, they were more than slightly overprotective at times.

So would it be wrong for him to just check things out? For their sakes?

He grabbed up the keys before he could second guess himself and headed for the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy stared morosely at her can of Budweiser. She’d been nursing this one drink for so long, it ought to be toddling by now. Amy was funny and made her realize how much she missed Willow, someone she could giggle and gossip with, or at least listen to, since she didn’t really know who Jake and Jen were or why their breakup was the event of the year.

But after the first couple of hours, as the collective blood alcohol level rose and teenage hormones began asserting themselves, pairs began breaking off from the herd and disappearing into the darkness. Buffy started to feel edgy. She was ready to go home. She wasn’t ready for all this.

She just hoped Owen would feel the same way.

“Amy, looking fine tonight.” Larry staggered towards them, his arm around Owen, who looked to be not much better off.

“Always look this good, sugar.”

Buffy suppressed an eye roll. Amy’s previous protestations about what a lout Larry was to the contrary, it was clear which way that wind was blowing.

“You want a ride home with me, babe?”

Amy shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I guess.” She hopped up off the log they’d been sitting on. “See ya, Buffy. Give me a call, we’ll have to get together some time.”

Buffy gave a wave and watched the pair saunter away, then turned her attention back to Owen, who was smiling at her with a somewhat goofy grin.

Buffy breathed deeply and rose to her feet. “Well, guess it’s last call, huh? Thanks for bringing me out tonight, Owen, but I think I’d better head home.”

She headed towards his truck without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike glanced at his watch, the illuminated dial glowing faintly. He’d been driving for a few hours now, still with no luck at finding where the party was. Some place by the river had been the vague location he’d had to go on, and there must be dozens of those in Sunnydale.

It had been a stupid idea anyway. He should probably just turn around and go home. She was probably there already, snuggled up tight in her bed.

A turn-off up ahead looked promising, an old dirt road that veered in the direction of the river. He’d try it. No luck, and he’d go home.

He pulled down the bumpy road into a small clearing that was entirely deserted. He slammed his hand into the dashboard.

“Damn it, where did they go?” He killed the engine and threw open the door, walking to the edge of the river, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.

“Why can’t I find you, Buffy? Where have you gone?”

Why do you care so much? The voice in his head was loud and impossible to ignore. It shouldn’t matter. She was a big girl. Where she’d gone tonight, lots of people, typical party, nice guy as her date, none of it should have him out riding all over the countryside in the dead of the night. From what he’d seen of Owen, he was a nice kid. Probably would take real good care of Buffy.

So there was only one reason he was out here. He was jealous. He threw the cigarette on the ground and ground it out thoroughly before walking back to the car and sliding behind the wheel.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. In the dead of night, alone like this, he could admit it to himself, even though he’d deny it all over again come morning.

He was in love with Buffy Summers. Hopelessly, completely in love.

It didn’t change anything. He knew from experience that just loving someone wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t change the distance between them, her age, the obligations he had at home waiting for him.

There was some irony there. If he cared less, it wouldn’t have mattered. They’d have had their fling and life would go on. Just some hot summer nights as memories of something good while it lasted.

But he couldn’t settle for that. It wouldn’t be enough.

He glanced at his watch. It was after two now and he was supposed to be on the road headed to L.A. in less than five hours for the meeting at UCLA. He needed to get home and get some sleep. He slipped the key back in the ignition and turned the car around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Owen was grinning like crazy as he opened the door and slid onto the seat beside her. He made no move towards the steering wheel, instead inching closer towards her, his arm snaking across the back of the seat behind her.

He reeked of alcohol and she was pretty sure he’d had more than he could handle to operate the truck.

“Owen, tell you what, why don’t you give me the keys and I’ll drive?”

His response was a sloppy kiss that missed her mouth by a few inches. She shoved him back and swiped at the drool he’d left on her face. “Owen, seriously, give me the keys.”

“Aw, Buffy, babe, what’s the rush?” He leaned in for another pass.

Enough was enough. Buffy hit the seatbelt release and tumbled out of the cab. “Owen, why don’t you see if you can sleep it off, ‘kay?”

She turned and saw him staring at her blearily as though he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Then he passed out on the seat. She sighed, shut the door and started down the road. It was a good thing the moon was nearly full, at least she could she where she was going. Maybe she’d catch up to one of the other cars, get a ride.

Twenty minutes later she was seriously regretting the heels as she finally reached the main road. She glanced at her watch. It was after two a.m. Her grandparents were going to be furious when she got home. She got her bearings and turned to walk along the shoulder of the road, when her heel caught the edge of the pavement and she felt her ankle twist as she ended up in a heap.

She couldn’t help the tears that burst out. This night had been a disaster and she was still miles from home. The tears continued to flow as she surveyed her slightly swelling ankle and broken shoe strap.

Could things get any worse?

She froze as the sound of a car engine grew and car lights emerged over the slight crest of the road behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He almost didn’t see the huddled girl on the side of the road, but the bright red of her top caught his eye and sparked recognition as he hit the brakes, screeching to a stop and flinging the door open as he rounded into the beam of the headlights.

“Buffy? Is that you? Are you alright?”

She turned and he could see the tears streaming down her face, smears of mascara leaving tracks of kohl marring her cheeks.

He swore under his breath and ran to scoop her up. “Sweetheart, are you alright? Where’s Owen? What did he do to you?”

She sobbed in relief as she felt his strong arms pick her up and cradle her close. She let herself relax for a minute as he carried her and gently sat her in the passenger seat, running his hands over her as he searched for what was wrong.

“Buffy, tell me what he did to you.”

“Nothing, Spike, I’m okay.” She gestured to her dangling shoe. “I just twisted my ankle, broke my strap. He didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t look as though he quite believed her as he gently lifted her ankle and examined the slight swelling. “Should be alright if we get some ice on it. Now, want to tell me why you were hitching along the road at this time of night? This may be Sunnydale, pet, but there are big bads out there. I could have been anyone.”

She shrugged. “Owen had too much to drink and passed out. I didn’t know where his keys were, just figured I’d walk. It’s alright.”

The explanation was hardly satisfactory, but he accepted it. She caught his hand as he started to rise. “Spike? Why was it you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why were you out here, at this time of night?”

Her question seemed to catch him entirely off guard. He shut his eyes, blocking out the emotion she had glimpsed and gave a little chuckle. “Would you believe I couldn’t sleep?”

Before she could respond, he shut the door and walked around to his side of the car.

She wasn’t going to let this go. “Spike, seriously, why were you out? Were you going somewhere? Or . . . coming from some . . .one?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “If you must know, I was looking for you, Buffy.”

“For me?” Her forehead wrinkled as she shot him a sharp glance. “Why were you looking for me?”

He shrugged. “Worried about you. Wanted to be sure you got home okay. Guess that was valid, huh?”

She gave a little huff, entirely forgetting that he’d just rescued her from a several miles walk with a swollen ankle. “Why do you care, Spike?” She practically spat out his name. How dare he, he, well be all noble and ride up on a white steed, or black car in this case, to rescue her when he’d made it perfectly clear he wasn’t her Galahad.

“Because I do, Buffy. You know that.”

“Yeah. You care alright. You bastard.”

They had reached the turnoff for her grandparents. He pulled into the driveway and stopped the car.

“Look, Buffy, I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear? That I’m sorry for what happened? Because I am. I’m sorry that I met you. I’m sorry that we became friends. I’m sorry that I kissed you that day, down by the stream.” He turned to her, his face shadowed so that she could barely see the set of his jaw as he fought to keep his emotions under control. “But you know what I’m most sorry for?”

She waited in silence.

“That I’ll never know for sure where this could have gone, because I can’t let it hurt more than it does right now. It’s like tearing my heart out to leave, but I have to. For both of us.”

She almost couldn’t breathe as what he said washed over her, a bittersweet wave of mingled longing and regret. “What if I don’t care, Spike? What if it doesn’t matter that you’re leaving? Can’t we at least be together for a little while?”

“Buffy . . . I’m leaving for good on Monday, as soon as I finish up in L.A. I‘ll be gone in the morning.”

“Oh.” She tried to draw a breath, but it seemed too hard, that there was no air left in her lungs. He was really leaving. Not at the summer’s end, still so far away it didn’t seem pressing yet. He was leaving now. And she understood then, the weight of what that parting meant, how hard it already was, how hard it was going to be.

“So I guess this is good-bye?”

He nodded, almost as if he didn’t trust himself to speak, then softly pressed his lips to hers, a gentle, almost chaste kiss that made her eyes fill with tears all over again.

She leaned her forehead against his as he pulled away, trying to prolong the contact. “Spike, wait. Can I ask,” she swallowed hard, trying to choose the right words. “If things had been different, could you have loved me?”

She could see his eyes now, and she knew he wasn’t lying. “I already do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d carried her in to her frantic grandparents who were on the verge of calling the cops, and had already woken the Thurbers demanding to know where Owen had taken her.

She let them believe the tears were from the ankle, whose throbbing she’d forgotten about until Spike set her down at the kitchen table and wrapped some ice in a towel for her.

He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom he’d never seen before, and laid her carefully on the white eyelet comforter. Her grandmother was right at his heels and he just squeezed her hand before whispering he’d see her on Sunday night when he came back to pack up.

She’d nodded and tried to stop more tears from falling as she watched him walk away.

A/N: Each and every one of your reviews have meant so much. Thank you for taking the time to comment.

Chapter 12

The painkillers knocked Buffy out, and the sun was bright when she awoke the next morning. She tentatively tested her ankle. A little tender, but nothing serious.

She showered and dressed, taking the steps at a slower pace than her usual morning bounce.

“Morning, Grammy.”

