"Are you OK? David...stop! Don't do that!"

David had started to sit up from his position on the floor, but he froze now with his weight propped on one elbow. "What?"

"You shouldn't move," Penny said. "You could have broken something."

"I'm fine." With his free hand, he rubbed the middle of his chest, wondering if he might have cracked a rib when he ran into the control panel. "I should've broken my neck," he muttered. "It would serve you right." He gestured toward the plug, lying on the floor behind her. "What the hell was that for?"

"Sorry." She bit her lip. "I couldn't get you to stop."

"Did you try saying hello?"

She rocked backward and sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. "Yes, I tried saying hello. I also tried shouting hello. Several times."

"I guess I had the music on." His earbuds lay on the floor a few feet from his head. Even from this distance, he could still hear the music buzzing loudly enough to make out the lyrics.

"You know that's dangerous," she said, following the direction of his gaze. "You can go deaf from playing music that loud."

"I could also go deaf from getting my head bashed in when some helpful person decides to unplug my treadmill."

"Well, I tried shouting. You wouldn't stop."

"OK, Penny. So there's this other thing people do sometimes. It's called tapping someone on the shoulder-"

"I didn't want to startle you!"

"Right." He shrugged. "That makes perfect sense."

"Well, I'm sorry."

She didn't look very sorry. The look on her face had gone from concern to.... He couldn't quite read it. Was she angry?

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asked.

"I missed my flight."

She scowled then. Was she mad? At him? Maybe just mad at herself for missing her flight?

"I told you, you were cutting it close," he said, struggling to sit up all the way. "You should have let me drive you-"

She stuck out a hand and pushed him back down roughly, flat onto his back again. "I missed it on purpose."

"Oh."

OK. Definitely angry. That was clearly a dirty look she was giving him now. Shit. Was it because- had she-

Shit shit shit. She reached into the front pocket of her jeans, and he recognized the piece of paper she pulled out. The letter. She must have read it. And now she was angry. Seriously pissed. Without a word, she unfolded the sheet of paper and let it drop into the middle of his chest.

"You read it?" He looked down at it without moving, and then he glanced hesitantly back up at her face.

She nodded.

"Shit."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I kind of figured you'd be in Minnesota by the time you read it."

"I read it on the subway."

"Sorry." He picked the letter up and started to crumple it into a ball, but she snatched it back out of his hands. "Penny, I-"

She didn't look at him. Her eyes remained on the paper as she smoothed it back out against her thigh and then began folding it carefully.

"Nevermind," he said. "I can write you a real one."

Her eyes flitted up to his face. "This wasn't a real one?"

"A real recommendation, I mean."

"I don't need a recommendation, David."

"Are you pissed?"

She just stared at him with her lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed. But still puffy - those eyes. Why were they puffy? Because she read the letter? Was she sad, then? Sad or angry? It didn't make sense. Nothing about her ever made any sense.

Her expression changed again now. He watched as her breath seem to catch in her chest for just a moment, and only then did he realize that he'd touched her face. His thumb was running just below her eye, barely grazing her lower lash line as it traced across the swollen skin. She covered his hand with her own and held it there, pressed against her cheek - trapped.

He didn't know what that meant either. He held his breath, waiting for her to push his hand away, but she didn't move. They both remained perfectly still, watching each other.

He'd meant to say something else to her, but he couldn't remember what it was. All he knew was that he was touching her face. Five minutes ago, he thought he would never see this face again, and now his palm was pressed against her cheek. Penelope's cheek. Penelope's face. Here in his living room. He was touching it, and she wasn't stopping him. He had no idea what it meant. He only knew that he needed more.

David slid his hand to the back of her head and pulled her face down to meet his.

He expected her to pull away, but she allowed him to draw her down to him. She closed her eyes, and he felt her closed lips, soft and pliant, pressing against his own. He held her there, unmoving - unable to proceed any further - until his jaw began to ache from the barely suppressed urge to move his mouth.

But he hesitated. Frozen. He didn't dare to move a muscle. If he moved, she might pull back again. It might bring the moment to an end. So he waited, determined to keep her fixed in place for as long as she would let him. He might have stayed that way forever - in suspended animation - if only she would let him.

But of course she wouldn't let him.

He felt her lips part against his, and then she moved her hands. First her right hand. Then her left. She dropped them to his shoulders. And still he didn't budge an inch. She slid her hands slowly along his shoulders. Up his neck. Into his hair.

And then, somewhere deep inside him, something broke. Some dam that had been holding back the water gave way to the surging tide. He clenched an arm around her waist and dragged her body toward him. His lips moved feverishly against hers, clumsy now with need, desperate to taste, to touch, to learn every inch of her before it was too late.

He rolled so they were lying on the floor, side by side. Her hands tugged at his hair, but she didn't push him away. She only tilted her head to allow him deeper entry.

Neither of them had made a sound since the moment he touched her face, but he heard her then. Was she trying to speak? He couldn't quite make it out - a sound from the back of her throat, somewhere between a purr and a moan.

He broke away. He needed to see her face. He pulled back an inch, but her eyes remained shut tight. Two little half-moons, fringed in pale white-gold. Her face was flushed bright red. Her chest heaved in unison with his.

"Not pissed then?" His voice was hoarse and breathless, more winded now than he had been from his treadmill run before. One corner of his mouth quirked upward. Not angry, he thought. Something else. He touched her cheek again.

Her eyes popped open, but her expression remained serious. "You idiot," she panted. She gave his chest a shove, right in the spot where he had bruised it.

"Ow! What?" He looked back at her, his eyes widening in complete bewilderment. "Pissed? Not pissed?"

She only shook her head.

"It has to be one or the other!"

She snaked her fingers back into his hair and jerked his head toward her. Her lips pushed open against his, picking up where they'd left off, and his brain stopped asking questions. Out of sheer instinct, he rolled on top of her and pressed her to the floor beneath him. He felt her arch her back. And then she made that sound again. Not pissed. Definitely not pissed. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down at her.

Her face looked angry. Furious. Her eyes narrowed until they were barely more than slits.

"What?" he asked, incapable of anything beyond monosyllables.

She glared up at him. "A recommendation letter, David?"

"No good?"

"You know, I wasn't even going to read it. I was just going to throw it straight in the trash without even opening it."

His forehead crinkled in confusion. "Why?"

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, dragging his head back toward her once again.

"You idiot," she whispered, just inches from his mouth. "You moron. Don't you know I've been in love with you the whole time?"

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