Author Note: Song Prompt for this chapter -Too Much Time On My Hands performed by Styx

Rick

Rick paused with a hand on the brass handle outside his favorite haunt, glancing around him. The weather was as dreary and dull as his mood, and he couldn't wait to down a warm, soothing dose of brandy. He pushed open the door, and the scent of age-old oak and stale cigar smoke smacked him in the face.

"Rick! Your usual?" Matt, the bartender, offered, already reaching for a bottle.

"You know it, bud!" Rick removed his coat and hung it on the empty coat rack, a depressing sign that he was the only patron in an otherwise-usually-packed bar.

"Looks like another storm is brewing," Matt said, placing a brandy glass in front of Rick as he sat down at the bar counter.

Rick just shrugged and gulped down the golden liquid. The glass had barely touched the counter when it was refilled.
"Thanks, Matt."

"Anytime, mate. You look like you need it today."

"I always need it." Rick emptied his glass again. "Why is the place so empty?"

"Town council meeting, give it an hour."

"Oh." Rick sighed. He envied the fact that this town still gathered together to make important decisions. It was his fifth town in a year. And a week later, his contract expired again. Everyone valued his input, but no one wanted to hire him full-time.

This town had been his longest stay, and, if he was honest, he liked it here. The prospect of packing up and moving to the next town was the last thing on his to-do list. It may be time to re-evaluate everything.

Thunder cracked, and the brewing storm erupted in a vicious downpour. The bar door burst open, and he heard Matt say, "Hi, darling. What can I get ya?"

Rick turned in his chair, and his world stopped. The bar dissolved around him, leaving only the woman standing in the doorway. His eyes hungrily roamed over her like a starved man—from her black, leather pumps, over smooth, muscled calves, the gray pencil skirt hugging her thighs and waist, over the silky, white blouse that blossomed beneath a gray suit jacket, over the cascading, auburn waves that framed her shoulders and face.

His eyes briefly met hers before he guiltily looked away, hunching over the counter, but it had been long enough to see the golden flecks glittering in a forest of green.

*

Sarah:

"You don't perhaps serve coffee, do you?" Sarah asked, shaking her wet coat before hanging it up next to the only other brown one.

"Sorry, darling, the only strong stuff I can offer is brandy," Matt grinned.

"Well then, I suppose that will have to do," she smiled. She walked towards the counter, and her eyes flicked momentarily to the man staring at her. She raised an eyebrow, and before she could feel offended or flattered, he turned back around, nursing an empty glass.

"Thanks." She took the offered glass as she sat down. "Give your friend a refill. Looks like he could use it."

Matt nodded and refilled Rick's glass.

"Is the weather always like this?" She asked, weaving perfectly manicured hands through her damp hair.

"Winter is coming, and we usually have a couple of weeks of rain before the snow."

"I stopped at the motel down the street, but no one was there? Is there anywhere else I could book a room for the night?" Sarah asked, sipping on the brandy.

"There is a council meeting, but it should be over soon, and Patty will be back at the motel."

"Oh, okay, that would explain the ghost town. Thankfully, you were open, though."

"You just passing through?" Sarah turned to Rick, who had asked the question.

"Something like that, I assume you are too, since you are here?"

Rick nodded, "Something like that."

Sarah narrowed her eyes as she studied Rick. He was hunched over the counter, both hands gripping his glass. His chocolate-brown hair was messy, and the brown suit he wore was crumpled. He looked as tired and defeated as she felt.

She turned her attention back to her drink. For an odd moment, she wanted to tell him that whatever weighed on his shoulders wouldn't last forever.

*

Rick:

Rick slipped off his chair and walked over to the jukebox tucked against the wall next to the bar. He fiddled in his suit pocket and pulled out a coin. He took his time as he pondered over the selection, although he already knew them all by heart. He inserted the coin into the slot and pressed a button. The old rock song filled the bar, and he closed his eyes.

"Isn't there anything a little bit more lively?"

His eyes popped open to find the woman standing next to him.
"What?" He mumbled stupidly.

"Isn't there a song that isn't so depressing? I mean, listening to someone down and out on his luck is fitting for this economy, but this weather is depressing enough. Know what I mean?"

He blinked, and she smiled.

"I'm Sarah," she introduced.

"Ri-Rick."

"So, do you mind, Rick?"

He shook his head and shifted away so she could look at the selection inside the jukebox. Again, he unashamedly stared at her. She was, he noted, almost the same head length as he was, and he was taller than the average man.

His gaze dropped, and for a split second, he wondered how she would fit against him. He was by no means as muscular or as well-carved as most athletes, but he prided himself on sticking to his daily exercise regimen of jogging each morning. This woman had curves that his hands itched to touch and mold. Soft and voluptuous.

"Want to dance?"

His eyes shot up. "What?"

"Do you want to dance?" She repeated, and he could have sworn she had purposefully moved closer.

He cleared his throat and, for the first time, registered the slow, sensual song she had selected.

She brushed against him, bringing her mouth to his ear. "I mean, the bar is empty, the weather is dreadful outside, and it seems we both have some time on our hands."

Her hands slipped around his neck, and by some unknown force, his hands obeyed an unsaid command, settling on her waist. Together, they slowly swayed to the music.

*