Shirley woke up at five to six, and reached over to shut off her alarm before it could go off at six, just like she did every morning. She rolled out of bed, stretched, yawned, and put on her slippers and robe. Padding into the kitchen, she took a peach yogurt out of the refrigerator and started on it while she fixed her morning coffee. Once the pot was burbling contentedly to itself, she tossed the empty yogurt container into the trash, where it joined four identical ones, and went off to take her shower.

She came out of the bathroom toweling her short brown hair, her robe wrapped tightly about her despite the heavy curtains on the windows and her being alone. Picking up her coffee, she turned on the news and sat down on the floral-print sofa to check the weather while she drank her coffee and brushed out her hair. The usual for spring: cool morning, hot and muggy for the afternoon, chance of a shower by evening. That meant a light blouse, a cotton skirt, and a light shawl. Just like yesterday.

The coffee cup went into the sink, relieving the yogurt spoon's loneliness. A few minutes later, dressed and disdaining makeup, Shirley picked up her denim bookbag and an umbrella, and left, checking the deadbolt to be sure it locked behind her.

Few people paid her a lot of attention as she walked the four blocks from her apartment to the campus. True, she was attractive, but not spectacularly so. Without makeup to accentuate her features, she was plain, drab, and the eye slid off her looking for something more colorful. Neither slim nor fat, tall nor short, she could have vanished in a crowd of three. The Sociology building swallowed her without a sound.
 

The music floated slowly into her reverie. Slow, sad, it drifted without anchor, wandered aimless and abandoned. Her steps ground to a halt, walking slowly forgotten, destination lost, motivation washed away in the quiet flood.

Ahead, sitting on the sidewalk under the bookstore window, a slender man in a green shirt swayed to the melody. His knees showed through ragged holes in his jeans, and his feet were bare, although a pair of moccasins were lined up neatly against the wall beside him. A floppy leather hat sat upside down before him, a single crumpled bill peeking forlornly out of it. His lips pursed against a wooden flute bound in faded purple thread, he poured his angst onto the wind. Wrapping around her, it drew Shirley toward him, stirred something inside her. She moved slowly, unsure whether to introduce herself and break the spell. He was just another street person, but he seemed so sad, so alone.

Then his eyes opened, and they were pale grey and oh so very deep. The tune sped, skipped a beat along with her heart. Surprise? Hope? She couldn't quite put a name to the feel of the music, or what echoed inside her. It drew her closer, her feet moving on their own. Then she was beside him with no memory of how she got there. He laid his flute in his lap and smiled, and it was the sun rising.

"That was lovely," she said, and cursed herself for the trite phrase.

"Thanks," he said, and meant it. Pushing his shoulder-length brown curls out of the way, he continued, "Hi. I'm Quinn."

"Shirley. Um..." Oh, geez, now what? The potential of an awful void of silence stretched before her like the road to Hell.

"Trading your books?" he asked, and the possibility dried up and blew away.

"Yeah. Every Wednesday." She glanced down at the bag, thankful that her shawl covered the titles. Cheap romances, old-fashioned stories of chaste passion and true love conquering all. Her entire life was trite. She was stuck in a decade long gone by.

"Cool." Quinn cantilevered to his feet, managing to be both gangly and graceful at once. He was only an inch taller than she was, short for a man, and built trim. "Better than the library."

She must have looked confused, darn her lack of control, because he explained.

"You meet people in these places," he said, a nod to the doorway of the bookshop, "who read the same stuff that you do. There's no silence rules and your voice won't echo. And you can tell which books are the good ones 'cause they're held together with rubber bands. The library replaces its books when they start getting worn, and puts those funky cardboard covers on the paperbacks."

"I hate those," Shirley said, before she realized she would. Tossing restraint aside, she forged on. "They don't lay properly and they just feel wrong."

"And they don't show wear," Quinn agreed, "so how the heck do you know if the book's any good?"

Shirley laughed, then caught herself and was suddenly self-conscious. "So, have you been here before?"

"Nope, never been here. Is this a good bookstore?" Then he smacked himself on the forehead, and addressed the air. "Duh. Of course it's a good bookstore or she wouldn't be here." Then to Shirley, "Someone with your obvious taste wouldn't be going to a bad store."

She blushed. Furious with herself for the betrayal, she stammered out an "Excuse me", and bolted for cover inside the store. Thankfully, he didn't follow.

Inside, Shirley recovered her composure before taking her bag to the counter. She never reacted that way to men. What had come over her, stumbling all over herself like that? But he was so attractive, and it wasn't just a physical thing, it was something she didn't have a name for. Hmph. All these romance novels, and she couldn't find the words for it when she was overcome by an attraction to a man she had just met. Time to trade these in.
 

"Would you mind some company for lunch?"

"Hm?" Oh, my goodness. There he was. Shirley stopped just outside the bookstore, taken aback by Quinn's presence. Her heart fluttered, whether from shock or -- well, she didn't know.

"Well, after I go to the bookstore, I always go to lunch or for coffee or something, so I can sit down and look over what I got." He grinned merrily.

