Note: This is a one-part story told from Josh's POV. 


If I didn't have a strong aversion to pain, I'd kick myself right now.

Instead, I kick my door.

Ow. Ow.

Broken toe. Broken toe.

Of course, you're probably thinking that a smart guy like me would 
realize that kicking his door will also cause pain.

But I am too frustrated to think straight right now.

Why?

Glad you asked.

It's Donna.

That old free-riding boyfriend of hers from college has suddenly 
reappeared.

His name is Dr. Bryce Kingston.

I hate him with all that I am.

I hate him more than the Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC combined. 

Of course, I've never actually met the guy, so I could be jumping the gun.

But his name is Dr. Bryce Kingston. 

Sounds like a jerk to me. 

Yes, I have the ability to tell this from name alone.

Really, it's quite useful.

Now, let me just stop you here. Let me stop you before you inevitably 
start thinking those thoughts.

I am not jealous.

I am not in love with Donna.

Don't snicker.

It's true.

Yes, it is.

I simply dislike Bryce because of what he did to Donna all of those years 
ago. I mean, she dropped out of college for him and then he dumped her. 

Now, I do realize that I should probably be thanking him.

I mean, if it weren't for him, then Donna never would have forced herself 
into my life.

However, now he's back in *her* life and I have no choice but to hate him.

I really don't think I am being unfair to him.

I'm pretty confident that he'll prove to me he really is a jerk within 
minutes of my meeting him.

I bet he's one of those preppy guys who wears his sweater around his 
shoulders.

I bet he wears shoes with no socks.

I bet he calls his male friends 'chap'.

I bet he plays golf on Wednesdays.

I bet he watches and enjoys PBS.

Need I say more?

If this guy's not a jerk, then I don't know who is. 

And, no, this judgmental thing I've got going on here does not make me a 
jerk, too.

Although I do have my moments. 

I'd count a moment that occurred thirty minutes ago among them.

You should be proud of me. 

I now have the ability to recognize my jerky moments all by myself.

So, please, make yourself comfortable while I describe my most recent one 
to you.

~*~Thirty minutes ago~*~

I saunter up to Donna's desk and sit on the edge, "Donna, what do I have 
next?"

She covers the mouth of the phone she is holding close to her ear and 
throws me an annoyed look. "Joshua, I am on the phone. Can't you read your 
own schedule?"

I shake my head furiously, as if the mere thought seems impossible to me. 
"No, that's what you get paid to do."

She rolls her eyes and then proceeds to ignore me. 

I hate being ignored.

I am sure this comes as no surprise to you. 

In my boredom, I reach over and attempt to grab a piece of her danish 
left over from breakfast.

My efforts are thwarted by her hand striking mine with the quickness of a 
Python capturing its prey.

I scowl, as my hand recoils. "Little protective of your danish, aren't 
you?"

She responds, while making a note in her personal planner. "Yes and it is 
*my* danish, so I have every right to be protective." She sighs and then 
looks up at me as if my presence is irritating. "Don't you have anything to 
do right now?"

I smirk, "Quite possibly, but I wouldn't know because my assistant feels 
that it is more important to talk endlessly on the phone like a silly 
fourteen year old girl, rather than perform the duties clearly outlined in 
her job description."

She smiles insincerely at me, "I am on hold with the office of an old 
friend."

I respond with disinterest, as I slyly steal a piece of her danish while 
she is not looking, "Oh yeah, who is she?"

"She's a he," Donna replies with a slight smile. 

My eyebrows raise; my interest is now piqued.

I thought me and that fixer-upper guy, Curtis, were Donna's only male 
friends. 

"Curtis has an office now?" I ask, trying to sound like I don't already 
know the answer to this question.

"No, this is an old friend from my college days."

"From your college days?" I inquire, my voice indicating worry.

"Yes. He left me a message at home and I just got a chance to return his 
phone call now."

"Who are we referring to?" 

She lowers her eyes and responds softly, "Bryce Kingston."

"Bryce Kingston?" I respond, as if surprised.

I am not surprised. 

Donna would not be returning a phone call while at work if the friend 
hadn't been more than just a friend. 

"Yes," she replies.

"Bryce Kingston from college? Bryce Kingston who used you and then 
kicked you to the curb? That Bryce Kingston?"

She sighs, "Why do you keep saying his name like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like his name is Satan."

"It might as well be," I mutter.

Donna gives me a sharp look. 

It involves a narrowing of her eyes that has always made me extremely 
uncomfortable. 

