Every day of their courtship was another vignette in the saga of their courtship, and though some might have fallen into the trap of complacency, Ebenezer was too much of a romantic to be swayed. There was still a boyish part of him that eagerly watched her curiously, like a schoolyard crush, when she chose a new outfit, hairstyle or make-up look. It was like starting each day with a gift when he would see her emerge from the closet in a new dress or when he could join her at the bathroom sink and watch her dab on blue eyeshadow while he shaved (or at least attempted to while being so keenly distracted).

 Even when they went shopping together, which he endurably enjoyed thanks to her company and no thanks to the crowds and migraine-inducing lighting, he genuinely reveled in the moments in the fitting rooms where they provided each other with honest feedback. He told her when seams puckered, and she talked him out of pieces that needed too much tailoring to work (the exception being tailored suits, of course).

He especially loved moments when she sought his feedback, because he knew the trust required for her to do so. He did not treat the privilege lightly.

Decades of abuse meant that Constance had spent her late thirties rediscovering who she was as an adult woman. As such, her questions in the fitting room were less about aesthetics and more … abstract.

“Do you think this looks too juvenile for someone my age?” she once asked when emerging in a gorgeous silk top with a boy at the neck. On another occasion, she’d asked, “Sweetheart, what do you think about this material? It’s gorgeous, but I worry about a night of dancing in it…”

Whether he could provide a simple opinion or help with a zipper, it was always a pleasure to be there. He was a man who believed in the simple power of matching someone’s enthusiasm on certain occasions.

If she looked cautiously excited about an outfit, he would express praise.

If she was obviously not enthused by something or trying to force herself out of her comfort zone too far and too quickly, he would call attention to it and mirror it.

When it came to haute couture, he knew she possessed the required taste to make good choices. She just needed to confidence to commit to her choices without feeling compelled to seek a second opinion.

The day she’d chosen her first dress without asking his opinion (or anyone else’s) was one he still remembered clearly. They’d been leaving Harrods hand-in-hand when the epiphany struck her and she’d flashed him a guilty look, like a kleptomaniac caught at the store exit with a stolen tube of lip gloss.

When he’d joyfully remarked that he couldn’t wait for the grand reveal, he swore something permanently shifted in those cornflower-blue eyes of hers.

That also was a moment he would hold dear to his heart, forever grateful to have been a bystander for.

Of course, he was also present for glorious moments when those gorgeous clothes came off. When she joined him back at his flat after work or for a long weekend and they would retreat to his king-sized bed with its steady oak frame sun rose the next day.

When they cuddled in bed the next day, he always gazed upon her in wonder. She looked like a muse whether she wore jeans, a silk dress, or was snuggled into his 10.5 tog hotelier-recommended duvet.

If he would have been pressed into choosing a ‘favorite’ look of hers, he would have been powerless to do so.

… Until one fateful morning.

The morning of May 1 had altered the fifty-two-year-old’s brain chemistry in a way that no alcoholic concoction, all-nighter, powder, or terrible bowl of gruel ever had before.

After a particularly eventful evening celebrating his wife’s birthday in multiple rooms across the flast, he’d awoken to the sound of someone puttering around in his black-marble kitchen. The domestic symphony of another soul using his appliances or opening his cabinets was perplexing enough to rouse him from slumber, but familiar enough to learn a smile to his face moments later.

After checking his Piaget wristwatch that he’d failed to remove in their haste to jump into bed, he noted it was 8:05 a.m.

“That’s a personal record,” he sighed loud with a chuckle. He hadn’t slept that late since he was a boy staying in his room sick at boarding school. Even then, there had been nobody there to chastise him.

He left his arm fall limply back onto the bed and inhaled deeply through his nose.

‘Open your left, then open your right, then lift your head with all your might.’

Fighting aching muscles, he rolled out of bed and groped for a pair of boxer briefs and lounge pants. After slipping them on, he reached for his pair of tortoiseshell-framed cheaters in anticipation of reading the morning news. Quickly combing his hair and at least making sure the glasses sat straight upon his prominent nose, he emerged from the already-spacious bedroom and into the event more abundantly sized living area.

The living room and kitchen shared the same space thanks to the flat’s open-concept layout, the west-facing wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a perfect panoramic view of the sunrise over London.

The brightly lit layout gave him a clear line of sight across the way to the kitchen, where he spied a familiar redhead lingering behind the back marble island. She was operating the electric kettle with her lift hand and the coffee pot with her right. Tea for him, coffee for her. As usual.

As she swayed out from behind the island and he caught a full glimpse of her, he froze.

She was wearing a loose, light pink blouse … and nothing else.

It was long enough to be a dress, reaching down to the middle of her tanned thighs.

The leftover volume from her styled hair had since been brushed out and fell in easy swoops down her back.

When she turned her head to pull the box of Stevia down from the overhead cabinet, he glimpsed her bare side profile. Even her brows and lashes, which she normally darkened, were their natural shade of light auburn. She looked like a girl-next-door from a soap advertisement; natural pretty, flushed cheeks, glowing complexion.

Her legs were wonderfully bare, her scars on full display without any effort to hide them. She padded around barefoot, humming casually as she swayed about.

When the sweetener box slipped out of her hand and clattered on the counter, she jumped briefly then laughed at her own clumsiness.

His heart lurched so tenderly in his chest at the sight that his hand lofted to cover it, as if he feared she would hear its thrum from across the room.

So rarely was a man of his years and experience stuck with painful awe, and yet in that moment, he stood transfixed by a sight as seemingly mundane as his girlfriend in a billowy sleepshirt …

… And she had never looked more effortlessly, perfectly, wonderfully beautiful.

He magnetized across the room to her without a word, stealing up to her.

It wasn’t until he was an arm’s length away that he sighed a dreamy ‘good morning’ into her ear before kissing her cheek. His arms found purchase around her waist, and she fit so perfectly in the space between his arms.  

“Well, rise and shine to you too,” she said, turning just in time for his lips to hit the apple of her cheek. “I think is the latest I’ve ever seen you sleep in.”

He merely hummed in reply, dropping gentle kisses upon her tanned shoulder. Her skin was warm, and smelled of coconut and vanilla.

None the wiser to his admiration, she continued to set the kettle and coffee pot.

“You caught me right in the middle of things,” she said with a laugh. “One second…”

With two taps of her manicured nails, she set the timers on both. “There we go! All set. Now, what to do for breakfast. Any preferences?”

Another hum. The proposal of breakfast with the vanilla scent of her skin caused a myriad of thoughts to come to mind, none of them about food.

“You’re the birthday girl,” he teased, his voice low and slow. “You shouldn’t be cooking.”

“Oh, you’re so cute. I was thinking of trying to make some okonomiyaki this morning! Does that sound good?”

“Delicious,” he said. Then, a pause. “That’s quite specific.”

Another laugh. “Well, you got me started after surprising me with those delicious Hokkaido caramels last night!”

The white candy box still sat on the counter, the front adorned with hearts and a gold ribbon. A few wrappers laid scattered across the table; the last remnants of last night’s dessert.

“Ah.” Using his nose to nudge the shirt collar away, he pressed a long kiss against her shoulder. He sighed, relishing the feel of her velvet skin against his lips.

She continued, still distracted by the ingredients she’d pulled down from the cabinets. “I found a recipe on Pinterest, and would you believe we already had everything? Even the bonito flakes, thanks to little Patience.”

As if sensing she was being gossiped about, the little cat looked up from her snoozing spot on the couch and meowed. She had made herself quite at home since Ebenezer had surprised Costance with her not long after they had moved in together. She even had her own menu of gently-cooked cat food made weekly by her loving paw-rents.

Truly, life had been full of domestic surprises since she came into her life. His older self would be rolling in his metaphorical grave, he knew, and he reveled in that knowledge greatly. To hell with that skinflint.

“I’m thinking the Kansai variation sounds a little better for breakfast,” Constance continued to chat. “It seems more approachable, according to the recipes I looked up. Hm … what do you think?”

When he did not yield any reply this time, she became aware of his nuzzling affection. “Darling?”

The kisses that had started so gentle were now traveling up the cords of her neck.

With a glorious laugh of her own, she threw her arms over the ones he’d drawn about her waist and hugged them closer.

She let out a yelp of surprise, then laughed.

“Well, someone definitely woke up on the right side of the bed this morning!” she proclaimed with a laugh. “Last night must have been even more rejuvenating for you that I thought.”

The remark was teasing, but answered with an acutely serious ‘Thanks to you’ under his breath. The passion of the remark manifested in the rush of breath she felt on her shoulder. Eyes widening, she realized the depth of his affection as his lips landed upon her jawline with impact that was far beyond chaste.

“Eben—” she started to say but was cut off when his eager lips landed squarely over hers.

A muffled gasp of surprise left her, quickly followed by an appraising moan as she fully turned her head to receive his kiss. She lifted her arms, begging him to turn.

Always powerless to her begging, he loosened his grip to oblige.

One chest-to-chest, they continued their kiss with her back now to the counter. On their next breath apart he wordlessly ducked down and cupped his hands under her thighs. With a grunt, he hoisted her on the marble counter and nudged her back until she was fully seated and supported.

Constance squeaked at both the swiftness of the gesture and the feeling of the cold polished stone against her bum. One seated, he returned to her mouth and continued to ravish it, togue darting between her raspberry lips.

Shocked but delighted, she leaned back on her hands as he positioned himself between her parted legs and kissed a constellation across her chest.

“W-What has gotten into you this morning?” Constance asked with a laugh, her cheeks already flushed.

 “The same as always. You.”

“We have shared many, many mornings like this,” she parried quickly. “You’re always cuddly, but never quite this randy.”

He chuckled at her observation. “True, and you are always a vision … but you’ve never worn this before.”

For emphasis, his eyes licked a slow path up and down her body.

She followed his gaze down and came to the only conclusion she could. She stared at him through her ruffled bangs, noting the smolder in his eyes, and her mouth fell open in amusement. “The sleepshirt?”

He nodded.

Constance’s expression changed from surprise to intrigue. “Really?”

He repeated the gesture, fingers drumming her wrist with urgency, already anxious to drag her forward into another kiss.

She blinked one, then twice. Then, a musical laughter left her. She sounded positively endeared, which was lovely but not quite the tone he was trying evoke in that moment.

“Is it so incredulous?” he asked.

“It just seems like such a simple thing to warrant such a reaction,” she said, her tone airy and charmed despite the inquiry. “Compared to everything else you’ve seen me in.”