She debated briefly, momentarily ashamed of her selections, then discarded the shame. So what if she had a bag full of cheap romance novels? He seemed like he'd understand, somehow, and not make fun of her for her taste in leisure reading. "Sure, why not. Where?"

He handed her a flower, a spreading purple bloom that she'd never seen before. "How about the hot dog cart?" He glanced down at his hat. "Don't think I can cover Chez Pierre."

"The hot dog cart would be fine, thanks." And it was out on the square, with plenty of witnesses, just in case.

He scooped up his hat, dumped its contents into a belt pouch and perched the hat atop his head. The floppy leather brim drooped down over his left eye, giving him a faintly piratical look. Sheathing his flute in his belt like a sword, he offered her his elbow. Somehow, the archaic gesture seemed totally natural. With a faint sense of whimsy and a trickle of dread, she went off to lunch on the arm of a man she'd just met.
 

"Are you nuts?"

Julia shoved her currently-orange hair out of her eyes and leaned forward, planting her elbow on the table as she leveled a finger at Shirley.

"I mean, c'mon, Shirl, what if he'd been some kind of whacko? You could have been found under a bush three days later!"

"Shh!" Shirley glanced around the coffeehouse, wary of attracting stares. Her lunch partner did enough of that by herself. Julia was nearly six feet tall, with hair long on top and shaved on the sides, four silver rings down her left ear and another in her right nostril. Today she was wearing a black t-shirt with a big pink triangle on the front enclosing a clenched fist, ripped jeans and black Doc Martens. "Do you have to announce it to the whole planet?"

Julia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Shirl, c'mon, think! Where's the Miss Sensible that I've grown to know and love?"

Shirley shrugged. "I couldn't see any harm in a hot dog. I mean, we were in the middle of a crowd. What could he have tried?" She sipped at her Earl Grey, winced, and put it back down to cool a bit more.

"More than you could imagine. Nobody gets involved these days. He could have killed you right there and not one person would have lifted a finger." Julia stared directly into Shirley's eyes.

Used to the tactic, Shirley ignored the attempt at intimidation. "I doubt that. Besides, it went fine. There's no sense thinking on what might have been."

Julia relented, acknowledging the truth of it. There was enough trouble potential in the future. No use stressing out over the past. "So are you going to see him again?" she asked, shifting the temporal focus.

"I don't know," Shirley replied with a shrug. "He may not even be there tomorrow."

"But you're going to walk by just to see if he is, right?"

An embarrassed smile. "Yes."
 

There he was, just the same as yesterday. Well, maybe not quite the same. The tune was brighter, less abandoned, more content. Uncertainty still wove through it, but the despondent plaintiveness was gone. Drawn by the tune and by her heart, Shirley approached quietly, not wanting to disturb Quinn's concentration. He seemed enraptured, eyes shut and entire body swaying to the music that skirled from his flute.

As she drew close, though, he wrapped up with an abrupt flourish, and rose with a bow.

"Hi! I was hoping you'd come by!"

"You were?" Oh geez, that sounded really blonde. "I mean, uh..."

He emptied his hat and donned it, tucked away his flute and was before her before she could stammer any further. "Thanks for coming by. The afternoon would have been unbearable without you. You hungry?" The line was packaged so neatly between prosaic phrases that she almost missed it.

Confused and uncertain, she took his elbow automatically, and he led her off. "Uh, yeah." Come on, Shirley, get both those brain cells working at the same time.

"Chinese is okay, right?"

Safer ground. "Yes, that's great, I mean, I usually do Oriental on Thursdays."

He shrugged. "Doesn't everybody? That's why kung pao chicken was invented."

She stopped for a half second, dragging on his arm. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"Kung pao chicken."

He shrugged. "It was on the sign this morning. And last week. Thursday special." He paused for a half second. "You've got the most amazing red highlights in your hair."

Flustered, she followed when he took off for the restaurant again.
 

"I can't help it. I keep thinking of him."

Shirley paused for a sip of her tea. Julia shook her head sadly, her earrings chiming softly as they clashed together.

"You've got it bad. I mean, the past week you've gone off to meet him every day. Do you really know anything about him?"

She thought for a moment. "I know he's a musician, and he came here from Sausalito."

The pause went on too long. "And?" Julia prompted.

"And he's just such a nice guy."

Julia snorted derisively.

"No, really. I mean, he opens doors for me. He always has a flower to give me. He sings to me."

"Sings?"

"Oh, yes." The affirmation floated off into dreamy reverie. "He sings love songs. And he says stuff, I mean..."

"Stuff?" Julia sounded irritated at being reduced to one-word questions.

"Like how nice I look, or how he feels around me. I dunno, stuff. It all sounds so hokey when I think back on it."

"I bet it does." Julia took a deep hit from her mocha latte.

"But when he says it, it's honest, like he really means it. You know? Not like he's reeling off a line, but like he really means it. And it doesn't sound rehearsed or anything."

"Neither does the dialogue on E.R., but you know they worked on it for a while before the cameras rolled."