“Good morning dear.” Her grandmother hugged her close. “Are you sure you’re alright? How’s your ankle?”

“Nearly good as new. I’m fine, really.”

Her grandmother turned back to the pancakes she was flipping at the stove. “I am honestly shocked that Regina Thurber didn’t raise her son better than that. His father went and got him last night after we called them. Owen won’t be pulling a trick like that again anytime soon.”

“Gram, it’s okay. It’s not like he really did anything to me. He just had a little too much to drink.”

Her grandmother huffed as she slid the last of the fluffy stack onto a plate and carried it to Buffy. “Butter and syrup? And he was responsible for you, told us he’d look after you. At least you had the sense to get out of that truck. I shudder to think what could have happened if William hadn’t found you when he did.”

His name made a tight knot in her stomach that she was sure even pancakes couldn’t displace. “Well, fortunately he did. And no more parties for Buffy. I’m all partied out for the summer, I think.”

She cut into the stacks, trying not to think about the night before. Not one bit of it. Focusing on syrupy goodness instead. Much less complicated than declarations of love or announcements of impending departure.

Her grandmother continued to fuss around the kitchen, hovering while Buffy ate, until she was ready to laugh at the obvious scrutiny. “Grammy, I’m fine.” She stuck her ankle out and rotated it. “See? It‘s barely sore this morning. You don’t have to mother-hen me.”

She swallowed the last syrup drenched bite, then got up, ignoring the slight twinge, and walked gingerly over to the sink. Her grandmother dropped a quick kiss on her forehead as she took her plate. “I know, dear. I just don’t know what we’d do if something happened to our little Buffy.”

Buffy let the warmth of the words wrap around her. This morning, being little Buffy was a role she was happy to slip back into. “So are you getting excited about this weekend? Are you all packed, yet? Need for me to help?”

Her grandmother hung up the dishcloth. “Buffy, after what happened last night, we were thinking perhaps we should cancel our plans.”

There was no way she was going to let them miss their anniversary, not after more than fifty years together. “Gram, that’s crazy talk. You’ve been to that bed and breakfast every year since you got married. It’s only, what, like two hours away? You and Gramps are going. I told you, I’m fine.”

Her grandmother sighed. “I told Henry that’s what you’d say. But, Buffy, we’re going to have my friend Eileen come and stay with you at night, at the very least.”

She crossed her arms indignantly. “Gram! You promised this year I wouldn’t have to have a babysitter. For goodness sakes, I am a babysitter at home, I certainly don’t need one here.”

“Buffy, I know that you’re quite capable. But I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Her grandmother sounded as though she were wavering a little. Buffy pressed her advantage. “Grammy, Mom has to go on overnight buying trips for the gallery and I stay alone then. If I can stay alone at home, surely I’d be okay here. This is Sunnydale. I’ll be safe as houses. Come on, Gram, you know Eileen doesn’t want to have to come stay out here. I’ll stay right here and be a little angel. No wandering Buffy, cross my heart.”

Her grandmother looked conflicted, but the cajoling had its desired effect. “Alright. I think you’ve proven that you can watch out for yourself. But I’ll leave all the numbers and you call if you have any problems, alright? We won’t leave until Friday afternoon, and we’ll be back early Sunday morning.”

“See, that’s no time at all. What can happen in a day and a half? You just worry about having a good time, okay?” Buffy gave her a wink. “Remind Gramps why he married you, yeah?”

She gave a giggle as she eased out the door to her grandmother’s mock indignant reproach, “Why, Buffy Anne Summers!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike rubbed his eyes and loosened his tie. Between the couple of hours of sleep he’d gotten the night before and the drive this morning, he was already exhausted. But there were only a few more hours of meetings now, and then he could go crash out at the hotel.

“Mr. Aetherton?”

He turned to the blonde secretary who was smiling flirtatiously at him. “Can I help you?”

“You have a message.” She tucked the scrap of paper in his hand and walked away, putting a little extra oomph in her step for his benefit. He failed to notice. She’d taken down the number of his grandfather, and the accompanying message: Call as soon as your meetings are through tomorrow.

He wondered what that was all about.

“Will? We’re ready to start back.”

“Thanks, Bob. Be with you in a moment.” He tossed back the rest of his black coffee and headed back into the office.

The caffeine gave him a boost and he found his concentration improving as the afternoon drew to a close. He realized that their work this summer was even more of a success than they’d thought as he listened to the various members of the committee discuss the findings and give their reviews of the report. Mr. Summers was going to be very pleased to hear this. As was his grandfather.

“So we’ll meet back here tomorrow to talk about the next phase?” Professor Jenners announced at he closed the meeting.

Spike nodded his assent. “Bright and early.”

He walked out into the intense California sun, sliding on his sunglasses against the glare. He was tired, but he had one more stop to make. Time to buy that ticket back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy clicked off the flashlight and dropped it beside her as she laid back and stared at the stars. It was quiet tonight, even the crickets seem to have stopped their tune, and the gurgle of the stream was muted. The moon was almost full in the nearly cloudless night sky and she traced the paths of familiar constellations in the heavens above.

She let her mind drift as she watched the stars. Things were coming to an end. Her father was back from Spain. He’d called today, to check in, apologize for not coming up earlier. She’d accepted the words for what they were worth, as well as the promise of the trinkets he’d brought her as souvenirs.

He’d be coming to take her home in two weeks.

The thought of leaving made her stomach flip. Here, she felt safe. Here, things didn’t change. As long as she was here, she didn’t have to play ping-pong between her parents. Didn’t have to be a senior and make life-changing decisions about classes and SATs and college and life.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true anymore and she was too old to pretend otherwise. Nothing stayed the same forever, not even Sunnydale. Her grandparents wouldn’t always be here. She could see the tremble in her grandfather’s hand, the lines around her grandmother’s eyes.

And she’d changed this summer. For better or worse, this thing with Spike, the push and pull between them, the romance and heartbreak, it all blurred together, leaving her a little older, a little wiser.

But still so very lonely.

The little girl in her wanted to stomp her foot and snarl at him for being a coward and running away after telling her he loved her. If you really loved someone, you didn’t do that. You stayed, you sacrificed, you made it work. Somehow.

The nascent adult in her countered that she was expecting a lot if she thought that. He had a life somewhere else. Family she’d never met, friends she’d never seen. He had a future elsewhere and so did she.

Guess that meant love really didn’t conquer all. She snorted ungracefully. Big surprise that. All it did was give you blinders for awhile. And hers were off now.

She rose to her feet and clicked on the flashlight, picking her way carefully on the uneven path towards the house. Her feet slowed of their own accord as she passed the door of the old garage. He wasn’t there to give her a soft smooch and send her floating up to her room as he had so many nights before. And he never would again. Come Monday, all she’d be left with would be a few memories.

She lingered at the door, debating with herself for only a moment before standing on her toes to fish the key from above the doorjamb. She slid the lock free, and left off the lights as she slipped inside and made her way over to the empty bed.

He’d tossed the blanket over the sheets in some limited attempt at making it appear neat before he‘d left. She drew back the covers and sat down. Remembered the night of the Fourth, when he’d carried her here, tossed her down and given her a taste of something she didn’t know how to stop craving even now.

She buried her face in the pillow then, breathing in his lingering scent, the unique fragrance of him that was burned into her memory. She curled around the pillow, letting the tears come. She knew this was foolish, really. To be in tears over a summer romance, a fling, a dalliance that had been meant to fade as sure as the leaves changed their color and the frost touched the ground.

As her sobs slowed and she caught her breath, she wiped at the traces of salt that remained. Maybe it was better that he was leaving. She hadn’t thought it would be this hard. She hadn’t thought she’d fall in love.

She’d been so stupid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike slid the key card impatiently in the lock. “C’mon, c’mon, open.” The lock obligingly switched to green and he flung open the door as he hurried to the phone and dialed in the series of number to reach his grandfather. He checked his watch. It was late, but Grand should be up. He’d be expecting his call.

“Grand? I didn’t wake you, did I?” He couldn’t wait to spill the news. “Grand, they think it went fantastically well. They’re convinced that it’ll allow us to use the hybrids we’d wanted for that new vineyard without risk that the whole thing’ll get wiped out in a season. It‘s exactly what you and Mr. Summers had hoped for.”

He worked loose the buttons in his shirt as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

“I absolutely think you should go ahead with the plans. If those reports came back as solid as you say, there’s no reason to wait. The market’s perfect for expansion, I’ve done some exploring in the area and there are several vineyards that could be acquired reasonably.”

He tossed the shirt in the corner and flopped back on the bed before sitting bolt upright.

“What was that again?”

Even over thousands of miles, there was no mistaking what his grandfather had just proposed.

“You want me to stay here and oversee the development? But what about finishing up with school?”

His grandfather hadn’t thought of this yesterday, Spike could tell. He’d already started the wheels in motion to get him a leave of absence, to set him up with the necessary visas and finances. To fully become a part of the Aetherton empire, something a few years ago he wouldn’t have thought possible given his past screw-ups. He fought the sting of something that felt suspiciously like tears against his eyelids as he realized just what this offer from his grandfather meant.

“Are you serious? Do you really think I’m ready for this, Grand?”

“I have absolute confidence in you, William.” The voice reaching across the distance had no hesitation.
“I’ll need you to come back soon for us to work out the details on this end. Why don’t you go ahead and take the next week or so, finish up with Henry and get yourself set up in L.A? I’ll tell Mary to have accounting set you up with expenses.” His grandfather paused. “That is, if you want this, William. I’ll give you time to think it over, if you prefer.”

Spike was still clutching the phone in disbelief. “Grand, are you sure you’re feeling okay? Cause I thought I heard you just offer to let me head up the new division.”