Of all things to drive him crazy, it wasn’t the sight of her in the finely tailored evening gowns or dripping in diamonds that got him riled up, but her in a simple loose button-up, of all things. Even her most sensual of lingerie had yet to garner such an immediate reaction.

“I suppose, but you’ve said similar things to me, if I recall correctly,” he teased in return. “A three-piece suit sparks approves in your eyes, but when I pish up my sleeves or show my suspenders, suddenly I’m looking at a rosy-faced maiden.”

“…Well, that is a fair point,” she admitted with a laugh. “I suppose I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised.” He repeated the word, but not as a question. At least not at first. “Elaborate, please?”

The request was a gilded command as well as an indicator of his disbelief, and her body erupted into gooseflesh as a result. Truly, sometimes the simplest things earned the most intense reactions.

“I’m surprised that you’re so taken with me, even now when I’m just in our kitchen making coffee and tea.”

“Mm-hm.” Again, his mood was impossible to parse.

Feeling prompted, she added with a light laugh, “I’m flattered that even during a quiet morning, you still think I’m beautiful.”

“I don’t think it. I have eyes. I know you’re beautiful.”

One hand softly landed upon her knee, where his thumb rubbed an affectionate circle into her knee cap.

Without breaking eye-contact, he leaned closer, until the bare muscles of his abdomen brushed the insides of her thighs. Reflexively, she raised and folded her long legs around him, ankles crossing near the small of his back. The shift urged him forward, which he obliged with flattering quickness.

His lips returned to worship her chest, where his gentleness quickly shifted into something feral. The second he felt the cloth tease his lips, his course was decided.

A precise tug was all it took to pull the loosely fastened buttons through their holes. Constance gasped, but the sound shattered into a keening moan as he bunched the shirt around her shoulders, paving the way for his teeth to skate over her cleavage.

It wasn’t often that he got like this, he knew. Normally, their romantic escapades included smoldering kisses, long embraces, gentle touches. It was all very Victorian. Or vanilla, as some loved to say.

Most of the time, simple sweetness was exactly what they craved.

But there were other times.

One hand, the same one that had rubbed soothing circles into her knee here moments before, snaked downward to the exposed meat of her thigh. His fingers gripped hard enough to hold her in place, but not hard enough to mark or bruise. Never to bruise.

Even now, you still vex me each and every day.

“How so?”

He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud until her soft reply greeted his ears. Just hearing her voice deepened the red of his blood.

Her hands rose to cradle his head as he kissed down the cradle of her sternum.

“I have to admit, you are very adept at being distracting,” she purred as his head nuzzled her breasts. “But you have not answered my question.”

She felt his rich laughter against her chest and felt the way his body reverberated with mirth. As if the warmth of his skin wasn’t enticing enough, the feel of his prominent nose nuzzling her  velvet flesh and the starlight shade of his hair against her tanned skin was nothing short of captivating. As a man, he had no idea how striking he was to behold.

“I can not believe that, of all men, you settled on me.”

Case in point.

“I can believe it quite easily,” she said, tilting her head coquettishly for good measure. “Kind, Handsome. Smart. Endearingly cute when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about. And, last but not least, a very good kisser.”

He blushed, despite himself. “You humble me.”

As she rolled her cornflower blue eyes, his hands traveled down her arms. His fingers, ever-searching for ways to please her, skated over the fine ridges at her wrists. Despite the fact that he’d graced those scars numerous times with his hands and lips, on this occasion, they gave him pause.

In his arms here and now, in the glorious present, was the love of his life. His soulmate. His reason for existing, even when the days stretched long and the aches from his aching body threatened to lure him back into old habits.

…And if she would have been left alone in that bathtub for another ten seconds, she would be gone.

Erased from the world and existing as nothing more than beautiful, fleeting dream for her mother to mourn.

Dread congealed in his gut at the thought. It was the same horrible feeling he’d felt when he’d found Marley dead at his desk, or when he saw Bob sobbing over Tiny Tim’s grave.

…The day after Christmas that Jen’s husband had left him a voicemail saying she had died after waiting all Christmas for him to call.

Life was so, so fragile. Including hers.

His grip around her tightened.

Constance’s gaze followed his to her wrists. As he caressed her, she met his eyes in silent understanding. Her own expression shifted, eyes misting and lips curling.

She didn’t speak. Words were not needed.

With a sigh, Ebenezer pulled his head back and leveled himself so they were now eye-level. Without straying from her, his hands took hers and brought them together over his heart. His large hands enrobed both hers easily, and he felt both their rings clink softly on contact. The metal was soberingly cold compared to the feel of their combined grip.

“…As horrible as my last marriage was, it did teach me many things,” Constance confided in a whisper. They were quite close, so even the softest words resonated like church bells on a clear day. “It taught me that death is not an escape … it is an end. To truly escape is to survive and change, and while it is easier said than done, I’m very fortunate that I had the means to come out on the other side. I found a better life. Better people.”

She glanced up at him, auburn lashes beaded with moisture.

“I never want to take any of it for granted. To do so would bee the ultimate foolishness.”

Unable to resist, Ebenezer let a single tear roll down his own cheek as he leaned in to kiss her.

So much for forgoing softness, he thought humorously.

“And I will never take you granted, dearest,” he said. “You have my heart, and will take up full residence there until the day it stops beating. And then, come what may, I’ll wait for you to meet me again on the other side … and pray you’ll do me the honor of starting anew with me as many times as we can.”

Blouse long forgotten, she wrapped her bare arms and legs about him and embraced him as if he was the whole world to her.

A lover to have and hold in life, and in whatever awaited beyond.

“That’s everything I’ve wished for.”

Every birthday since she’d her adoption, her wish had the same: to be chosen and kept. By her wonderful parents. By Orin. By her roommates in 1843D.

And now, by him.

Shaking her hair back in an attempt to feign elegance, she floundered to find the words the fully conveyed the elation she felt. “You … always find a way to make me feel so special, Ebenezer.”

“It’s about as hard as breathing, I fear.”

She laughed, wiped her eyes, and kissed him again. “I’m serious. The day I came to London and met the girls … and you. That was the beginning of everything for me. It was the scariest and best day of my life, but I’d go through it all again if I knew we’d find each other again. That is … if you would have me again.”

“Darling, if I could live life all over again, I’d find you sooner and I'd love you even longer.”

As long as time allowed, for as many birthdays as possible.

“Happy birthday, Connie. Here's to many years, many days, and many more beautiful spring mornings together."

Ebenezar Charles Scrooge, his twin brother who was en route to officially becoming “Mr. Moonrock” in a few months’ time, had asked Constance once if she’d ever heard of the band Bauhaus. The 1970s, London-made band was one of many essentials favored by English Gen Xers, and also happened to be a favorite of his. His fiancée Bess often wore one of his old concert T-shirts from one of their shows, the album’s artwork bleached into the black fabric with a DIY flair that was equal parts punk-rock and delightfully charming.

Despite all that, Constance’s response had been, “Oh, the German art school? Perhaps I’m mistaken, but I don’t believe music was included in the curriculum.”

To call her inclination ‘refined’ would have been quite kind. Borderline disingenuous, actually.

That being said, the choice of musical itself wasn’t a grand departure from the norm. In fact, if he would have had to guess randomly a musical that would earn his wife’s approval, West Side Story would have been a top five contender.

A story about two star-crossed lovers falling in love in the mid-1950s on the Upper West Side of Manhattan in New York City? It was practically made for her. The time period was slightly off, but it probably still scratched that little homesick itch.

It also was a romantic tale, to be certain, chronicling the fast-paced romance between teenagers Tony and Maria. It was also tragic, considering it was essentially Romeo & Juliet reimagined for a musical stage, and a social commentary on bigotry. It showed how cultural misunderstandings could advance from glares to glinting knives. Both could shimmer with obscene brilliance under neon lights.

Constance also had parents who came from two different cultural backgrounds, so it wasn’t a shock that message also resonated with her.

All that to say, learning his wife fancied the mainstream work was more fascinating than surprising. He agreed to accompany her, not even necessarily because he enjoyed the idea of the show (which he'd never seen before that night), but because his wife had looked so elated that there was a London production of it that he could refuse her.

He’d suspected from the start that watching her reactions would likely be even more enjoyable than the love story on stage.

As it turned out, he’d been correct. While the spectacle on stage was a delight to the senses, watching her swoon and smile over each song had been pure delight to witness.

... The curveball came after the show, when she dropped a metaphorical bombshell on him during their exit.

“Truly?” he asked as they walked arm-in-arm out of the theater. “West Side Story is your favorite musical work? Truly?”

Not some obscure opera or piano concerto, but a mainstream, sensationalized musical? With music by Bernstein and Sondheim?

“Yes!” She beamed up at him, her smile barely visible over the fuzzy lining of her 1910s vintage furred coat. “I adore it. I always have, ever since I was a little girl.”

“…Huh.”

Her reply was another blow. He should have known that, he thought in shock. How the hell had he not known that? They were married!

Noticing his lack of a tangible reply, she gripped his arm in interest. “Is that truly so surprising?”

“Well, honestly, yes,” he relented.

“Really?” She was visibly puzzled.

He shouldered his way through a small crowd of people, apologizing as he did so.

It seemed the conclusion of the show overlapped the start of the latest bout of Winter Wonderland attractions in Hyde Park. Had the weather been slightly warmer, the couple might have entertained the idea of going to the Christmas market to pick up some to-go pierogis or mince pies, but the cold was so bracing that both silently agreed to steer themselves toward home instead.

A protective arm slotted itself around her waist while they walked, keeping her close as they sidled through the gabbing theater-goers, who were all slowly beginning to peter out onto the icy streets. Scrooge debated hailing a cab, but with the circus of people now waving their arms under the marquee to hail any passing rideshare opportunity, walking would be faster  and less frustrating.

After checking that she felt the same (she was also in heels, of course), they carried onward toward home. It was only 10 blocks, after all. They could manage.

Besides, he had more questions.

“Well, it’s simply that your tastes have always been more bias toward more classical pieces. Insofar as you rarely listen to genres that have lyrics at all.”

“That you know of,” she corrected, her tone still beguiling. She tossed her hair gently over her shoulder, heels clicking rhythmically with each strut.

“Yes, of course.” A pause. “You said you’ve loved it since you were a girl, yes? What drew you to it most, out of curiosity?”

She opened her raspberry-red lips to answer, then snapped them shut with the expediency of a crocodile chomping on prey. “Never mind.”

“Ah, hold a moment. You were going to say something!”

