A/N: Short chap. More to come soon! Thanks for all the feedback.  You guys are the best.

Santos sits with a thud, and throws his iPhone down on the little table in front of us.

“Hello to you too.” I say, watching him as he sheds his coat, scarf and beanie.  I somehow convinced him to come in to New York for the weekend, and he’s just arrived from DC.  It’s been snowing since the weekend, and I’m shocked he made it into the city in decent time.

“Fuck fucking New York.” He raises an eyebrow at me and sighs, then orders a latte from our waiter, who has been lurking at the side of the table. 

“Blasphemy.  Don’t talk shit about New York.” I say, crossing one leg over another and shaking my head disapprovingly. The café is one of our favorites.  It’s nestled between two Starbucks, but the coffee is infinitely better, and they serve alcohol.  One of Santos’ requirements.

“You’re right.  New York is the best.” He says blandly, reaching across the table and breaking off half of my chocolate chip scone.  He chews it while staring at me, and then eats the other half as well in two bites.

“Have you been busy?” I ask, taking a sip of my tea.  Santos nods and brushes crumbs from the front of his shirt.

“Very busy.  And you did not answer my call last weekend.” Santos answers immediately with mock anger.  Last weekend was Valentine’s Day weekend.  I was a bit preoccupied. 

“I didn’t see you called until it was really late.  I was busy.  You didn’t answer my call earlier that day.”

“I was too busy screwing the brains outta Cillian.” He laughs and then groans. “No, actually, we went to the symphony and then had drinks and dinner downtown. So it was a busy night.” He smiles at me, and I can see how happy he is.  I smile, feeling instantly at ease.  At least one of our lives is making sense.  He’s been dating Cillian rather seriously, and it seems to be going well.  I feel a tug in my chest.  I miss Santos dearly, since we don’t see each other nearly enough lately.  The city seems empty without him.

“I’m glad.” I say softly, watching as the waiter comes back with Santos’ drink.  Santos thanks him, and then orders a few more scones.

“Did you do anything? Make out with any randos?” He asks.  I bite my lip, staring blankly out the window. 

“Well. I don’t know how random he was.” I sigh, feeling a strange weight on my chest.

“What?!” He surges forward, bumping into the tiny table and nearly spilling our drinks.

“Down, boy.” I laugh.  “It was Tom. He texted me. He was in just for that night.” I shift my weight, feeling uneasy again.

“Oh my god. It’s on. It’s back on,” Santos says, his voice breathless and at a whisper level.  He sounds mystified as if I’ve just told him a legend of a mystical animal or a story about magic beans that he truly, whole heartedly believes. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I warn.

“So what happened?” Santos asks, leaning forward.  “Details. What was he wearing? What were you wearing? Did you try that position I told you about? The happy philanthropist?” He asks, and I nearly spit out my tea.

“Santos.”I look away, shaking my head as I laugh.  Santos frowns and throws his hands up.

“Gracie. Where did the nice man touch you?” He asks, saying each word with extra emphasis.  I shoot him a look and then we both laugh.  His terrible, wonderful sense of humor.

“He texted me when he got into the city.  He came over, we had sex—on my kitchen counter, by the way. It was great, as usual.  He found the invite to Richard’s wedding.  That was a little awkward.  Then…he left in the morning without saying goodbye.  Not much to tell.” I don’t look at Santos for a moment, because I can already feel him staring at me, his jaw hanging slack, judging away.

 “Wait…wait.  So he came in out of nowhere, fucked you senseless and then left without a trace like some sort of hot British ghost in the night?”

“Uh…yes?” I blink.  It’s all good and dandy except for the end.  The last part.  The part where Tom leaves without saying goodbye.  That’s the part that I’m least fond of.

“Jesus, Gracie, who are you?” He laughs and I roll my eyes.  I smile, but no laughter comes out.  Santos immediately sense my mood, and he sobers up, his laughter dying off quickly.

I take a long drink of my tea, and let my eyes move to Santos.  Of course I haven’t spoken to anyone about this since it happened.  Who would I really talk to? Not Emily.  It’s her brother.  Santos has been busy as hell.  Vera? My insane, flighty boss? No.

“Gracie.” Santos says gently.  The waiter comes back with the scones, and Santos immediately puts one on my empty plate.  “Eat this, and tell me what the hell is going on.” His voice is quieter, more subdued now.  I stare at the pastry on my plate, and I suddenly feel awash with emotions.  Terrible, strange, overwhelming things they may be.

“Grace.” He repeats. He sounds far away.

“Yeah.” I say quickly, pressing my lips together.  My throat feels heavy, thick with whatever words are caught there.  Santos sighs heavily.

“Gracie girl.” His voice is so kind, and I feel a hot tear slip from my eye, rolling rather dramatically down my cheek.  I wipe at the tear roughly, shaking my head as I do, trying to clear my thoughts.