His grandfather’s deep laugh sounded in his ear. “Will, my boy, don’t doubt yourself. I wouldn’t have offered you the job if you couldn’t do it. You’ve been working for the company in some capacity for years now. This new label was your brainchild. I’ve got someone there now who could handle it, but he doesn’t have your passion for the project. So I’m willing to take the chance, if you are.”

After another moment of silence as Spike tried to compose his thoughts, his grandfather gave him some breathing room. “William, I know it’s a big decision. Take the weekend, think it over. If you want, look around a bit, I’ll call Lilah and have her pull up some rental properties, let you see what’s on the market, there. You can call me on Monday.”

“I will. And thank you, sir.” Spike placed the receiver down slowly, staring at the molded plastic as though it would somehow offer an explanation. He could stay here next year, probably longer. Work on his dream project. He missed home, but he’d grown used to the warm California days and bright nights.

And then there was the flashing neon sign tap-dancing in the corner of his brain. Buffy.

He hadn’t ever considered that this could happen. From the first time he’d kissed her, he’d always known they had an expiration date. But now? They had time. If she was willing.

Would she be? Things in Sunnydale were so much less complicated, days and nights that drifted along, and things here . . . wouldn’t be. It hit him then, hard. Bugger. He’d be dating a high school student, worried about proms and homework, while he juggled meetings in the corporate world with accountants and attorneys. It all seemed almost too surreal to even contemplate, and made him suddenly feel very old.

He closed his eyes and lay back on the bed, remembering the beauty of her wide eyes as she’d whispered the question – could he ever have loved her. He’d told her that he already did.

And that meant he’d be a fool to not at least try. Maybe it’d be more than they could handle. But if it wasn’t . . . he sat up abruptly and grabbed his suitcase, tossing clothing inside with total disregard.

If it wasn’t, it would be the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d planned to spend the rest of the weekend hanging out with friends, but this changed everything. He needed to see her. Tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy waved at the door as her grandparents pulled away. They were so cute. She shook her head, crazy kids. If only everyone were so lucky.

She wandered back into the living room and pilfered around on the bookshelf, looking for a distraction in the paperbacks there. Just what any female with a bruised heart needed - a little fantasy romance. Perfect.
She ran up the stairs and threw on her swimsuit, grabbed the bodice ripper and a blanket and headed down to the stream to while away the remaining daylight hours.

By the time she’d gotten about a hundred pages into it, Buffy was ready to toss the book into the stream.
Isabella was a simpering idiot. So far she’d been kidnapped, tied in a cave, ravished, and then abandoned by Raoul, and now she was welcoming him back with open arms? Ready to be at his beck and call after he’d treated her like crap? Please. And if Raoul flexed his pecs one more time, she thought she’d scream. He sounded like a muscle bound meathead.

Now if she were coming up with the perfect hero, she’d make him lean, with muscles that you could feel dancing beneath the surface of his skin. Not too tall, with clear blue eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day.

The words swam a little on the page and she laughed at herself. Who was she kidding? She’d make her hero Spike, right down to that little scar on his face that made his perfection that much more real. And she’d have more ravishing.

“Buffy?”

She jumped. Okay, fantasizing was one thing, but she might just have crossed into hallucinating.

“Buffy, you down here?”

She rolled over on the blanket to see the object of her imagination in front of her and sat up quickly. “Spike? What are you doing here? I thought you weren‘t coming back until Sunday?”

He ignored her questions and dropped to his knees in front of her, eyes alight. “What if I told you I wasn’t leaving?"

Chapter 13

“Would it make a difference?”

The words registered but her brain couldn’t seem to make sense of them.

“You’re staying? You’re not leaving on Monday?”

His grin widened and he shook his head. “Not Monday. Next year. What if I were going to be staying in L.A.? You‘d want to be my girl, yeah?”

And suddenly she saw red. She’d didn’t even think twice as she reacted almost on instinct, her hand meeting with his jaw in a firm crack that sent him rocking back on his heels.

“Ow, what’d you do that for?”

She got to her feet, fueled by fury as she loftily jabbed a finger in his direction. “You jerk. With your oh I know betters and I don’t want to risk your hearts. And now you have the nerve to come back here and claim you’re staying next year? And expect me to just fall back into your arms? Like some sort of, of . . . Isabella?”

Spike looked thoroughly confused, but she couldn’t seem to stop the tumble of words as she turned and walked down to the edge of the stream, biting her lip to keep from crying. “Do you know how much it hurt when you said you didn’t want me to care for you, Spike? How do I know this isn’t just another round of your favorite game of get Buffy’s hopes up?”

“Buffy?”

She refused to acknowledge him, even though his voice wrapped around her like a tactile thing, drawing her back to him.

“Buffy, love.” His hand reached for her shoulder and she turned around. “Didn’t mean to be presumptuous. Never meant it as a game.” His thumb was caressing her neck now, a soft slide that slowly melted away her resistance as he kept talking, about how he was sorry, just let him explain.

The words washed over her, lapping away at the edges of her anger. Spike. In L.A. Next year. With her. With her. With her. He wanted to stay. With her. Bitty Buffy and Grown up Buffy began to tango together in excitement as it finally sunk in. He wasn’t leaving. And he wanted her.

He continued, starting to sound a little desperate. “Buffy, what I’m trying to ask is, would you want to see me, in L.A.? I know things wouldn‘t be quite like here, because you‘d be in school and I’d be working, but . . .”

She knew what she needed to do. Forget words. He’d said enough for both of them.

She kissed him. For a moment she could feel his surprise against her lips, and then he met her halfway, making every kiss they’d shared before pale in comparison. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to feel him, smell him, taste him, assure herself with all her senses this wasn’t some dream she would wake from. It was real.

“That was a yes, by the way, in case you needed a translation,” she murmured in his ear when she finally broke away.

“I figured as much.” He traced her features with his hands, reacquainting them as the darkness descended and the full moon began to rise in the sky. “I missed you, shortcake. Missed every part of you. Was killing me, not being with you this last week.”

“I missed you, too. I’m so glad you’re back. Tell me more?” she prompted. “Tell me everything.”

He gave her more details between kisses as their hands roamed, renewing their connection. She couldn’t stop the huge smile that seemed to have permanently overtaken her face.

“Say it again.”

“What?” He nipped her neck and she pinched him lightly.

“You know what. Before you left, what you told me.”

“I love you, Buffy Summers.”

She believed him. But she wanted more. “I love you, too.” She tightened her grip on his arms, “You’re not going to run away this time, are you?”

“Not going anywhere.” His low voice rolled across her body and she felt it in her bones, the knowledge that tonight she was going to be his, body and soul.

“Make love to me, Spike.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of what was going to happen, but she wanted him to know she was ready. And she didn’t want to wait any longer.

His hands were swift and sure, but the nervousness she’d felt before at uncovering herself for him was gone, replaced with the deep sense that this was right. The right man, the right time, the right place.

She watched the sky darken overhead and the stars reveal themselves as he covered her body, stroking her softly until she no longer needed her eyes open to see the brightness of the celestial bodies as she shattered around his fingers. She sought his mouth for a kiss, relishing the weight of his flesh, the slide of his skin against her, the hardness of his erection pressed against the softness of her stomach. She needed more.

She helped him with the condom that he pulled from his jeans and promised herself that she’d explore him more next time. And then she stopped thinking about next time as he slid deep inside her. The pain was brief and then the sense of completion, of being replete in a way she’d never felt before settled over her.

She would never forget this night. The hot July moon above was witness as her body tightened around him and she called out his name, and she believed him when he told her again he loved her as he spilled hot inside her body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’d never felt more alive. Walking back to the house on the path after an impromptu skinny dip, giggling softly as she tripped on a gnarled root that she knew was there. Loving the way he swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way until they were nearly in sight of the house.

Behind the oak that stood beside Spike’s small quarters, he gently sat her on her feet and turned her face up to his. She met his lips eagerly and was lost again for several moments until he slowly ended the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

“Aren’t you coming in?” She gestured towards the house and saw his confusion. “They’re gone for the weekend, remember? Their anniversary.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, lacing her fingers in his and pulling him towards the house. “Stay with me tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The sun was newly risen, its rays sending a soft glow into the bedroom and highlighting her still sleeping form as it lay curled beside him. In sleep she looked so young, the soft fall of hair framing her like some sort of fairytale princess, enchanting in her beauty.

He was content to just watch her breathe for the moment; loathe to disturb her sleep and the feeling of . . . Happiness? Joy? Contentment? There didn’t seem to be an emotion he could articulate that captured precisely what he was feeling. But he didn’t want it to end.

She gave a little snuffle and rolled closer to him, seeming to seek him even in her sleep. He held her in his arms, soaking in the warmth of her soft body, and feeling his own reaction to the nearness of her flesh as images of the night before flashed through his brain.

Erotic. Intoxicating. Mind-blowingly fabulous. He was vaguely ashamed of the utter primitive satisfaction he felt in the knowledge that he was her first, that no one else in the world knew how sweet she tasted, how tight and hot she was, the desperate little noises she made in the back of her throat when she was seconds from coming. But only vaguely.

And beyond the visceral, there was something lurking deeper that was almost more powerful than he was willing to acknowledge. He’d not felt anything even approaching it since his early days with Dru, the sensation of fearlessly free-falling when he’d locked eyes with Buffy and seen everything, everything he needed reflected back at him in full measure. Absolute trust, love, affection. Acceptance.

It was by turns utterly exhilarating and completely frightening how much his heart was entangled with hers.

She stirred again, and he knew she’d be awake in a few moments. Time to stop with the deep thoughts. They had all day together and he intended to make the most of it.

