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The first one was stuck to the inside of her locker door. Mostly she was upset that he had figured out how to get into it without her permission. The gall. But she was smiling as soon as she read it, so it was hard to be annoyed.
(This locker is under investigation for being a possible biohazardous threat. Please remove the offending items immediately. Your coworkers thank you. Supervisor Grissom.)
His sharp scrawl and favorite blue pen. Yes, he had a favorite pen. Always tucked into his shirt or vest pocket. She often borrowed it from him out on scenes and forgot to give it back until he tracked her down hours later somewhere in the lab, simply holding his hand out and looking at her over his glasses. She would roll her eyes and dig it out of her back jeans pocket. Sometimes he would stare at it in his hand for a second, almost unsure of what to do with it given where it had just been, before turning and walking away without a word.
She knew she left some clothes in her locker from…a few days ago. Not sure when. Ooooh….it was that decomp with Warrick. A week ago. Not a good move, Sidle. She threw them all in a plastic bag and slammed the locker shut, tucking the note in her wallet.
Walking past Grissom’s office, she paused, holding up the bag for him to see. When he felt her gaze on him, he looked up and smirked at her, then returned to his paperwork. She felt lighter walking out into the warm morning.
Two days later, on Grissom’s kit just inside his office.
(A certain night supervisor who shall remain nameless took the last of the gloves without putting in a request for more. And don’t blame Greg; he doesn’t put them on his head anymore.)
Damn. She had him there. Sitting down at his desk to submit a rush request, he smiled at her playful tone. Could they be this easy with each other? Was it possible? Definitely much easier than trying to get the words out of his vault-like mouth standing in front of her, those dark, sultry eyes searching his face for feelings and meaning. He could be just as fun as her on a sticky note. Level playing field. You can do this, Gilbert old boy. Don’t overthink. Be cool. He rolled his eyes at himself. Right, cool. Not a word ever associated with him. Well…he could change. He could. Crazier things had happened.
A week later, stuck under her windshield wiper.
(Heard about you taking the boys to the cleaner’s at poker. Not nice Miss Sidle. Morale is decidedly down. How about using your winnings to take them out for breakfast to make it up to them?)
Later that shift, stuck to his chest as she passed him in the hallway.
(Deal, only if you come too.)
He tried to hide the stupid grin on his face as he shoved the note into his pocket. He wasn’t fishing for an invite, but he couldn’t turn down a morale boosting breakfast. He had to go, as the shift supervisor…right? Right.
They sat next to each other at breakfast while Greg tried to convince them all that he let Sara win at poker because as a gentleman he couldn’t possibly take money from a woman. Laughing, she didn’t stop her leg from settling next to Grissom’s, and he didn’t move away when he felt it. And it just felt…right. Warm and right. None of their trademark awkwardness. When her coffee cup was empty, she reached over and started drinking from his, and he let her. Feeling bold, she stole a few fried potatoes from his plate. He stole some melon from hers. They both chuckled quietly, trying not to make eye contact that the others would notice. Sara stared at Grissom’s strong hands as he played with a straw wrapper while talking to Nick. The sun picked up the fine, light hairs on the back of them, and she wondered if the hair on the rest of his body was as fair. Whoa. Don't go down that thought rabbit hole here. Not with his warmth pressed against her and his scent occasionally taking her breath away. She wondered what her face was doing and tried to school it to display cool interest in the conversation.
“What’s wrong?” He whispered under his breath while the guys were caught up in sports talk.
Ugh, he had caught her thought written on her face. Why was he so perceptive when she didn’t want him to be?
“Nothing, just…my mind wandering. I’m tired, I think.”
Smirking, he said, “Oh you do sleep occasionally?”
Funny. He was being funny. Or was he flirting? She wasn’t sure.
“At least once a week,” she shot back and he chuckled.
When they were all walking to their cars later, Grissom threw a wink at her over his shoulder. Thankfully no one was near enough to see the color creep up her face. Who is this man and what is happening!!? She felt like she somehow had fallen through the looking glass, but also wanted to enjoy this new found freedom with each other and not over analyze. Keep it cool. One small baby step at a time. Don’t scare him off.
The notes continued, in a steady trickle, week after week.
Inside Sara’s lunch bag in the fridge.
(Perhaps you could do a PSA about nutrition for the night shift. I witnessed Greg eat a cheeseburger patty between two pieces of pizza this week.) Complete with a tiny drawing of a bunny, presumably making reference to the cut up veggies she always snacked on. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, but shoved the note in her pocket just the same. Who knew he liked to doodle? Grissom. A doodler. I bet no one else has ever seen a Grissom doodle, she thought to herself, and felt just a little swell of secret pride.
