They walked off into the quiet suburban neighborhood, with Ruthie giving a wave up to her fathers' window as they passed it. A curtain twitched, showing that her wave had been seen.

"They're really okay with you just wandering off into the night with someone they've met exactly twice?" Elliott asked, keeping his voice down in acknowledgment of the late hour. Even so, Ruthie could hear the disbelief.

"You're so funny," Ruthie answered, her laugh soft and, to Elliott's ears, so pretty in the night. "This is Warren. They know where you live. They know your grandparents' names and phone number and address, and, now that I think of it, they could probably find out anything else they wanted to know about them in about two minutes. They know all of your grandparents' friends, they know where they shop, where they go to church--if you did anything to me, if I told them anything they didn't like, you'd be arrested in nothing flat, and your grandparents would become personae non gratae overnight, gay guys or no."

"And you knew the plural of 'persona non grata' without even hesitating, color me impressed," Elliott teased. "And chuffed," he added with a grin.

"Please, my dads are attorneys, I could Latin you and your classical English education under the table any day," Ruthie declared.

This time Elliott actually threw his head back to laugh, though he still kept the volume down. He looked at Ruthie. "I'm finding it harder and harder to hide how delighted I am with you, RBG," he told her.

"Then stop trying so hard," she suggested, leaning in as she did so.

He just looked at her.

"You know, you lot are so lucky here in California," he said, resolutely changing the subject. He gestured around them. "In England, we'd already be bundled up in jumpers and such, but look at us here, wandering about in shorts and sandals in the middle of the night."

Ruthie just nodded.

"Oh, look, we're passing the Pretty Lot," Ruthie said suddenly, pointing and stopping.

"The what?" Elliott asked. "It sounded like you said 'the Pretty Lot'?"

Ruthie nodded. "Maybe you can't tell in the dark, but see the flowers? I planted those, though 'planted' is kind of a grandiose word for what we did.

"Yeah, see, this lot's been empty since the Torrance's house burned down a long time ago, and the kids used to call it 'the Ugly Lot' because it was always just full of weeds. And that made me sad, and I told my dads that it wasn't fair, that it wasn't the lot's fault, that it couldn't do anything to make itself pretty, you know?" She turned to look at Elliott, and he could still hear a little of the indignation her voice must have held when she was a little girl and talking to her fathers.

"So I was sad, and my Dad, not my Pop, he likes gardening, and one winter, when this lot was looking particularly bedraggled and tearful--"

"Tearful?"

"Yes, and shut up, it was. So, me and my Dad looked through a catalog and ordered a fuckton of wildflower seeds and--"

"A fuckton?"

"Yes, and will you stop interrupting?" She took a deep breath. "So we ordered a fuckton of wildflower seeds, and came and sprinkled them all over the lot, after we pulled as many weeds as we could? And a bunch of neighborhood kids saw us and came and helped and stuff? So most of them took, and sprouted, and we've kind of maintained it every year, although, again, 'maintained' is kind of a grandiose word, you know? We pull weeds and order new seeds and stuff, anyone who wants to does the same thing."

She knelt down, pulling Elliott with her. "You can see much better in the daytime, and it's really late in the year, but there are still some flowers left, because, like you said, it's California, and it's so warm, and we're so lucky. See, those are bachelor's buttons, in white and pink, not just purple, which is the most common color, and can you smell that sweet smell?" At Elliott's nod, she continued, "That's sweet alyssum, which will grow just about anywhere around here. And see these?" She gestured at some tall blossoms that were bending and weaving in the gentle breeze. "These are my absolute favorites. They're called cosmos, and they really will grow anywhere. They come in white, pink, lavender, and magenta, and if they're forced to bud early, then the blossoms are tiny, like these, see, down here? Aren't they beautiful? There are even some with tubular petals, called seashell cosmos." She rose. "I mean, I love roses and tulips and those flowers, too, like orchids and all that? But I'd love to get a huge bunch of these guys, like just an armload. You should see this lot when these guys first bloom in the spring, El, they're taller than me, and this place is covered with them!"

Her enthusiasm was contagious. "You'll have to bring me back next spring, I reckon," he said, smiling.

"It will be my pleasure," she replied.

They continued walking, and Elliott grabbed her hand, seemingly without thought.

