Several hours after the press conference

  Early morning

  Dave's Home

  Dave and Hazel are mostly seated on the living room couch. Hazel is seated sideways on Dave's lap, his lips repeatedly finding her neck, chin, and mouth. Using one hand to angle Hazel's face, Dave kisses her forcefully. Once he finally separates their lips, he nuzzles his nose into the space behind her left ear and whispers huskily.

  "Watching that Michael Blaine fella break down today...I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Hazel. I think I'd lose my damn mind."

  Dave returns to kissing Hazel everywhere his mouth can reach. She reclines her head back and sighs, as he kisses the flesh under her chin.

  "Dave, it's not as serious as all of that. Let's not talk about it. Please. That's all anyone wants to talk about these days. I don't want to talk about it. Not tonight."

  Dave grips Hazel's chin and kisses her deeply yet again. He nearly takes her breath away with the intensity of his kiss.

  "It is that serious, Hazel. You said you loved me today," Dave mutters between repeated kisses. "Did you mean that? Do you love me?"

  "Dave, please."

  "Tell me, Hazel" Dave insists, his kisses coming faster and with more intensity. "Do you love me?"

  Hazel's eyes shoot open and she angles her face away from Dave. Pushing at his arm, which is around her waist, Hazel wriggles off of his lap. She quickly buttons up her blouse, anger evident on her youthful face. Dave watches Hazel with a stricken expression. What has he done now? Why is Hazel so sensitive all of a sudden? Maybe this case is starting to get to everyone.

  "Hazel, what's wrong? You're the one who said it. Today at the press conference. Why are you angry at me?"

  Hazel finishes buttoning her blouse and childishly stomps a bare foot. She glares down at Dave with narrowed brown eyes.

  "Because...You don't know when to quit, Dave!" Hazel yells. "It was a simple request. I don't want to think about dead girls and serial killers. Not when I'm making love. Not ever. I asked you nicely to stop!"

  Dave reaches out and grabs Hazel's right hand. He cradles it between both of his own.

  "I'm sorry, Hazel. Truly. I won't mention it again. I just. You said you loved me. I just wanted to know if...Nevermind. Please, Hazel. Come sit back down. Please."

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  Hazel's eyes narrow further. However, she does as Dave asks, wrapping both arms around his neck as she sits on his lap.

  "Is it alright if I say...That I love you, too?"

  Hazel grows weary again and prepares to stand. Dave prevents this by wrapping both arms around her waist and kissing her throat.

  "I mean it, Hazel. Something about...This case and those girls. Something about...Watching you walk away from me in that grocery store. And what you said to me today. It got me to thinking...Could you be Mrs. Dave Newsome? Someday."

  "Dave, I think...Please, Dave. Just stop. I've been through too much lately. With Will. With you. I thought I loved Will too. Now, I'm just as confused about it as he is. While he's out screwing his secretary, I'm...I don't know."

  "Will is screwing Pamela? You know that for a fact?"

  "Yes," Hazel says with a solemn chuckle. "I followed him one night. They met up at a hotel in Worthing. You could hear the bedsprings from a mile away. It hurts, Dave. We'd been together since we were about knee high. Since he gave me that stupid Valentine's Day card that got all soaked from the rain."

  A tear rolls down Hazel's cheek as she remembers the past. Dave uses the tip of his nose to wipe the tear away, gently rubbing his nose across Hazel's cheek. Hazel takes the opportunity to kiss Dave, her lips brushing the side of his mouth.

  "I thought I would one day be Mrs. William Delgado. I was wrong. That weekend I called you up...The first time we made love...I was supposed to be meeting Will. He stood me up. That was after I found out about him and Pam. I seduced you to get back at Will, Dave. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what we are to each other now."

  "It doesn't matter," Dave says, returning to planting small kisses on Hazel's bright red lips. "It doesn't matter. We don't have to think on it. We can do what we've always done."

  Dave again begins to unbutton the front of Hazel's blouse. She leans into his kiss as he performs his task.

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  Later that same morning

  Hazel slides out of bed, making sure not to rouse Dave, who is snoring heavily. She goes around the room, collecting her various articles of clothing. Sneaking off into the bathroom, she gently shuts the door.

  Opening the medicine cabinet, Hazel retrieves her tube of bright red lipstick from the hidden compartment in the bottom shelf. She uses the lipstick to scrawl a solemn message on the mirror.

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  Sometime later

  Dave awakens to a half-empty bed. He sits up and leans against the headboard, running his left hand over the spot where Hazel once slept. The bed is still slightly warm. Hazel hasn't been out of bed long.

  Peering to his left, Dave spies the thin stream of light seeping from underneath the bathroom door. With an elfish grin, he climbs from under the covers.

  Shuffling lazily toward the bathroom, Dave stretches and yawns noisily. He absently scratches an itch, while rubbing the stubble on his chin with the opposite hand.

  "Hazel?" Dave hollers out.

  No reply. Dave's brow arches. Is Hazel sick? Is she taking a quiet bath? Or is she sitting on the side of the tub waiting for the results of a pregnancy test? Like they always show in the movies. In either case, why doesn't she answer?

  "Hazel? Are you okay in there? Hazel?"

  Dave draws the bathroom door open, his eyes falling on the message scrawled on the mirror. A message scrawled in bright red lipstick. Hazel's lipstick:

  "I'm sorry, Dave."

  "Oh, Hazel. No." Dave mutters softly. "Damn it, I've lost you too."