Rossi was a man who needed to work more than the average person. He got restless, he got anxious, and he got bored when he had nothing to do, so anytime at home was typically spend cooking, writing, or going through cold cases. Though this last month has been interesting. He seems to have found himself a girlfriend. She’s smart, sweet, presents a bit naive but is quite honestly more paranoid than he is, she’s a good bit younger then him, but she’s also quite, eager, shall he say, in bed. She has some issues in her head, bipolar, depression, but it’s all manageable. She’s pretty much the dream. It’s made coming home that much more exciting, made a day off less boring, and made every night more satisfying than the last. Tonight, he called her when he wrapped up the case with a promise to cook pasta and a nice salad for their dinner, but when he gets home, she’s on the kitchen counter with flushed cheeks, wine bottle half empty next to her, eyes hazy, in his shirt and panties and thigh high socks

“This is certainly not what I expected. You look like a kid who got into the wine cabinet. Tell me it wasn’t the chateau.”