"Where exactly do you live?" Asking this question, it occurred to him that he had learned more about her this afternoon than in all their of previous times together.
"In Pacific Heights. Well, lower Pacific Heights. I can't afford real Pac Heights yet."
"Is that where you would like to live eventually?"
"Not really. I don't think I'm really a city person at heart." She directed him up Pine Street to Fillmore, then to a narrow street called Wilmot. Hidden in the middle of the busy Fillmore shopping district, it looked more like an alley than a proper street. He found its concealment unusually exciting.
"There, the second house."
He braked before one of three houses tucked into he middle of the block, sandwiched between business establishments.
"Well," he said. "I had a wonderful time."
"Me too," she said, folding over the top of the bag in her lap.
He paused, unsure what to do next. The air in the car felt charged with possibility, promise. He acknowledged his attraction to her. She stirred in him feelings he had not felt in years, which now suddenly gushed free inside him after today's victory. When she had entered the boardroom, he had felt a potent sense of longing. How long had it been since he had been satisfied, really satisfied? Again his thoughts turned to Greta. He gave his senses a shake. He resolved that after all he had accomplished, which Lauri had helped him attain, he wanted to experience with her their own, intimate celebration. He wanted to take her hand, hold it, and kiss her, to feel her fingers respond in his own hand as their lips met.
From behind he heard the sound of cars passing on Fillmore Street, and ahead of them, a group of young boys were playing basketball in a fenced school-yard. With a sidelong glance he studied her delicate, childlike hands, the impossible softness of her skin. She was so much younger than he. She had been silent all this time, and finally she spoke.