“I’ve met someone,” Buffy said into the phone as she carried her pizza box out to the balcony.

“You haven’t been there a week yet and you’ve already met someone?” Willow said, her voice rising in excitement with every word.

“Uh huh.”

Buffy had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni as she stood gazing at the glorious sunset. John and Dirk were out there now, along with a full line-up of surfers catching the accurately predicted large waves.

“More! I need to know more,” Willow said, laughing.

“Sorry, was eating my super-healthy traditional Sunnydale dinner.”

“Ooh, Pizza!”

Buffy sat down on the padded bench where she could still see the line-up. A wave was just growing and she strained to see the surfers as some of them paddled to ride it in. She couldn’t make out which one was John. “So, the guy I’ve met, he’s a surfer.”

“Name,” Willow demanded.

“John.”

“Describe what he looks like, please.”

“He’s perfect.” Buffy couldn’t help but smile. “Light brown hair. It’s kinda wavy, and hangs in his eyes sometimes. Which reminds me, he has very blue eyes.”

“I bet he's all muscle-y, since he’s athletic.”

“You have no idea,” Buffy said with a shuddering sigh. “The man has rippling abs and he goes around in surf shorts all the time. He even looks hot in a tight wet suit. The one he wears goes to mid-thigh so I get to see his awesome legs.”

“What’s he like? Surfer. I’m thinking not-so-bright.”

Buffy laughed. “He writes mystery novels for a living.”

“Wow. And where is this artistic Adonis right now?” Willow asked.

“He’s surfing, actually.”

“Isn’t it night time in California?”

“Almost. The sun is going down, but it’s a full moon tonight and the surf report said larger waves of the good kind.”

“He ditched you for a bunch of waves?”

“Yes, and I don’t mind. He took me out to dinner last night, we spent most of the day together today and tomorrow he’s taking me to a convention where he has to speak and sign books.”

“What’s his full name? Next time I’m near a book store, I’ll buy one of his.”

“He only has one out now, but the sequel will be out in two months and he’s writing the third book now. The first book is called Stalking Summer. His name is John D. Price.”

Buffy could hear pencil-scratching sounds on the other end as Willow mumbled his name.

“Got it.”

“Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you…about John. But if I do, you have to promise to keep it to yourself.”

“What?”

“He’s Spike.”

Buffy held her breath while the line stayed silent and kept holding it when Willow finally spoke up through her shock. “I’m sorry, but did you say he’s Spike?”

“Yes. He’s Spike, shanshued.”

“I…uh… Buffy, are you sure? I thought that prophecy was about Angel?”

“Are you near a computer?”

Sounding perplexed, Willow said, “I’m always near a computer.”

“Look up w-w-w dot johndprice –no spaces, no lines—dot com.”

“Okay,” Willow said, pausing to type it in. “I’m there—ooh, it does look like him!”

“Do you see the multimedia link on top?”

“Yep.”

“Click it and then click the Stanley on the Arts interview.”

Buffy took another bite of her pizza while she waited. The sun was almost completely set and it was a beautiful sight. John had told her to look out when it was dark and she would see a bunch of bobbing glow sticks from around all their necks. John’s voice came through on the other line as Willow watched the video of the interview.

“Wow, Buffy, that is Spike.”

After Willow watched the full video, Buffy told her everything. How she’d seen it and had flown out right away, how she’d met John and about the incident last night when he’d met Angel.

“So have you told him what—who he was before?”

“Not yet. I don’t know if I can do it. He’s so happy, Willow.”

“And you’re falling in love with the human him, aren’t you?”

The soft and understanding way Willow said it was what Buffy needed right now.

“Yes. Spike is in there still. The way his scarred eyebrow goes up, the way he curls his tongue and the way he says some of his phrases. But there’s this calm…contentment that is who John is and I love that too.”

“I just can’t believe that he didn’t recognize you.”

“Well, he did, but he thinks it’s some sort of coincidence that I look like the depiction of Summer on his book cover art. And it’s been years since he’s seen me.”

“It’s just…I mean, if he loved you the way he seemed to, I would think that he wouldn’t have forgotten you, amnesia or not.”

“Read his book. He didn’t forget me.” Buffy wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I am Summer. The next book is called Summer Takes All and the third will be Summer Lost.”

“If you don’t tell him about his past and you get together with him, he’s going to eventually find out that you’re a slayer. Don’t you think that might jar his memory, when he finds out that vampires are real?”

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Buffy said, “I don’t know. I can’t think that far ahead. I thought I’d lost him twice and now I have another chance. That’s all I can think about right now.”

“I don’t blame you,” Willow said, choking up. “If I had another chance with Tara… I’d take it in a heartbeat and damn the consequences.” She paused. “Just be careful. I would hate to see you get your heart broken.”

“I can’t be careful. I was careful before and I lost him. He didn’t even believe that I was in love with him. So much so, he kept the fact that he was back a secret and lived with Angel of all people.”

Willow sighed. “You don’t know how tempted I am to get on a flight to California and be with you.” With a chuckle she added, “That and I’m dying to see Spike in person as a human.”

“I kinda need to do this alone.”

“How did I guess you were going to say that?”