“Sorry. It’s okay. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine. I just…” I breathe out, groaning softly as I do.  This is terrible.  Emotions are terrible.  Santos starts scooting his chair over toward me, banging it against the table and causing a bit of a ruckus.

“You really like him.” Santos states.  I feel another tear slip out and I wipe it away before it can slide down my face.

“I don’t even know if it’s that, though.” I look at him, and I suddenly feel seventeen again.  Santos talks me through my first break up.  Which is made worse by the fact that my mother and I are getting kicked out of our fourth apartment in six months.  We’re sitting in his bedroom at his father’s old house.  His father’s house was a huge place, but it was cold and uncomfortable to be there.  Still, it was a safe place.  And Santos had let me stay with him for three weeks, until my mother had found a new apartment.  God knew where she’d been staying. 

He’s such a good friend, always has been.  I break a piece of my scone off, and dunk it in his latte, which makes Santos sneer.

“Rude.” He whispers with a smile.

“Things just aren’t what I thought they would be,” I shrug. “Richard is getting married. I live in a studio apartment by myself…in a city that I have never really felt at home in.  I’m sleeping with a man who may or may not know my last name.  I just…”

“He knows your last name.” Santos interjects, trying to be soothing.  I laugh.

“I know.  It’s just that…I’m lonely.  You’re in DC now. I have…no one.” Pity party for one. Right here. Santos makes a few high pitched noises, somewhere between a gasp and a whistle.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. But you really keep to yourself.  I haven’t been that worried about you lately because I thought that’s what you liked.  Gracie, if you’re lonely why don’t you try dating? Like…real dating. Or going out with coworkers? Hell, I’ll come into the city for a few weeks if it’ll get you laid.” Santos gives me a half smile.

“A real date would be nice.  I don’t know if I’ve ever really been on one.  But…I don’t know if I want to date.  I just feel a little out of sorts lately... I think I’m just upset because I got the invitations to Richard’s wedding.” I stare out at the white street, the swirling flecks of snow that haven’t left since last week.

“That prick sent you an invite?!” Santos exclaims, his voice reaching shrill levels.

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Garden City Park.” I mumble.  Richard had always talked about wanting to get married there.  Except, I thought that that scenario had involved me.  Apparently not. Not at all.

“I’ll burn it to the ground.” He says instantly, which elicits a fast, abrupt laugh from me.

“Don’t. They have that orchid festival every year that’s really nice.”

“Fuck the orchids. Fuck Richard. Fuck that whorey whore. Who else can we fuck? You name it, we’ll fuck it!” Santos exclaims.  A few people sitting close by look up from their coffees.  Santos feels no remorse, as he shrugs.  I laugh, feeling a bit lighter.

“Are we still talking about the same thing?”

“I’m not even sure anymore.” He chuckles. 

“Thank you for coming to see me. I feel better already.”

“I’m glad.” Santos sighs loudly.  “I wish I could be in New York with you still, Gracie.  But it looks like DC is it for me right now.”

“I know. DC was a good move for you.  You’ve got your fantastic job and Cillian.” I say. 

“Has Vera talked anymore about opening a new gallery? In London? Or Paris? Maybe she’d let you tag along, even if just to help open it up.  Shake this up a bit for you.” Santos asks.

“A little, but not much.  It’s more been talks about collaborating with historical sites in London and Scotland.  I sort of doubt it will happen, but who knows.  She’s a bucket of surprises.” I think of my eclectic boss.  The last three days I’ve worked, she spent most of the time in the back, practicing yoga headstands and chanting.  It scared a few visitors, but I just told them she was practicing for a performance piece.

“Maybe you should get out of New York.  Do we need to go on vacation somewhere? Have you ever been to Curacao?” Santos asks, though he knows the answer.

“I can’t go anywhere right now, Santos.”

“Do you want to talk about Tom?” Santos gives me a toothy grin.

“Not really.”

“But I do. So, tell me, why didn’t he say bye?  I know you guys are just fuck buddies, but he’s sort of really shitty at the whole buddy part.” Santos grunts.

“You’re kind of right.  It’s like…when I have his attention, it’s great.  But as soon as…as soon as I’ve lost it, he basically is just a figment of my imagination.  I haven’t quite figured him out.” I chew softly on my lower lip. 

“I’ve figured him out, Gracie.  He’s a relatively successful actor.  He travels constantly.  You’re someone who keeps their mouth shut.  Who asks for nothing. And who is almost always readily available to him.  He knows what he’s doing, love. The question is…do you know what you’re doing?”

When Santos is right, it’s the worst.  He’s always right, too.

“At this point, Santos, if it’s not him…then it’s no one.  I don’t know what is worse.”

“That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” He deadpans.

“It’s my life.  I don’t date. I spend 99% of my free time, the little that I have, in my apartment.  I still think about my cheating ex boyfriend on a semi-regular basis.  I’m sleeping with a man who, on paper, is perfect. And in reality is sort of perfect as well.  But…I can’t quite pin him down.”