“I was,” she offered meagerly, “but … I’d rather not.”

“Whyever not?”

“Oh, because it’s silly! You’ll laugh.”

“Now, darling, that offends me,” he said, puffing a cheek in his best attempt at feigning insult. “I will not. Do you think me so quick to judge?”

She stared at him, studying him playfully. “…Do I have your word?”

“On my honor as a businessman and your husband, I shall not so much as chortle at any reply that falls from your lovely lips,” he said, dramatically raising a hand to his chest. “I swear it.”

She sighed, which was promising. He truly didn’t want to force her, but the reveal was so fascinating that he couldn’t resist. After all, who wouldn’t want to know more about the interests and sentimentalities of the love of their life?

“When I was a little girl and saw it for the first time on tour with my mother and father, there was a lot that went over my head,” she started. “Oh, I loved the obvious parts. The costumes, the spectacle, the dancing! I’d never seen anything like it before!”

He nodded, fishing his wallet of his coat pocket as they drew nearer to the flat. “It is a striking show, I must admit.”

“I didn’t know much of romance, of course, but I was also enchanted by Tony and Maria as a duo. She was so bright-eyed and hopeful for the future, and he was so eager to show his adoration without judgement. I see them as teenagers now, but when I was a girl, they were a beautiful couple trying to defy odds and fall in love … I understood that much. I believed in their romance, as brisk as it was.”

He smirked secretly, knowing they had no room to talk.

“The feud between the two gangs was frustrating, of course, but that's most fictional grudges, is it not?"

“Mhmm. Sharks and Jets, or perhaps Montagues and Capulets?"

“Exactly. Thematically, Tony’s fate felt … anticlimactic."

"Harsh, but true."

"I remember being sad but not surprised when he died. Begging to be shot because a world without his Maria wasn’t worth living in? Oh, it sounds dreadful! But ... there is a touch of ceremony, I suppose."

“...Well, you certainly had an austere outlook as a girl."

Aside from the semi-morbid details, it was enchanting to hear her speak so enthusiastically over something she clearly adored.

"Ah, but pardon me. Continue, please.”

“For a long time, my interest in the show laid dormant. I enjoyed it, but rarely mulled over it. But when I entered college and started dating Orin, I … suddenly, I thought about that one scene in the musical where Tony and Maria confess their love on the fire escape. I remembered it out of nowhere, and to this day, I couldn’t tell you why.”

“Really?”

“Really. I couldn’t get it out of my head, for some reason.”

“Well, it left an impression on you.” It wasn’t a question, more like a gentle observation.

“Haha, perhaps a little bit."

“Why do you laugh?”

“Well, it feels … silly to admit, I suppose. But it’s true. For most of my childhood, I thought of their love as one of the few shining examples, along with my parents, of course.

“They loved each so much that they risked life and limb for each other. They put the death of their own family and friends aside to try and end a pointless, endless grudge."

“A tale as old as time,” he said. “Ah, what was the line again? ‘You hate us, and we hate you right back.’”

She glanced at him, eyes alight in pleasure at the fact that he’d recalled a line so easily.

“When I thought about Orin in Tony’s place and tried to imagine if he would do the same things for me … well, I realized that the notion seemed very comical," she admitted. "Mismatched, even."

“Oh, Constance.” His thumb rubbed consoling circles into her.

“I didn’t expect him to take a bullet for me, of course—”

“Bah, you’re kinder than me,” Ebenezer griped. He would have given him a bullet for free.

“—But a part of me hoped that one day, maybe I’d wake up to hear him serenading me outside my window. Or maybe he’d pick up on my hints and he’d … make the same promises that Tony did? Maybe he’d even try to sweet-talk me into trying on a wedding veil.”

“…”

“Oh, Orin acted very suave on our dates, but the sweet things he spoke were always love poems or sonnets. Recitals. They were never promises. Not about me, and never about us.”

“I didn't believe hard enough.”

“Loving is enough.”

“Not here. They won't let us be.”

“Then we'll run away.”

A pregnant silence stretched between them.

Feeling very silly now for revealing so much, Constance hurriedly averted her gaze. After all, it was just a trivial musical! A product of its time, she knew, and filled with mostly good-intentioned but outdated and theatrical takes on cultural differences. Not to mention the terrible made-up slang. It was nothing to get so invested in or emotional over, she knew.

“…Anyway, I told you that it was a very silly reason. T-Thank you for letting me reminisce, and for taking time to come see it with me tonight.”

Just as they passed under a streetlamp, Ebenezer’s hand lofted from her waist. He stopped in his tracks, which in turn, also inspired her to come to a halt. Confused, she glanced back and found him staring ahead at her. Just beneath the brim of his hand-brushed top hat was an unreadable, slate-colored stare.

The look was so striking that she stiffened under its scrutiny. All at once, her eyes widened and her lips rolling between her teeth, forcing her normally supple mouth into a thin like across her snowflake-dotted face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, crossing her arms in an attempt to stave off the chill of a winter wind. Without him tucked so close to her side, she hadn’t noticed how brisk the evening air truly was.

“I …”

He paused, and it was his turn to snap his jaw shut. “N-Nothing. I’ll tell you later tonight.”

She wanted to challenge him, but a biting wind staved off further reply. Even he was chilled by the zephyr, and hurriedly moved to shield her while ushering her up the street. They were now but a few paces away from the warm salvation of their home.

“Come on, let’s go warm up."

It was on bone-chilling winter nights like this that Constance was acutely aware and grateful for the privilege of having access to warm water. There were few things more wonderful for the human soul than a hot shower or bath, and even after acquiring lifelong financial stability, it was something she was careful to never take for granted.

After changing into her favorite pair of pajamas, she tied her damp hair back with a ribbon and exited her steamy haven to slip into bed.

She fully expected to see Ebenezer waiting there for her on their shared bed, perhaps reading a few emails or catching up on a library book while she readied herself for bed. Being a gentleman, even on freezing nights, he always encouraged her to shower and wash up first.

Normally, they'd trade places, and she'd make a cheeky promise to warm up the bed for him.

Yet, now, their bed was vacant. So was the bedroom.

She glanced about for him curiously, thinking he must have taken a quick jaunt to the lobby or perhaps had taken trash to the chute.

Then ... she heard it. The sound of something small but hard, like a pebble, hitting glass. Thinking at first that hail had started, she turned to gaze out the windows. Alas, the night was clear and cold. No clouds in sight, but plenty of stars glittering above. It reminded her of how some club floors looked after New Year's Eve, with glitter clustered in small, accidentally crafted galaxies in all directions.

Then, the sound came again, but closer. She jumped, and realized small rocks were in fact being thrown against the window.

Her heart spun up in her chest immediately.

No, she thought. It couldn't be. He wouldn't.

Tempering her expectations, she opened the large bedroom window and looked outside. One full swivel revealed nothing. It wasn't until she slowly leaned fully out that she she heard a sound that was just slightly too warm to blend seamlessly with the metallic hum of London nightlife.

As she focused, she noticed the sound was actually a voice. A familiar voice, and it was singing.

And singing very, very familiar lyrics.

“And there's nothing for me but Maria…” the voice came from a few flows below, the passionate tenor assuming an operatic quality than usual.

They were from the play they’d just watched earlier in the evening. The rendition they’d seen was still fresh enough in her mind that she could hear the spritely tone of the young man playing Tony in her head.

By comparison, this version was more mature than what the role of usually called for.

Yet, Constance adored it.

He continued, the alleyway giving each charmingly sung word an ethereal echo as his voice climbed from floors below.

♫ “Every sight that I see is Maria!”♪

She peered over the edge of the railing cautiously, a few red waves falling loose from her ribbon-clasped braid as she did so.

“Ebenezer?”

Sure enough, there he was. Her dear husband. Her Adonis, standing on the fire escape landing just a few floors below. From her elevated position over him, she had to look down over the edge of the railing to meet his gaze, as if she was peering down at him from atop a tower.

At the sound of her voice, he glanced up and smiled dashingly. “Ah, what light from yonder window breaks?”

He paused, taking a long moment to stare upon her. Dressed in a pair of his old paisley pajamas and fluffy pink slippers, a mere look at her made his heart ache with tenderness.

He leaned back against the escape, hands flexing into the iron railing as he basked in her glow. “There she is. The sun.”

His gaze licked up her form, burning with matching heat. “And I dare say, I prefer this view much more.”

Meanwhile, he was dressed in the same slacks and shirt he’d worn to the theater earlier, his silver coif wind-blown across his forehead. Somehow, he still looked as stately as he did when commanding a symposium or leading a meeting at Lloyd’s of London. His smile was also just as dashing at it was when winning over other donors, but somehow even more so as he beamed up at her with genuine joy.

Had he been … worried she might not step out to meet him?

Blushing, a hand lofted to her lips as she suppressed giddy laughter. “W-What in the world are you doing down there?”

She glanced about, looking to see if anyone else was watching. Not a soul in sight. Perhaps they were all at the holiday market.

“Serenading you, my love,” he called up plainly, his tone as frank as if he was delivering news of the weather.

“…Are you really?” she asked, her voice cracking so the question ended on a literal squeak. “B-Because of earlier? Y-You don’t have to! It’s cold.”

“I really am, and I very much want to,” he smiled, still gazing upon her lovingly.

“You should come in! I don’t want you falling ill because of me.”

“Ah, but the song is a duet, darling. As I’m sure you know.”

Was she dreaming? Oh, she truly hoped she wasn’t, because while some would find it silly, she had literally dreamed of this exact scenario since she was a little girl. That secret, innocent hope laid dormant for many years, long thought to be as dead as a doornail … but tonight?

It had been resurrected to full glory.

Advancing a few paces closer, he raised a beckoning hand up and toward her. She reciprocated instantly, leaning over the railing to reach for him, just like the lovers in the play did during their pivotal confession.

“I know you know the lyrics,” he teased. Then more softly, he asked, “Join me?”

The distance between them meant that their fingertips could barely graze.

Yet, even the slight brush of heat in a sea of cold air was intoxicating. She swooned, her index fingers stroking the side of his gently. It was all she could do. For now.

With that caress, Ebenezer sang, taking care to recite the words perfectly for her:

“Always you, every thought I'll ever know. Everywhere I go, you'll be.”♪

His voice was resonant as a bell.

By comparison, her voice was slightly shakier than his, both from excitement and the cold, but she kept up swiftly. After all, she’d practiced this in her dreams many times over:

"All the world is only you and me."

Just like that, the rest of the world faded into a haze around them. Details blurred to vague, watercolor smears around them.

