A/N: The plot bunny for this was hatched from 'I Am Afraid That You Will Continue to Wonder' which can be found here on . It sprang from a chelsie-anon prompt. You may wish to read that first as our story here picks up as the prequel to that one-shot. It's not necessary but you'll get the flavor of the characters there a little quicker as we are building them here. In our story EM Hughes is a novelist who writes historical fiction and Charles Carson is a retired cricketer who is now a sports presenter, a color commentary man whose on air partner is one Charlie Grigg. You will see the familiar characters albeit in different roles. This first chapter demands to be put forth so that I am encouraged to get on with it and to stop my procrastinating. This is the story of Charles and Elsie's meeting, the development of their friendship and subsequent road to a deeper relationship.

1991

For Queen and Country tops the bestseller lists on both sides of the Atlantic. The sweeping tale of love and life on the brink of the Crimean War has made EM Hughes a literary superstar and brought her more celebrity than the thirty something former archivist can imagine. It is her third book and though the other two have been well received, this is the blockbuster, the one that has made her famous. The one that has her publicist's telephone ringing night and day with requests for appearances on television chat shows, on literary lecture circuits, and endless amounts of book signings.

EM Hughes stumbles into a cab and pulls the door closed behind her. She is more than disorganized as she fumbles through her handbag for mascara, lipstick, and powder. The driver watches in amusement as she holds her compact up and begins applying mascara to her lashes. He finally interrupts her, asks her where she is headed. The TJ Black Book Shoppe she replies with a laugh. She apologizes for being distracted, tells the driver that she never leaves her flat without having "her face on" and that her mother would be mortified to know that she did. Always, look your best Elsie. No matter where you are. You never know who you'll run into. She notices that the cab driver's eyes flick from the road in front of him to her reflection in the rear view mirror. She politely asks him if something is wrong. He assures her that nothing is.

"No, is just that….that you remind me of someone," he says. He squints his eyes as if he is trying to work out who she is. "You aren't that lady in that show about that antiques dealer who solves mysteries are you?" he finally asks.

Elsie laughs. It's not the first time that she's been asked this particular question. "No. Afraid not," she replies kindly as she applies her lipstick.

"Are you sure?" he asks again, confident that she is but wants to create a low profile. After all, he has driven many celebrities before who like their anonymity.

"Yes, I think I'd know," she laughs off his question. "But I'll take it as a compliment that you think I resemble her." She will not tell him that one night when she had been harassed one time too many by a drunk American at a pub that she signed an autograph book in the actress' stead. That she has felt badly about it ever since and vowed to never do it again.

By the time that she reaches the bookseller, she has pulled herself together and is the poised, confident woman that she and everyone else recognizes. No one will know that the cause of her distraction earlier or of her tardiness now is because she just spent two hours on the telephone with Joe Burns. Gently breaking it to him that they are not suited to one another and that one last date will not change things. That it will do no good for him to travel from York to London to try to convince her. That he is a good man and deserves someone who will commit to him and commit to his idea of rural domesticity. No one will know that she cried for a half hour because she hurt him, this good and noble man.

She squares her shoulders and strides into the book shoppe to a queue the stretches the length of the shoppe and out the door. It is mostly middle-aged women who devour her books; housewives who thrive on the romance and she is happy that they learn a bit of history along the way. They are devoted to her and many of them show up not only at a book signing but a lecture as well. Some she recognizes and knows by a first name. She enjoys meeting them. She chats with them, inscribes their books with her name; sometimes a dedication, occasionally something strange or amusing.

As the night wears on, she has signed dozens of books and the queue dwindles away. The stacks of books on the table and boxes surrounding her are gone. She reaches for her coat and shrugs into until she hears a cough, a clearing of the throat and turns to find a tall, rather nice looking man, standing sheepishly across the table from her.

"I was wondering if you might…..I know that the signing is over and that…...," he stammers.

"Better late than never," she smiles. She is momentarily distracted by this man. He is nice looking she thinks. Tall, a mop of dark curly hair, decidedly untidy, could do with a comb through but interesting. Elsie Hughes has always liked curly hair and he has a delicious curl that hangs loose over his forehead just over his right brow. As he pushes it back, she bites her lip. Yes, this one is interesting with his moppy hair, corduroy jacket with patched elbows. Open collar shirt and nicely fitted jeans. Quite nicely fitted. He is very tall, she thinks. He's unlike any of the men who have passed through the queue this evening or any other evening for that matter.

"Have we met?" he asks, handing her the book so that she can make an inscription.

Pausing she looks up, tilts her head and replies. "No, I don't believe so."

"Hmmm, well. You just seem very familiar," he muses, his brow furrowed. She assumes that he, too has her confused with the actress from the television show. She'll not mention it though.

"Well, perhaps we knew each other in a former life," she laughs, flipping the book's cover open so that she can make an inscription. "If you believe in that sort of thing," she adds nervously as she begins to press down onto the page with her pen. "Oh, I'm sorry. My pen's out of ink and I haven't another with me, would you…."

"…Oh, yes," he replies fishing a pen from his coat pocket and passing it to her. Their fingers brush each other's briefly and he pauses before he releases the pen to her. "And you're sure we haven't met?"

"I think I'd remember you," she assures him. "Now who am I making this out to?" She looks up to find that he's staring at her, not in a way that makes her uncomfortable but she feels that he is still trying to remember where it is that they've met. "The inscription?"

"Yes, the inscription, you may write anything you like really." She thinks of writing her number, but then that would be entirely too improper. Something tells her that this man likes rules. A stickler for propriety.

"Do you want it personalized? Some people do."

"Well, I suppose so," he adds. "You can make it out to Alice. Alice Neal."

TBC….. I'd like to know what you think. Thanks for reading.