Shaking her head, Shirley took a deep breath. "It's not like that. I mean, you've known me for years, right?"

"Yeah. Ever since that women's conference where I made a pass at you." They both grinned at the memory. Shirley had given Julia the most polite "no" she'd ever received, and the two women had been friends ever since.

"And in all that time, I've never fallen for any sort of a line, right?"

"Right. Not that you get a lot of them."

"Gee, thanks." She put her fists on her hips.

"No, what I meant was that you don't attract a lot of lines." Julia waved a hand to fend off the faux pas.

"Like that's any better?" Shirley glared in mock outrage.

"C'mon, you know what I meant. You're not one of those glamour queen types that guys fall over themselves trying to get into bed with. Not a lot of people are going to have enough taste and class to realize what a prize you really are."

Shirley blushed faintly.

"Like that. How many women nowadays will blush when you compliment them?"

"Quinn said it was precious, that it gave me a virginal quality he found attractive."

"Whoa." Leaning forward. "He said virginal?"

"Yes. It sounded like something a knight would say to his lady, but spontaneous, you know?" Shirley waved a hand vaguely in the air. "Like that was just what came out when he spoke."

"Hm." Julia sat back and idly swirled her coffee, mixing in the last of the whipped cream. "So how serious is this?"

"I don't know." Another sip of tea. "I keep thinking of him. Yesterday I missed half a lecture daydreaming."

"Really?" Julia asked lasciviously.

Another blush. "Not that kind of daydream."

"What kind, then?"

"Oh, like what we did over the weekend -- "

"What did you do over the weekend?"

"We went to this coffeehouse up on the north side, where a lot of buskers hang out."

"Buskers?" Julia asked.

"Street musicians."

"Oh. Sorry, go ahead."

"Well, we went to this coffeehouse in the late morning, and spent most of the day there. Quinn introduced me to some friends of his, this guy Kevin who plays bagpipes and Jimmy who plays mandolin and Michael who plays harp and pennywhistle and pretty much anything else, and there was Caitlin who sang and played bodhran and Lindy who fiddled..." She was leaning back by this time, eyes on the ceiling as her mind ranged through time dredging up names and faces and instruments.

"So you spent the weekend hanging out with a bunch of RenFaire types?"

"More or less. But Julie, what they play when it's just them." Her eyes misted over. "It was like they accepted me as one of their own, and not an audience. You know, at the RenFaire it's always stuff that's at least halfway recognizable. Stuff that people will throw money in a hat to hear. And it's all bouncy, upbeat stuff. But when they're together, and it's just them, they do these really complex pieces, and some of them are so sad, and some aren't but they're too long for busking. And they played late into the night, and I didn't get home till almost dawn Sunday."

"And not once in all this time did he even touch you? This perfect gentleman of yours?" Julia raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"He held my hand, and we danced, and he kissed me goodbye." A faint shudder ran through her at the memory, a thrill that raced from her spine out to her fingertips and set her face aglow and her toes tingling. "But that was it. He never once tried to go any further than that."

"Hmf. I dunno. I've got my doubts. Sooner or later, he's gonna get drunk and then it's gonna get ugly."

"Why does it have to?" Shirley sat up and met Julia's stare.

"It doesn't have to," Julia conceded, then went back on the offensive, "But it normally does. Guys are scum, Shirl. They think with their crotches, and the only time one's nice to you is when he's horny and thinks he can get something."

A long, slow shake of the head. "Julia, I know you got hurt -- "

"I don't want to talk about it. And that's a cheap shot."

"It's not a shot. It's a fact. You got hurt, and now you expect every guy to try and hurt you. Maybe Quinn isn't like the guy who burned you."

"He's not. He's alive."

Ignoring the verbal hand grenade, Shirley pressed onward. "Quinn's been a complete gentleman even when we're alone. He's had plenty of chances to try something, and he hasn't." I wish he would, she almost said, but choked off the thought. "And when he talks about his feelings, he sounds so open and so honest. I mean, when have you ever met a guy who could talk about the way he feels?"

"Maybe he's gay."

"Maybe, but I don't think so." Not after that kiss. "I think he's just a really different guy, and I think I'm lucky I found him. Maybe it's not true. Maybe all the really decent guys aren't either gay or taken."

"Maybe you found the last one. But be careful, Shirl. Do you know where he lives?"

"Yeah." Her shoulders slumped. "It's this really awful rooming house down by the bay. It's all he could afford, and his friends don't have any room for him."

"Uh-oh." Julia leveled a finger at Shirley. "I've seen that look before. The last time you looked like that was right before you took in that cat off the quad, the one that had kittens in the bottom drawer of your mother's Welsh dresser."

"My sweater caught most of the mess."

"Yeah. And the dry cleaner called it a total loss. You can't afford another one like that. Don't even think about it."

"I won't." But she was already.
 

The sun filtered green-yellow through the leaves, scattering flickers across the hiking trail. Shirley and Quinn clasped hands as her sneakers and his sandals crunched across the dirt and gravel and last year's dry leaves. For the last quarter hour, neither had said a word, enjoying each other's company in silence.