Ruthie looked over at him, but he was looking elsewhere, so she, too, looked away, saying nothing. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, with Elliott rubbing her fingers with his thumb from time to time.

The sensation made Ruthie breathe faster, and made her want to smile, though she was careful. When had this happened, she wondered? When, over the past few weeks, had her dislike of this boy who called her a hypocrite and teased her about the size of her ass turned into this unaccountable attraction?

Even at school he seemed to be less of a dick.

One thing she knew for sure, she'd never, ever, felt this way about Brett.

"What?"

"Hm?" Ruthie looked over at Elliott, who was looking at her.

"You said something about your feelings for Brett," Elliott explained. "I didn't quite hear--"

They had reached his house, but Elliott, who was still holding her hand, walked past it, so Ruthie kept going as well, and they began walking around the block. It was getting a bit chilly, California or no. It had to be well past two AM by now, anyway. Ruthie gave a slight shiver.

"Oh no," Elliott said immediately, "are you cold? I'm so sorry. Here, I know--" he broke off and ran back to his house, returning without entering.

"Here you go," he said, holding out the sweatshirt he'd worn to school that day. It was dark blue, and said "West End Youth Theatre Co" on the front. "I took it off after school today and left it on the porch. Unless you'd rather go home?"

Ruthie just shook her head and pulled the sweat shirt on over her head. It got hung up on her plentiful hair, which made them both laugh.

"Here, let me help you," Elliott offered, reaching out and pulling it firmly down around her. Even though he was so thin, it was still pretty big on her.

Ruthie resisted the urge to hug herself, to sniff deeply of the fragrance of Elliott. She was nearly swooning from the wonderful smell and softness that enveloped her. It didn't hurt at all that he had worn it all day, either.

Ahh.

They continued walking.

"Where's your hand in all that?" Elliott asked, laughing, as he looked for her hand, which was lost in the long sleeve of his sweatshirt.

He rolled up the sleeve carefully, and grasped her hand again as they continued walking in the hushed darkness of the sleeping neighborhood. Even the moon was getting ready to go to sleep, it seemed.

As they passed a neighborhood park, a slow-cruising patrol car pulled up next to them. The automatic window rolled down, and a head leaned out.

"Hey, Ruthie, everything okay?"

"Oh, hi, Skip. Yeah, we're fine, just going for a walk. How's Maggie?"

The officer, presumably Skip, smiled. "She's great, just finished basic training."

"Wonderful! Tell her I said 'hello,' okay?"

"Will do. See you later."

"Bye, Skip."

Elliott waved as well, as they turned into the park. They walked slowly toward the play equipment, talking about nothing in particular.

Nearly an hour later, they were still there, laughing and talking, and Elliott found it amazing that he had no memory of what they'd talked about; all he knew was that he'd just had the best evening of his life.

They were sitting next to each other in adjoining swings, moving back and forth, slowly, turning the swings with their legs.

"So what kinds of things did you do in England?" Ruthie asked. "I mean, you must have focused mainly on theatre to have wound up at LDAA at seventeen, hunh?"

"I don't want to talk about England," Elliott responded.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ruthie said. She reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. "El, I'm really sorry."

He looked at her and took a deep breath. "No, I should apologize to you. We were having a perfectly lovely evening, and then I turn into an arse because you ask a perfectly innocuous question. So this is me, apologizing, okay?"

Ruthie nodded. "Okay."

"But if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about England, or the circumstances that brought me here to Warren," he added. "Is that all right?"

"Of course," Ruthie responded. "Of course." She blinked and continued to look at him as she squeezed his shoulder.

Elliott took another deep breath. "God, it's so unfair. I thought women were only supposed to be sexy and irresistible in tight red dresses with long fingernails and lots of make-up, when they're all tarted up and that?" His voice was soft with wonder. "Someone really lied to me, because the way you look right now, in my tatty jumper, no make-up, hair going every which way, makes me feel like I'm going to die if I don't kiss you soon, RBG."

Slowly, deliberately, Ruthie rose from her swing and went to stand in front of where Elliott still sat in his. She grasped the chains of his swing and lifted her legs, one at a time, on either side of his body, so she ended up sitting in his lap, straddling him, in what could've been a very suggestive position.

