“I already do, not because you're a movie star, but in spite of it, if that makes any sense.”

“That's all I want. We'll figure the rest out, one day at a time,” he said, sounding humble to her again. He had never been as happy in his life.

He shared the toast with her, and half an hour later, he got in the shower with her, and looked like a mother hen as she left for work. She told him she'd be back for lunch, and he had calls to make that morning. He wanted to call his agent and tell him what had happened with the woman in L.A. and where he was now, and he needed to warn his PR man that she might pull some stunts. And he had realtors to call to find a new apartment, furnished, until his own house was free in six months. He had enough to do to keep him busy until she got back. And later on, he wanted to do some exploring around the city and get his bearings. He thought it might be fun if they went out to dinner that night. He had already told her he wanted to go to Bolinas for the weekend. He smiled to himself as he showered and dressed. This was a very, very nice life, particularly with Coco in it.

Coco felt as though she were in a daze as she walked her clients' dogs that morning. She loved everything he had said, and all that they had done. But in her rare moments of clarity and sanity, it was hard to believe that anything this wonderful could last, especially with him. He was Leslie Baxter, after all. Eventually, he would have to go back to Hollywood and make another picture. The tabloids would eat him up, and them. Famous actresses would fawn all over him. And where would Coco be in all that? In Bolinas, waiting for him to come home? And there was no way she would live in L.A. again. Not even for him. She took a deep breath as she returned the last of the morning's dogs to their homes and reminded herself of what he had said. One day at a time. It was the best they could do for now. And as he said, they'd figure it out. But she also didn't want to lose someone she loved again. And a happy ending at the end of this wouldn't be so easy to pull off, given the cast.

When she got home, with sub sandwiches she had picked up for them, he was still on the phone. He was talking to a realtor about a furnished house in Bel-Air that was available for six months, while a famous actress finished a film in Europe. Coco looked worried as she listened, and Leslie laughed when he got off the phone.

“Don't panic yet,” he reassured her. “She wants fifty thousand a month for it.” He had been thinking about her all morning, and how things might work out in the long run. “You know, maybe eventually I could live here. Robin Williams and Sean Penn do. It seems to work for them.” She nodded, still in a state of shock over what was happening to them. The cleaning woman had just left as she walked in. They forgot about the sub sandwiches and went back to bed, and made love until she had to go back to work, to walk the next group of dogs. She could hardly tear herself away from him. And when she came back at four, he was sound asleep on her bed. His agent had promised that morning to send him several scripts, and for now he was going to stay in San Francisco with her. Jane had told him he could stay as long as he wanted, and that afternoon they agreed not to say anything to her yet. They wanted to keep this miracle to themselves.

He got a call from his press agent late that afternoon. The actress who was stalking him had released a statement to the press that she had dumped him, and in thinly veiled terms, implied he was gay. Leslie said he didn't care. There was plenty of evidence to the contrary, and it just sounded like sour grapes. He was relieved in fact that she was telling the press she had dumped him. It could mean that she was ready to move on and stop torturing him. But he didn't trust the message yet. He wanted to wait and see before going back to L.A.

He had asked Coco to make a reservation for them at a quiet restaurant, under her name. She had chosen a simple little Mexican place in the Mission where she was hoping no one would recognize him. For sure, no one would expect to see him there. And after making love again in the shower, they managed to put their clothes on and get out of the house by eight.

He loved the restaurant when he saw it, and no one paid any attention to them, until he paid the check. The woman at the cash register had been staring at him all night. He paid in cash, so there were no credit cards involved, and she sent over a request for an autograph with his change. He tried to play dumb, but within minutes, people at several other tables had turned around, the waiter was chattering excitedly in Spanish, and without signing the autograph, which would have confirmed his identity, they tried to look nonchalant as they left, and then ran for the van.