He let her hair tickle his nose as he inhaled her scent, storing away the memories of what it felt like to wake up with her in his arms. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, a hazy green that he knew had registered him as a soft smile curved her face.

She rolled over, and pinched her arm. He frowned. “What’d you do that for?”

“Make sure I’m not dreaming.”

He pulled her closer and rained a series of kisses on her face. “Not a dream. Right here in the flesh, taking in your ravishing p.j.s.”

She covered her face. She’d forgotten that this set had happily prancing ponies on the shorts. He pried her fingers off. “I like the horsies.”

She giggled, and let him slowly pull up the top as he placed a series of wet, hot kisses across her stomach that made her catch her breath. Best sleepover ever. He was now kissing each of the cartoons in turn, and the flesh beneath quivered at the proximity of his hot mouth.

When he’d effectively dissolved her into a pile of goo, he propped himself up on one elbow. “So, do you have plans today?”

She regarded him expectantly. “Well, I was planning to spend it with Raoul.” She laughed out loud at the scowl that marred his brow and had to kiss it better. “That is, I was going to finish The Baron’s Daughter. The romance novel I was reading last night. But I’m very open to suggestions.” She fluttered her eyes at him.

“Oh you are? Care to spend the day with me instead?”

She asked, wide-eyed, “I don‘t know, will there be ravishing involved?”

He growled and tackled her to demonstrate how very much ravishing was a part of the day’s agenda when the sound of the phone ringing shattered the moment. Buffy groaned and sat up reluctantly. “That’s probably Gram. She was all flustered about me staying by myself.”

“Mmm, Guess it’s a good thing I showed up to take care of you then.”

She giggled as he nuzzled her neck. “Yeah, I’m sure she’d be delighted.” The ringing continued and Buffy heaved a sigh. “Let me go answer that.”

He followed her as she padded down the steps, oddly reluctant to let her out of his sight, even for a moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy picked up the phone. “Summers’ residence. Oh . . . yes, he is. Just a minute.”

She turned an evil eye towards him. “It’s some woman for you. She says her name is Lilah.”

Her inflection made it sound more like Satan was dialing direct, but he took the proffered phone anyway and pulled her into his lap, clearly trying to distract her. She succumbed anyway.

“Hello, Lilah?”

She watched him sternly as he hmmmed and yeahed his way through the conversation she couldn’t quite hear. Or at least she tried, annoyed that he was still chatting away with this Lilah chick who’d interrupted their quality cuddle time, but her little squeaks as his free hand roamed up under the thin white cotton tank top undermined her attempts at disapproval.

“Tell you what, Lilah. I need to check with my girlfriend, see if she can come with me. Can I ring you back in a few?”

Her face brightened considerably as he clicked the receiver off and sat it down on the table. “Who’s Lilah? And what do you need to ask your girlfriend?”

“Lilah’s a realtor in L.A. Handles stuff for Aetherton. My Grand gave her a call, wanted her to show me some places. Figured if I’m going to be staying next year, I’ll be needing to find a place to live. I shared a place last year off campus with some blokes, good guys, but a noisy bunch. So I was thinking maybe I could get your opinion.”

“Really?” She couldn’t stop the big smile that burst out. He wanted her to go help him pick out a place? It was so . . . domestic. And kind of wiggy serious. Not the kind of thing you did with someone you didn’t plan on having around long-term. She felt her heart beat just a little faster. “That’d be great.”

“You sure? Wanted today to be special, and not sure if checking out apartments tops the list of most romantic dates.”

“Nope. It’ll be good. And you can do something romantic for me tonight, ‘kay?”

He gave her a quick kiss. “Rain check on romance, got it. Guess we’d best get ready if we’re going. I’ll call Lilah back, tell her we’re coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wiped the film off the mirror so she could see as she vigorously brushed her teeth, then swished with mouthwash. She was surprised how much she looked the same. Somehow she’d thought she’d looked older. Different.

But she felt it, inside. Not just the obvious, the sudden way it would hit her when she closed her eyes, the wave of sensation like a full on-body flashback of how it felt to have him buried deep inside her, so much a part of her she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. But like they’d reached a new plateau. They were real now. Not two ships passing in the night. Not a few weeks fling.

She was his girlfriend.

She rinsed and wiped her mouth, focusing on the girl in the mirror.

“Hi, I’m Spike’s girlfriend.” Hmm, would her mom think she’d picked up one of the road hogs from out at that dive on the interstate? “Hi, this is my boyfriend, William. I’m his girlfriend, Buffy.”

Way to go with the redundancy, Buff. She frowned at herself.

“I’m his girlfriend.”

She smiled. Saying it out loud just made it feel so much more real.

She wrapped the towel around her and ventured back to her bedroom. Now, what to wear. The grin slid off her face as she surveyed her clothes. She hadn’t packed for apartment hunting, just casual stuff. Everything screamed juniors.

She rummaged around, finding settling on a pair of jean capris and a plain white t-shirt.

“Hey gorgeous?” She whirled around to find him lounging in her doorway. “You ready?”

“Just a sec. Spike, will this look alright?”

He nodded. “You look good no matter what you wear. Or don’t.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Pig.” She wrinkled her nose and tried to stop the hot flush that she could feel rising up her neck. “Let me just get some makeup on, alright?” She rushed through the ritual of paint to perfection before rushing to join him in the car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilah reminded her of some of the snotty types that frequented the gallery where her mother worked, always looking like they thought they were just a bit above you. She made a beeline for Spike as soon as they entered the sleekly decorated office and air-kissed him.

“William. So good to see you again. When your grandfather called, I told him I wouldn’t dream of letting anyone else help.”

“Well, I hope I’m not ruining your Saturday, Lilah.”

She trilled a laugh that made Buffy want to grind her teeth. “Oh now, don’t be ridiculous, handsome. When an Aetherton man calls, I don’t even think twice.”

Buffy stood by Spike’s side, wondering when she was going to be introduced. Lilah had barely flicked a glance in her direction, she’d been so busy fawning over Spike since they’d walked in. She looked down at her own capris, sale rack in the mall, and cheap t-shirt, then glanced back at Lilah’s tailored perfection, accessorized just so. Maybe Spike was having second thoughts.

He turned to her then. “Lilah, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Buffy.”

Lilah’s eyebrow shot up infinitesimally, but she was too much of a consummate professional to offend a client out right. Buffy doubted Spike even caught it. “Your girlfriend? Why you sly dog, your grandfather never mentioned.” She proffered her hand and Buffy shook it.

“So Buffy, did you and William meet at UCLA?”

Buffy felt her mouth go dry. “Umm, well . . .”

Spike cut in smoothly. “No, we met this summer. Shall we get going? We only have this afternoon.”

“Of course, we’ll take my car.”

Buffy sat in the backseat of Lilah’s Escalade, watching the streets flash by as they were driven to posh neighborhoods miles from the more suburban streets where she and her mother lived. They toured house after house, with beautiful manicured lush lawns and sparkling backyard pools. Huge. She felt very out of place.

“This is the last one.”

Lilah pulled into the driveway and ushered them to the covered doorway flanked with columns. “It’s a real gem, and as you’ll see from the back, even has an ocean view.”

She showed them through the bedrooms, ran through the assets of the well-equipped kitchen, and pointed out the virtues of the stunning poolside that overlooked a view of blue for miles. It was breathtaking.

“Lilah, would you give us a minute?”

“Of course.” She stepped away discreetly.

Spike pulled her into his arms and turned her to face the ocean. “What’d you think, pet? Nice, huh? Think you’d want to visit me here?”

“It’s beautiful, Spike, but . . .”

“What, sweetheart?”

She tilted her face up to look at him as she whispered, “Can you really afford this?”

He laughed. “Seems a bit much, huh? I hadn’t really thought I’d go for a place like this, was just going to look for an apartment, but Grand seemed to have other ideas.” He surveyed the breathtaking view as he tightened his arms around her. “Be a nice place to come home to, especially if you were here.”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t deny that the house was lovely, but with every place they’d toured, her grandmother’s long-ago comment kept sounding in her head. He wasn’t from their world. She got that now, in a way she really hadn’t before. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, Spike.”

“I’m going to think on it.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for coming with me, love.”

He kept her hand securely in his until they got back to the SUV, but the tightness in her chest didn’t quite ease even as they bid Lilah goodbye and he held the door for her to the DeSoto.

Chapter 14

She couldn’t shake the tenseness as he started the DeSoto, and gave the old engine a moment to warm up. Waking up this morning to his head sharing her pillow, she’d thought nothing could go wrong with the day. But an afternoon of Lilah and a peek at his life outside the tiny world of her grandparent’s vineyard left her feeling gauche and naïve for imagining he’d keep on wanting her once the summer was over.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was soft and she resisted the urge to slide closer to him for a moment.

“Just a headache.” She frowned and rubbed at her forehead. Her head did hurt, probably from thinking too much about everything.

He took over for her, rubbing the back of her neck until a drugstore appeared as a corner intersection. He pulled into the parking lot. “Wait a minute.” He returned with painkillers and a bottle of water and she gratefully swallowed while he continued rubbing her neck, easing some of the tension away.

The next thing she knew, he was softly shaking her awake outside her grandparent’s house.

She sat up slowly, still disoriented and muzzy. “When’d we get home?”

“Just a moment ago, you slept the whole way. Head better?”

She blinked and rotated her neck, a little stiff, but far less painful. “Mhhh. I think so.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to be under the weather. I promised you ravishing and romance.” He looked . . . excited at the prospect and she couldn’t help the small frown she formed in response.

“Spike, it’s okay.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“What’s that mean?”

She sighed and turned back. “Just, I think we maybe made a mistake. I’m not sure we . . . fit.”

His face was inscrutable as he studied hers. “Is this about today? The houses?”

