RUNNING INTO DALLAS 
 
Author: Suzanne Moore
 
Email: suzanne.moore8@verizon.net
 
RATING: PG

DISCLAIMER: You know!

FOR: The Holidaze with Nicholas Fanfic Challenge


--+-- 

Nick was finally finished at LSoP. He cranked the engine and pulled
into traffic behind a beat-up blue Renault, an oblong coffee table
sticking out of its trunk. Nick stared in amazement at the mass of
bungee chords holding it down as the cars drove slowly through a
school zone.

Suddenly, the Renault threw on its breaks, far too late for Nick to
stop. He rear-ended the car.

The young lawyer let loose a string of curse words. Two wrecks this
year!

He left his car and headed straight for the Renault.

"You idiot! Why did you stop. . ." Then Nick saw that two small
children had darted in front of the car.

The young woman behind the Renault's wheel was ghostly pale and
holding her hand over her mouth. She looked at Nick wild-eyed.

"Oh, God, I almost hit those kids!" She began to tremble, reeling
under the consideration of what might have been.

"Well, you didn't. Look, they're alright." A frantic mother
gathered up the tykes and walked them to the sidewalk, fussing all
the way.

"I just hit you instead."

The woman hopped out of her car to survey the damage. The BMW's
bumper was bent toward the tire, making the car impossible to drive.
The Renault's back end was smashed, but drivable.

The coffee table hadn't fared well. One leg had broken off and
was laying on the pavement.

When they exchanged insurance information, Nick discovered the
woman's name was Dallas Perkins. Her thick black hair, pale skin,
and violet eyes were enchanting.

As the wrecker was hooking up Nick's BMW , Dallas said, "Let
me give you a lift. It's the least I can do." She picked up the table
leg and stuck it in the trunk.

Nick folded himself into the Renault. "I need to go to the Frick
Building downtown."

"Fine. May I stop by my studio first? It's on the way. I
want to drop off the table."

"A studio, huh? Alright." Nick shifted uncomfortably.

<Late again!>

Nick learned that Dallas was an artist, an urban pioneer who'd
moved into an old commercial building and converted it into a
studio/loft.

He was intrigued.

The car pulled up in front of the studio. Nick unwrapped the bungee
chords. The table? Pathetic. Ready for the dumpster.

"Let me buy you a new table. It's the least I can do. After
all, I crunched it," offered Nick.

Dallas surveyed the scratched coffee table. "No way! I mosaic
over old furniture and sell it," she said.

Nick stopped short. Dallas Perkins. *The* Dallas Perkins?

He'd seen her pieces in trendy Shadyside shoppes. One of her
larger mosaic tables sat in Nick's sun room.

As he carried the table into the studio, Nick saw more of her art-
furniture. He lingered, studying every piece.

He'd always figured Dallas Perkins was a guy. Was he wrong!

"Dallas Perkins. I'm pleased I ran into you," he said
smoothly,"even if it was with my car."



Fin