“Shit,” he muttered as Coco started the van and then drove away. “I hope no one calls the press.” It was an element of life that Coco had never dealt with firsthand before. Life was complicated for him, and it meant that they couldn't go anywhere, or had to be extremely careful when they did. If he was recognized that easily in the Mission, he would be recognized anywhere, and neither of them wanted sightings reported all over San Francisco. They stayed home for the rest of the week, and Leslie went on long walks on the beach with her. And on Saturday after she walked her last dogs, they left for Bolinas, and spent the weekend there. They had no problem with anyone at the beach, and when Leslie ran into Jeff, the fireman who lived next door, when they were both taking out the trash, he stared at Leslie and then nodded, smiling broadly. He held out a hand and introduced himself and said that he was happy to see that Coco had a friend staying with her. He seemed to think the world of her. They saw him again on Sunday morning on the beach, with his dog, and he talked easily to both of them, and made no obvious sign of recognition or comment about who Leslie was. It was a community where people minded their own business, but still managed to look out for each other. Leslie said he had been a volunteer fireman in England when he went to college, and they talked about fires, equipment, and living in Bolinas. And from there, they somehow segued to fire engines, and then to cars. They discovered that they both loved to work on cars and rebuild engines. Leslie seemed to fit right in, and both men enjoyed talking to each other. Leslie and Coco were happy and relaxed when they drove back to the city on Sunday night. And Leslie mentioned again how much he had enjoyed chatting with her neighbor.

Coco was always a little worried that the fragile bubble of their hidden life would pop, but so far no one was bothering them. Jane knew he was still there, and didn't seem to mind it. She regularly admonished Coco to leave him alone and not to bother him, and Coco assured her that she wasn't.

It was the end of their second week of living together when Leslie's realtor in L.A. insisted that there were several houses and apartments that he had to see. He didn't even know if he wanted to bother, but he thought he should see his agent too, and just show his face in L.A. so no one thought he had gone into hiding over the rumors of his being gay. His ex was still at it, and the tabloids had run a couple of headlines that were no more shocking than their usual fare.

“Do you want to come down with me on Saturday?” he offered. “We could spend the night at the Bel-Air.” The hotel had always been extremely discreet, and no one knew who Coco was anyway.

“What'll we do with the dogs?” She had not only Sallie but her sister's dog, and she knew Jane would be furious if she left.

“What about one of your neighbors in Bolinas? Could we leave them at your place there?”

“Jane would strangle me if she knew,” Coco said, looking guilty, but she wanted to go with him. “Maybe we could. I'll call and ask.” In the end, both her neighbors agreed to look out for them, feed them, walk them on the beach, and one of them even agreed to drop them off on Sunday night when they came to a birthday party in the city. Everything was set, just as he had said. One day at a time. It all worked out. And they were getting along like two peas in a pod.

In the end, just to be cautious, they flew to L.A. on two separate flights, were met at the airport by two cars, and agreed to meet at the hotel. Just in case. It was a little bit like being in a spy movie, and they told no one they were coming down. Leslie took an earlier flight, and saw the apartments the realtor had for him before Coco arrived. He didn't like any of them, and his interest in renting anything in L.A. had waned since meeting her. He was happy in San Francisco for now. And Coco was relieved when he told her that at the hotel.

They had a beautiful suite at the Bel-Air Hotel. And Coco's presence was never acknowledged. The staff was used to handling situations like that with the utmost discretion. They went to dinner at a dive he knew in West Hollywood that had delicious Cajun food, and were happy and relaxed when they got back to the hotel. It was nearly midnight as they walked slowly back to their room through the gardens, and saw a couple holding hands and kissing near the swans that swam in the little stream that wended through the grounds. Coco smiled when she saw the couple kissing and thought there was something familiar about them, but everyone in L.A. always looked familiar to her. They were either well-known stars, or people who wanted to look like them. It was funny at times. The woman was a good-looking, well-dressed blonde with a good figure in a black cocktail dress and high heels, whom they could only see from the back, and the man with her was handsome and young in a well-cut black suit. They stopped and kissed again for a long time as Leslie and Coco approached, and moved away at the last minute on the secluded path that led to their suite. And as they did, the woman turned. Her face was lit by the subtle lights on the grounds, and she turned her face up to the man she was with. And then Coco gasped.