She shrugged. “The houses. Lilah. Everything. I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.” She opened the door and got out, heading for the house. He followed on her heels.

“Buffy, wait.” He caught her hand as she reached for the latch. “You know how angry you were when I tried to make decisions for the both of us? Thought I knew what you needed? It works both ways.”

“But, Spike . . .”

“Nope. Not going to argue with you. We have a date. You go upstairs and put on something that’ll make my jaw drop and meet me down by the stream. I’ve got a picnic in the car to make good on that rain check. And we’ll talk if you want. But Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell me you’re not the right girl for me. I know better.” His kiss wasn’t gentle, a little desperate, as if he felt the need to imprint himself on her. She was panting by the time he pulled away, leaving her a bit unsteady. But it had worked. The doubts had rolled away like clouds receding on the horizon.

“Now go inside, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He gave her a small pat and she eagerly complied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She settled on a floaty pink top. The row of buttons up the front ended in a vee that just hinted at cleavage and she liked the demure effect. She debated for a moment, then slid on her short denim skirt to complete the outfit. There was something about wearing a skirt that made her feel different, more feminine, than her usual summer uniform of shorts. She brushed out her hair to settle in waves around her shoulders, remembering how much he loved to play with it when it was loose. A touch of lip gloss completed her preparations, and she twirled in front of the mirror, satisfied with the result. She was ready to be ravished and romanced.

She could feel anticipation growing in her stomach, replacing the nasty doubts of earlier. She’d been stupid to let herself get shaken like that. It didn’t matter what Lilah thought of her, or anyone else but him. And he wanted her.

She tripped down the stairs and descended into the basement. In the cool gloom, she scanned the shelves, nodding to herself. There it was, her grandmother’s strawberry wine. Saved for special occasions.

Buffy thought this qualified. She took a bottle, and after stopping for glasses in the kitchen, headed for their spot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was watching the path, waiting for her in the fading light. He found himself suddenly nervous, wiping palms that had grown sweaty on his jeans. There was no reason to be so jittery, but the trip today had been eye-opening. Things were going to be different soon, but the way he felt her for her wouldn’t change. He just needed to convince her of that.

And there she was, bright smile restored as she presented him with her gift. He felt the jitters fade away into the deepening dusk.

“What’s this, love?” He uncorked the bottle. “Ahh, Mrs. Summers’ secret weapon. Your grandfather raves about this, calls it the elixir of the gods.”

“It is. Thought we could have some with the picnic.” She dragged him over to the blanket he’d smoothed out. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He grinned. “Why don’t you show me first?” He liked the glint in her eye as she sashayed towards him and complied, rising up on her toes to give him a slow, deep kiss. She tasted delectable and he wondered if she’d mind skipping the meal entirely. But that would be rushing things. And that wasn’t what tonight was for.

He released her and followed as she gracefully lowered herself onto the blanket, tucking her legs beneath her. She cooed with excitement as she unpacked the basket he’d gotten from the delicatessen, culminating in near rapture at the chocolate cake and tub of strawberries she found at the bottom. He uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass of the wine while she arranged a plate for each of them.

He handed her the glass, the brush of her fingers against his sending a shiver across his skin.

“I feel like we should make a toast or something,” Buffy said, her voice quiet as she contemplated the dark liquid solemnly.

“An excellent idea.” He raised his glass to meet hers. “To us?”

She nodded. “To us.”

The glasses clinked and he took the first sip of the sweet wine, the tart bite underlying the initial tang.

“Spike?”

“Yes, love?”

“I think we should always come back here.”

He reclined next to her, feeding her bites of bread and cheese as he surveyed the stream. “It is special, isn’t it? I’m never going to smell strawberries or hear a rushing stream and not think of you again.”

“I think maybe it’s magic.” Her tone was still solemn and he wondered what had sent her into such a contemplative state.

“Magic?” he asked.

She returned the favor, feeding him a bite then, lingering to caress his cheekbone with her thumb. He felt like a pet tabby arching into his owner’s hand, craving her touch, but he didn’t want to break the connection that was throbbing between them. Maybe it was magic, because he felt entranced.

“I think it’s where Gramps courted Gram too. I got her to tell me more about how they met one day. He wasn’t from here, you know.”

“I know. New York, right?”

“Yeah. When he came here, he fell in love with Gram, but she was young, so they had to wait until she got older. But I think they must have rendezvoused here sometimes.” She took another sip of her wine.

“Why’s that?” He’d arranged his head in her lap now, and she was stroking his hair in a way that he found very enjoyable.

“Gramps carved their initials in the tree over there.” She nodded to the great oak that provided much of the shade along the bank of the stream. “Want to see?”

She picked up one of the candles he’d lit and he followed her around to the spot where a small heart framed a pair of initials and a date more than fifty years old. “It’s before they were married. I think they must have met down here. Like us.” Her face was half-lit by the flicker of the candle and he believed it when she echoed her earlier sentiment. “Magic.”

“Wait just a minute.” He hurried back to the basket and retrieved a knife. “Hold the candle for me.”

“Spike, what are you doing?”

He guided her around the tree to a smooth section of bark and set to work. “Adding us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She watched as his hands worked as smoothly and carefully as they had with the pruning knives to add a W.A. and E.S. in the midst of their own heart. He added the date and stepped back.

“Now we’ll always have something to look for when we come back.”

Her fingers reached out to trace the raw wood, the permanent imprint of the W and E. William Aetherton and Elizabeth Summers. He’d used their real names, the formality lending the lines an air of legitimacy.

“It’s beautiful, Spike.” She reached up and cupped his face, fascinated by the shadows that danced there in the glow of the wavering candle, giving her glimpses of darkening blue. He turned to place a kiss in her palm, slowly tracing her lifeline with his tongue.

The rough rasp made her bones liquefy. She blew out the candle and dropped it into the grass as she leaned against the tree for support. He moved against her, his arms a frame for her desire as she tilted her face to his.

“Spike, kiss me.” She didn’t mean for it to sound desperate, but suddenly it felt that way, as though if he didn’t touch her now she would spontaneously combust. Or perhaps she would if he did.

“Wanted you all day, like this, all flushed and wanting for me.” His voice was a rough whisper, and she couldn’t help shivering against him and sliding her leg up around his hip to urge him closer.

“I’m yours.” Her own voice was low, sultry, needy, and he responded, dipping his head, imprinting the vulnerable flesh of her neck with the clever tattoo of his tongue as it traced words against her throat. She wound her fingers in his hair as his lips searched for hers, and she couldn’t stop the heady moan when he finally found her lips.

The thought swirled through her fuzzy brain that she could kiss him like this all night, deep, toe-curling soul kisses. And then the hardness pressed against her thigh reminded her that she wanted more than just kisses.

They surfaced leisurely, and he leaned his forehead against hers as she drew in a shaky breath. “Bloody hell, woman, you have such an amazing mouth.” He took her hand and pulled her away on jello legs. “C’mon, I think it’s time for dessert.”

She followed complacently, still bemused from his caresses as she sank down on the blanket and watched him turn back to the basket. He busied himself for a moment, then handed her a refilled glass of the wine.

She took it and slowly sipped the burnished liquid. She could feel warm tendrils curling in her belly, enhancing the almost hyper relaxation running through her veins, a mix of contentment and arousal that swirled together in an inseparable blend. She lay back, closing her eyes and letting the world spin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watched her for a few moments when he’d finished pulling out the sweets from the basket. She looked blissful, her well kissed lips curved in a smile, her body relaxed and loose. He slid beside her and traced a finger down the edge of her blouse, slowly sliding one finger beneath the first button. Her smile grew wider as he slid the unnecessary clasp loose and exposed the edges of the lace bra she wore underneath.

Her eyes opened slowly, the dark lashes sweeping upward with a grace to rival any Hollywood’s starlet and revealing the deep pools beneath that always enthralled him.

“Thought you looked a little flushed,” he smirked as his finger danced down to the next button.

“I could say the same for you,” she replied, as she ran her hand up to the top of his shirt.

“Want to help me out with that?” He liked seeing the flash in her eyes as she pulled him closer and began nimbly working his buttons loose. She gave a low murmur of approval as she exposed more of his chest, the sound reverberating through his body and straining his self-control. He wanted to take his time, make her hum, make her sigh. But she wasn’t making it easy on him.

“Lay back again, love,” he managed to choke out as she finished with the last fastening and began to devote her attention to tracing every inch of his exposed flesh, her nails dragging a delicate friction against sensitive skin.

She pouted, “Pretty. Wanna play.”

He laughed and slid the loose sweater off her shoulders, leaving them bare and vulnerable as he skillfully unsnapped the clasp of her bra. “So do I. Lay back, beautiful.”

She complied, stretching her arms above her head with a languid grace. “Only ‘cause you asked nicely.”

“Mmmm, I think it’ll be nice.” He reached for the strawberries behind him and bit into one of the ripest before letting the juice trickle down across her breasts. His tongue followed, tracing the erratic paths of the sticky juice. He lifted his head. “More?”

She moaned and pulled him back down as he teased her puckered nipples with the wet flesh of the fruit, then ran his tongue around the sensitized nubs until she was thrashing beneath him.

He reversed course then, moving to her feet and sliding off her sandals as he massaged her calves and waited for her to calm slightly before repeating his assault, working his way up the smooth expanse of her legs. She almost launched herself off the blanket when he nibbled on the delicate spot behind her knee. He unfastened her skirt and slid the denim and her briefs down in one swift motion. He started to move between her legs, but her hand halted him.

“My turn.”

He was on his back before he knew what happened or how she shifted control, watching her straddle his body and reached for her own strawberry. The movement sent her hips into an enticing dip against his still encased erection, and he knew it was deliberate when he caught the glint in her eye as she swiveled again and righted herself on top of him, all seductress.

