Okay, okay. First meetings were always hell -- Peter knew this as a photographer, and a journalist, and he could control himself. Yeah. Deep breath, little sigh, one-step-in-front-of-the-other. It was easy.

He stepped past the swinging doors of the coffee shop's entrance, and scanned the crowd, trying to pick Raven out. It wasn't hard.

"Uh, hey. Des."

Walking up to her, though? Completely different story. He swallowed, once, and stood at the table she had chosen, feeling like that nerdy, fifteen year old dork asking the pretty girl out to the highschool dance all over again.