Buffy could hear the smile in her voice.

Willow paused then wondered, “Does Giles know?”

“I think he does. He keeps leaving me messages, and I’ve been too chicken to call him back.”

“Call him, Buffy.”

“I plan to. Tomorrow, when I know he’ll be at home and hopefully alone.”

---

Buffy finished applying her lipstick and then glanced over at the clock. She was ready early. They didn’t have to be there until noon for the V.I.P. luncheon, and she wasn’t expecting John to show up for another hour.

Her satisfaction turned to dread when she entered the living room and saw the telephone. She had to do it. Giles would be home on his day off. It was the perfect time to call him. She grabbed the cordless phone and practically threw herself down on the couch. She used the remote to turn on the television and with the women of the View bickering in the background, she dialed Giles’ apartment in London.

Two rings and he picked up. “Hello, Rupert Giles speaking.”

“You even answer your home phone that way?”

“Buffy. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’re right. But I guessed from your numerous messages that you know.”

“I do. No thanks to you.” Giles paused before saying, “I shouldn’t have to hear about this from Robin. You should have told me.”

Buffy kept her eyes on the TV screen as Barbara Walters waved her hands in that elegant way of hers and waxed on about something while the younger women listened intently, nodding their heads.

“I wanted to be sure first.”

“And it’s taken you a week to be sure?”

The sarcasm in his voice irritated Buffy.

“No…I…It’s just--it’s him. He’s human. He’s healthy, happy and productive.”

“That’s nice. You can come home then.”

Home. That was England for Giles, but was it for her?

“I wasn’t lying about wanting to go on vacation. I’ve got this place for three months and I’d like to stay.”

“Is that fair to him, Buffy? For you to get close to him and then walk away. And what if being around you causes his memories to come back? If he’s so happy as he is, would you do that to him?”

“He’s seen me and he’s seen Angel and even though he asked Angel if they’d met before, his memories haven’t come back. I don’t think they’re going to,” Buffy said, desperately thinking of a polite way to end the uncomfortable call.

“You are being very selfish,” he said, disappointment dripping from his words.

She got up from the couch to answer a knock at the door.

“Maybe I am. But you know what? It’s about time I did something I wanted to do, don’t you think?”

Without looking to see who it was, she opened the door and there John stood, smiling softly at her, dressed in navy blue slacks and a white dress shirt, open at the collar. His hair was slicked back with gel, reminding her of Spike, even without the bleach job. He wore his glasses and carried a briefcase, completing his author costume.

“Morning, love.”

“Buffy?” Giles asked.

She lowered the phone and smiled back at John. “Come in. You’re a little early. How was the surf this morning?”

“Don’t know.” He stepped into the apartment and kissed her softly on the lips. “After last night’s session in the dark, my muse went crazy and I was up all night writing.”

“Have a seat. I need to finish up this call.”

She pointed to the couch. John sat down and reached for the remote.

“I’ll just be over here, minding my own business. But there’s no way I’m watching a bloody girl’s show.”

With a grin, she turned her back to the couch and headed for the breakfast bar. “You still there?”

“Is that him?” Giles asked.

“Yes.”

“Dear Lord, he sounds exactly the same.”

“I know.”

“What is he doing there?” Giles asked, not the least bit concerned about being nosy.

“I’m just about to head out to a writer’s conference with my friend John. He’s a mystery writer.” Buffy glanced back to see John turned in his seat, grinning at her. She put the phone away from her ear and covered the mouthpiece. “I’m talking with my boss in England. He’s curious about your book.”

John stood up. “’S not published overseas yet. Gage is working on it though.”

“I was thinking of shipping a copy to him,” Buffy said, as she put the phone back to her ear.

“Well, here,” John said pleasantly as he put his briefcase on the counter and opened it to pull out a copy. “I can even sign it if he likes.”

“You hear that?” Buffy asked, amused over the whole situation.

Giles cleared his throat. “Um, yes, well… You can tell him I’m looking forward to reading it, I suppose.”

John stood, poised with his pen. “Who should I make it out to?”

Giles was silent on the other end and Buffy said, “Giles. Make it out to Rupert Giles.”

As John wrote, he read the words aloud. “To Buffy’s boss, Rupert Giles. Please accept this book as heartfelt thanks for letting Buffy have this holiday in California. I’m eternally grateful. John D. Price.”

There was still silence on the other end.

“Giles says thank you and that he can’t wait to read it.” She pointed at the phone. “I’ll just say goodbye and then we can go.” Into the phone she said, “Does anyone else know about…”

“As far as I know, only Robin, Faith and I know that Spike is alive.”

Aware that John was watching her as she talked, she said, “Angel and Willow have been briefed as well, but can we keep it at that for now? Please?”

Giles sighed. “I haven’t brought it to the attention of The Council yet and I will hold off until we both agree to let it be known.”

“Thank you, Giles. I have to go now, but I’ll call you again soon.”

“I know you’re probably not going to listen, but I strongly advise you to end this and get on a flight as soon as possible, back to England.”

She let her eyes drift to John, who stood by her, an adoring expression lingering on his face as he put his hands on her waist.

“Sorry, can’t do that,” she told Giles.

And then she hung up.