She sat at an angle to the doorway, her feet propped up on the desk. Her chair was tilted precariously like a ship on the high seas. A sandwich hung suspended from her right hand. Her left hand clutched a paperback. Her whole body was absorbed totally in whatever she was reading.

Standing in the doorway, watching her, Greg felt like a voyeur. He hadn't tried to sneak up on her. He simply walked in the unlocked door and saw her feet. Her office was behind the large reception area and, to be perfectly honest, he may have walked quietly once he saw she was at her desk. He always looked for her. Some of the other women in the office were friendlier; that tall brunette was much more of a knockout; the boss was the one he really had to deal with; but this woman, sitting so unselfconsciously....

What was that thing she was holding in her hand? It looked like two bread crusts with something orange in the middle. And then his eyes skimmed her body, from her disarranged blonde curls to the jutting chin, over her rosy sweater, down her long tan khakis. His survey came to rest on the hole in her hose that exposed her right big toe, the bright pink polish so unexpected and sassy.

The feeling of being a Peeping Tom intensified. He had to say something.

"Good book?" he croaked, not sounding his usual suave self. Thank God, he didn't take his eyes off her, because at least he was able to react quickly when the chair, from her startled response, went backwards instead of upright, and the sandwich and book went flying, too, as her hands grabbed for the desk. He somehow got behind her, and his right knee, which would be black and blue for weeks, wedged itself between the chair and the floor. But, the quick movement on his part threw him off balance. When she jumped out of the chair, nearly catapulted out from his efforts to get it upright, the change in weight landed him on his butt. There he sat in his immaculate gray suit and starched white shirt on the ancient, stained floor of the Northampton County Human Services Office, and, towering over him, stocking feet spread wide for balance, hands groping the desk behind her for support, was a woman wearing the most astonished expression he had ever seen.

It had all happened so fast. He didn't know whether to laugh or swear. His knee was throbbing, and he really would have liked to have stood up and rubbed his rear end, which had landed pretty soundly on the linoleum. She made up his mind for him with her words.

"Have we met?"

"Have we met?" He allowed his voice to rise for the effect. "I'm sitting on my can on your office floor having just kept you from bashing your head, and you want to know, "Have we met?"

She giggled and blushed. And then another thought chased its way across her expressive face, and she said, "Wait a minute. I was," she pointed at her book, "getting my," her face turned a darker red, and her arms came up to cover her chest.

Something with her breasts, he thought, and she liked it — or maybe loved it. What an astonishing piece of information.

Her chin came up, and he could see her shoulders straighten as if she were giving herself a shot of assertiveness. "... when you came barging into my office, interrupting my lunch, scaring...."

"You were getting what ...?" he interrupted the tirade.

She could see the teasing in his eyes — such friendly eyes. She laughed.

"You're shameless."

"Me?" he laughed back at her.

She reached out her hand. "Would you like to get up?"

He grasped her hand. "Would you like to get down?"

There was a seriousness and a quietness in his voice that took her breath away. The floodgates of awareness and attraction burst open, and he saw her lips part. He tugged on her hand, and she squatted on her haunches as a primitive woman might while giving birth.

She smiled, sweetly. "It would probably be better if you got up."

"I don't think I can right now."

And once again he watched the thoughts dancing across her face as it dawned on her what he meant. Her eyes widened, as if she were amazed at her own powers, and then she sort of squinted at him. "Who are you, and what are you doing here, and have we met?"

"Sara," he said, sounding so heartbroken.

She giggled again. He was quite good-looking and seemingly very confident and clearly not at all accustomed to being forgotten. "Oh," she said on a sharp intake of breath, "you're the computer person."

"The computer person?" he asked. "What do I do? Do I teach computers, or do I repair them, or do I program them ...?"

"I think you sold us the new computer system," she felt very proud of herself for having remembered, and he squeezed her hand. She really needed to pull her hand away, but he was rubbing his thumb over her skin, and it felt good. Except for her daughters' sticky fingers, she couldn't remember the last time she had been touched.

The sound of footsteps and voices shattered their mood, and Sara scrambled to her feet, yanking her hand away, rushing to get her shoes on and straightening her hair as if the two of them had been tumbling around.

"Better brush the hay off," he whispered conspiratorially.

It took her a minute to get it. When she did, she snorted, trying to keep herself from laughing out loud, and then she punched him in the chest.

He'd gotten the look of guilt off her face and was standing once again himself, albeit with his briefcase in front of his pants, when Jane, the boss, stuck her head in the door, obviously starting to say to Sara, "We're back." Spotting him, she said instead, "Greg. Hi. You brought the accounting software yourself. You didn't have to do that, but thanks.

Come on into my office."

"Jane. Good to see you."

His voice sounded different. This must be his salesman voice.

"I'll be right there. I'll just give you a minute to catch your breath. I want to finish telling Sara about the home computer we're bringing out."

Jane gave him sort of a strange, put out look, shrugged and walked away.

"She knows you made that up," Sara whispered. "Everybody around here knows I don't have enough money to buy a home computer. I don't even go out to lunch with them."

"Come with me," he whispered back.

"Where?"

He just smiled.

She couldn't get any words out.

"It'll take me about ten minutes with her. Meet me at the McDonald's on Third Street."

"I work here. They pay me to work. I have paperwork and appointments...."

He spun her around and pointed to the two pieces of crust and something now recognizable as a slice of cheese lying on the floor. "See what I did? How do you expect me to live with myself if you don't let me make it right? You have children, don't you? You know how important it is to pay your debts and make amends and make up for the wrongs you do...."

"Okay, okay," she was laughing at his serious silliness. "Just something really quick. Go ahead and order me something. Wait. I don't have any money."

"Sara. This is a date."

"I don't date."

He looked into her eyes, and then he whispered, "You still have some hay in your hair," and he walked away.

Sara could hear his voice, his salesman voice, coming from Jane's office as she picked up her purse and walked to the bathroom. She was grateful the room was small; she could lock the door and be alone. She stopped at the sink and peered at herself in the mirror. If she didn't know it was her, she wouldn't...