There was food in the oven, the table was set, her apartment was spotless- she was just sitting on the living room floor waiting for Chase to arrive. It was nice, having everything in its place, not having to rush around to get things done. Hell, she'd even changed into a pair of sweatpants and a college T-shirt because she was comfortable enough to think she didn't really have to dress up for Chase.

She'd left the eyeshadow and the mascara on, at least, though the pretty up-do she had worn all day had been dismantled in favor of having her hair fall around her shoulders. That pretty up-do had nearly given her a headache earlier-- too tight. This was much better.

Right now she just needed to relax, and it was strangely easier to do so this time around. The day had been trying, but work was done. All of that crap was left at the office . . . well, sort of. At least for now she didn't really have to think about it. She was busy with more pleasant things, and the scent of a mouth-watering pot roast was starting to fill the apartment.

The day was about as good as it could have been.

Lately it had been hard to stay sober. That just happened sometimes, for no reason or any reason. But April had been hard on him and May was tumbling down fast. But they had a date, and he was not going to cancel again because he actually really wanted to see her.

Not being smashed had its benefits, he reasoned. He had enough sense to wear clean clothes, and shower and shave. She'd appreciate the effort, and for now that would just have to be enough. He could get sloshed later.

He let himself in, running his hand sel-consciously over his head. His hair was longer again, a little shagggier, born from his indecision on what was enough to cover those scars and what made him look like a hobo. Shaving certainly helped there.

He sought her out across the room, sliding the door and locking it shut behind him. Cautiously he approached her, unsure of her mood, or if he'd been invited over because he was in some kind of trouble with her.

"Hey."

"Hi," Lyla said rather cheerfully, though she wasn't jumping up and out of her relaxed sort of state. As soon as Chase got past the kitchen, she added, "I have a little surprise for you."

It was then that she finally decided to move, but only to quickly crawl over to the couch. Half of her disappeared behind the end of it before she rose up onto her knees. "Are you ready?" she asked brightly. "This is important. You need to be ready."

This was a little bizarre. Chase didn't bother to hide his confusion as it blew away any plesant feeling her chipper greeting gave.

Now more uncertain than ever, he crept slow to the far end of the couch and sat down. His torso hunched over hislegs and he rested his elbows on his knees. She didn't seem likke she was hinting at anything terrible, so he made the decision to be mildly annoyed.

"I don't like surprises, Lyla," he reminded he flatly, impatient.

Lyla was disappointed by Chase's mood, but she tried her best not to let it show. Her smile flickered a little, but she was clinging to her excitement stubbornly. It was small, and with everything else fighting for her attention being considerably less pleasant, she wasn't willing to compromise on this.

So, she said, "You'll like this surprise," and chose to believe that.

Then she held up a semi-sleepy, nine-week-old, soft, round, cream-colored lab puppy that had been trying to investigate the space underneath and behind the couch.

"I have a new friend," was her explanation as she shifted her hold on the dog to cradle him like a baby.

She then shuffled a little closer to the couch and rested her arms and the puppy on the arm of it. "I'm not totally sure about the name thing, but I've been calling him Buddy."

Buddy seemed pretty content to just sit there and be held for the moment.

"Oh." A puppy. She could have just said so.

Without a word he scooted over to her, plucking the pup away from her as if she didn't even exist. A Labrador, looked like. He remembered Mandy just like this, just as small. He wouldn't mistake one for anything else.

Aa crooked smile he was obviously trying to subdue twisted up his lips. The dog squirmed some in his hands, but waas clearly too tired to really struggle against the rough hands holding him aloft.

"I really like dogs, Lyla," he confessed finally, almost grimacing at Buddy now. "You're not fair."

Lyla's smile was bright to the point of being blinding as she watched chase lift the puppy up. Buddy was cute, almost sickeningly cute, but she had to look at Chase then. He was smiling. He was saying she wasn't fair, but he seemed happy anyway, even if he was trying to fight it. He really liked dogs, and now he had another one to play with. It was a good thing. She wasn't about to apologize for it.

"Well you really like dogs, and I really like you, so I'm not even a little sorry," she decided. Not even a little. "You seem happy now."

Content, she folded her arms on the arm of the couch and rested her chin upon them.

"He's a really good puppy. I mean, he's a baby, so he just sleeps a lot and eats a lot and stuff. . . but he's friendly and well-behaved . . . and cuddly."

Her response was dismissed with a scoff. Buddy occupied too much of his attention to be bothered to think of something to say. No, all he had time for was rolling the fat puppy in his hands before finally setting him down in his lap.

Lyla started talking again, and Chase remembered she was there.

"Sounds like you've no use for me," he pointed out. He wasn't even friendly, or a baby. Well-behaved was pushing the envelope.