Stuck on his phone on his desk.
(That dark red shirt…a very good purchase.) And a little wink face. Wait…what’s happening. This just took a turn down a road he didn’t see coming. Well, maybe hoped would come but…wasn’t sure where the turn off was. This analogy is getting away from you, Gil. He knew she…had feelings for him, or had in the past. After months, years of gut wrenching push and pull (her) and cowardice (him) they had drifted toward a comfortable camaraderie, and lately he dared to even think of it as a friendship. But he still couldn’t seem to comprehend how she could find anything about him attractive. Maybe….maybe.
(Although not specifically mentioned in the employee handbook, clothing that reveals substantial midriff and lower back is very…distracting.) She gave a self satisfied chuckle. She had felt his hot gaze as she took photos at a scene the night before, moving lithely, wearing a new tank top that may or may not have been a strategic decision. He had looked like he wanted to say something all night, but whenever she looked at him his eyes darted away and he pretended to be busy. She was pushing. She’d tried it before. This time…she thought he might be staggering towards the edge.
(Sure beats Irish Spring.) Grissom had grabbed the body wash impulsively after hearing Nick and Warrick talking about how a guy needed a “signature scent” other than clean laundry. He liked clean laundry, but he thought the young men probably had more success in romantic endeavors than he had, so why not try. The results were satisfying indeed. She had definitely stood closer to him than necessary when examining evidence in the layout room. The boys were right.
On a sticky note shaped like a killer whale, (I know that case was hard on you. I admire your empathy. I realize what it costs you.) And a drawing of a flower with a little bee. Amazing how three short sentences and a depiction of pollination can make your heart flip. He was trying. Trying to crack open his emotions. The hope that had taken root in her sprouted another little leaf.
Day to day, their interactions became warmer and they both seemed more centered. There was less tension and the whole team felt it. Wary of disturbing the peace, no one mentioned it.
(I’ve been rereading To Kill a Mockingbird. Atticus reminds me of you.)
(That cop was a complete jerk to you, I’m sorry. I’ll speak to Brass about him.)
(You should let your hair grow a little longer.)
(If we’re giving unsolicited advice, you shouldn’t straighten your hair.)
(Did you know Doc Robbins is in a band?! They’re playing this weekend at a place Greg knows. Wanna join us?)
(My ears are still ringing from Greg’s off key singing. I’ll be in my office.) And a drawing of what she assumed was supposed to be Greg, given the crazy hair.
The next night he found a plain jewel case with a CD inside sitting on his desk, note attached.
(If Greg’s singing isn’t to your liking, maybe some of these will be. xo)
A mix tape. Curated by Sara. No one had made him a mixtape since…well, ever. The note signed with an xo felt…warm. Like a hug. Listening to the CD while laying on his couch later that day, he felt a sense of intimacy with her. Like he was getting a glimpse into the Sara he wanted to know, was trying to know better. He felt honored.
(Brandi Carlile was my favorite. Surprised you are a Bill Evans fan too. And while at first I didn’t get Radiohead, they are growing on me. Thank you for the education. xo)
He added his own xo hastily, before he could think it over. It felt right. Terrifying, but right. A hug and a kiss. His face heated at the thought. It was getting harder and harder to block out thoughts of being alone with her, touching her…tasting her.
(Returning the favor.) Attached to a CD of her own. She didn’t expect one from him, (not sure if he knew how to burn one), but found she was itching to get home and listen. The man was so secretive, hid behind so many things, this was an unprecedented peek behind the curtain.
Stuck to his desk lamp. (The Grateful Dead!? Amazing. Herb Alpert feels like sunshine. Of course you like Bob Dylan, the poetry! And Nessun Dorma is breathtakingly beautiful. Who knew you would rock at mixtapes.)
It was getting harder and harder for Sara to be the cool collected coworker around him. She wanted to talk to him constantly. Be with him constantly. Her fingers tingled to touch him constantly, his hair, his strong hands, the line of his bearded cheek. God, she wanted to lick his neck. The space between his beard and hairline called to her. Jeez, she was wound too tight. The glimpse she’d seen into him over the past few months was so tantalizing she didn’t think she could just be polite anymore. Finally, after a sticky night out at a scene, the heat not dissipating in the dark, she found a note in her locker after a cool shower. A few words written, and then crossed out.
