Ellen awoke to the ringing of her BlackBerry, which she kept on the night table as an alarm clock. She grabbed it before it woke W. "Hello?" she asked, muzzy.

"It's Marcelo." His voice always sounded so soft on the phone, his accent more pronounced, and Ellen blinked herself awake, checking the digital clock. Sunday, 8:02 A.M.

"Oh, jeez, hi."

"Did I wake you?"

Yes. "No."

"Sorry to bother you, but I got your vacation request and I wanted to discuss it with you. It's a problem for us, right now."

"It's just that-"

"I'm going to be in your area tonight. I can stop by, if you like, and we can talk about it."

Marcelo, here? I'll have to vacuum. And put on makeup. Not in that order.

"Ellen? I don't mean to intrude-"

"No, it's fine, a great idea."

"What time is good?"

"Will goes to bed around seven thirty, so any time after eight o'clock."

"I'm free at nine. See you then."

"Great. Thanks." Ellen pressed End. Marcelo was coming here? Her boss, her crush? Was this a date or a firing? It was exciting and unnerving, both at once. At best, she'd have to lie to his face about where she was going on Monday, which wouldn't be easy. Especially if he wore that aftershave, eau d'eligible bachelor.

"Mommy?" Will called out, waking up in his bedroom.

"Coming, sweetie," Ellen called back, becoming a mom again.

"Marcelo, hi, come in," Ellen said, opening her front door onto a living room that looked as if no one lived there. Will's toys, books, and DVD'S had been put away, and the rugs had been vacuumed. Cat hair had been lint-rolled from the sofa cushions, and paw prints wiped from the coffee table. The house was so clean, it should be for sale.

"Thanks." Marcelo stepped inside, and Ellen edged back, suddenly awkward. She had fantasized about him walking through her door, though the fantasy didn't include vacuuming.

"Let me take your coat," Ellen said, but Marcelo was already sliding out of his black leather jacket, and she caught a whiff of spicy aftershave, a scent that spoke directly to her I'm-Very-Single cortex, bypassing the saner He's-Your-Boss lobe.

"What a nice house," he said, looking around. He had on a black ribbed turtleneck with nice brown slacks, and Ellen found herself wondering if he'd been on a date. He asked, "How long have you lived here?"

"Six years or so." Ellen brushed a stray hair from her eyes, surprised that even a single strand had escaped her product-heavy blow-dry. She had changed her outfit three times, only to end up in her trademark loose blue sweater, white tank underneath, jeans, and Danskos. She didn't want to signal that she considered this anything but a meeting between colleagues. "Would you like a Diet Coke or something?"

"Sure, great."

"Hang on a sec. You can sit down." Ellen gestured at the sofa cushion without hesitation.

"Let me help you. I'd love a house tour."

"Okay, but, it's a short one." Ellen waved awkwardly at the dining room. It was odd, having him in her house, standing so close to her when she wasn't even unconscious. "Speaks for itself, huh? And over here's the teeny tiny kitchen."

"Very nice." Marcelo followed her, looking around with his hands linked loosely behind his back. "It's warm and friendly."

"And clean."

Marcelo nodded, with a smile. "I was going to say it was clean. Very clean."

"Thank you." Ellen went into the cabinet, found a decent tumbler, then went in the fridge and got him ice and a soda. Oreo Figaro sat on the counter, watching the goings-on with interest.

"I like cats. What's his name?"

"Oreo Figaro."

Marcelo lifted an eyebrow. "Back home, many people have two names, like my brother, Carlos Alberto. But I didn't think that was so common in the States."

"It's not. He's Brazilian."

Marcelo laughed. He popped the soda and poured it fizzling into the glass. "I live in town."

I know. We all know. You're the hot, single Latin boss, and therefore the most-talked-about person in the newsroom, if not the Western Hemisphere.

"I think about moving out here, but I wonder how you meet women in the suburbs."

"At the sandbox, mostly."

Marcelo smiled.

"The men are short, but they're single."

Marcelo laughed again. "I was out here on a blind date. Can you imagine that?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Ellen liked the way his accent made it e-magine. "How was it?"

"Excruciating."

"Been there. Excruciating conversation, excruciating restaurant, excruciating kiss good night. It's excruciating."

Marcelo laughed again. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

I always make jokes when I'm nervous.

"It was very strange to have you faint, so suddenly." Marcelo frowned slightly, and Ellen recognized a flicker of concern behind his eyes, which made her warm all over.

"Thank you for being so kind about it."

"Give me no credit. I wanted to leave, but you were lying in my way."

Ellen laughed, and Marcelo sipped his soda and set it down.

"So, to your email."

"Yes."

"Please explain."

"I'm not sure where to begin."

"Let's be honest with each other. You're reliable. You make deadlines. You didn't take a vacation last year, I checked. All of a sudden, you're fainting and you need time off for a mysterious reason." Marcelo glanced away, then back again. "I will tell you, I usually keep my private life to myself, but my mother was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She's at home, in Pinheiros, getting treatments, and she tells me they make her very tired."

Ellen felt for him, having been there herself, and the pain on his face was visible. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you. If that is what's going on with you, or if you have some other illness, you can be sure I'll keep it confidential."

Ellen felt touched. "I don't have cancer, but thank you for asking."

"Is it another illness? Is that it?"

Ellen didn't know what to say. His tone was so calm and the excuse so handy that she almost considered making up a short-lived disease. She could keep her job, if she lied.

"Do you have a drug problem, or alcohol? We have counseling for that, you know."

"No, that's not it, at all."

"Well, what then? Am I being too intrusive? I feel like I'm doing that a lot lately, with you, though I'm trying to help you. It's a difficult situation, having to make these layoff decisions, and I'm doing everything I can to save your job." Marcelo stood straighter, shaking his head. "But a vacation request, at a time like this, how do you justify that?"

"All I can tell you is that I need to take these few days off to settle something personal."

Marcelo looked at her, his regret plain. "That's it?"

Ellen was so tempted to tell him, but she couldn't. "Sorry," she answered. "That's it."

"Are you going somewhere or staying here?"

"I'd rather not say. I'm taking vacation time, is all."

Marcelo's lips pursed. "Will you get the homicide piece written on time?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"How does your draft look?"

"I haven't started drafting yet."

"May I have your notes?"

"I haven't transcribed them yet." Ellen felt a wave of guilt at his dismayed expression.

"How am I supposed to give you an extension and no one else? How can I justify treating you specially?"

"If you have to fire me, I understand. But I need this time for myself."

"Would you rather get fired than tell me what's going on?" Marcelo asked, his eyes disbelieving. "Can that be what you truly want?"

"Yes," Ellen answered, though she hadn't thought of it that way.

"It matters that much to you, whatever you're doing?"