Impulsively, because he felt lighthearted and wanted to prove he still had exclusive uses, he bowed himself down low to kiss her. He wanted her to see that his mouth didn't smell or taste of whiskkey, but sweet from soda because he hadn't gone to the bottle today, just to her.

As soon as Lyla realized Chase intended to pay attention to her for a second and offer a kiss, she lifted her chin just enough to receive the affection. It was followed with a smile because he was sober, and he was happy, and he hadn't actually forgotten she was there. In her mind, that made this strangely perfect, even if it might be short-lived.

Buddy seemed comfortable in Chase's lap as he took a small step this way and that then sat down there. Lyla reached out to run her fingertips over the soft fur on the top of his head, which prompted a big yawn from him that made her smile grow.

"Buddy kisses aren't anything like Chase kisses, so I think I'll keep you," she said, resting her head on her arms again and looking up at Chase. "I do need you for those. Plus, I don't think he's going to be much of a guard dog. Too friendly."

He might bark at an unusual noise, but attacking didn't seem like it would ever be this puppy's thing.

"We need to arrange a play date for him and Mandy sometime soon," she decided.

"Heh... Mandy will be mad." He rubbed beneath Buddy's ears, still smiling at the way his eyes closed in canine bliss. Never would there be a dog so spoiled and showered in affection, he was sure. Lyla was in for a treat: Labs were smart, smart enough for Chase to anticipate his own dog to start talking any day now. Remembering Mandy's days as a puppy, he was almost jealous.

He had to consciously remind himself that he would be around.

"You make me something to eat too?" She spoiled him, he was pointing it out. He could smell the food when he walked in, and now a puppy. He wanted to be suspicious and say she wanted something of him, but he had a hard time seeing that kind of manipulation coming from Lyla. She was such a nice girl, it was easier to appreciate with his head clear.

Maybe Mandy would be mad. If Chase ignored her and played with the puppy instead, she'd have every right to be a little upset.

As for the food-- "Well, I am hungry," Lyla pointed out. She was just reminded of their first night in New Zealand too quickly. She had mentioned that his cooking was a nice thing, and he just had to try to ruin it by emphasizing the fact that he had to eat, too.

. . . of course the quality of the meal probably had a lot to do with his presence.

"I might have put in a bit more effort for you. Pot roast-- carrots, potatoes, other yummy things. It's going to taste as good as it smells, guaranteed." The smell had been driving her crazy for the last hour. Smiling broadly, she added, "If you don't like it, you can have the puppy."

Running her finger down the puppy's back, she asked, "You hungry now? The food's ready when you are."

That statement struck him. She'd put the extra effort into her cooking tonight, only for him. It was a small thing, but these little moments were all he could ask for. Tonight he'd put in the extra effort for her.

Something else she said struck him in an entirely different way. It had him jerking his head up to give her a quizzical look, his face wrinkled in confusion as he was already halfway standing from the couch.

"If the food's shit, we eat the dog?" Gingerly, he set the pup on the floor, as if to give him a sporting chance to make a run for it.

Lyla smiled and shook her head. "I was thinking you could just steal Buddy and take him home to love and cuddle him forever in exchange for putting up with my failed attempt at cooking, but I suppose you could just make puppy kebabs instead."

Oblivious to the conversation, Buddy looked around for a moment before approaching Lyla and investigating the couch in front of her. Sitting back on her heels, she ran her hands over his neck and back then scratched softly behind his ears.

"Don't worry," she said as she watched the pup. "You'll like the food, and once you're full, you can play with Buddy some more. . . If he doesn't fall asleep."

He did sleep a lot, but when he was awake, he really did like to play and explore.

That made a lot more sense. Not that he thought he had the time to take care of a puppy all over again. He could barely take care of himself. For now the pup was left behind, and he sat at the table in anticipation of a meal. Lyla was expected to serve, of course, being the hostess.

Now was the time most people started in on the small talk. They'd discuss work, or where she got the puppy from, or whatever meaningless conversation filled the silence. Chase just watched her, eyes bright and mouth quiet. It wasn't often he just got to appreciate her, sober.

Lyla didn't waste much time before getting to her feet and heading into her kitchen. The pot in the oven was sort of heavy, but she managed to get it out and onto the stove top without any real trouble. As soon as that was done, she proceeded to cut a piece of the roast free and work on getting a plate full for Chase. His was heavy on the meat, of course, but once his plate had a good amount of veggies as well, she retrieved a fresh piece of bread to toss on there.

Turning toward him quickly and easily, she stepped up to the table and set the full plate down in front of him. "Eat up, Mr. Robinson," she said with a smile before she reached for her own plate. "What would you like to drink, sir?"

Each motion was fluid, easy. This had become almost normal, often comfortable. She liked having an excuse to cook well and eat at her table. She liked company, even the quiet kind, and she liked being able to provide something for someone, even if it was just a warm meal.