For the last two weeks, they had spent increasing amounts of time together. Lunch, then dinner, then the weekend, and now the afternoon between classes. A deep and abiding feeling of contentment had settled into Shirley's heart. Quinn understood her in ways nobody ever had before. He'd opened her to new experiences. She wondered if he wanted children.

As if reading her thoughts, he drew her to the side of the path and into his arms. Their lips met, and for a long, spinning moment, the world fell away. Then a pack of teenagers swept by on mountain bikes in a spray of gravel, shouting and laughing. Startled, Shirley broke away from Quinn, catching her breath and her balance.

"C'mon." Quinn tugged at her hand, and she was following him off the path and into the woods before she realized what he had in mind. Then the situation caught up with her, and she balked. At the first hint of a tug on his hand, Quinn stopped, turning back to see what was wrong. He gave her a quizzical look.

"I don't know, Quinn," she said hesitantly. "I mean, how far is this going to go?"

"No farther than you want it to," he replied. Head cocked to one side, he frowned in concern. "Does the idea bother you?"

"Well, I mean, it's kind of out in public, you know?" She fought down a blush.

He shrugged. "The trees have a way of screening off the world. Just a few steps in and nobody will bother us."

"I think that's part of it." The honesty that had permeated their relationship emboldened her. "I mean, we haven't been really alone together yet."

"And you're afraid of what I might do?" He sounded almost hurt, as if acknowledging the harm others of his gender had done while he himself had been innocent.

"Well, I mean..." Words failed her, and she had to make do with an expansive gesture, hands spread in consolation.

"Hey, it's okay." He stepped closer, slowly so as not to startle her, and drew her into a loose but comforting hug. "I can understand." Then another thought intruded, and he drew back a little. She glanced up and met thoughtful, worried eyes.

"Have you ever been with someone before?" he asked. Somehow the question didn't seem offensive or invasive, coming as it did in such a quiet tone.

This time she couldn't fend off the blush. "Uh, two years ago, my first semester, I, uh, lost, um..."

He spared her further embarrassment. "It's okay. I thought your reluctance might be because you hadn't before."

The idea that he thought she might still be a virgin appealed to her, that he'd even thought about it. Without words, she leaned against his chest and made the hug a little tighter.

After a moment, "Thanks."

He said nothing, but his confusion was evident.

"For asking."

"Oh. Okay. Do you want to go -- "

"No." She turned her face up to his and their lips brushed. The contact held, grew more intense. She stepped around to his side without letting go her embrace, and leaned against him, facing into the woods.

He led her several yards further in, to where the undergrowth suddenly gave way to climax forest, open spaces under the trees in deep shade and no sign of previous human passage. It was true, she couldn't see the path, or hear the traffic any more. And the light was richer, more green.

Then he brought her close, hands on her waist, under her blouse. She gasped at the touch. He didn't stop, but slowed to make sure of her. When she slipped her hands inside his shirt, undoing the heavy wooden buttons to make room, he drew her down to the leaves.

And no one came within sight or sound of them.
 

Julia gave her a surprised look when she strode into the coffeehouse the next night. A few other people turned to look as well, and Shirley felt a warm glow from the attention, knowing she was attractive, knowing she was already spoken for. She gathered up her turquoise silk skirt before taking her usual seat, the brass beads on its bottom fringes jingling softly together.

"New look?" Julia asked. She leaned over to the side to get a better look at Shirley's black suede RenFaire boots, letting her gave travel up to the muslin bodice and flowered vest as she straightened back up.

"Trying something new, yes," Shirley replied, a bit defensive. "Can't I?"

Julia shrugged. "I dunno, I guess so. It's just I've got so used to you in those high-necked business shirts and the starched cotton dresses, it's shocking."

A moue of faint challenge. "Maybe I deserve to be a little shocking."

"Oh my God." Julia clapped a hand over her mouth, the let it slide to her chest without uncurving. "You did it."

A blush, a giggle and a glance to the side were answer enough.

"You did it with him. Oh my God, Shirley."

She turned back to confront her friend. "Well, it's not like I'm the first woman to sleep with a man in the history of the world."

Julia blinked, taken aback by the frank declaration of the act. Shirley'd never used even a euphemism for sex before, stammering and blushing any time the topic came up in conversation. She covered her disconcertment with a pull from her cappuccino.

Shirley gave a faint sigh of exasperation. "And he's -- " She let her head fall over onto her shoulder. "Oohhh..." There was no description she could give.

"That good, huh?" Julia asked. The territory was familiar. It was the situation that rendered the ice thin.

"Oh, yes." Another dreamy stare into space.

"Oh, stop it, already." She waved her cappuccino, putting the floor in peril of steamed milk. "Geez."

"What?" Shirley asked with a laugh.

"All the hearts and flowers stuff. Geez, next thing I know you'll be swooning. What the hell does that mean, anyway, swooning?"

"Oh, Julia, I am so in love with him."