"You don't know anything about him, Joshua," she snaps, a tad too loudly, 
might I add.

I say softly, "How about we discuss this in my office?"

"No. There is nothing to discuss."

"I think there is."

"Well, I don't."

I am about to respond, when she presses a finger to her lips and regards 
me sternly.

I watch as her attitude changes considerably, "Hi, Bryce. This is Donna. 
I got your message last night and this is the first chance I've gotten to 
give you a call. It was so nice to hear from you."

And this practically causes me to lose my breakfast. 

She says the word 'hi' in a long, sickeningly sweet drawl. 

Trust me, you don't even want to know how she says his name.

"Oh, you haven't changed at all," she laughs into the receiver.

I scowl and then peruse her desk for something to throw. 

She doesn't have anything to throw.

What kind of desk doesn't have anything to throw?

I quickly consider throwing her danish, before deciding that it would 
only result in harm to me.

I sit there and shake my head.

I cannot believe Donna is getting sucked in by this guy again.

Does she not remember what he did to her? The way he used her?

Don't tell me she's forgiven and forgotten.

That doesn't happen in real life.

People don't actually forgive and forget in real life. 

On 'Touched by an Angel', yes. But in real life, no.

At least, *I've* never experienced such a thing before.

I hold grudges. I freely admit it.

I still hate Rudy Hertz for giving me a wedgie in second grade.

I sigh quite loudly and look down at Donna.

"Well, it is so nice to talk to you, too, Bryce. It's been too long. I 
am really glad to hear that you've moved your practice to D.C." 

I groan.

I groan so loudly that Cathy looks at me worriedly as she walks by. 

I smile weakly at her, as I mentally curse Bryce Kingston to hell.

So, he's moved here...Where *I* live. 

Where *I* live with Donna.

Okay, so I don't actually live with Donna, she lives in the creepy part 
of town, but you know what I meant.

He is encroaching on my territory, on my domain.

At least I have homecourt advantage.

Now, I know I don't own Donna. But I am her friend and I look out for 
her. 

That's why I have so kindly chosen to hate Bryce for her.

She need not thank me.

Still, I just feel like this jerk is suddenly trying to be something to 
her that I already am.

And this is my territory, damn it!

He couldn't have moved his practice to one of the other countless cities 
in the United States?

How about in the world?

I hear Tokyo is wonderful this time of year.

It is quite obvious that he is stalking Donna.

Why else would he have chosen D.C.?

Long-distance stalking is, of course, much more difficult. 

This makes perfect sense.

He is, quite obviously, stalking her.

Okay, maybe not obviously, but there are definite signs.

This is my domain. And now suddenly I feel that I must protect it.

No, I am not suggesting that I pee around Donna's desk to mark it as mine.

I am pretty sure they have rules against that kind of stuff here at the 
White House.

I run a hand through my hair and frown at the smile on Donna's lips.

I can't believe he is making her smile.

She must have amnesia. Doesn't she remember how shabbily he treated her?

And how I, being the kind and generous man that I am, pulled her out of 
her desperation by giving her a job and helped restore her confidence.

I was so supportive. Doesn't she remember the clever nickname I branded 
him with?

Dr. Free Ride.

I love that. 

It doesn't get more supportive than that.

"Today? You want to have lunch with me at 'Monticello's' today?" she 
says.

I suddenly snap out of my thoughts and begin to listen much more 
attentively.

I moan softly, as my gaze focuses on her.

"Well, I'll have to check with my boss."

I hate it when she calls me her boss.

Okay, let me amend that.

I love the word 'boss'. It fills me with a sense of power. And I love 
power.

I often get drunk with power...After all, I do have a sensitive system.

Anyway, I like the fact that I am her boss, but I hate it when she refers 
to me as that word. 

It makes me sound so...I don't know...disconnected from her.

I mean, we don't have what you'd term a normal boss/employee relationship.

In fact, at times, it's downright abnormal.

Donna's bosses *me* around. 

Like demanding that I change my clothes on a daily basis.

What's with that anyway?

She orders me to stop drinking.

Like I wouldn't be able to figure out when I've had enough all by myself.

Okay, you're right.

I wouldn't.

She tells me that my watch sucks...In four different time zones, mind you!

Well, I'll have her know that I bought this watch the last time I was in 
New York, which was more than three years ago, and it still works. I haven't 
even had to change the battery.

Okay, so I didn't exactly buy it at Tiffany's.

