This is where the story starts to break down a little, in my opinion.  Please remember that what I'm posting is largely unedited, so if you have comments, suggestions, or criticisms, please leave comments or email me through the website!

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Greg looked at his watch again.  6:53.  It was rapidly becoming obvious that Tamara was not going to call.  He shook his head.  What had happened earlier had been an accident, pure and simple.  If she hadn’t been wearing so much perfume, he thought, remembering the cloud of scent that had enveloped him.  He was amazed no one had mentioned it to her as a possible liability—if a client with asthma came into the office, they’d probably require medical attention if Tamara got within a few feet of them.  That was not good for the reputation of the firm, and he knew that there were a couple of judges in town who would likely point that out to Tamara if they ever got within a few feet of her—likely at a volume audible to the entire courtroom at a rather inconvenient moment.  Greg wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but he knew several of the judges to be rather harsh. 

Warning Tamara seemed like a bad idea.  In his experience, women didn’t take to kindly to suggestions of that nature, and he’d already done enough to ruin his chances of ever actually having a date with her.

    Maybe it was for the best, though.  Now that he thought about it, her actions had been rather forward.  She was a demonstrative person—it wasn’t unusual for Tamara to touch the hand or arm of the person she was talking to—but putting her arms around him had probably been too much.  The casual affection bothered him for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Greg wondered if it wasn’t all part of the act—he knew Tamara to be a complex, thoughtful person, but the beauty queen was still there and the big smile and fluttering lashes came out whenever she was unsure or thought it might gain her an advantage of some sort.  She was a brilliant operator in the courtroom—and out of it, as well, from what Greg had seen so far.

He reached for the remote—an evening at home, in front of the television was such a rarity that he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened.  He flipped through the channels—why he was paying for expanded cable choices when he rarely turned on the television, he hadn’t figured out yet, but tonight all that meant was that he took longer to find out there was nothing on. 

Trip number two through the channels revealed a baseball game—Greg wasn’t a fan of either team, but it was better than Friends reruns or the latest in reality television.  The game turned out to be a pitcher’s duel, though, and without any favorite players to root for, he soon lost interest.

The third round was no better—it was the top of the hour by now, and a new batch of re-runs and syndicated shows was starting.  He tried to get interested in a movie, but saw the rating and thought better of it, continuing on to a History Channel special before realizing he’d already seen it.  This was supposed to be a relaxing evening, he told himself. 

It was becoming obvious, though, that Greg Tanner had forgotten how to relax.  He was so used to his fast-paced life and constant pressure that he simply didn’t know what to do with himself on a night like this.  Greg shook his head in disgust, but there was no use denying it—he had lost all ability to entertain himself.

Looking around the room planning his next move, he saw a scrap of paper sticking out of his wallet, which he’d removed from his pocket when he arrived home.  Immediately, he realized it was Cate’s number and that he’d promised to call her.  He wondered how she was doing after the accident, and decided to call her and find out.

He smiled as he picked up the paper, remembering how she’d apologized for her handwriting.  Caitlyn’s handwriting was neat and even and thoroughly legible—he wondered who’d ever told her it wasn’t.  Studying it a little closer, he saw that there were none of the typical loops or curlicues to try to make it look like calligraphy—many of his female classmates in law school had tried that, which led to headaches when he’d had to borrow any of their notes—but it was attractive in its simplicity.

Greg shook his head—if he was playing amateur handwriting analyst, he really was bored.  Maybe he could convince Cate to join him for . . . something other than staring at the television screen.  At the very least, he could reassure himself that she was really okay after the accident—she’d seemed so shaken up, but insistent on going back to work. 

How anyone could love a job like that, he didn’t know—he knew all to well the type of grief she had to deal with on a daily basis, having given her some of it the night before--but she was dedicated if nothing else, and that was an admirable quality.  And though she wasn’t a beauty queen like Tamara, Cate was girl-next-door pretty, he thought with a smile.

Daydreaming about a girl you’ve only met once, Tanner? He asked himself.  He forced himself to come back to reality, reach for the phone, and dial the number of the object of his daydream.