"Oh, c'mon. You have a couple meals together, you sleep with him once, and you're in love?"

"I'm in love." She sounded certain.

"No way! You've read too many of those damn cheap romance novels. It doesn't happen like that in real life. People do not fall in love on sight. There are no dashing romantic leads. Love doesn't just happen. You have to work hard at it, because no matter how close you get to someone, you'll always be slightly incompatible."

"Why does it have to be hard?" Shirley's eyes refocused, and she gave her full attention to the topic at hand. "Why can't it just happen? I don't believe that all the magic has gone out of the world. I believe you can still find love without having to dig and scratch for it, without having to constantly tap-dance around the touchy issues."

Julia rolled her eyes, and started to retort, but Shirley spoke first.

"There's billions of people in the world. The odds have gotten pretty good for there being a perfect match for me. Even if the odds are against my meeting somebody like that, statistically --"

"Listen to yourself," Julia interrupted. "You say you believe in magic and romance and all that, but you can't even defend your own ideas without resorting to statistics! Do you really, truly believe that you've found the perfect lover. or are you trying to rationalize it so you can ignore his faults?"

"But that's just it! He doesn't seem to have any. We haven't fought about anything so far."

"Then he's a wimp." A dismissing wave.

"No." She shook her head, negating the wave. "He's not going along and saying yes, dear, but we think alike. It's like we agree before we even speak."

"Doesn't that strike you as just the least bit spooky? I mean, what if this guy's been stalking you to learn what you like and don't like?"

Laugh. "Julia, why would somebody stalk me? Miss Plain Jane, lifetime chairman of the itty bitty titty committee, wallflower of the decade? How could I possibly attract the attention of somebody like that?"

Julia by this time was too numb to take notice of the crudity. "I dunno, there's a lot of weirdos out there."

Gently. "Speaking from experience?"

Pause. "That's a cheap shot, Shirley."

"No, it's not a shot. But seriously, just because you had a bad experience -- "

"You could call it that. I call it having my heart ripped out and danced on."

Softly. "Julia, I'm in love. It's real. I know it. Please, try to understand."

A long pause. "No guarantees, Shirl."

"Maybe if you met him -- ?"

Slantwise stare from under lowered brows. "You're pushing it."

"He's part of my life now. You're going to have to meet him sooner or later."

"Goddess, is it that serious? He hasn't pulled out a ring, has he? You've only been together two weeks..."

Giggle. "No. It's been intense, but not fast. That's not quite right. Uh, geez, I don't know how to say it."

"You've said it. Okay, I'll meet the guy. No promises on how it goes."

"Thanks, Julia. You'll like him. Just give him half a chance, okay?"

"Okay. But not for him. For you, and because we've been friends a long time. But this is really pushing it, Shirl."
 

Several days later, Julia came into the coffeehouse to find Shirley already waiting for her. She almost didn't recognize her friend. In addition to the RenFaire clothing, Shirley had had a hair wrap done and painted a flower on her left cheek. She was leaning back in her chair with a pink highlighter in one hand and a copy of Vance Packard's The Hidden Persuaders in the other, dangling a sandal by its strap from her toe. Half a cherry blintz remained on her plate, and the grounds of her espresso had long since gone cold.

"I've heard of loosening up, but geez, Shirl, slow down, would you?" Julia took her seat and ordered a double mocha latte.

"What, you change your hair color on a moment's notice and you're telling me to slow down?" Shirley aimed her highlighter at Julia's vivid strawberry Mohawk. The two shades of pink argued briefly before she put the pen back down.

"I'm a lesbian activist and a performance artist," Julia defended. "I'm expected to be weird and changeable."

"Do you always do what's expected of you?"

Caught in the logical trap, Julia busied herself stirring the whipped cream into her latte. "It's just you've always been so stable."

"So predictable?" Shirley put down her book, using the highlighter to keep her place. "It's been like a dam bursting. I'm constantly amazed at myself any more. Do you know I've spent more on clothes than on books and food together the past two weeks?"

"Be careful, Shirley. You've never been in financial trouble before."

A shake of her head set her hair wrap swaying. "Don't worry. I haven't completely lost it. My checkbook still balances and the rent is getting paid. On the other hand, that's about to get easier."

"You're not." The latte slowed, stopped, forgotten. A last swirl of cream drifted lazily down into the coffee.

"This Saturday."

"What about your lease?"

"No, I'm not moving!" She laughed. "Into that pesthole of a rooms-by-the-week? No, Quinn's moving in with me!"

"After just three weeks?" Julia glanced off to the side, then back. "Are you out of your mind? You can't possibly know him well enough for that!"

"I feel like I've known him all my life. I can tell him anything and he understands."

"And he tells you stuff in return?"

"Yes. We've gotten to know each other better in three weeks than my parents did in thirty years." Shirley leaned forward, put her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands.

Julia leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. "I thought we knew each other pretty well. Obviously I was mistaken."

"It's not like that."

"Then how is it? Explain it to me. Someone I've counted on to be a stable point in my life for years has suddenly pulled up anchor and gone steaming off into the tropics. What am I supposed to do?"