More like from the overcoat of a man named Zeus, who had a monkey and one 
remaining tooth.

And he only charged me twenty bucks for this genuine 'Rolodex'.

Money well-spent, if you ask me.

So it's not accurate. It's in the ballpark and that's what matters.

I am thrown from my thoughts by a tugging on my arm. I look down at 
Donna who is doing the tugging. She has her hand over the receiver and is 
regarding me with an annoyed look.

"Josh," she says sharply.

"What?"

"I was wondering if I could take a lunch today instead of eating at my 
desk like you usually force me to do."

"I pay for your food, don't I?" I ask, with a smile.

"Yes, you pay for the salad that I always get."

"Well, there's your problem. You always get the same thing. No wonder you 
want a little variety all of the sudden."

"No, I have to get a salad because using your name at 'Lito's' no longer 
allows me to order more than six dollars worth of food anymore," she says 
with a grin.

"What? Why?"

"Because you have a tab of about four thousand dollars there, Joshua, and 
they really don't anticipate you paying it anytime soon," she clarifies.

"Oh," I reply.

"So? Can I?"

"Go to lunch with Dr. Fr...Dr. Kingston?" I ask, as I smoothly cover up 
my near mistake.

"Yes."

I shake my head with a dramatic sense of finality, "No, sorry."

Her face drops.

Damn it, her face drops.

"And why not?" she asks tersely.

I quickly respond, "Because we have to work through lunch today."

I really do admire my ability to lie so masterfully.

"That's a lie," she responds just as quickly.

My brow furrows.

I always forget that she can tell when I am lying.

You don't even want to know how much that sucks.

I could always tell when my best friend in high school was lying. He'd 
smile goofily.

So, like the good friend that I am, I told all of our teachers how to 
tell, too. 

Poor Derek didn't get away with one thing all four years. 

Donna can tell when I am lying because I do this thing with my eyebrows. 
I sort of raise them and my brow gets all wrinkly. 

Granted, I do this when I am not lying too, but I have a special one 
that's just for lying.

I kind of look like I am constipated.

Donna has come to identify this look very well.

Due to this, I never get away with anything anymore.

Pray that she never tells anyone in Congress about this or whatever 
little ability I have to kiss their asses when I need a vote will go up in 
smoke. 

I smile slightly at her, "No, it's not."

I know, I just can't help it.

She laughs and shakes her head, "Not only did you do that thing with your 
face, Joshua, but I know your schedule. You don't have anything that demands 
my attention between 12:00pm and 1:00pm."

I stammer, "Well...what about that...you know...don't you have...typing. 
Don't you have any typing that needs to be done?"

"No," she responds with a smile that is far too wide.

This is what causes me to lose it.

I realize at that moment that she is only having lunch with this guy to 
spite me.

Okay, that may sound a little too much like the world revolves around me, 
but you didn't see that smile.

I respond tersely, "Look, Donna, go ahead and have your little lunch with 
Doogie Howser. I don't care. Just don't running to me this time when he rips 
your heart out and tramples on your self-esteem. I don't have any more jobs 
to hand out."

She lowers her eyes from mine and I don't need to see them to know that 
they have just flooded with hurt.

I know it was mean. 

I really, really do know it was mean.

I try to force myself to apologize, but the words don't come out.

She finally lifts her eyes to mine and responds with a bitter smile, "You 
may think your superior to him, Josh. And until two seconds ago, I would 
have agreed. But at least he respected me enough to never speak to me like 
that."

My mouth drops open and I swear I shrink to the size I feel.

The size of that pudgy, white Pillsbury dough boy is about accurate.

I watch as she removes her hand from the mouth and speaks into it in a 
phony, cheerful voice, "12:00pm will be great, Bryce. I'll meet you there. I 
*cannot* wait to see you..."

I don't wait for her last words. I remove myself from her desk and walk 
quickly to my office.

I slam the door.

* * * * Present * * * *

And that's where you guys came in.

I slammed the door and then I kicked it.

I did so because I was frustrated with myself and with Donna.

I had been an insensitive jerk and she was being very naive.

Now, she's mad at me. I hope she doesn't do anything stupid just because 
she's mad at me.

I look at my watch.

11:45am.

But my watch is at least ten minutes off, so it's actually almost 12:00pm.

Donna's must have left for her lunch already.

I suddenly feel an overwhelming hunger attack my stomach.

I am very hungry...Hungry for food that...oh, I don't know...Monticello's 
serves.

Yes, I am.

I am very hungry.