“Tonight, tonight. It all began tonight. I saw you and the world went away … ”♫

Just across town, the celebratory fanfare of Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park filled the streets, pulsing with cheer the same way a heart filled veins with life-giving blood with each thrum. Despite the fact that throngs of people filled the streets a mere alleyway away, the threat of being seen by potential passersby dissolved like snow upon the lush, blooming garden.

"Tonight, tonight, There's only you tonight, What you are, what you do, what you say!"

As he mounted the ladder another step, he was table to better take her hand into his. Her eyes traced where snowflakes melted on his skin, the droplets running in rivulets down his corded neck and dampening his starched shirt ever-so-slightly.

He dropped a kiss upon her chilled fingers to warm them, then sang:

 “Today, all day, I had the feeling … a miracle would happen. I know now I was right.”♪

Gentle was his caress as he skimmed her wrist, taking special care around the scar he knew lingered beneath the cuff of her sleep shirt.

♫ “For here you are,” he sighed, besotted, “and what was just a world is a star …”

"Tonight!"♪

All beautiful, warm, life-thawing sunshine. In that moment, he truly felt that the most persistent winter chill would have never permeated his skin and bones him with her looming so radiantly over him.

From this new closeness, he also could see the lights from the nearby Christmas Market reflecting beautifully in them. He was also glimpsed the tears of joy he’d missed before.

Feeling his adoration, she reached down and cradled one of his gem-cut cheekbones. Her fingers caressed his skin, warming him better than whiskey or a hearth ever could.

Inspiration was born anew.

Without prompting, their voices met in the middle in complementary tandem:

♪ “Tonight, tonight, The world is full of light, With suns and moons all over the place.”

He winked at this, unable to resist. She blushed darkly, but her smile broadened.

“Tonight, tonight, The world is wild and bright, Going mad, shooting sparks into space!” ♫

Carnival-esque lights continued to erupt from the vicinity of the park, painting swatches of vibrancy across the inky sky. A kaleidoscope’s palette of colors danced across their lovestruck expressions. Despite the raucous cheers that were loud enough to shake even the most historic of stone monuments, they had no issue hearing each other’s voces over the festivities:

“Today, the world was just an address, A place for me to live in, No better than all right …”

Another step up. Now, he was just a few beautiful strides away from her. So close to being back in her arms.  

She reached out to brush the damp starlight-colored coif from his beautiful eyes.

“But here you are, And what was just a world is a star …”♪

While it would have been authentic for him to vanish into the night, that was one area of their reenactment where she was perfectly fine with taking artistic liberties. In fact, she insisted upon it.

Leaning forward sharply, Constance wrapped her arms about her husband’s shoulders and began to guide him up.

Unlike sweet Maria, Constance had the advantage of being able to pull the man of her dreams through their bedroom window without scrutiny, and she intended to take full advantage.

“Tonight.”

As their voices neared a crescendo, he raced toward her with matched eagerness. His long legs made easy work reaching the summit of the ladder. He allowed himself to be pulled up and toward his wife, who was a rosy-cheeked sight wreathed in the warm light of their home. There wasn’t an artist alive that could have rendered the full splendor of her beauty in that moment (nor most moments she lived and breathed).

Though their duet was not over, he couldn’t resist an impromptu interlude before the finishing chorus.

Once he was at their flat’s wide window, he leaned through and immediately caught her lips in a kiss. One hand rose to cradle the back of her head while the other braced against the sill for added security. The passion of the encounter almost knocked her backward, but Ebenezer was quick to move his one from cradling her head to a new home around her waist to keep her from falling back. She laughed against his lips in appreciation, giving his bottom lip a rewarding nip for his quick reflexes.

They lingered there for a moment, lost in the stasis of completeness they found in each other. Although he tried to not to curl himself into her as much as he longed to (he didn't want to undo the pleasant effects of her shower) she all but hauled him closer.

By the time he was over the railing, the tumbled backward into the bedroom in a giggling sprawl.

Impressively, Constance caught her footing and wasted no time walking them backwards. When her knees hit the back of their four-post bed, she brought him down with her, and he followed dutifully.

Only when they parted, breaths condensing in cottony clouds over their chests, did their foreheads came to a natural rest against each other’s.

It was from this position that they sang the final verse:

“Goodnight, goodnight, Sleep well and when you dream … Dream of me ... ” ♪

But he was no dream. Neither was she.

… And both would fall to their knees and thank all the stars above for that if they could.

“Tonight.”

Luke Evans/Scrooge/Tony singing a romantic serenade in that passionate tenor we know and love? Constance's fantasies have come true. <3

“Very well. Now, just the tiniest bit, because you drank all your formula.”

On a very small spoon, Bess offered Starla a sugar-free dollop of icing, no bigger than the baby’s pinky nail. Her tiny fingers reached out of the spoon, one taking hold of Bess’ wrist to pull her closer. Bess laughed as she opened her gummy mouth and tasted the sample at the end. After a few moments of pondering, she lifted her arms high and squealed in delight.

“Hmm … interesting,” Bess noted. “Now, this.”

On the second spoon was a morsel of marbled cake.

Now giggly with excitement after the first sweet sample, she tried the large crumb of spongey cake and clapped her tiny fists together in excitement.

“You like that?” Bess asked.

“Eeee! A-ba-ba!”

“Ha, I’ll take that as a yes! Excellent work, agent.”

At that moment, Wolf rounded the corner into the flat’s kitchen. He’d been taking some phone calls in his study and had emerged to stretch his legs and take a much-needed break. There were only so many phone calls he could take about upcoming fundraiser pitches before his brain waves started to flicker out and a telltale tightness began to develop behind his eyes.

Upon hearing Starla’s bubbly laugh, he’d followed it into his kitchen, only to stumble upon his fiancée and the young baby (for lack of a better word) conversing at the kitchen island. The duo looked borderline conspiratorial.

“Well, what’s all this, then?” Wolf asked curiously. He surveyed the countertops, seeing a small smattering of cake ingredients on the counter, including a few eggshells and a lightly floured cutting board cast off to the side.

“I wanted to do some baking, and Starla was kind enough to join me and lend her expertise,” Bess explained. She reached across the counter to wipe a bit of icing from the tip of the girl’s little pink nose. “I made a marble cake and sugar-free icing.”

“Marble, hm?”

The couple had attended one wedding cake tasting session thus far, and had narrowed their choices vastly from the initial smorgasbord of options. Of all the morsels they’d tasted, marble was one they’d both enjoyed, both for its flavor and aesthetic.

“Were you making your own recipe, dear?” he asked, the scent of vanilla still cloying deliciously to the air.

“Well, I was thinking … whatever baker we choose for the big day is going to have their hands full with baking for everyone,” she started. “The reception list just seems to keep growing, after all!”

Gods above, if his old self could see him now, he thought with immense satisfaction. A beautiful fiancée, a growing family, and enough personal and professional confidants to fill a concert hall. It was almost too much for him to believe most days, and those observations rendered him near silent with bliss when they were spoken into the universe.

“We do have quite a thriving, growing family.”

“Which is wonderful, and then it dawned on me … what if we have people watching their sugar intake? You never know, especially nowadays. So, I looked online to see if there were easy sugar-free recipes for marble cake, and of course, there are.

“I tried it to see if it was even tasty at all, and gave her tiny little bits,” Bess said. “You should have seen her. Not even a year old, and she has perfected her calf-eyes. I swear she was scooting her highchair forward to try some, the little scamp.”

“I believe that,” he laughed. She was not even a year old, and already too cheeky for her own good. “And the verdict?”

“Well, she LOVED it, of course,” Bess said with a light laugh. “But she barely had a bite. I think she was more excited by the spoon.”

Brandishing a lime-green ice cream spoon as proof, complete with a large star shape at the tip of the handle, Starla let out a squeal of laughter. Her chubby fists shot out, fingers flexing in a grabbing motion. Once the utensil was placed in her grip, she stuck the end back in her mouth gleefully, kicking her socked feet back and forth all the while.

“Heavens, she is a little weirdo, isn’t she?” Wolf said with an amused chuckle.

“Oh, all babies are weirdos,” Bess said, smiling fondly, “But in the most adorable way.”

“I think I concur.”

While she gnawed on the spoon, Bess reached for a square of cake resting on a nearby plate. “Here. Want to try some?”

“That sounds like a lovely reward for finishing all those stuffy phone calls. Cheers, darling.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Well, I don’t know if it’s THAT good to compensate for some of the dunderheads you have to deal with, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

She used the fork to carve a piece of cake from the corner and held it aloft to his lips. Placing a hand underneath the piece to catch any crumbs, he accepted the bite.

“Mm … that’s very good,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “It’s still sweet, but pleasantly so. What did you use, pray tell?”

“Honey, mostly. And some monkfruit sweetener.”

“Hm. Positively delightful. I doubt any baker could do better.”

“You’re biased.”

“Guilty.”

Using the same fork, she stole a piece for herself and tasted a bite herself. Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise, like when one is given a perfect yet wholly unexpected gift. “Mmm! Well …”

“I told you so.”

“Oh, enough smirking, you devil,” she chastised, but there was none so much as a trace of venom behind the words. “Perhaps I should make sheet cakes more often around here.”

“You won’t hear any arguments from me. Everything you make is bloody amazing,” Ebenezar said, hand coming up to ghost along her hip.

As he sneaked a cheeky squeeze of her bum, Bess let out a gasp of surprise before puffing her chest. Her midnight blue eyes peered at him, the spark of affection still clear as day through her dark lashes. He thought for a moment she would slip from his capture easily, giving him a silent promise for later. Yet, to his very pleasant surprise, she did not go.

Of course, things couldn't get too randy with Starla in the room. But, they could enjoy a moment. Or two.

Following the lead of his grip, she instead drifted closer, her head arcing upward to maintain eye-contact during the short trip.

When they were finally chest-to-chest, he bestowed a cake-flavored kiss upon her perfect lips, which she eagerly returned. Sitting the dish aside, her hands moved to hold his wide shoulders for balance, fingers spayed and gripping for support.

Feeling the flex of her familiar hands against his shoulders earned a delicious purr against her lips. “That petting pleases you?”

“It more than pleases me.”

His own hands sneaked their own paths to her bum. With her curves filling his hands, he easily hoisted her up onto the counter where she could sit and gaze down upon him. He, in turn, stared up and into her eyes, a wolfish smirk spread across his face.

With his broad hands still formed to the contours of her hips, he held her captive and raised his head to bestow another cake-sweet kiss upon her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she eagerly returned his affection many times over.