“Love, you trying to kill me here?”

“Not if you’re a good boy.” She mimicked his earlier moves, painting his body with the juices of the ripe fruit and using her tongue to sweep away the bright liquid and send him soaring. She worked her way down with a shimmy that had him arching until he felt her hot fingers pop the button on his denims and slide the zipper down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy took a deep breath as she parted the fly of his jeans and allowed the hard shaft beneath to escape. The wine had smoothed out her shaky nerves and left her with a boldness she hadn’t known she possessed as she let her fingers drift up the length of his rigid cock. He hissed at her touch and she rocked back, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, love, please, don’t stop.” His voice was thick and strained and music to her ears. She slid down the jeans farther and returned to her study, tentative at first as she learned the shape of him, curled her hand around and slowly dragged her fingers to the velvet soft skin at the head, where she gave an experimental lap to the beads of liquid gathering there.

“Yeah, baby, there, suck me, suck me hard.” The whispered command urged her on and she complied, watching him through veiled lashes as she swirled her tongue around him, taking as much as possible of his length into her mouth while her hand cupped the heavy weight of his sac.

She hadn’t known she could do this, reduce him to mumbling a string of curses and endearments as his body coiled, tense and ready beneath her fingers, barely leashed power hers to control. She closed her eyes, focusing on the salty tang, the slick feel of his hot flesh, the sound of his labored breathing that hitched when she moved just so.

She loved it.

His gentle tug brought her reluctantly away. She raised confused eyes to his. “I thought you liked . . .”

He rolled her to lay beneath him before she could finish, his lips cutting off the sentiment and reassuring her that he very much did like, but also that he had other plans. His hands were everywhere, tracing her breasts, sliding over her hip and across the curve of her belly down to the slick wet heat that welcomed the slide of his fingers as he began fucking her in earnest, circling her clit with his thumb as he plunged two fingers deep inside. She couldn’t stop the scream that he ripped from her as unexpectedly as the orgasm that sliced her into pieces. He didn’t give her a moment to recover as he slid down her body and used his agile tongue to shatter her again.

He dropped a kiss on her quivering thigh when she finally managed to catch her breath, watching her through hooded lids. She reached for him. “Spike, please.”

He seemed to understand her plea and she watched as he slid on a condom and positioned himself at her entrance, sheathing himself with slow strokes into her wet heat. They both shivered as he came to stop, buried completely within her, eyes locked as something beyond words passed between them, before he began to move. She gripped his shoulders, finding the rhythm of his thrusts as she locked her legs behind his back. She wanted this more than she‘d ever wanted anything, the friction of his cock as it slid inside her, the feeling of his body merging with hers, the soul baring look in his eyes. The love that radiated between them.

He reached between them, stroking her softly until she fell apart again and he followed her, exploding with her name on his lips. For a long moment, they simply lay there, replete and satisfied. He slowly rolled off of her and she followed, draping herself against him, not wanting to lose contact with his skin.

“Mmmm, so amazing, love.”

She purred against him. “Wonder what’d it be like in a bed?”

He laughed and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh shortcake, the night’s young yet. I say we give it a try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alarm went off and he managed to hit the button quickly before she stirred. He slipped out of the bed reluctantly, stopping in the doorway to memorize the beauty of her face gently lit by the dawn. She was a picture. He didn’t know when he’d have the chance again to watch her like this, flushed and relaxed in her sleep in the early morning light.

He didn’t expect smooth sailing. She was still young, he’d need to win her mother over. Learn to deal with curfews, and take her to homecoming dances if that was what she wanted.

She was worth it.

One smooth shoulder lay uncovered and he couldn’t resist going back for just a moment and kissing the sweet spot where her neck and shoulder met one last time. She murmured something and stirred as he pulled the sheet up and tucked her in.

“Beautiful dreams, shortcake. See you in a little while.”

She stirred again, eyelashes fluttering as she slowly surfaced, realizing something was missing. “Spike?”

“Yes, love.”

“Come kiss me good-bye before you go.”

He knelt back beside the bed and pressed a kiss against her lips. She was sleep-warm and sweet against his mouth, her little murmur of happiness against his lips making the kiss so much more. He rose reluctantly. “I’ll see you soon, Buffy.”

He closed the door and headed to his own bed just as the sun began to rise.

Chapter 15

Buffy woke with a start. The room was already brightly lit and her clock reported that it was after nine. She rolled to lie on her back, stretching luxuriously. The pillow beside her still bore the imprint of his head. She picked it up, cuddling it in a morning hug. She wished she could have opened her eyes to find him beside her like yesterday, but she’d see him soon.

It was a beautiful day. Bright, sunny, gorgeous.

She jumped up, humming some melodic riff she couldn’t name that seemed to embody how her heart was singing at the moment. She glanced in the mirror. Agh. Bedhead in a big way. A shower was in order before she went down.

She hurried to get ready, finding herself trying three different tops and adding extra lip gloss, just because. She bounced into the kitchen, wondering if he’d be there already. She skidded to a stop at the sight of her grandmother seated at the table, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"Grammy? Is something wrong? When did you get back?"

Her grandmother looked up. "Oh, Buffy, you’re finally up. I didn’t want to disturb you, you were sleeping so well."

She approached the table on shaky legs. “Gram? Is something wrong with Gramps? Are you okay? What’s going on? Did something happen?"

Her grandmother nodded wearily. "William’s grandfather had a massive heart attack. The phone was ringing just as we walked in the door."

She sat down with a thud, knowing her face had gone ashen. "Is he, did he . . . die?"

"No. Not yet. He’s in critical condition though. Henry‘s driving William into LAX to catch a flight out this morning."

"Oh."

She knew it was incredibly selfish of her, but she wanted so desperately to ask if he’d said anything, a message for her, a note, something before he left. But she could hardly expect him to think of her with the shock of hearing about his grandfather.

And yet, she felt empty all of a sudden. Alone.

She got up and made her way to the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup and adding milk and sugar mechanically. She stared out the kitchen window. The morning was entirely gray, the sun gone as if it too had heard the news.

She shuffled back to the table.

“Will he be okay, Gram?” She bit her lip, not sure if she wanted an answer.

“William’s grandfather? I don’t know. He’s not a young man.”

Buffy stirred her coffee slowly. “Spike? Was he . . .?”

“He was shaken. His grandfather’s been the only stable thing in his life for years. That poor boy. He promised he’d call when there was news, though.”

“Oh. That’s good. That he’ll call.” Buffy got up from the table, leaving the coffee cup untouched. “Gram, I’m not feeling so well. I think I’ll go back upstairs for a little while.”

She was almost out the door when her grandmother called her name. “Buffy? Was William here all weekend?”

She nodded. “The meetings finished early. Tell Gramps it was a success.”

“I will. Oh, and Buffy?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“He did ask if I would tell you goodbye for him.”

It hit her hard then. She stifled a sob and tried to keep a brave face. “Thank you, for telling me. If you here any more news, will you let me know?"

"Of course, dear. Just rest now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three long days passed with no word.

Then on Wednesday afternoon, the phone rang. She ran for the receiver.

“Hello?”

She slid down the wall as she heard his voice in her ear. “Buffy? Is that you?”

“It’s me. Spike, how are you? How’s your grandfather?”

He sounded tired, his voice hoarse and raspy. She wished she could be there, could just hold him, let him rest against her as he related the news. His grandfather was still in critical condition. The doctors couldn’t say one way or the other, only time would tell. If he pulled through, he’d be bed-ridden for months, needing constant care.

She didn’t know the words to use. She told him she was sorry, asked if she could help, but knew that sounded almost trite. She was surprised when he said yes.

“I need . . . If you could pack up my stuff and have it shipped? I don’t know how long it will be before I can come back and get it.”

He wasn’t coming back. That’s what he was saying. He wasn’t coming back.

She swallowed the tears that started to rise and agreed, jotting down the address. He promised to call again when he could, told her he loved her. And then she could hear the nurse calling his name in the background and the line was dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The remaining few weeks with her grandparents seemed like a dull gray fog. She followed the same routine. Chores in the morning, afternoons in the greenhouse running and fetching for her grandfather or helping her grandmother work on her centennial plans. She still took noontime breaks at the swimming hole in the little curve of the stream. The sun shone just as brightly, the grapes ripening were just as plump on the vine. But the wonder and magic of the summer was gone.

It took her until Friday to muster the courage to go pack his things. One week from the day he’d come back so jubilant from L.A. One week from the night when they’d slept together, bodies intertwined and everything in the world going their way.

Things shouldn’t change that much in a week.

The door swung open easily. The bed was unmade, a glass still sitting in the sink from his hasty departure. She opened the suitcase that sat at the foot of the bed, and pulled open the one dresser, transferring shirts and pants stacked within.

He hadn’t had much with him. It didn’t take long to make the room look as though he’d never been there. She fastened the latches, and crossed to the refrigerator. Inside there were a few bottles of beer and she pulled one out, letting her fingers grow numb from the cold.

She found a bottle opener lying by the sink and opened the top, taking a tentative sip. It was bitter and harsh, the perfect accompaniment as she let the memory of a week ago wash over her.

Had it meant as much to him as to her? Those nights together, when he’d made love to her, held in his arms in the moonlight with the smell of the ripe strawberries scenting the air. She’d been sure it had. He’d said things, whispered caresses in her hair that seemed like lines of poets she had yet to discover. Told her of his love and she’d returned it. It was real, what had happened between them. She knew it was.

And she knew he needed to know it too. She closed her eyes for a minute, trying to even imagine what it would feel like to have it be one of her grandparents lying on a sterile bed, tubes and wires running from their body to mysterious machines.