How would you know whether I am really hungry or not?

Just try and prove otherwise.

I grab my jacket from the back of my chair and hurry down the hall to 
Sam's office.

I knock on his open door, "Hey, you want to catch a lunch with me at 
Monticello's right now?"

"Why?"

"In order to eat."

"You never ask me to lunch, Josh."

"That's because I never go to lunch, Sam."

"Right."

"So?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"My treat."

"Okay," Sam replies with a smile, as his eyes finally meet mine.

He grabs his jacket and joins me at my side. We leave his office and 
begin to walk down the hall.

"Do we have to go to Monticello's? Because I really like the hot dogs at 
Perry's."

I sigh and shake my head at him, "Oh, Sam, you are so uncultured. 
Perry's is just your typical greasy diner. Monticello's is classy."

"Since when do you prefer classy?"

"I've always preferred classy."

"Josh, I've known you for a long time now and your idea of classy has 
always meant tucking a napkin into your collar before you eat."

"Can't a man change?"

"A man, yes. You, no."

"I think I take offense to that," I reply with a grin that Sam returns.

* * * * * 

Now, Sam is one of my best friends and I really do love the guy. But 
when it takes him twenty minutes to decide between chicken and steak, all I 
want to do is remove his tongue with a butter knife.

"...Steak. Do I want steak? Am I in a steak mood? You have to be in 
the mood for steak. It involves a lot of chewing. You have to be willing to 
do the work. Chicken..."

I stop his ramble with a groan and reply tersely, "Sam, either pick the 
Chicken Marsala or the Steak Delmonico in five seconds or you'll be chewing 
on your menu in six."

Sam raises his eyebrows at me and closes his menu, "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing is bothering me. I would just like to eat before re-election 
time roles around," I say, as my eyes look past Sam's head to Donna's table.

She is seated far enough away from us for her not to notice me and she is 
not facing me head on. I can only see her profile. 

But her profile is enough. I can see her laugh, I can see her smile. 

Damn that doctor!

Damn all the doctors!

I am supposed to make her laugh.

Me.

And, no, I am not being possessive, so stop thinking about me like that.

My gaze now focuses on Dr. Free Ride.

I would love to tell you that he is incredibly ugly.

That he has a nose the size of Texas, warts all over his face, and teeth 
that rival Bugs Bunny's.

I would love to tell you all of that.

You have no *idea* how much I'd love to tell you all of that.

But I cannot tell a lie. (Especially since I told you how to tell when I 
am lying.)

This guy's handsome...Very handsome. 

He's like a Ken doll. 

He's got the perfect hair, the perfect eyes, the perfect smile.

The perfect body.

My only hope is that he's even closer to a Ken doll than I think. 

My only hope is that he's not anatomically correct.

Don't snort, allow me the pleasure to dream my impossible dream. 

And when I say Ken doll, I mean it.

Everything about this guy is phony.

He might as well be made of plastic for real.

As I am watching them, my ears fill with a ramble that I am only 
half-listening to.

Yeah, you guessed it: Sam.

"So Mallory and I went to a movie last night. We went to see Sylvester 
Stallone's new one. Mallory didn't want to see that one. She wanted to go 
see some foreign chick flick. Can you believe that? She actually wanted me 
to go see a chick flick and, to make it worse, she wanted me to read during 
the whole damn thing. But I put my foot down. She always gets her way with 
the chick flicks. Just last week, she rented that Julia Roberts one with all 
the weddings. Hence, I now know what Richard Gere looks like with blue, 
green...I don't know...some weird hair color. Mallory doesn't even like chick 
flicks. She just forces me to watch them, so she can point out how 
stereotypical and degrading they are to women. Anyway, she said that Sly 
can't act. Well, I tend to agree with her on that. But he won me over with 
his 'Yo, Adrien!' I was...-"

Sam's stops *himself* for once and waves a hand in front of my face. 
"Josh? Have you heard a word I've said?"

I swat his hand away and finally meet his eyes. I nod, "Yes, of course, 
I have."

"What was I just saying then?"

I raise my eyebrows and search my mind. 

I know I heard something about Julia Roberts. I make it a point to 
always hear her name.

I think I also heard something about the Adriatic Sea.

I think I need to work on my listening skills.

I shrug, "You were talking about Julia Robert's new movie, 'The Adriatic 
Sea'?"

Sam shakes his head at me and smiles, "What is going on with you? You've 
been staring past my head since we got here."

I don't answer him and begin to stare past his head again. 