Deep sigh. "I don't know. But I have to find someone to make a life with. We've been really close friends, but that's as far as it goes. I'm sorry, Julie. You're just not that person."

A long silence stretched between them. Julia filled it with a sip from her latte.

Finally, she glanced off to the side, then met Shirley's gaze. "I guess I always knew that. Somehow I hoped it would work out different."

Shirley gave a slow shake of her head, the bead on her hair wrap catching the light. "People do change, Julia. But that's not the way I've changed." When no answer was forthcoming, she continued, "And I'm not sure I've really changed. I've always felt impulsive. I just sat really hard on my impulses."

"So you've started giving in to them?" Julia swept a look over Shirley's outfit. "I never suspected you had this inside you."

"I guess I always did. You know all those romance novels I read?" A snort answered her. "Well, I always wanted to be the princess. You know, the fancy clothes, the handsome suitor. Quinn pays court to me. I know that sounds really trite, but he's not just being with me. He's putting some very real effort into capturing my heart."

"Aw, c'mon!" Julia curled a lip. "Now you're starting to sound like one of those damn novels!"

"I'm sorry." Shirley laid a hand over her heart. "That's what I've got inside. I feel like being with Quinn has helped me remove the mask I wore, and let my true self out. Maybe it's like you said. People are basically incompatible. I've found the exception that proves the rule. I've got to be with him."

Julia sighed. "Look, Shirley, this is not some stray cat you've got here. This is a guy. They're a lot more expensive than cats and a lot less trustworthy. If they turn mean on you, they're a lot harder to get rid of. Do yourself a favor. Don't take in stray guys."

"I know you mean well." Shirley leaned forward and laid her hand over Julia's. "I love you like a sister, Julia, and I respect your opinion, really I do. But when I'm with him --"

"Every thought flies right out of your head and you turn into a puddle of goo. Girl, think! Don't let this guy walk all over you!"

"He won't." Shirley shook her head. "If anything, he'd let me walk all over him."

"Until he moves in, then it's get me another beer, bitch."

A laugh, brief and sad. "He's not like that. Not all guys are scum, Julia. There has to be an exception that proves the rule."

Julia pulled her hand away and sat back in her chair. She looked away, not at the wall but in its direction. "And you found him."

"Yes." The answer was too plain to require elaboration.

"I hope so." She met Shirley's gaze, and sighed. "And I'll be here to pick up the pieces when he leaves."

Shirley rose, slowly. "Julia," she said with regret. "Please, try to understand."

"Oh, I'll stand by you. But don't expect me to support your decision when I think it's really stupid."

The word hung in the air between them for a long moment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did." Shirley stared down at her hands, then picked up the check. "And I forgive you. It can't be easy for you -- "

"It's not."

" -- but I'm taking him in."
 

Thunder rolled across the city, making a anticlimax of the coffeehouse door slamming. Julia swore like a sailor as she shook off the rain, examining her crushed-velvet Elizabethan cap for water damage. At least her knee-high boots were vinyl, not real leather, so there wasn't much chance of them getting trashed from the sudden squall. The rest of her outfit was cotton and would dry.

She glanced around. The interior of the shop, usually kept dim, seemed darker and more closed-in from the lack of sunlight. Very few of the Saturday afternoon regulars were present. The forecast of rain must have kept them at home. Crossing the hardwood floor, her boot heels echoing loud in the eerily quiet room, she took her usual seat. Shirley and Quinn weren't here yet. This was good and bad. It gave her time to settle down and force herself to be calm before they arrived, and she had to be nice to the guy that had taken away her best friend. On the other hand, it gave her time to reconsider the meeting and maybe run out the back.

The past week had been hectic. Between Quinn's busking and gigs, her activist meetings, rallies and art openings and Shirley's classes, fate had conspired to keep the three of them apart. Or maybe it was the three of them being reluctant to meet. That Wiccan friend of hers was always saying that you make your own reality, that you get what you wish for. Well, Julia had been wishing she didn't have to go through with this and meet the guy. What if Quinn turned out to be as nice as Shirley said? It'd be a lot tougher to hate him properly if he was likeable.

Then the door opened again, and suddenly retreat was no longer an option. Shirley came in, giggling and brushing futilely at her gypsy skirt, followed closely by Quinn, who was folding up an umbrella. He deposited it in the antique stand by the door, and shook the water out of his long brown hair like a dog, spraying it everywhere. Shirley eeked and batted playfully at him. Julia nearly threw up.

Damn, but he was decent looking for a guy. Built slender, not all musclebound. He dressed like a Faire type, pale blue cavalier shirt and loose brown trousers, embroidered vest and sandals, but he looked like he bathed a lot more regularly. And he'd been carrying an umbrella. That didn't fit at all. RenFaire types wore cloaks to keep the rain off. You only carried an umbrella if you were some kind of suit and tie type --

-- Or you wanted to keep the rain off someone else. Damn again. This would be so much easier if he was one of those arrogant so-and-sos with a case of chronic testosterone poisoning. No, he had to be considerate. She sighed in exasperation and kicked two chairs out from the table, her one concession to social niceties.

