This time he took her out for steak.

Joe was noticeably more at ease here then he had been at La Petite Masion. He relaxed back into his chair, laughed easily at the waiter's jokes, and gave the guy manning the grill a backbreaking hug. They each got a pint of stout and a thick porterhouse steak. Joe told the waiter he'd like his, "as rare as you'll make it".

When the waiter was out of earshot Sierra asked Joe, "Do you eat raw meat?"

Joe chuckled.

"Only in bear form. But I do like my meat a little less cooked then humans seem to."

Sierra's mind reeled at his use of the word "humans". She was trying very hard to reconcile shifters into her view of the world. Sometimes she could accept it. Other times, in spite of all she'd seen, the logic part of her brain ran screaming from the notion that a person could sometimes be a bear. It felt more like a dream than something she had actually witnessed.

"You don't consider yourself human?" she asked.

"I'm not human, Sierra."

"But...you don't think of it like sometimes you're human, and sometimes you're a bear?"

They switched their conversation to a banal one about the weather as their waiter returned with their steaks. Joe took a bite of the bright red meat before answering.

"There's more to it than just a penchant for rare steak. There's other ways we're different from humans."

"Such as?"

"I heal faster. I'm stronger. Better able to help damsels in distress lift their hybrid's out of the mud. My body temperature runs a little hotter and my heart rate a little faster. I don't age."

Sierra choked on her beer.

"What?" she sputtered.

"The young one's continue to age until about twenty or so then stop. The one's that were bitten, like I was, just freeze in place."

Sierra found herself grasping the table as if it would keep the world from spiraling out of control.

"So you're 46...forever."

"Actually, I'm 34 forever. Which reminds me, I need to start dying my hair gray again."

Joe noticed her reaction. He took her hand and smiled at her in a bemused sort of way.

"Do you want to talk about the weather again?"

"No!" Sierra said, annoyed at herself for not keeping it together. "I can handle this."

"Never doubted it for a moment."

Sierra took another long swig of her beer as a realization dawned on her.

"How long have you been 34?" she asked him.

"Since 1916. I stay in one place as long as I can, but sooner or later the neighbors notice I don't get any older. I've faked my death four times then gone back later pretending to be my own offspring and inherited everything. It's been fairly lucrative for me."

Suddenly, the part of her mind that wanted to run screaming took a backseat to pure, journalist fascination.

"What were the 20's like?" she wanted to know.

For the rest of dinner he regaled her with stories about prohibition, the Great Depression, and both World Wars. He'd been to Woodstock, owned one of the first televisions, and ran a speakeasy. He promised to show her photographs later he kept hidden away in his safe. Sierra found herself wishing she could write his story. There were, or course two small problems with that: she had promised not to tell anyone and, also, no one would ever believe it.

By the time they got to dessert Sierra had asked so many questions Joe began to protest.

"That's it," he said. "I've spent the whole meal talking about me. You have to tell me about you now."

Suddenly feeling as though her own life story paled in comparison, she did her best to give him the highlights anyway. Growing up in Visalia. High School. Family drama. Moving to Olympia to take the job with The Post and meeting Molly. He listened to every word with the same level of fascination she had held for his stories. He asked questions. He wanted to know everything about her.

They left the restaurant holding hands and headed to the movies. Impulsively, they told the teenager at the counter to give them two tickets to whatever started in the next five minutes. That turned out to be Ouija. Not having the highest hopes about a movie based on a board game, they got a big bucket of popcorn, and box of Junior Mints, and settled in to their seats anyway.

The movie turned out to be, if possible, worse than their expectations. The plot was predictable and failed to be scary and the array of pretty teenage actors brought general shame upon their profession. So it wasn't long before they lost interest in the movie entirely and decided to make out in the darkened theater instead. Sitting in the last row, they lost themselves in each other.

Joe leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Do we really have to sit through the rest of this?"

They spilled out of the theater and raced to the car laughing, having made it through an admirable 37 minutes of the movie. Joe gunned the Range Rover to the Governor's mansion.

They stole one more long kiss in the driveway before straightening their hair and walking inside, where they were greeted by what felt like an obscene number of staffers. Sierra had never felt more conspicuous then she did walking up the stairs to the governor's bedroom with about eight sets of eyes on her.

"Don't you hate having all these people around?" she whispered to him.

"Just wait till you try Rose's strawberry pancakes in the morning. You won't be bothered by the staff anymore," he replied.

Joe's bedroom was elegantly appointed and larger then her whole apartment. At it's center was a beautifully carved oak four-poster bed. As soon as the door shut behind them they made straight for it.

Joe pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in just her bra, panties, and heels. Sierra unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the smooth, sculpted muscles on his chest. He started at her heel and made his way up her leg, kissing and caressing the whole way. Sierra moaned as he gently nibbled on her inner thigh. He kissed the lace on her panties before ripping them off in one sudden motion. Sierra gasped and some tiny part of her brain considered protesting. But that voice was drowned out as he slid his hands up to her breasts and unhooked her bra. He gazed down at her naked body for a moment, drinking her in.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked him breathlessly.

He grinned wickedly and unzipped his jeans.

Sierra's phone started to ring, blaring rudely out of her purse by the door.

"Sorry, just give me a minute," Sierra said.

"Are you seriously going to answer that?" Joe asked incredulously.

Sierra climbed off the bed and walked over to her purse.

"What can I say? I'm married to my job."

But it wasn't work on the caller ID, it was Molly.

Sierra answered the phone.

"Not a good time Molly." she said.

On the other end of the line Molly sobbed hysterically.

"Molly? Molly, calm down. Tell me what's wrong."