Donna's hand has just reached out and touched Dr. Free Ride's hand.

I resist my urge to begin hurling rolls at his head.

Sam follows my gaze and swivels his head to see where I am looking. He 
nods at me, "Oh, Donna's here. What a coincidence."

I nod at him and then my eyes meet his again.

The light has gone on in the Seaborn Cranium household.

His eyes widen and he leans in closer to me, "Wait a minute...Is that 
why...Did you ask...I knew something was up. You never go to lunch and you 
sure as hell never treat on anything. You knew Donna was coming here with 
that guy."

I snicker, as if the mere suggestion is ridiculous. "You're crazy."

He shakes his head, "I can't believe you, Josh. You're spying on Donna."

I snicker again, this time more loudly. "Spying, Sam? Wouldn't that 
involve me in black clothing and the use of infrared binoculars?"

Sam chuckles, "At night, yes. But you're a clever one. You do it in 
broad daylight in the middle of a crowded restaurant."

I laugh nervously and begin to butter my roll. "Donna went to lunch. I 
went to lunch. There is no connection."

"Oh yeah? Then why have you been watching them like a hawk and largely 
ignoring me."

I grin, "I'd watch grass grow if given the choice between that and 
listening to you."

Sam turns around again and looks at Bryce. He smiles widely at me, "Wow, 
her lunch date is quite a handsome man. Very distinguished looking. I bet 
he's got some high-paying job. And he sure does look like he's enjoying 
Donna's company. They make a nice couple, don't they?"

Damn Sam!

He does know how to push my buttons sometimes.

I sigh and blurt out, "That's Donna's ex-boyfriend. You know, the one 
she dropped out of college for and was then dumped by."

Sam's eyebrows raise, "That's Dr. Free Ride?"

"In the flesh," I respond in a grumble.

Sam peruses my face and then asks, "So you're what? Jealous?"

"Jealous?! Ha! No, I'm not jealous. I'm just watching out for Donna. I 
don't want her to get hurt again by that scumbag."

Sam's brow furrows, "I guess I'm a little confused. What exactly do you 
think he's going to do to her in public place, Josh?"

"Not physically hurt her, Sam. Emotionally hurt her."

Sam shakes his head with a smirk, "And you're supposed to stop this from 
happening how? What are you going to do, use your special lip-reading 
powers?"

I ignore Sam and focus on Donna again. My eyes narrow. She's got her 
compact out and is dabbing at her eyes in the mirror.

Is she crying?

I gesture to Sam, "Is she crying? Did he make her cry?"

Sam turns around, glances at Donna and responds, "I think she's just 
fixing-..."

That's all I hear because I jump up from the table and head over to them. 
I can hear Sam calling after me, but I pay him no attention.

I arrive at their table and smile at Dr. Free Ride. Donna's eyes leave 
her mirror and then widen at me. 

I quickly notice out of the corner of my eye that she is not crying, she 
simply had something in her eye.

I feel incredibly foolish right now.

But I hide it well.

I think. 

I extend my hand to him, "Ah, you must be Donna's old friend, Bryce." I 
pause and then add boastfully, "I am Joshua Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff for 
the United States of America."

Donna shakes her head at me and I can clearly see her roll her eyes. 

Bryce smiles uncomfortably and extends his hand. "Well, very nice to meet 
you, Mr. Lyman."

"Please, call me Josh. Any friend of Donna's is a friend of mine," I say 
with a plastered smile.

It's at this point thatI feel a tug on my arm. I look down at Donna.

She does *not* look happy.

I wonder what Dr. Free Ride did.

She speaks to me through gritted teeth, "Joshua, why are you here?"

I nod and then try my best to speak seriously, "There's a crisis at the 
White House. I need you."

I watch her expression and I know she knows I just lied. 

She replies, "I have my beeper with me. You could have paged me."

I laugh and then glance at Bryce, "Technology these days. No one 
appreciates an in-person visit anymore. I think beepers are so impersonal, 
don't you, Bryce?"

Bryce scowls at me.

*He* scowls at *me*.

Can you believe it?

Like *I* am doing something wrong.

He speaks, "Look, Mr. Lyman, I don't know what you want, but Donna and I 
were in the middle of a conversation."

I raise my eyebrows and pretend to be surprised, "Oh, I am so sorry."

Bryce shrugs and then watches me as I pull a chair from a nearby table 
and make myself comfortable in between them. I grab a roll and begin to chomp 
on it. 

