"The very one."

Despite being talked to like a mobster who's about to go 'for a ride', his cupid bow lips split into a grin. He doesn't care if he talks all the way into the evening. There's so much he wants to tell her. And ask! He's not the wounded desperate creature he was the last time she clapped blindfold on him. His time in Whitestone seems to have done a lot to heal him.

"How far away is this spot?" Crichton asks as he walks along beside her.