Shirley turned at the sound of wood sliding across wood, and waved to her. Taking Quinn's hand, she led him over to the table. "Quinn, this is Julia. Hey, Julie. This is Quinn."

He stuck a hand out at her. "Hey! Shirley's told me a lot about you. You sound like a neat person."

Neat? Geez. And he had to open with a compliment. Grrr. Julia shook his hand. He had a firm grip but didn't play any macho games. That was another point, dammit. Too many guys didn't know how to shake hands properly. They either held your hand like it was made out of glass or they tried to climb up it and down your shirt.

"Hello." Her tone was flat, neutral. Shirley gave her a raised eyebrow. Hey, the girl should be happy she was being this civil.

Quinn held Shirley's chair for her, then took his own seat. "I caught your show at the Leeman-Klein. Very inventive."

Julia glanced over to Shirley. He's making an effort, she read in Shirley's eyes. Why aren't you?

She relented. "Yeah, I was pretty happy with it."

"You got the idea for the video wall from Stein?"

"More or less." The waitress came by. "Espresso."

"Earl Grey for her," Quinn said, indicating Shirley, "and a Mucho Mango for me."

"You don't do caffeine?" Julia asked, looking for faults.

"Got to get my Vitamin C." He grinned, showing perfect, even teeth. "Besides, it's too hot for coffee."

Aha. A disagreement. "Shirley doesn't think so."

"Julia!" Shirley scolded. "That's really immature of you."

Then Quinn stuck his tongue out at Julia and went "Nyah!" and the tension was broken. All three found themselves laughing as their drinks arrived.

"So you were talking about Stein and the video wall?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah." Julia licked whipped cream from the rim of her glass where it threatened to spill over. "Stein used the wall sort of like I did, but she was using random images to create a sense of chaos and impending doom. I focused the visual assault, gave it direction, and used it not to confuse the audience but to augment the message of the performance."

"So that was why so many of the montage images repeated?" Quinn tried his fruit chiller, and set it aside.

"Yeah. It wasn't like I was short on footage. There's enough violence against women on tape for days of nonrepeating montage. What I was after was a few repeating images that would drive home the point, without distracting from the live performance on the dais."

Shirley idly stirred her tea, relieved. Quinn had come through like she knew he would, asking just the right question, saying the right things. Getting Julia to talk about her art was guaranteed to keep her mind off anything else for hours. Well, that was true of pretty much any artist. Quinn was one of the rare few who could realize that his audience was tiring of the subject. His busker friends could tell weird-gig stories all night long. And heaven help you if you asked about Celtic music around people who could sing in properly accented Gaelic.

"Baer's had the fabric on sale. It wasn't quite what I had in mind, but it saved me some bucks that I put into the backdrop."

"Oh, wow. I love that store. I got the fabric for my shirt there." Quinn twitched at his sleeve, then picked up his chiller and downed a good portion of it.

"You sew?" Julia sounded dubious.

"Mm." He nodded, and swallowed his fruit juice. "Most buskers do. Even if it's just enough to fix your garb between sets when you rip a sleeve. Believe it or not, I'm hard to fit."

"You?" Julia gave him a critical eye. "I wouldn't have thought so. You look to be about average size. Kind of person wh can buy their clothes off the rack."

"They don't fit right. I'm built kind of funny, short waisted and long in the stride. Pants have to be extra long, and regular dress shirts are a total disaster. The pocket ends up down around my belt." He indicated the position with his hand.

"Geez, and I thought I had trouble."

Julia and Quinn went on about clothes, music, and performances for the better part of an hour, eventually getting into strange-gig stories. After the third "no shit, there we were," Shirley's eyes started to glaze.

Quinn immediately stopped in mid-story. "Sorry, are we doing that artist thing again?"

"Yes, you are." Shirley yawned.

"Sorry." He glanced up at the clock over the counter. "We need to get going anyway. You've got class in forty-five minutes, and I promised Bob I'd stop and get new reeds for his pipes while I was over this way."

All three stood, goodbyes were said, the bill got paid and then Shirley and Quinn were gone. Julia sat back down, moodily swirling the grounds in the bottom of her glass. Damn. Despite her best efforts, she'd actually liked him. He talked shop like a pro. He knew his way around the shops. And he paid attention to Shirley, even when he was in the middle of a story. She'd never met a guy who would interrupt a story.

Damn.
 

Shirley collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. "And you didn't have that much stuff, either."

Quinn sprawled next to her. "Moving is exhausting no matter how much or how little stuff you actually move. I think it's the nervous stress. Being uprooted and all that."

"Do you feel uprooted?" She rolled over to face him.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her as she snuggled in close. "No. I feel like I just put down roots. I've been like a tumbleweed most of my life."

"Well, for a tumbleweed, you've picked up a lot of stuff." She giggled, and pinched his stomach.