I say softy through my mouthful, "You two keep talking. Don't mind me."

Apparently, Dr. Free Ride has very little patience.

His face grows red and he growls at me, "Leave us alone."

I look to Donna and wait for her to admonish him for speaking to me like 
that. 

But she simply smiles and nods her head in the direction of the door.

I remain seated.

Did I mention I can be extremely stubborn?

Well, I can.

Bryce stands up suddenly and pushes his chair out from beneath him. He 
looks down at Donna and says bluntly, "Look, I only wanted one thing anyway. 
I was trying to be a nice guy and do this politely, but I guess that's just 
not going to work. I only asked you here so I could get my Duke sweatshirt 
back. You took it with you when we broke up."

My mouth drops open and to cover I stuff another roll in it.

I watch as Donna's expression changes from surprise to sadness to 
humiliation and then, finally, to anger.

Her eyes are now glassy with tears as she speaks to him, "You haven't 
changed at all, have you, Bryce?" You're still the same selfish, petty 
son-of-a-bitch, who used me and then broke my heart all those years ago. And 
now...after all of this time...you have the nerve to ask me to lunch just to 
get some crappy old sweatshirt you haven't even worn in how many years? You 
just had to do it one more time, didn't you? You just had to make me feel 
like an idiot for believing in you again." 

She takes a deep breath and then replies softly, but with a strength that 
astounds me, "Well, you may not have changed, Bryce, but I have. And I have 
you to thank for it. You stole my confidence and forced me to get it back. 
And I did. So you can have your damn sweatshirt, it's the only thing I have 
left from you and I don't need it to keep me warm anymore...I haven't for a 
long time."

My lips spread into a wide smile and I know I've never been so proud of 
anyone in my entire life. 

Our eyes meet once, before Donna averts them.

Bryce is standing frozen in place, his eyes having glazed over. 

Donna grabs her purse and stands up. She is about to walk away, when she 
pauses and stops in front of Bryce. She picks up a glass of red wine and 
with a satisfactory smile throws wine in his face.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing, as the red wine trails down his face 
and stains his white shirt.

Donna then looks him right in the eye and says with a grin, "I've always 
wanted to do that."

With that, she walks past him and exits the restaurant.

I stand up and with a smirk shove a napkin into his stomach. His hands 
catch it before it falls to the ground. 

I whisper as I lean in close to him, "You've got something on your face, 
Doctor."

I then exit the restaurant.

* * * * * 

I run outside just in time to see Donna's car drive right past me. I 
yell to her and I watch as she slowly halts the car.

I walk to the car and she rolls down the window. 

"I don't need you to protect me, Josh," she replies sharply.

"I know," I reply with a smile. 

She lowers her eyes from mine and says softly, "What exactly did you 
expect to do here today anyway?"

I shake my head and run a hand through my hair, "I don't know, Donna. It 
just drove me crazy knowing that you were going to allow this guy to hurt you 
again."

Donna nodded and then lifted her eyes to meet mine, "How did you know he 
would?"

I smile slightly and respond more softly than I intend, "Because any guy 
who would let you go once is too stupid to know any better."

She laughs softly, as a tear rolls down her cheek.

I speak, my eyes now rooted to my hands, "I'm sorry for what I said 
earlier. I didn't mean...-"

"I know," she replies in a voice that forces me to meet her eyes.

I feel my heart begin to race, as I stare into her eyes. 

I suddenly find myself begin to say something that I know I have not 
given permission to be said, "I was jealous."

She nods, with a tiny smile, "I know that, too."

"You do?" I reply incredulously.

"Yeah."

Our gaze remains locked for a moment, when I finally say softly, "I want 
to be the only guy who makes you smile like that."

"Like what?" she asks, as her eyebrows raise.

"Like it's the first and last time you're going to smile and you want to 
savor it," I respond in a voice barely above a whisper."

Donna's eyes widen and then she says, "Well, you know what that means 
then, don't you?"

I nod and reply with a grin, "That maybe you'll share your danish with me 
every morning."

She smiles and I know that her words mean much more than they say, "Yeah, 
something like that."

I smile, bob my head and then shove my hands into my pockets, as she 
rolls her window up. 

She gives me a smile that I'll remember forever and then drives off.

I just stand there and watch her leave.

A few minutes pass and then I hear Sam behind me, "You just realized 
something, didn't you?"

I smile and turn around to face him, "Yeah, something like that."

Then I place my arm around his shoulder and we walk to my car.




THE END

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