FB - CA, San Luis Obispo -Mission San Juan Bautista (Feb 00)

[Hollywood Heidi]

Mission San Juan Bautista

Located in San Luis Obispo, CA, flashback event taking place in February 2000.

[Kristi Lynne]

Gwen waited patiently for her martini with two olives and thanked the bartender as he set it on the bar before her. Downing a few sips of the alcohol, she smiled pleasantly as her executive producer Tim Sanderson approached, a beer bottle clutched in his hand.

They’d both been working together on the basic cable sports show, Official Review, since Gwen’s college internship, becoming fast friends. Along with the rest of the crew, they’d bonded over crises in the control room and cheeseburgers at 2am. And now the majority of the crew and on-air talent had gathered for a wedding in a scenic locale just south of San Francisco.

“Y’know, it has just now come to my attention that there are a lot of people in our industry with more money than sense,” he proclaimed.

She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Really? Just now?”

“Yep. I had an epiphany.”

“It’s a nice place for an epiphany.”

“How ‘bout you?” he inquired. “Any new and exciting revelations?”

“Alas, I remain epiphany-free,” she replied sadly. “Unless you count finally figuring out the words to the chorus of ‘Tin Man.’ That had been bugging me for ages.”

“You are easily amused, Havers.”

“Why else would I be working on your show?” she smiled slyly, sliding the first olive off the spear and into her mouth.

“Haha.”

She paused to scan the formally-dressed crowd dancing on the perfectly-manicured lawn that stretched out under the stars between the alabaster white mission buildings. “I’m still a little weirded out by the fact that Vertigo is the bride’s favorite film. Not that San Juan Batista isn’t a beautiful setting, but…she does realize that movie is about a man murdering his wife, right?”

Tim shook his head. “Chelsea isn’t exactly known for her IQ…”

“Would have been nice if her favorite film had been Roman Holiday. I could have done with a trip to Italy.”

“Are you kidding? It’s expensive enough to have to come all the way up to San Francisco for what doesn’t even qualify as a long weekend.”

Gwen tilted her head at him. “Don’t be bitter and jaded, sweetie. It’s a happy occasion. How many times does the president of one’s network get married?”

“This year, or this decade?”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t being mean, I was being honest. It was an empirical, unbiased observation. We work in news, Miss Havers; it’s kinda’ what we do,” he reminded her.

“We work in basic cable sports infotainment, Mr. Sanderson,” she retorted. “You might want to reread our mission statement.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a buzzkill?” he groaned.

“Oh, all the time. I’m a model of British repression,” she stated, then smiled.

“So I’ve gathered,” he remarked. “And yet somehow despite that, we have a situation.”

She looked at him with wide eyes as she swallowed her second olive. “We do?”

“Yeah. See, I don’t date staffers.”

She nodded quickly. “Right. I got the memo.”

“So that sushi that we had the other night—that wasn’t a date.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. Hadn’t they already agreed not to discuss this? Ever?

“And that part where I walked you to your door, and I kissed you goodnight---that also wasn’t a date.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

“Exactly. So why do we have a situation?” she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Because…” he exhaled, awkwardly running a hand through his curly black hair, “I kind of liked kissing you,” he admitted with a resigned sigh.

She stared at him in disbelief. After all the years of hints and banter and innuendo, she’d never expected him to come right out and say it. She dreamt it, hoped for it, but never expected it.

She glanced down at her drink and then looked back up at him, meeting his honesty with a truth of her own. “I kind of liked you kissing me,” she confessed in a hushed tone.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ergo, we have a situation.”

“But we don’t,” she said quickly. “You just said yourself, we’re not dating. So it would be very easy to stop this non-dating that we’re doing.” He was about to speak, but she silenced him by attempting to backtrack from any ensuing awkwardness. “Look, Tim, I like you…very much…and I enjoy spending time with you, on and off the clock. But I also like my job very much, and I don’t want to make things difficult for either of us.”

“But you just said that you liked me kissing you?”

“Not if it costs me my job. I mean, it wasn’t that good of a kiss.”

For a moment he looked hurt and quirked an indignant eyebrow at her. “Okay, I’m gonna’ overlook that remark, and make a proposal that we continue this non-dating that we’re doing, but we keep it on the down-low.”