With nobody cooing at her or tickling her tummy, Starla indifferently adjusted her attention, and returned her dedication to gumming the concave of the green plastic spoon.

By the time the couple had finished their necking and turned their attention to the unusually quiet baby, they found her tuckered out and blinking sleepily in her borrowed highchair.

“Well, well,” Bess hummed. “There’s a talent.”

Wolf’s gaze danced to meet hers. With a smirk, he dipped his silver head down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his fiancée’s mouth. “Bedtime for everyone, I suppose.”

By the time Ebenezer and Constance had made it into town, the other businesses had begun to unlock their doors.

The bell of the small town’s esteemed church chimed mightily at the top of the hour. In between the resonate knells, a town crier in a crisp suit and cap waved a handbell and bellowed the hour’s news.

“Oyez! The hour is 9 a.m. on a beautiful and crisp July morning!” The man’s voice was as resounding as thunder. “The sun is radiant, and I’m reminded of a bit of poetry from Robert Frost – So dawn goes to day, Nothing gold can stay. Enjoy the weather – it’ll be fair in the morn, then rise to 25 degrees by high-noon. A reminder: the courthouse basement will be closed early at 4 p.m. today for auditions for the next symphonic concert. Also, we have acquired a lost bank card that was recovered from a tavern last night! If the card is yours, please come to city hall to verify your identity and have your property returned. Enjoy the days, folks.”

As he concluded, he tipped his hat to the unfamiliar couple and moseyed along. The gesture came to him so naturally that Ebenezer had to assume that the quaint town and its residents saw plenty of couples on vacation throughout the year.

“How unexpected, but lovely,” Constance chimed.

Town criers were largely obsolete, but they still operated in select areas, sometimes out of duty and other times out of novelty. Constance immediately thought of Provincetown in Massachusetts. They’d upheld the position loyally since the 1840s, and announcements were still issued daily and on the hour! Many other countries around the world had similar positions, of course, and many still in operation. Massachusetts was simply the one (literally) closest to home.

“Why, I’ve only heard the Common Crier on the steps of the Royal Exchange,” Ebenezer noted with a pleased grin. “Though the poetry reading is an unexpected development, I must say. That, I can assure you, they don’t do back home in London.”

They shared a bout of laughter at his jest, and Constance couldn't help but revel in how amazing it felt to be able to laugh again. After months of tension, the taste of mirth upon her lips was as sweet as sugared fruit.

The same was true for Ebenezer. The man was already in a bout of good humor that was the natural result of being on holiday, but the charm was proving to be even more contagious. Then, there of course was the pleasure of hearing his wife’s obvious delight and laughter.

Perhaps they would be taking walks into town more often than he thought.

It took minimal effort for them to find the bakery Olivia had alluded to in her welcome note. There was a small queue out front, but the cases were still fully stocked with delicacies by the time they reached the register. All lined up for display were large schnecken rolls, croissants with chocolate (actual hard chocolate, not the hazelnut spread that many defaulted to) and even bricks of baklava that were glittery as their phyllo layers crumbled beneath their honey glaze.

The couple paid for their wide selection of items, which all barely fit in one white to-go box.

They also ordered two small cappuccinos, which they carried to a small table with two plated croissants.

The couple ate casually and slowly at a small bistro table in front of the brick building. All the while, people drifted past them, and not a single one stopped to pitch their latest tech start-up to Scrooge or ask Constance why she had the audacity to be seen in public without her child. Most importantly, none of these polite passersby brandished a tabloid camera and snapped a series of candid pictures of the wealthy, philanthropic couple.

“It is nice to be anonymous,” he said at last, “Just for a moment.”

Constance made an assenting noise as she dipped a flaky triangle of her croissant into the cappuccino foam.

In that moment, they were just a normal couple have breakfast on a café terrace, and the feeling was refreshing. While neither Ebenezer nor Constance truly longed for a life away from the public eye, as there were too many charities to fund and too many positive differences to help make, a slight break from the constant infamy of the past few years proved pleasant for a short while. Besides, both were city-slickers through and through.

“…Perhaps we can come back here in a few years?” she posed. “When Starla is older? Imagine her running around, playing in the fields.”

The mental image alone lured a soft sigh from him. “She’d love that, the little rascal.”

“Oh, I know she’d absolutely adore all those sunflowers too! You know, I think Auntie Bess is already rubbing off on her. I swear she gravitates to blooms more than some butterflies do.”

He laughed heartily, though the vision of his little girl giggling and prancing through the blossoms did make his ribs soften around his heart.

“It would be so lovely, being able to go on a long walk as a family without having to worry about taking the most secluded paths or covering her face from all those pesky cameras,” she continued, eyes rolling skyward as she imagined the outing. "Especially as she gets older and becomes more aware of her surroundings.”

It was an alluring prospect, he admitted, but something in her statement needled him.

“I am sorry that we are hounded like we are, my dear,” he said. He anxiously swirled his coffee cup, staring into the near-hypnotic swirl of foam as he did so.

Regardless of how many signed checks he gave to charities and how staunchly he separated his work from his personal life, there were still people who stalked him to obtain any chance at financial gain. Normally, he would have been content to accept that fact. When he was a bachelor, he’d all but resigned himself to it. However, he’d never expected to fall in love with a woman he’d want to protect with his life, and he’d most definitely never expected to have a beloved daughter. One he’d also give everything to protect.

Constance reached across the table and cradled one of his larger hands in her smaller one. “I didn’t mean it like that, darling. Trust me. If it truly bothered me, I wouldn’t be here.”

He glanced up at her, almost timid. “…Really?”

She smiled and nodded reassuringly. Her thumb stroked his knuckles in a tender, repetitive motion.

“I was a socialite, may I remind you,” she said, her tone teasingly, “In New York, no less. I can hold my own against cameras and give a quick quote to a newspaper without worry.”

“Ha, quite right,” he complimented, fondness touching his voice. “I confess, I do admire your grace in those moments. You are infinitely more poised in those scenarios than I am. I still stand to learn much.”

“Now, that is most certainly not true. You, as usual, are far too humble.”

“I’m only honest.”

“Oh, please! Have you forgotten? That horrid talk show host that you spoke to in January?”

“The talk show host? Um … I don’t recall. Which one?”

“You two were talking about cricket, and then he tried to ask you about how you stayed in shape at your age, and said that it must have been because of our time in the bedroom?”

Verbatim, he’d said through the soggy end of a cigarette: “Mate, if I was married to a woman like her, I’d be training constantly for any match I could, rain or shine. Hell, a little mud on the fields would make for some spirited wrestling. I'd let her pin me, my good man. Perhaps that’s a new fundraiser idea for you? Ever been tempted? It would be for a good cause.”

Even months later, the reminder of the encounter made his face pucker. “Ugh, him. Yes.”

He sat back in his chair uneasily, crossing one leg over the other while one hand lofted to cradle his forehead. “I’d put him and that whole encounter out of my mind.”

“But you handled it beautifully! I still remember it perfectly. You said, and I quote, ‘My wife and I prefer to only keep each other’s company at home. I see you’re unmarried, so if you’re looking for an investor for a solo production to boost your own ratings, spare me, and this audience, your pitch.”

He colored at how she repeated his words with such crisp memory and devotion, event mastering his cadence.

“I thought I sounded like I was grasping at straws,” he confided sheepishly. “I probably stammered quite a bit, too.”

“Oh, no! You spoke very clearly. Almost like it was scripted, except the crew knew better. The host almost bit through his cigarette because he had no clue how to respond. One of the ladies on the lighting crew came up to me and said that it was about time someone told him off. If someone else ever tried, well, he’d just call them a prude. But for the influential and charming Mr. Scrooge to do it? Now that was a glorious day. I don’t think he’s tried it since.”

Well, that gave him a healthy surge of pride. “…You never cease to find ways to bolster my confidence. I only apologize that it’s a full-time job sometimes.”

“I merely remind you of your many achievements,” Constance said, “Which are my honor to remember. In fact, I don’t think I could ever forget them.”

Well, privacy be damned. The temptation to lean across the table and kiss her was strong, but with their current arrangement at a small bistro set along the side of a bustling walkway, the moment didn’t feel quite right. Instead, he gently folded the hand that had cradled his own against his palm.

Lifting their joined hands to his lips, he graced her with a long kiss on her fingertips, right above where her diamond wedding band sparkled.

For five glorious seconds, he held her hand captive, pressing his lips to the familiar flesh of her wonderfully familiar hand. When he released her, his appetite for breakfast and coffee had faded and was replaced with another craving.

“Shall we begin to walk back?” he asked, noting they’d long since stopped eating and drinking. “We should get these pastries in the chiller, don’t you think?”

He rose from his seat and rounded the table to meet her. He pulled out her chair, took her arm, and grabbed the take-out box with his free hand.

“By the way, I do think we should bring Starla here,” he finally said. “Perhaps next fall? I am willing to bet the foliage out this way would look absolutely breathtaking as well. Plus, she’d have all the space in the world to crawl. Maybe even walk!”

Constance beamed up at the man on her arm and laid her head against his shoulder in tranquil agreement.

“Let’s consider it a date.”

The rest of the afternoon passed with an ambling pace that could only be described as euphoric for the overworked couple.

With the weather still unbelievably pleasant, the cabin’s back patio looked like the perfect place for solace. With plentiful shade and cushioned seating, both had no issue settling in and making significant dents in some books they had brought along for the holiday. While Ebenezer was content to sit in one of the wooden desk chairs in the shade, Constance had opted to lay out on the sunshine on one of the lounges.

He'd been muddling through a particularly dull portion of his book when he glanced up to admire his wife on the other side of the patio. His ice-blue eyes gazed upon her, admiring every inch of sun-tanned skin and her head of coppery hair, which was practically rose gold under the rays of the afternoon sun.

She was laying on her stomach, reading idly as she kicked her legs up behind her aimlessly. Such a casual pose, he noted with warmness. It always was a sight to observe his normally poised-to-perfection wife looking so relaxed. He also knew it had taken a long time – many years – for her to feel comfortable with him seeing her in such a state. He did not take such a privilege for granted.

He watched as she rolled over, bringing her book with her as she did so. Switching to a supine position, she basked in the warmth of the sun. As the rays of light caressed her face, he saw her smile and tilt her head up. Her entire chest heaved a cleansing breath, and she settled against the bench comfortably.

Her book laid tented over her chest, forgotten for a moment as she savored the warmth.

Like a living sunflower, she was. At her happiest and most vibrant when facing the sunshine.