(Meet me in the parking lot?)
She stared at the note. Cryptic wasn’t unusual for him, but this felt…important. She wanted to run outside; she wanted to hide here till next shift. This better not be another experiment, she thought to herself.
He stood next to his car, hands in his pocket. Seeing her, hair loose and curling, his grin lit up his face. She came to a stop in front of him.
“Sara, you’re so-“, he sighed and shook his head. “Lovely”, he finished, almost too quiet to hear. She searched his eyes, he didn’t look away. She bit her lip, trying not to grin like an idiot. It didn’t work.
“I’ve wanted to say that for…well, a very long time.”
He looked scared, relieved, unsure…more handsome than she’d ever seen him. She took in every detail of him, wanting to relive this later as she fell asleep. His blue eyes and light eyelashes, the lines around his eyes, his sexy mouth.
“Is that it? Why you asked me to meet you? I mean, that was worth it, but…” she said in a low tone only he could hear. Her eyes danced with flirtatious mischief.
He stepped closer, into her space. Breathing in when she breathed out. “Will you go for a walk with me? Just…to decompress and…talk.” He shrugged like that was something they did all the time, talk with a capital T.
Feeling bold, she ran a finger up his forearm, nodding. “Yes, let’s walk, and talk. You can buy me an iced tea.”
He drove them to a trail that often had food trucks parked along it, on the edge of a park. Cold drinks in hand, they slowly walked and pushed the boundary of everything their relationship had ever been. Sharing stories, details, wishes. Sara felt like she was meeting him for the first time, but also like she was coming home. These past weeks, sharing little snippets of each other…felt like their puzzle pieces might fit together after all. She was afraid to hope, but he was trying. He was here, and trying. Being the center of his focus, she’d never felt more important or more beautiful.
They walked close, matching pace. He’d used that damn body wash again. She wanted to unbutton his shirt and find out if his chest was hairy or smooth; she wanted to taste his drink by way of his mouth on her mouth. She felt his hand brush hers, and he linked his pinkie with hers. Promising. She said nothing but smiled at him when he looked at her to see if it was ok. She felt his matching smile all over her body.
Stopping near some trees on the far side of the park, secluded, he pulled her close to him with his pinkie. In his space.
“Sara, I hope you know, these past few weeks…I’ve been thinking a lot and…coming to terms with…I’m not making sense. I can talk to hundreds of students but in front of you…” She tried not to smile at his frustration but stumbling Grissom was the most endearing thing on earth.
He sighed and grabbed both her hands. “If you still want this, if I haven’t ruined my chance, I’d love to…to date you Sara. I want this too. I want you,” he finished, in a whisper. He squeezed her hands and pulled her close. So close she couldn’t think to respond. His mouth was so close to hers, all she could do was try not to pass out. His lips brushed the side of her mouth, barely a touch. Asking permission. Her lips parted and she leaned into his warmth. She nibbled at his mouth, wanting to savor. He sucked on her bottom lip and moved his hands to her hips. She felt grounded. His tongue slipped into her mouth, hot and searching, and she had to hold onto his neck to keep standing. It was better than she ever imagined. He was gentle but masterful, taking what he wanted but treating her like the most precious thing he’d ever found. Her hands played with his hair and ran over his neck. She leaned back to breathe and immediately kissed, licked, sucked the space on his neck that had taunted her for weeks. Gaaah, she was melting. She wanted more, all of him. His groan brought her out of her haze. Hearing how affected he was only aroused her more.
“Sara-God Sara…we have to stop. There’s people-“ her mouth cut him off and they held each other tight. His hands in her hair. The chasm that used to separate them now completely dissolved, and they stood on the edge of something new together. Falling together. Finally separating, they both breathed deep and stared at the other. Amazed, bewildered, thoroughly kissed.
“So, that’s a yes? To dating me?” His eyes sparkled and she laughed, taking his face in her hands.
“I guess you could take that as a yes, Grissom. But I want another mixtape. And more notes.”
Taking her hand, they set off back the way they came. “I can do that. I do some of my best work on post-its. And I’ll make a mixtape of songs that I want to dance with you to. Anything, Sara. Anything for this chance.”
She grinned and kissed his cheek, wondering if you can die of happiness. They were just starting, but the promise this day brought fixed something inside her.
“Come on, let’s go back to those food trucks. I want to watch you lick an ice cream cone,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and pulled her to his side. Ice cream sounded great to Sara.