“No, Tim, no,” she countered, shaking her head. “My job is stressful enough as it is; I don’t want to have to watch everything I do and say around you, afraid that I’ll tip someone off. I’m really not good with secrets. Remember how I’d seen the season finale of Buffy and you hadn’t, but you didn’t want me to tell you anything about it until you’d seen it? I nearly burst.”

“Okay, a) that’s only because I didn’t want anyone to know that I watch Buffy because it would be bad for my street cred, and b) you did keep it a secret. For weeks. You can do this. We can do this. If you want to.”

She closed her eyes in contemplation, then began laughing slightly.

“What are you laughing at?”

“The fact that you think you have street cred,” she answered. Gwen turned back to face the bar, leaning forward on her elbows. “I just don’t know…”

“I do,” he stated, moving in closer to lean in beside her. “In this town, in this business, so much of what we deal with is fake and insincere. I don’t want that; I want something that’s real. I think I could have that with you. And I think you’ll agree with me if you really think about it,” he claimed, searching for her eyes. “Gwen, don’t dismiss this just because you’re scared of something that might never happen. Plus, I’m the executive producer and I can fire anyone who threatens to rat us out,” he added, casually taking another swig from his beer.

Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m a cold, calculating bastard with a heart of stone, and you should probably run screaming. But I’m betting that you won’t.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Because you worked your way up from intern to graphics supervisor in less than two years. Because you work in a male-dominated office where you try your damnedest to make everyone forget that you are in fact a woman. Because no one in this world understands you like I do,” he said, leveling his gaze at her. “And even though that clearly scares the hell out of you, you’re thinking that maybe it’s time you took a leap of faith and actually let someone in.”

“You’re willing to go all in on that assumption?” she scoffed.

“I’m all in,” he asserted. “Moment of truth, Havers. Are you gonna’ call or fold?”

Her eyes went back to her drink. She wanted to make a joke, remind him of Northwestern’s loss to some inferior team, punch him in the arm. Anything to avoid having a serious talk. But he looked serious. He sounded sincere. And those deep brown eyes of his somehow reflected the same affection and adoration that she’d felt for him since the moment she met him. It was ridiculous and foolish and would almost certainly never work out, but then again there was that kiss….

“I’ll call,” she replied.

“I knew you would,” he shrugged casually.

“Smug bastard. Seriously, no one can know about this,” she cautioned, turning back to look at the sea of reception attendees.

“And no one will,” he nodded, also taking in the scenery in silence. “Do you wanna’ dance?” he asked suddenly.

She threw him an incredulous look. “What happened to low profile?”

“Everybody else is doing it. Come on, we’ll blend in with the crowd,” he rationalized, placing the beer bottle on the bar and then holding his hand out to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Weddings had a way of making people more romantic and sentimental. But the effect was most likely temporary. She was immune to it, and so was he. Or so she thought. Then again, she never thought he’d treat her to California rolls, or kiss her on her doorstep, or discuss the possibility of a relationship (albeit a secret one).

Turned out the world was full of surprises. So maybe she shouldn’t think. Maybe she should just enjoy the moment while it lasted. Placing her own glass on the bar as well, she relented and took his hand, letting him lead her onto the floor. They began to sway along to the ballad that the band was playing.

You made me leave my happy home
You took my love and now you're gone
Since I fell for you

Love brings such misery and pain
I guess I'll never be the same
Since I fell for you

It's so bad, It's so sad
I'm in love with you
You love me, then you snub me
But what can I do
I'm still in love with you

As Tim held her right hand in his left, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. Focusing on the music mingling with the sound of his heartbeat. And it felt safe. It felt right. It felt like home.

“Y’know, Gwen,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “this isn’t gonna’ work if you can’t keep your hands off me.”

She pulled away just far enough to glare at him indignantly, but he gave her that irresistible smile. And for once, she chose to pursue happiness instead of a sarcastic retort. “Shh. Just be here with me,” she asked, returning her head to his shoulder.

“That I can do,” he said simply, holding her tighter as the music continued.

I guess I'll never see the light
I get the blues 'bout every night
Since I fell for you
Since I fell for you