“You look quite content over there,” Ebenezer said softly, hoping his verbal intrusion wouldn’t offend her.

Of course, it certainly did not offend her, and she hummed pleasantly in agreement.

“Without the shadows of all the skyscrapers, the sun’s rays feel stronger here,” she said, eyes still closed. She hummed, stretching her arms languidly upward, muscles flexing and fingers tangling. Another hum, this one tinged with a purring vibrato, rumbled in her chest. “It feels so nice.”

He was more content with the shade, knowing his skin’s inclination to burning. Yet, he simply couldn’t resist.

Snapping his book shut and leaving it forgotten on the end table, he rose and sauntered over to her. She opened one eye upon hearing his approaching footfalls.

He made an attractive sight from any angle, Constance thought, but he looked especially handsome in that particular moment. With his collared shirt open and slightly unbuttoned, she swore she could see every glorious expanse of his lungs. Paired with his crisp trousers, and with his silver hair slightly windblown from his pomaded confines, she still had a hard time believing this supermodel of a man before her was her husband.

“Yes?” Constance asked teasingly.

She unconsciously moistened her lips and watched as he lowered himself on one knee before her.

He was maddeningly silent as he gazed upon her with unshakable dedication, making a show of his eyes moving up her legs, past the hem of her dress, over the book on her chest, and finally to her keenly beloved face. A face he’d bestowed many kisses upon, cradled through bouts of tears, and whispered many secrets to in the shroud of their private bed canopy.

“You’re looking at me quite seriously,” she said softly; shyly. She averted her cornflower-colored eyes downward, her lashes sweeping the tops of her cheeks as she did so. A fetching sight, he noted with adoration. One that never ceased to make his heart hum pleasantly beneath his ribs.

“I am,” he said, the words spoken with meticulous slowness. “I’m admiring you.”

“Admiring me, even now?” she asked. Her tone was touched with amusement, and to his chagrin, sincere curiosity.

“I’m always admiring you.” The extra emphasis was added obviously. “Every night. Every day. Every hour.”

“…I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” she confessed. She glanced down quickly, her eyes falling upon the way his hands had come to a rest atop his bent knee. “Being admired for existing. Like this. Normally.”

“Existing happily?” he posed, then paused. “Well, I-I hope."

He cleared his throat nervously, then cursed himself for it. "I-I very much hope that you’re happy.”

Sitting up right, she leaned over and allowed her hand to fall against the slope of his jaw. With a sigh, he felt his body cave to her touch. She lured an eternal softness from him with a simple beckon of closeness. He curled into her, his jaw falling neatly into her open hand. Her fingers toyed briefly with his sideburns before finding purchase against his chin. With gentle force, as if handling a rabbit, she tilted his head up to face her.

Then, she leaned down.

“Always,” she whispered. “With you.”

Then it hit. The white-hot bolt of hypocrisy ripped through her like grenade shrapnel, and she realized sha had spoken a honey-sweet lie.

Their foreheads bumped, and the tips of their noses met softly. Breath left his lungs in shallow huffs as she relied on him for upright support. He obliged, but didn’t dare open his eyes. Not until he heard her moisten her lips.

It was a nervous habit of hers, he knew. Always before she wanted to say something, and always done amidst the liminal perils of hesitation.

“I mourn the time I lost with you,” she spoke slowly, as even each word brought her ache. It had only been a few months that they’d been at fraying opposition, but it had numbed her to smoothness all the same. A terrible, grotesque smoothness she never wanted to feel again. “I neglected you. My husband. And little Starry.”

“You were not yourself.” His eyes opened, pupils blowing wide as they landed on hers, staring back mere inches from his own. The cornflower hue of her eyes almost looked lilac from such a distance.  

“I worried you.”

“Yes.” Gravely.

“Looking back, I-I don’t know how I…”

“You were not yourself. As I said.”

“Ebenezer. You must scorn me. Or you should.”

“Constance, I don’t scorn you,” he rasped. “Gods above, I could never scorn you, my love. You are … the brightest light in my life. My reason for rising from bed some days. You know my thoughts, my mind. You understand me. Yet you needed help, and I was too foolish to see it. Blame lies with both of us.”

“No, darling. I should have been able to help myself.”

“Why? Nobody can help themselves all the time.” It was a lesson Ebenezer Scrooge, of all people, was bitterly familiar with. “If we could, why have friends? Family? Spouses?”

A chuckle left her as a rush of air. “…Bess told me that, you know? When I asked her if I’d broken things beyond repair, she said I hadn’t. That you still loved me.”

“Bess was correct.” He smirked. “As usual. It takes a hell of a smart woman to get my brother to see common sense. She deserves a Nobel Prize for miracles.”

She gave a toothy smile – a rarity. He drank in the precious sight the few seconds he was privy to it. She continued with a playful wag of her finger, “Well, not so fast. She also said that I could beat you with a sack of bricks and that you’d still forgive me because you loved me that much.”

He hummed at that. “Theoretical, because you’d never do such a thing, but yes. If was conscious enough to do so, I’d forgive you with my whole heart. But I’d have many questions. And I’d be miffed.”

She sighed in awe, both at him and his response. Surely he couldn’t mean it. Except she knew he did. “She was exaggerating.”

“She was not. I am not.”

Constance shook her head, eyes falling shut to suppress the silver sheen of tears. “I never, ever want to hurt you. Mentally. Physically.” I’d never beat you, or break your bones, or … or make you bleed. I’d never leave you injured.

… Except I did. When I shoved you into the bookshelf.

I shoved you like he shoved me, all those years ago.

And I panicked and tried to run, too.

I’m no different.

 “Ever. I-If I ever do …”

“I know,” he said, “I’ll hold you accountable, as I expect you to hold me accountable if I ever hurt you.”

“But you’d never hurt me.” Not like he ever did.

“Never on purpose, but I make mistakes. Like we all do. Like we both did. Darling, I ignored your pain to brew in my own discomfort. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“Mistakes.” We made mistakes. We didn’t mean it. “I promise, I never wanted to hurt you or Starry. Or any of our friends. I would never do that on purpose. Ever. I-I thought I was helping. I thought I was doing what I had to do.”

“I know, angel.”  

“Wait, no! No, no. I’m not trying to make excuses, I promise. I still hurt you. I can’t just pretend I didn’t just because I regret it, which I do.”

Her hand fell away from his chin, but neither of them swayed an inch. Held in stasis by eye contact alone, her gaze bore into his, as if she’d hit paydirt she’d been searching ages for.

“…I still hurt you, all the same,” she whispered.

“Not as much as a bag of bricks would have.”

An exhausted chuckle escaped her. “Ohhh, you.”

“And remember,” he reminded her gently, “I forgave you then. I forgive you now. I know you didn’t mean it. You told me as such, and I trust you more than anyone else in this world, Connie. I trust you with all my heart, because you are my heart. Each and every beat is for you, and always will be, for as long as I live.”

… The day they’d argued, she hadn’t only pushed him. She’d also screamed at him to leave her alone. Where that that sentiment even come from? What horrible feelings lying dormant within her had encouraged the statement of such filth?

The thought of a life without the man before her sickened her to nausea. So much so that she tipped forward, her arms long-since succumbing to numbness from leaning over the edge of the bench. Of course, he caught her seamlessly and hauled her into his lap for an embrace.

“Do you forgive me as well?” he asked softly as he held her shaking frame. “For not helping you sooner? For not seeing the signs? For how weak I was when you needed my strength the most?

An embrace accompanied by sobs of relief.

And happiness.

“Always.”

This time, the word struck true.

Without all the pesky buildings and smog stacks in the way, the full splendor of countryside sunset was on display. The pinkish-purple rays bathed the fields of gold petals and alpine spires of the woods in a veneer of muted warmth.

The two only human spectators for miles watched on dutifully from the back patio, arms around each other and bodies slotted together with the perfection of two cogs in a machine.

They hadn’t changed clothes or ventured inside since their embrace. The only trip Ebenezer had made was to fetch a shawl for Constance. He’d noticed her skin begin to prickle with gooseflesh right as the sun began its descent, and he’d acted accordingly.

Now, they stood in silence. Her head fell upon his chest, and his rested atop hers, his lips pressed to the top of her crown in a persistent, worshipping caress.

It felt heretical against nature itself to speak. Alas, with a veritable goddess who could rival the pupils of the sun itself in glory in his arms, he fancied himself excused from punishment. At least for a few moments.

“I haven’t cried like that in a long time,” he said softly, his hand rubbing her back softly. Comfortingly. “I feel better now. Lighter.”

She nodded. “I do too.”

“Truly? No migraine? I brought extra medicine, just in case.”

“Not this time,” she said with an appreciative grin. “It must have been a much-needed cry. I feel … good.”

“Ah.” He sounded, and was, relieved.

“But thank you for thinking ahead. I appreciate it.”

Her courteous thanks never ceased to humble him. “Always, my sunflower.”

The hand she’d placed over his chest caressed his heart lovingly, her fingers finding the pulse point and lingering there. She stroked out a gentle melody against his skin, his body a canvas for her body to  

The thought occurred to him that they should go inside. Their day had been filled with many long walks, embraces and tears. Winding down with a good meal and a bottle of champagne sounded lovely. He’d noticed earlier while making ice for the chilling bucket that Olivia had the perfect coupe glasses for the occasion. Why, if there was ever a night for them to toast the resilience of their union, he reasoned this night would be a prime contender.

Yet, something tugged at him. He didn’t want the day to be over just yet.

A romantic dinner was always lovely, but this night deserved an extra touch of ceremony. His mind, bolstered by years of business deals and negotiations, glanced around to survey options.

They had about an hour of daylight left, he reasoned from the position of the sun in the sky. His gaze magnetized back to the field of sunflowers beside the cabin, and an idea struck him.

“Come with me,” he urged softly. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her along and toward the field.

A quizzical expression flickered over her lovely features, but she did not argue. The unspoken trust urged her after him swiftly, and did not go unnoticed by the enamored husband.

Instead, she allowed herself to be led down the patio’s short, three steps and onto a soft patch of perennial ryegrass.

A saunter through the sunflowers, right at golden hour, was his plan.

His long legs carried him over the shoddy wooden fence easily, and he turned to help her over in return.

Hand-in-hand, they entered the sun-colored maze. The slightly sweet, hay-like aroma of the flowers and their savory seeds enveloped them as quickly as a drawn bed curtain, encasing them in a halo of perfume and bright splendor.