She recoiled from the image as she opened the notepad she’d brought with her. She wanted to put into words everything she was feeling. If she couldn’t be with him in person, as least she could give him some comfort, assure him she loved him, missed him, longed for him.

She made three attempts before she ripped the letter to shreds. He didn’t need her to whine about how sad she was. He needed her to be there for him.

She found a fresh sheet and started again. Happy thoughts only.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His next call was a week later, the night before her father was due to arrive. She took the receiver and disappeared onto the front porch, wanting the moment alone.

“I got the letter in the luggage, Buffy. Thank you.” She soaked up the sound of his voice, taking pleasure that he’d liked the words she‘d struggled with so much.

“Is he better, Spike?” She fumbled the receiver to her other ear nervously, waiting for the answer.

“He is. They think he’s going to pull through.”

She jumped off the swing in her excitement. “Spike, that’s wonderful!”

“It really is. He’s a tough old goat. He’s talking too, a little. Says he’s going to come back, full strength.”

“I’m so glad.” The week of silence had made her think she’d never see him again. But now, with his grandfather getting better, he’d be back soon. “Guess I shouldn’t have sent your stuff after all.”

There was a long silence and she thought she’d lost the connection. “Spike? Are you there?”

“Buffy . . . shortcake, I can’t come back. Not now. He’s going to need someone, and I can’t leave him with just a nurse. He needs family.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small. “So the thing in L.A.?”

“The job’s going to someone else. Buffy, I love you, but I can’t leave him, not right now. Do you understand?”

“I . . . I do, Spike.”

“It doesn’t mean that it’s the end of us, love, you know that. I’ll call, we’ll write. I’ll be back in L.A. someday soon.”

She heard the words, but they sounded hollow, promises without substance. She found herself agreeing, swearing she’d write, giving him her mother’s address.

He told her he loved her again and she said goodbye, letting the phone drop to the seat beside her as the connection was severed.

She was still sitting on the front porch, watching the spectacular sunset with blind eyes, when the door opened and her grandmother came out and joined her on the porch swing.

"Amazing, isn’t it?"

Buffy nodded distractedly.

"I’ve lived here my whole life, and I never get tired of watching the colors that paint the sky. It always put things into perspective for me."

Buffy looked at her grandmother, puzzled. "How so?"

"Whenever things get bad, whenever times have been hard, I watch that sunset and it reminds me that there is something bigger, something beautiful, that’s always going to be there." She softly patted her granddaughter’s cheek. "You miss him, don’t you?"

She tried to control her reaction, to not let the tell-tale blush steal across her face or the tears well up again, but the sympathy in her Gram’s eyes was her undoing.

"So much. Grammy, I feel like I’m going to split in two."

"Come here, sweetheart." Buffy buried herself in the opened arms and let herself weep.

"Did he hurt you, baby? Did he promise you things?” her grandmother asked with concern.

"He thought he was going to stay, next year.” She fought the hiccups as the sobs poured out, "His, his grandfather wanted him to work in L.A. And now he can’t and I know I shouldn’t be mad at him, but it hurts. I love him so much."

Her grandmother continued to rub her back soothingly and let her cry for a few more minutes until the sobs began to slow. As she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief her grandmother supplied, and got her breathing under control, Gram lifted her face.

"Did he take advantage of you, dear?"

Lying to her grandmother had never been something Buffy had been able to do, But she knew she was telling the truth when she looked her grandmother in the eye and whispered softly, "No, he didn’t take advantage."

That seemed to be enough to satisfy her grandmother, and she nodded. "It’s for the best, dear. I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but it is. His world, Buffy, it’s so different. He couldn’t have stayed in ours, even if he’d wanted. But that doesn’t make your first love any less special. Or make it hurt less."

"Will it stop, Gram?" She wiped away the tears, trying to stop the flow.

"It will. It just takes time. Then this will fade into a happy memory, something that you look back on and smile, I promise. Now, how about some ice cream?"

Maybe her Gram was right. Perhaps one day she could recall those clear blue eyes and beautiful face as a pleasant memory. But right now it still felt too fresh, too raw. He was there, in her heart, and she couldn’t expel him.

But ice cream would help for the moment. Buffy nodded gratefully and followed her inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her father arrived on time for once. She’d planned to spend her morning visiting her usual haunts, but besides a quick pat for the sympathetic cow with the big eyes, she found herself whiling away her remaining hours in Sunnydale on the front porch swing. Everywhere seemed to hold so many memories that she wasn’t ready to revisit.

When he exited the car, she noticed that her dad seemed tanner, thinner. Apparently divorce was agreeing with him. He’d brought her a beautiful wooden box, ornately carved and beautifully inlaid, from Spain. She accepted the gift and his hug, then went inside for her bags.

The good-bye with her grandparents was sad. She knew deep down that there wouldn’t be another summer like this, and she found herself clinging a little harder, and whisking away a few stray tears as they hugged her.

Her dad tried to make conversation as the miles dropped away, taking her back to reality, but she found herself disinclined to even feign politeness. He finally gave up, and she stared out the window instead. Which was how she got the first inkling of bigger changes to come, as they pulled into the drive and she spotted the for sale sign firmly planted in the front yard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The move was so swift she didn’t have time to protest. Her mother had found a job in Chicago at a gallery, and the offer was too good to pass up, she said. She wanted to get them settled before Buffy started school.

She felt herself being swept along with the tide, the new school, new apartment, new city. Change was good her mother kept saying, a fresh start. Buffy found she didn’t really care. She wrote Spike religiously as August turned into September and haunted the mailbox each day looking for a return missive.

School started and the high school gods apparently decided to smile on her in her final year. She made the cheerleading squad after much prodding by her mother to try out and get involved. She was invited to the right parties. Somehow in not caring, she found herself more popular than she’d ever been.

She still wrote Spike, but the return letters grew shorter as the winds whipped colder off the lake and the trees lost their coverings entirely. His grandfather was deteriorating again, she thought, though Spike tried to be amusing in the posts he sent. They still signed their letters with love, but the words just seemed to skim the surface of their emotions.

When homecoming approached, one of the running backs, Riley, asked her to be his date. She agonized for a weekend, pouring over the most recent letters that said little, trying Spike’s number over and over with the international calling card that was supposed to be used to contact her father on business trips. There was no answer.

On Monday, she told Riley yes, but only as a friend. She still wrote Spike, but the letters grew fewer and further between, and his responses even briefer.

The senior year flew by with classes, and clubs, and cheering. Somewhere along the way Riley became a permanent fixture, always around. She had planned to try to go back to California after graduation, nursing some vague fantasy that he’d come back, she’d go to UCLA, and everything would be as planned. The year would be just a temporary detour. But she’d been also been accepted at Northwestern, and so had Riley. He wanted her to stay with him. Her mom wanted her close as well. She was torn.

And then her grandmother called and told her that Spike’s grandfather had passed, and he was taking a role in the company under his father in London.

She spent that night late in her senior year reading, for the last time, through the old letters she’d kept in the carved wooden box. The memories of him were still there, in sharp relief, when she closed her eyes. Their bittersweet passion was reflected in scrawled handwriting and his face was forever etched in her mind, how he looked in the moonlight, the way he laughed, his magical eyes. But it was almost as though it was a brilliant dream, that their time together beside the stream where the rest of the world didn’t exist hadn’t been quite real.

She found a sympathy card the next day. Her message was sincere, her regrets heartfelt. But she also included a brief line about her college options and asked if he thought he might be back.

She waited for two weeks, her self-imposed deadline for some sort of response. He never wrote back.

At the end of the second week she dropped her acceptance letter to Northwestern into the same slot and promised herself she wouldn’t cry over him again.

Epilogue

She could tell the sun would be setting soon as she sat up slowly from her comfortable spot on the grass. The blazing ball of fire move slowly towards the edge of the world, and she remembered her grandmother‘s comment from long ago.

“Something bigger and more beautiful, right Grammy?” Her words drifted across the water as she wiped the tear that slipped from the corner of her eye away. It had been her grandmother’s time, she knew, but it left a hollow feeling to know she was truly gone.

Her feet had pruned in the cool water of the stream and she wiggled her toes, reluctantly removing them. The quiet that wasn’t really, the chirp of crickets, the rushing of the water, the rustle of the leaves cloaked her. She savored the moment as she attempted to make her peace with Gram’s passing and the loss of this place. Her final goodbyes, to all that it had meant in her life.

Her dad was selling the vineyard, though she wasn’t sure who the buyer would be. She just knew it wouldn’t belong to the Summers much longer.

It would be some big corporation, probably. Few of the vineyards in Sunnydale were still owned by families these days, but her grandmother had been stubborn, insisting she’d never sell as long as she was alive. Since her grandfather had passed away it had been rented out each year, but it felt off knowing it would be gone for good now.

It was sad, like a piece of her slipping away. She could hardly protest, she wasn’t in a position to look after the place. After college, she’d gotten a job at a travel magazine based in Chicago, working her way up the food chain to become an assistant editor. She’d been content, happy with her apartment and cat, good friends, and a string of steady but interchangeable guys. And then thirty, which had once seemed so old, loomed on the horizon.

She’d decided to make some changes. A move to L.A. A risky career shift to freelancing. A new scene. The hope she’d fall in love again.

She was self-aware enough to realize the confluence of the last few tumultuous months had likely prompted this particular stroll down nostalgia lane. She’d dated, had long-term relationships, even been engaged once. But she’d never fallen in love since that summer. Never felt a tug towards another human being so strong she couldn’t breathe, so complete she didn’t want to be, if she couldn’t be with him.