“I love you, Gracie.  You know that, right?”

“Yes. I love you too.”

“Alright, well, tell Tom to fuck off and find yourself a real boyfriend. Get over Richard the dick and move on. Easy as pie.” Santos says bluntly.  I frown and purse my lips together.  The truth hurts. Especially when it is honestly said with all the best intentions in the world, no matter how frank.

“I think I really care about Tom though.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Me too.”

“You should probably stop sleeping with him.  You’re not his personal chew toy.” Santos warns gently.

“What?!” I laugh. “You’re right though.  He’s the fling that went on for  too long.”

“He’s bloody gorgeous.  I understand why you do it.” Santos breaks into a terrible English accent, which makes me smile.  We’re interrupted a moment later by my phone, which is buzzing and ringing on the café table.  Santos looks at the screen, and immediately we both make little squeaky noises.

“Speak of the fucking devil.” Santos grins widely, and grabs my phone off the table before I can.  He raises an eyebrow at me, silently asking for permission I blink rapidly a few times before shrugging.  Santos swipes quickly to answer the call.

“Thomas. Darling.” Santos says, sitting back in his chair. 

“Hello?” I can hear Tom clearly on the other end.  “Hi. I’m looking for…Gracie”

“Yes, darling. This is Gracie’s secretary—“

“Santos?” Tom asks warily.

“I say ‘Gracie’s secretary’ and you immediately think it’s me?!” Santos laughs.  I hear Tom laugh on the other end, and it goes straight to my gut. 

“Great to hear from you, man.  How are you?”

“Oh you know, same old same old.  How are you? Super famous? Hey, do you think you can introduce me to Zac Efron?” Santos smiles.

“I wish I could, Santos.”

“Oh, it’s fine. He’s too young for me anyway.” They both laugh.  “What can I do for you, Tom?” Santos asks after a beat. 

“I was hoping to talk to Gracie.  Is she around?” Tom asks.  Santos looks at me and winks, and I instantly get a pit in the bottom of my stomach.

“Oh, our lovely little Gracie is on a date. She’s not here.” Santos quips.  My eyes widen and I hold my breath.

“She’s on a date?” Tom asks, unsure.  I roll my eyes.  “She’s on a date, but you have her phone?” Good point, Tommy.

“She forgot it. I’m at her apartment, screening her calls.” Santos says quickly.  “And yes, she’s on a date with some Brazilian.  Name’s Guillherme or…Bernando or something else rather…foreign and exotic sounding.  I think he plays soccer.” Santos scrunches his nose at me, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Oh. Right. Exotic.” Tom says rather flatly.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to chat with her.  I saw her last week and well…I left her a note, and she never contacted me.  I was a little worried she was upset with me.” Tom says.  Santos looks at me, a surprised look on his face.  I shrug, raising my hands. Note? There was no note.  I shake my head.

“Well, you know Gracie.  She’s always getting notes from…ah, men.” Santos says, then has to cover a laugh.  “Listen, Tom, I’ll tell her you called, alright, old chap?” He switches into his terrible British accent.

“Okay, thanks Santos.  Good talking to you.” Tom sounds confused, but I don’t really care.  Santos is about to die from holding in his giggles, and I am desperately gathering up my things.

“Right. Talk soon, Tom.” Santos says and then hangs up.  We look at each other, in a bit of a panic.

“NOTE?!” Santos yelps with excitement.

“I didn’t see a note.” I shake my head.  Santos stands up, throwing on his coat, and grabbing the rest of his things. 

“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand, and we rush from the café.

****

Twenty minutes later, after crawling around on the floor on hands and knees, and stripping my bed of sheets, we find Tom’s note.  It was lodged nicely between my nightstand and my bed, having fallen there at some point.

“He always does this.  He leaves notes! I never see them!”

“You do move a lot when you sleep.  That’s terribly romantic though.” Santos scoots over toward me on the floor, as I lean back against my bed frame.

Tom wrote his note on an old receipt, in his rather scrawly heavy handwriting.

You’re gorgeous when you sleep. I have to run to my meetings. If you want to get dinner before my flight leaves tonight, give me a call.  If I don’t hear from you, I understand. Tom

Santos breathes heavily and then throws himself back, sprawled across the floor.  I laugh and then reread the note.

“He left you a note.  He’s a regular Romeo.  He left you a note, and you didn’t see it, and the poor man had to eat dinner all alone.”

“I ate dinner alone too.  Standing up over my sink feeling sorry for myself.” I grin.  Santos laughs and then grabs the note from me, reads it, then throws it in the air like a big piece of confetti.

“I think he loves you.  I think he wants you to have his babies.  You should probably call him back and tell him that it’s not going to work out with the Brazilian.” Santos sits up, smiling.