They bobbed and weaved through the blooms, careful not to disturb the stalks, as if each one was its own sculpture in a museum.

There was a small clearing in the middle of the humble field that they quickly found. It seemed they were far from the first spectators to wind their way through the natural maze. The sun still blazed high over them, its light kissing the tips of the petals until they glowed with the translucency of firefly wings.

As he glanced over to witness her reaction to the sights, his breath and heart grew still.

If Helios really did survey the expanses of the sky, perhaps the god himself had an affinity for this woman. It was the only way to explain how light seemed to kiss the highpoints of her face and form so beautifully. In the sunlight, her auburn hair took on almost a taffy hue and glowed as if each strand was fashioned from Tiger’s Eye. Her tanned complexion was warmed and enlivened by the light, an apricot flush tinting her cheeks.

His eyes ventured lower, noting the way her breath had quickened in delight at the spectacle, and how the tops of her warmed breasts seemed to strain against the fabric of her dress with each sigh and sway.

“I thought the field looked beautiful from afar,” Constance started, “But standing here, in the middle of it? It’s even more breathtaking.”

“It is,” he replied, though he gaze remained squarely focused on her.

Noting his gaze, she turned slowly to face him. Her hands lofted to his biceps, giving each a squeeze as she drifted closer. On tiptoes, she leaned up and placed a kiss upon his prominent chin. He sighed at the touch, dropping his head drop as he did so. It was the perfect angle for her to drop another kiss upon his nose, which lured his thin lips into a crescent smile of affection.

Once he was smiling, he angled her head and leaned in to kiss his mouth. The sound of his mirth was immediately replaced with a hum of delight, then a moan as her tongue gently swiped his bottom lip. A request for admission. He opened his mouth and urged her onward in entry, also taking the opportunity to reciprocate the interest.

“I love feeling your laugh against my lips,” Constance whispered as she drifted away for a quick swallow of air. After obtaining it, she plunged back in again.

It wasn’t long before the two were sinking onto their knees, lips still locked in their own breathless embrace. Her fingertips curled into his shirtsleeves, thumbs toying with the fabric as it bunched under her hands. Then, both hands rose in shaky but frantic tandem to tug on the collar of his linen shirt. The result forced his lips even harder against hers, but he went willingly. Gladly.

Their minds both raced, each one wondering if they truly wanted to do this. If it was technically wise. Certainly, it wasn’t practical in any conceivably fashion, with a perfectly good bed waiting for them in their private cabin that was only a jog away.  

Yet, it felt right. Like the climax of many months of pent-up emotions finally breaching all remaining polite restraints. Unbridled love surged from within, fraying their composed exteriors to tattered shells.

Making love in a bed had been wonderful, but in that moment, they craved something more primal. More carnal. Skin, sweat, and the Earth.

The desire was cemented in him as Constance reclined onto her back, her spine perfectly arched against the soft bed of leaves from the flowers. The shawl laid flat against the dirt, having fallen away at the start of their tryst.

Her gaze was expectant, and hot enough to turn sand to glass under its blaze.

“H-Here?” he asked, because he had to be certain. Yet, by the time the last word left his lips, he’d already reached the final button on his shirt and was flexing the soft fabric up and off his shoulders.

She answered by raising her hands to his bare stomach, raking her fingers up his torso and across his chest with possessive need. Her nails scratched his skin as they traveled, leaving pale pink lines across his paler flesh. Barely stifling a hiss, he reached down and grabbed her by the neckline of her dress. He yanked her up with a swift tug, which earned a gasp of surprise.

Quickly, he placed his shirt under her back before letting her lay back down.

As his hands flew to the fly of his trousers, her cursed his bulky fingers for their clumsiness. Thankfully, Constance batted his hands away with a glorious laugh and undid the closure easily. Any thanks he had the time to mumble was snuffed by a ragged sigh as her hand slipped inside the waistband.

Not quite half-mast yet, but quickly approaching it, be praised.

She palmed him roughly, her fingertips tracing the slightly raised veins running along his shaft. At his sac, she rolled each teste in her hand. They were heavy, she noted aloud. Warm, and his skin was like freshly piled velvet.

When he felt another rush of blood to his groin at her praise, he reached for her wrist and gently pushed her hand back. Slipping his fingers in his belt loops, he yanked his pants down his hips swiftly.

At just the sight of him, she pushed up the skirts of her dress with a moan. Her nude panties were tinged with a shade of dusty apricot that he knew matched the natural shade of her perfect lips, among other part of her perfect anatomy. His eyes drifted to the delta between her lips, and he noted that the swatch of fabric there was already a shade darker than the rest of the swatch.

After snapping the waistband of the garment against her thigh, he tugged the delicate fabric down her legs and over her knees. She lifted one heeled foot so he could slide them off completely. As he did so, he caught her leg and placed a worshiping kiss on her ankle. Then, he immediately placed her leg so it hooked over his left shoulder, her ankle falling perfectly in-line between his shoulder blades.

They didn’t have much time. The sun was slowly setting, and he wanted to be with her in the light. To see her and admire her.

Encouraging her to lay flat on her back, he started with a slow rut against her. His shaft slid up the middle of her sex, nestling in the slicked center, then lining itself perfectly for him to slid his entire length against her. With each rut, the heaviness of his sways intensified, like a weight on a pendulum slowly being dragged back further and further. With each impact, the intensity grew.

She was all silken heat, through and through. Every inch of her precious body was familiar to him, and gods, that made their union even more precious.

He wasn’t naïve. He’s had the unfortunate opportunity to be privy to plenty of conversations on trains, in locker rooms, and even in other offices from people who were bored of their spouses. They complained about the routines they’d established. They talked about ‘spicing’ things up.

‘He’s probably got someone on the side too. Just try it! He never has to know!’

All to experience ‘something new.’

‘She’s just gotten … lazy, I guess. She doesn’t dress up anymore. She’s not the woman I married, you know? If she found out, well, maybe that’s the sign she needs to get herself together.’

Ebenezer couldn’t fathom how a lover’s body, one he knew so intimately, could ever lose its attraction.

Even after years of marriage and the birth of a child, he never tired of seeing her. Whether he was caught cheekily staring as she removed her bra after a workday or if she was greeting him in a new lingerie set after a stressful business trip, her body was a home he always wanted to return to. Sinking into her embrace at the end of the day evoked a bliss in him that even alcohol or drugs failed to touch.

The scars from her years of abuse still warmed under the caress of his fingers, and the new stretchmarks on her lower belly from the pregnancy were a symbol of her devotion to their future as a family. As such, he admired each one.

She was a golden beacon of a woman; miles of tanned skin and warm copper hair, and sparkling eyes. Her smile could make lawyers burn their books, or inspire Bacchus to take up sobriety.

She was an angel. Too good for him, he still thought in secret.

And now, that angel was writhing beneath him, arching her hips to meet his. With her brow furrowed and sweat casting a light sheen over her forehead, she worked with flattering diligence at finding a satisfying rhythm. A pulse to guide their ritual, more precisely.

He eventually joined her, urging her to pause only for a moment so he could align their hips properly.

Then, as he slid into the hilt, she threw her head back and whimpered in bright, enthusiastic agreement.

With her legs elevated, he had the leverage needed to sink even deeper into her than usual. Forgetting the pain in his knees and the dirt stains he knew he’d love having to explaining to the dry cleaners later, he kept his spine straight and only pushed his hips hard and fast into her. Each thrust went deep, until he could feel his tip drag against that spongey, sensitive spot deep in her. Then, he’d pull out and repeat the motion.

The burn in his muscles was quickly forgotten as he gazed upon her blissed-out expression. As if that wasn’t a wonderful enough sight on its own, she took it a step further.

In a crisp moment of fleeting lucidity, she reached up to the neckline of her dress. She undid the dainty (and maddeningly small) clasps hastily, her beathing heavy all the while.

“Off,” she panted, before she swiftly yanked the top halves of her dress aside, leaving her in just her bra. Then, with one last snap of the fastener between her cleavage, the bra popped open and her heavy breasts spilled out. Her nipples, already pebbled from arousal, quickly vanished behind her fingers as she reached up and cupped her own breasts, squeezing the sensitive mounds. With each bounce, she bit her lip and tossed her hair.

Ebenezer’s eyes nearly rolled back at the sight. And he felt a pang of pleasure-pain rocket through him. The pang translated into his hips twisting slightly, the result changing the angle of the thrust. She jumped in pleasant surprise at sudden but not unwelcome introduction of a new sensation, her hands releasing her breasts to fist in the dirt below for stability.

“Ebenezer, please …” she moaned, her spine kinking and breasts bouncing lewdly with each thrust. It didn’t help that he punctuated each movement with a grunt – grunts that were growing more feral with each meeting of their hips.

With a ragged sigh, he turned and kissed the leg that was thrown so perfectly over his shoulder. One kiss on her knee, and another on her tanned thigh, which looked even more golden than usual.

“I know,” he said, lovestruck. “I know.”

“Are you … ?”

“It won’t be long,” he hissed out, the simple sentence nearly enough to drain his lungs of air as he pounded into her.

She nodded. “C-Can I…”

“Yes?”

“I want to hold you.”

“Yes.” Gods, yes. A thousand times ‘yes.’

She hurriedly moved her leg from his broad shoulder (her movement was shaky, so his hand quickly went to her ankle to help). From its new position encircling his waist, he was able to lean down to meet her. As he did so, he felt his cock shift within her. He arced differently which created a different pull. A sharper stretch. Constance hissed, causing him to freeze.

Quickly, she corrected herself with a laugh. “I’m okay. More than okay.”

“You’re certain?”

“Come here … please. Words can’t describe how much I want this. How much I need you.”

Powerless against her honeyed words, he sank into her, again, and allowed his arms to relax. He held her smaller body close, and protectiveness and fondness warred in his psyche for dominance. He was so precious to him, he thought. So perfect and precious, then completely and utterly perfect again.

Now, chest to chest, he was able to more easily reach between her legs. Quickly, he found her sensitive, blood-engorged clit amidst the folds. He knew exactly how she liked to be touched, and the pressure she enjoyed. The familiar drag of two fingers roused her nerves instantly, and it was her turn to twist her hips in anticipation. Slick coated his fingers as he worked, but pleasuring her was a department he’d been an eager study in, and he mastered his movements without hindrance.

Platitudes escaped her lips like resounding peals from a dancing windchime on a blustery day. Each sound was lured forth by the perfect touch of his fingers, or the dutiful twitch of the perfectly broad pad of his thumb.