He laughed and flinched away, then tickled back. They rolled back and forth for a moment, ending up with Quinn on top. Suddenly the laughter stopped, as they both became very aware of each other. Quinn touched noses with Shirley, then brushed her lips with his own.

The tickling evolved into caresses. Hands slipped under clothing. Shirley broke away from a deep kiss, and traced her fingers down his jaw. "I love you so much, Quinn. What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Something awful in a previous life?" He smirked.

"No, c'mon, I'm serious. Since I met you, my life has turned upside down, but I've been loving every minute of it. I want to stay with you forever."

Quinn's eyes misted over, and his gaze dropped. "I wish you could."

"Why can't I?" Shirley asked, confused, not sure if she should be hurt. "Is there something I don't know that could be a problem?" She ran her fingers up the side of his face, around his ear, and up, and up, and up...

To a point.

At the top of his ear.

It was pointed.

"Oh my God." She blinked -- and his face blurred. Still familiar, but slightly different, cheekbones higher, chin more pointed, eyebrows arching a bit more, and his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They were lambent green, with vertical pupils, and filling with tears.

"It could be a problem," he said.

She was under him. She wanted out. He was off and helping her up before she could say anything about it. "What are you?"

"An elf."

"Okay." That was blunt.

"What, you'd rather I was an alien?" He grinned. His teeth were a little sharper than they'd been before. He closed his lips over them self-consciously. "There's more complicated answers, but the simple truth of it is that I'm an elf."

It was a bit much for her to take in. "Quinn..."

"See, the problem is, we're immortal."

"So why are you getting involved with a human?" A human. That sounded so weird.

"My people are attracted to the pure in heart. That doesn't equate to Christian ideas of sexual purity, but more to people who are honest with themselves, but haven't lost their sense of wonder. I've been searching for someone like you for a long time. I was sinking into despair when you came along. Sadness is like cancer to us. It gets into our systems, and it grows, and eventually it'll kill us. Sometimes we get lucky and find a cure."

"So that's all I am to you? A cure for a disease?" Now she was getting around to angry.

"No." He shook his head. "When I tell you that I love you, I'm telling you the truth." And the honesty echoed in his voice, like it had before. "When you walked up to the bookstore, I knew why I'd been waiting there. I'd been waiting for you to come along." A glance away, a deep sigh, then he turned back to her. "I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you. It's unlikely we can, though." Another sigh, and his gaze slid down to the floor. "I wish we could have children."

"So we'll adopt." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

His face lit up, and he clasped his other hand around hers. "You mean it?"

"Quinn, I don't know how much time we'll have together. Nobody does. We'll just have to enjoy the time we have. That makes us no different from any other couple. I have to ask you once more, though. Do you really love me?"

"Yes." The answer came without hesitation. He looked her straight in the eye and continued, "I love you with every fiber of my being."

She giggled. "Now I know why you sound so old-fashioned sometimes."

"I don't need to ask you."

"That's kind of arrogant."

"No. The evidence is right here." He touched his face. "Only someone deeply in love with one of us can see us as we really are. Love has the power to clear your vision, not just to cloud your sight."

"So because I love you, I can see the truth about you?"

"Yes. Please, keep it a secret, okay?"

She laughed. "Like I could tell anybody? Who'd believe me?"

"You'd be surprised." He looked so worried that she leaned over and kissed him.

"It's okay. I won't." Then she kissed him again, and his arms went around her, and they both remembered that they were on the bed.
 

"So how's married life treating you?" Julia asked.

Shirley laughed merrily. "Other than we're not married, just fine." She grinned at Quinn, seated next to her.

"You might as well be," Julia groused. "Geez." She shoved her empty espresso cup aside.

Quinn shrugged. "We still have our own pursuits. I'm still busking, and she's still studying for her degree."

"Yeah, but you spend all your off time joined at the hip."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Shirley asked.

"Other than giving me saccharine poisoning?"

Shirley and Quinn both snickered.

"Well, I guess it's working out okay," Julia relented. "I'm sorry I wasn't more supportive earlier on. You know about me and men." The last to Shirley.

"Yeah. It's okay, Julia. We're still friends, right?"

"I guess so. I mean, I'm gonna have to find somebody boring to replace you in my life."

Shirley glanced down at herself, at the brilliant patchwork skirt and the silk halter top, the rose painted on her shoulder, and grinned.

"But Quinn's brought out a lot of stuff I never suspected was in you. You've been more outgoing, more confident since you got involved with him. Being close to me didn't do that for you. I was woman enough to take a no when we first met. I've got to be woman enough to admit that someone else is better for you now."

Shirley reached across the table and took Julia's hand, clasping it between her own. "I appreciate that. I've really wanted your support in this. You do mean a lot to me. It's just that Quinn means a bit more."

Julia glanced from her to Quinn and back again. "Yeah. What is it anyway? Besides his being a guy, what is it about him that makes him so special to you?"

Shirley glanced aside to her lover, to his green eyes and pointed, elegant ears, knowing that Julia couldn't see them.

"It's a couples thing. You'd have to be in the relationship to understand."