Elliott took yet another deep breath and forced himself to remain calm, and not completely flip his shit at how close she was, at the feel of her legs around his hips, at her warm, sweet breath on his face. He thanked whomever he was supposed to thank that his jumper was kind of loose on her body, and that it hadn't ridden up when she straddled him and was still kind of between them.

"Well, Elliott Banks," Ruthie said in a steady voice, looking into his eyes, "We certainly wouldn't want you to die, would we? Or even just feel like you were?"

"Oh god, Ruthie," Elliott groaned. "Please don't do this, please." He gave a half-hearted attempt to grasp her by her waist and lift her off of himself. "You shouldn't do anything whilst drunk that you might regret tomorrow," he whispered, looking into her eyes like opals, his mouth dangerously close to hers.

"Elliott?" Ruthie whispered back, her lips nearly touching his. "I'm not drunk anymore." She released the chains of the swing, and put them around his neck, as he tightened his grasp around her slim waist. "And it's already tomorrow," she finished.

"Fuck, it is, isn't it?" he asked, closing his eyes.

Ruthie nodded.

Elliott nodded at the same time, and their lips came together, and there was nothing half-hearted or unwilling about how Elliott kissed Ruthie.

He grasped her body firmly, pulling her closer, sliding his hand under the sweatshirt, loving the whispering thinness of the fabric of her summer romper.

He moaned with happiness as he wrapped his other arm completely around her waist and pulled her as close as he could, completely closing the distance between them, not leaving a breath of space between their bodies.

Considering that this was a first kiss, it was remarkably unchaste.

Elliott reached for her mouth with his completely open one, tongue feeling for hers, a sense of urgency driving him. He made a humming noise as he exhaled through his nose, a sound of utter satisfaction and happiness.

Ruthie heard it and laughed as she kissed him back, hugging him even tighter around his neck. She bit his bottom lip, sucking on it a little before biting it again.

"Cheeky," Elliott whispered, laughing himself. "Again," he murmured.

"Okay," Ruthie agreed. "But first--" She pulled his sweatshirt over her head and dropped it in the sand beneath them.

This time Elliott could feel her body, her hot breasts, with her bullet-like nipples poking at his chest, her pliant torso sliding against his, getting him wound up so fast.

"Oh god," Ruthie gasped, breaking the kiss and leaning back.

"What?" Elliott asked.

"I'm sorry," Ruthie said, swallowing and taking a deep breath. "It's just that, after fighting off Brett for nine months and wanting nothing to do with him, I think I'm finally feeling what I was supposed to be feeling, wow."

"Really?" In spite of feeling that everything they were doing was wrong on so many levels, Elliot was pleased to no end. He smiled at Ruthie and she nodded at him.

"But hold on, hold on," he said. "That doesn't mean that this is okay or right, Ruthie Barakat Grimaldi."

"Oh brother," she said with another laugh. "Is that your version of trying to sound stern? Because that was pretty pathetic."

"Hey! Get off me, right now," he said.

"No," she replied, smiling.

"RBG," he said, again, trying to be serious. "Get off."

In response she tightened her legs around his hips and laughed.

"Dammit, Ruthie--"

"Okay, okay," she responded, "but only because you're cute, not because you're scary." And she pecked a kiss on his lips before slowly climbing off him. She picked up his sweatshirt and put it on, giving a deep appreciative sniff as she did so.

"Come on, the sun will be up soon," Elliott said. "We'd better get you home."

"Right," Ruthie responded. "And which way is that, anyway, Elliott?"

Elliott looked around and realized that he didn't exactly know.

Dammit.

Ruthie took pity on him and pointed.

They kissed again in front of his house, though it was nothing like the fiery, spine melting kiss they'd shared at the park.

Elliott smoothed Ruthie's hair back as he kissed her beautiful mouth, over and over.

"Get some sleep, hm?" he whispered as he dropped one last kiss on her wonderful, freckled nose.

"Yeah, you too, El," she replied.

She started to take the sweatshirt off, but he held it down on her.

"No, it's chilly, I'll get it back another time," he murmured. "Keep it, okay?"

She just nodded and turned toward home, knowing he was watching her go.

And he did, already feeling something in his heart just at seeing her slight form walking away from him.

What was he going to do?