Before long, her sighs of pleasure turned to whimpers of urgency. Then, begging. Her hips jumped in agreement with his worship.

He was close. She was close.

“C-Constance …”

He needed to pull out, he thought. Soon.

As if reading his mind, her eyes flew open. Her eyes locked on his. Cornflower blue kissed icy steel.

In an instant, he saw her hesitation reflected at him.

No, he thought. The word was a long, iron-tinged scratch on a chalkboard in his mind, cleaving through the pleasure with ease.

Starry was still so young. They hadn’t talked about having more children yet. They’d just gotten each other back, after months of separation and tension. And …

… And Starla’s pregnancy had almost killed her.

“Ebenezer.”

He would love to have more children with her. It wasn’t a matter of resources, and definitely not an issue of finance. And while they’d had a rocky start with Starry, looking back after everything had crescendo, they were both more equipped to understand what had caused the rift between them.

But.

But …

The terror he’d felt that day, when she’d drifted too close to the troubling fate of eternal cold and nearly fallen unconscious from the pain. He remembered staying awake for nearly two days afterward, holding her. Despite the botched care that other providers had given, Bess has been able to interject just in time and guide Constance though the delivery safely and efficiently. She’d ordered the others to get Connie off her back and upright, allowing gravity to assist. Ebenezer had been there to help hold her. Nothing could have ripped her from her side in that moment.

All things considered, things had ended successfully, but that old terror had gripped him. The icy talons had sunk deep, and in many ways, they’d never let go.

On his worst nights, he stared at the ceiling and wondered …

If Bess hadn’t been there, would Constance have died?

That thought paralyzed him often, haunting him at all hours. It assailed his senses without warning, until he was panting and dizzy in the middle of an otherwise mundane task.

“Ebenezer.”

As he crashed back into reality, he registered the striking blue of her eyes. Then, he saw her smile.

“Please.”

He sank back in, hard and deep. It felt right. Breath left his long as a telltale tightness began in his calves, then shot up his thighs. A cry shattered in his throat, then he swallowed the pieces. “A-Are you certain?”

His tone warbled with desperation, even as he spoke in a whisper.

They had better knowledge of parenting. Of what red flags to watch for in themselves, and in each other. They would have Bess from the very start, he was sure. Hell, his sister-in-law would likely insist upon it, he thought fondly. All evidence pointed to things being different this time.

But … he couldn’t do it without her approval. Especially now.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Please say it,” he begged. He had to be certain.

Her face screwing shut as she fought back her impending climax, she let out a loud gasp. One hand twisted into his shirt, and the other into his starlight-colored hair.

“Be honest, love,” he pleaded again, eyes shutting as a wave of pleasure crested.

“Y-Yes. With my blessing. Yes. Yes! Yes!”

Blinding pleasure. Searing desire. A feeling of numbness, and hypersensitivity, blending together in an unstoppable deluge.

The last sensation he registered was her body tightening around his, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as her climax rocketed through her, hard and fast.

His own release followed mere moments later … with him buried deep inside her.

“Oh.”

Bess’ head suddenly snapped upright, her focus broken by something akin to a premonition.

Except, it wasn’t a premonition. More like … an internal alert had gone off inside her. It stopped her mid-action, causing her to stare into the middle distance, like a wolf spotting a suspicious sway in the tall grass ahead.

Just moments prior, she’d been chopping potatoes in the flat’s kitchen, preparing ingredients to make a hearty stew with the day’s bounty from the market. The sudden internal flash had fractured her focus cleanly so the new sensation could seize her, the knife stilling mid-slice.

She’d felt this before, she noted, and her intuition was never wrong. It was a supernatural inclination, akin to her ability to peer through the veil and speak to spirits nobody else could perceive.

Her brow pinched at the realization.

Ebenezar, who had been preparing the stew meat on another cutting board on the opposite kitchen counter, looked over his shoulder briskly.

“Brightness, are you alright?” he asked in concern. A moment of silence followed, and he inquired again with increased concern, “Did you cut yourself?”

With the meat and knife first abandoned, his rinsed and soaped up his hands quickly before moving to her side.

Nearby, Starla sat in her highchair and watched them, her little legs wiggling up and down in gentle amusement as she babbled.

When he gently cupped her shoulder to pull her back to reality, Bess turned and glanced up at him. The act earned him a warm smile, as well as a reassuring word that she was okay.

Perhaps that was true, but he was still curious.

Upon more persistent inquiry, Bess rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit. After only a moment of hesitation, she sat the knife back down and smeared her hands up and down her strawberry apron to clean them. “Well, um, I just … felt something.”

“Like what?” his asked, thumb sweeping her cheek. Then, his eyes became alight with concern. “Like a pain?”

“No! No, no, no,” she said, laughing sweetly as her hands lofted to hold his face. “No, you sweet man, I’m fine. Not a pain.”

The relief that washed over him was sudden and palpable. “Oh. Good. Very good. So then …?”

Bess patted both hands against the wide breadth of his chest as she spoke. Knowing she had to choose her words carefully, she began slowly and vaguely. “Well, do you remember right before Connie and Adonis announced that they were expecting, I sort of … knew already?”

He thought back, then nodded. “Yes, now that you mention it.”

“Do you remember what I said?

“Hm. I believe you said that you had a feeling they were going to announce something,” he recalled. “I was skeptical, but a few months later, your feeling was proven true. I still don’t know how my Ken doll of a brother managed it, but I couldn’t be less interested in the details, haha.”

“Right,” she said, continuing to guide him along.

He blinked back at her once. Twice. Then, with a scoff, he grinned and looked away. It was a gesture the reflected more denial than doubt. “No.”

“That feeling just came back, and it’s never been wrong before. Not at the hospital, and certainly not with friends.”

Wolf’s hands flew to his hips and his gaze fell to the floor. “T-They wouldn’t … I mean, with everything they just went through? Surely not!”

Bess shrugged. “They are adults.”

“The one inarguable factoid in this scenario,” he acquiesced, “But still, that doesn’t seem like them, does it? To act so suddenly?”

“Doesn’t it?” Bess challenged with a smile. “Just a little bit?”

Her tone was judgmental. It was merely a soft recognition of an observed truth.

In a series of events that directly opposed how he’s acted with his first and only other love, Ebenezer had wasted no time wooing Constance. In the same vein, she’d wasted no time reciprocating, having been charmed by his company and quickly falling for his golden heart and inspiring goodness. They had moved in together by the time most couples would have been discussing taking their first joint-vacation, and they were engaged by the time many couples would have decided to move in.

By comparison, Ebenezar and Bess were on the cusp of marriage themselves, and yet they were discussing the possibility of the two possibly conceiving a second child. Or, hell, perhaps children. What if the pesky twin genetic reared its head again?

The pace would have been borderline concerning had the two not been extremely communicative and, from what anyone with two eyes and a brain could witness, extremely in love. There had been some snags here and there, but all things considered, their relationship was diamond-clad.

Upon being reminded of this, Wolf yielded a second time. “Now that you mention it, I suppose they did move at a rather brisk pace.”

Accepting Bess’ feeling as truth, he then lifted his eyes to her again. This time, his gaze was weary. “…Do you think they know?”

That was a trickier question. Was Adonis one to simply forgo a condom or refuse to pull out? Absolutely not, Bess knew. He would have never intentionally gotten Connie pregnant if she hadn’t explicitly stated her mutual interest.

That meant (if her feeling was correct) that it had been a true accident, or they had … decided to try again. And, unbeknownst to them, succeed again.

“On some level, I think so,” she offered. “They’re at least aware of the possibility, but maybe they don’t know for certain. Not yet."

“Will you tell them?”

Her hands flew up as she frantically shook her head. “Oh, no! Heaven forbid. Not out of the blue! What if this is the one time I’m wrong?”

“But what if you’re right?”

“…I’ll call Connie tomorrow with an update on Starla,” she reasoned. “And the wedding cake, too. She’ll want to know about that. Perhaps, after we chit-chat a bit, I’ll oh-so-casually inquire how their trip has been going, if you catch my drift.”

“Ah. Well, whatever you hear, I humbly request that you please spare me the details. I will not be offended to be left out of the loop.”

“Haha, duly noted.”

“Just let me know if I need to sock some sense into that brother of mine, will you?” he said, his smirk returning. He tilted his head handsomely, his silver tail falling over his shoulder. “Connie may be a little eccentric in many departments, but she’s your family, and my sister-in-law. Plus, she gave us Starry, so that’s earned her quite a few brownie points.”

“On the off chance that something is truly amiss and you need to chastise Adonis for any irresponsibility, I will keep you promptly posted,” she promised with a kiss on his gem-cut cheek. “And if I need to chastise Connie, well, you’ll be the first to know … because I really don’t want to have to do that.”

Both laughed, already knowing deep down that neither outcome would be the case.

"...And if it is true..."

"We'll support them," Bess said. "In every way."

If Connie so chose to have Bess back to deliver another child of hers, the woman could think of no greater honor. Besides, after last time, it would provide Bess her own peace of mind as well to be there. To take charge and protect her soul-sister in ways that others have failed to do.

What had happened last time with Starla would never happen again. She'd promised herself, and had promised Adonis.

Seeing that her mind was wandering, Wolf re-entered the conversation with an airy chuckle.

“And, well, if their vacation is going that well, maybe we could convince them to let us babysit Starry a bit longer?” he reasoned, almost sounding hopeful. “I think she’d adore that. What say you, Starry?”

Starla, as if understanding, threw her pudgy hands up in agreement. “Wa-baaa!”

“See?” Wolf said, gesturing to her proudly. “Clever girl! Obviously she has more fun here than with my brother. I think we can all agree on that.”

“Ebenezar Charles Scrooge. You are too much.”

“How so? She said so herself! We’ll get it on video next time. He’ll love that.”

“Right.”

The two slipped back into their routine of cooking dinner, all while continuing their banter from before. They worked effortlessly in tandem, having helped each other prepare dinner on many other occasions. It was delightfully domestic, and a comfortable routine both sank as easily into as the act of walking, or even breathing.

All the while, Starla giggled from her post nearby, occasionally waving her hand in the general vicinity of something fascinating that had captured her attention.

When Bess held a carrot to her nose and made a silly face, she screamed with laughter.

The glance the couple shared moments later was one of pure longing. While not a word was shared, they drifted closer in mutual understanding, basking in the closeness of the other for comfort.

Both knew exactly what was on the other’s mind.

Perhaps, both dared to think, the next little tyke in the highchair would be one of their own.

Part 3 will be the last, haha. I promise!