She sighed, stood and gathered the hose she had thrown on the grass and slipped her feet into the sensible, yet depressingly matronly pumps appropriate for funeral wear, or so it had seemed that morning when she dressed. She walked over to the oak tree that still spread its limbs over the stream.

She found the heart that held their initials, weathered now into the bark, but still distinguishable. W.A. + E.S. The night he’d carved those initials, she’d believed they could be forever, that those marks would be no less permanent than their love for each other.

Did that kind of ardor only happen when one was young and everything was new? Was she foolish to expect to feel that again? Or would she be a fool to settle for anything less?

She knew the chances that they wouldn’t have drifted apart anyway, even if everything had worked out, were virtually non-existent. She’d had a lot of growing up left to do after that summer, and she wasn’t the same girl now that she’d been at seventeen.

And sometimes she was glad the end had been so sharp and swift. Her grandmother had been right. Time had smoothed out the edges of the pain of what came after, and she was left with the bittersweet memories of the ecstasy of falling in love for the first time. How her heart had felt as though it would burst from the way he looked at her. The flutter of her stomach just from his fingers intertwined with hers. The sweetness of seeing her feelings completely reflected back in his eyes. Beautiful memories of perfect moments frozen in time, which she treasured.

But, sometimes she let her mind wander past those moments, and the what-ifs still ran through her head about what their future might have been. She patted the trunk of the tree as she traced the letters, drew in one last breath of the sweet, fresh air, turned to go.

And stopped dead.

"Hello, Buffy."

"Spike?"

~~~~~~~~~~

The years had been kind to him. His hair was still blond, though the bleach was now gone from his locks. But the eyes were still there. Oh those eyes, which had taken her from heaven to hell and back at seventeen.

He walked towards her and stopped a few paces away, two bottles of beer dangling from one hand.

"I was at the funeral today. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to speak to you before you left."

Buffy was mute. He looked away, unfocused for a minute. She finally worked passed the frog that had lodged in her throat. "Thank you for coming, Spike. Is it still . . . Spike?"

He ducked his head a little. “Mostly go by Will, now."

She was still having a hard time processing the fact that he was even here. The trip into the past, the dredging of all those memories made his appearance almost surreal, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch him. They stood in silence as the light began to fade. She couldn’t form a single query, though her mind shuffled through a thousand choices.

“Your dad told me I might find you here.” Ah. That answered one question, though it raised many more.

He moved towards the edge of the bank, and held out one of the amber bottles to her. “The sunsets from here were always beautiful.”

She answered his unspoken invitation by taking the bottle, and they sat together in silence for a moment as streaks of crimson began to paint the sky. It felt right somehow, coming full circle with him by her side as she made her final good-byes, not awkward like she might have imagined. Almost as though the years between had never happened. Maybe this place was enchanted after all.

She took a long swallow of the still cold beer and snuck a glance to the side. She was surprised to find him watching her instead of the sunset.

He smiled gently, but didn’t look away, “I was sorry to hear about your grandmum. She was a fine lady. Made me feel very welcome. I know you’ll miss her.”

Buffy nodded and blinked back a couple of tears that threatened again. “I will. She was an amazing woman. But she was never the same after Gramps passed. It was like a light had burnt out inside of her. And the last six months . . . she’d just barely been hanging on at all.”

He handed her a handkerchief and she took it, catching the teardrops that had spilled. “Sorry, thought I was all cried out.”

“Not a problem.”

She dabbed at her eyes and cleared her throat. “Why are you here? In Sunnydale, I mean? You didn’t come all this way for Gram’s funeral, did you?”

“I drove up from L.A. for the day. I’ve lived there for a few years now.”

Oh. She rolled that thought around for a moment and took another sip. He lived in Los Angeles now. Talk about the irony.

“And you?” His voice broke into her thoughts.

She chuckled. “L.A. as well, would you believe? Though just for a few months now. I stayed in Chicago for awhile, but I needed a change of scenery, fresh start and all. I was ready to come home.”

She paused and took a swallow, wondering whether to ask anything more personal and settled on the always safe topic of work. “You’re still with Aetherton, aren’t you?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Been keeping tabs?”

She blushed slightly. He didn’t need to know about that time in London a few years after she graduated. She’d stood across the street for hours from the address she’d written so many letters to that horrible fall, wondering if he still lived there and if she’d have the nerve to approach him if she saw him. It was probably just as well she hadn’t had the chance.

“It’s not stalking when you’re famous. Saw the article in Forbes on the ‘Aetherton Empire’ last year,” she air-quoted. “Your grandfather would be proud of what you did with the company, Spike . . . I mean, Will.”

He peeled at the label on his bottle. “Thanks. And call me Spike. My old friends still do.”

She liked the idea that perhaps they could still be friends. They fell into silence again as the sun finished its nightly display and slid behind the horizon, bringing dusk with it. As she watched, Buffy felt a peace wash over her for the first time since her father had called her three days ago and told her Gram was gone.

“Buffy?” His voice reached out to her through the growing dark, and she turned to him as she sat the now empty bottle in the grass.

“Yes, Spike?”

“I have to confess to ulterior motives for following you out here.”

His words made her heart suddenly beat a little faster. “Oh?”

“There’s something I wanted to speak with you about.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

“Your father called me a few weeks ago. He’s being looking for a buyer for your grandparents’ vineyard, and he thought Aetherton might be interested.”

Oh. Somehow she’d expected him to ask something more . . . personal. She attempted to keep her expression neutral and polite as she tuned back into what he was saying.

“ . . . but I knew this place had so many memories for you. I didn’t want to go ahead with it unless I was sure that’s what you’d want as well,” he finished.

“Spike, it’s my dad’s decision, not mine to make. And even if I had the cash, it’s way more than I could handle. I never had Gramps’ green thumb, you remember?” Buffy replied.

“So you don’t mind me buying it?” he asked.

“You mean your company?” She’d clearly missed something.

“No, me. Personally. I’ve wanted a home outside the city for some time now, and,” he ventured a small smile, “this place is . . . special. So would you mind, me owning it?”

The question hung in the air as she pondered how to respond, how to explain the strange pang caused by the thought of him living here, sharing this place with someone else.

“Spike, you’d take care of it, I know that. It’s just . . . this place,” she threw her arms open wide, “is so much a part of who I am, and how I came to be that way. Everywhere I look has a memory attached.” She finally met his eyes. “Even here. Especially here.” She winced. She hadn’t meant to say that, to go there.

But then he took her hand in his. “I owe you an apology, for not writing you back that spring.”

The breath she’d been unconsciously holding whooshed from her lungs. She laughed a little, nervous for the words. “What does it matter now, Spike? It was so long ago.”

He slid closer, invading her personal space now, but she couldn’t move away. She looked down at his left hand holding hers, noting the absence of a ring, and felt a little flutter somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

“Buffy, you sounded so happy in your letters. They kept me going, those pretty bright envelopes you’d send, like a ray of sunlight in that stark hospital room. I felt selfish, but I didn’t want you to stop writing. But that last letter . . . it was so soon after Grand died, and you had all these plans. I didn’t want to tie you down.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Guess I was making decisions for you again, huh?”

Was he just looking for some sort of forgiveness from her? Closure? “Spike, it was a long time ago. We were both so young.”

“So you’re saying it wouldn’t have mattered, if I had written back?” There was something in his voice, a chord of need that caught at her, reeling her in to those eyes that could see right through her, that kept her from lying and walking away.

“It would have. It doesn’t mean you did the wrong thing. But, yes, it would have mattered.” Her voice cracked then, the weight of the day, the emotions rising to the surface in a flood again. “I loved you. I didn’t want to let you go.”

His arms were around her then, letting her pour out the tears on his shoulder as he rocked her gently. He still smelled the same somehow, and it was like stepping back in time to rest against him and soak up the comfort he offered. As her tears slowed and she sniffled against his shirt, he whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She batted at the tears on her cheeks with his handkerchief, hoping the waterproof mascara lived up to its promise.

“No, Buffy, it’s not.” He tilted her face up so she could see his eyes. “I regret not responding. I regret not trying.” He ran his thumb along her cheekbone, catching the last of her stray tears, “I don’t want to regret anything else. So I need to say this.”

He took a deep breath. “Buffy, I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. I know that may sound insane, it’s been so long, but,” he shook his head sorrowfully, “no one else is you.”

That shouldn’t make sense, but it did. She found her voice and spoke over the pounding of her heart. “No one else is you, either.”

“No one?” he queried. “Does that mean . . .”

Some things didn’t change, and apparently he still talked too much. She silenced him with a kiss and knew from the second their lips met that the sparkle and fire between them was still there. In spades. His lips on hers felt familiar and yet new, and he could still make the world spin out of control as though she were seventeen again.

She finally managed to tear herself away long enough to answer his question. “It does. Unless . . . are you going to run away again?”

He smiled against her lips. “Not planning on going anywhere. Not unless you come with me this time.”

“I think that I just might.” She jumped up and pulled him with her. “I want you to see something.” She pulled him to the tree and with his hand in hers, traced the letters. “It’s still here.”

He pressed his lips to her fingers. “I knew it would be. You promised me it was magic, remember?” He pulled her into an embrace and his kiss was reverent, soft and sensual. It was a benediction, a closure of their time apart, and prelude to their future. They were both trembling as they pulled apart and he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you so much, Buffy. It’s like a piece of me had been missing.”

She nodded, holding him closer, “I know. I’ve felt that way for so long.” She snuggled closer into his embrace. “This almost seems like a dream, you, here with me.”

He chuckled. “I’m tired of that dream. I glad to have the real thing back.” He smoothed back her hair and softly kissed her forehead. “You ready to go, shortcake?”

She took the hand he offered, and followed him as they headed towards the path.

The End