They lay together, exhausted, on the sofa. It had been a long day at the hospital, but a hopeful one. Timothy, who'd been breathing on his own for a few days now, would be coming home soon, and Shelagh was finally allowing herself to feel excited for the wedding again.
Patrick's head lay heavy in her lap while she ran her fingers lazily through his hair.
"I'm sorry I'm not much company tonight," he said softly, closing his eyes as she smoothed the worry lines from his forehead.
"You know I wouldn't rather any other company," she smiled, "and besides, we don't need to talk."
"But I want to talk to you," he sat up slightly, gently stroking her waist. He paused to think, capturing her hand and kissing the palm lightly before placing it back in his hair.
"Tell me a secret." The eager way he gazed up at her made her heart melt, but her face faltered.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep." He sat up, leaning toward her in concern.
"No, it's alright. I'm just still so unused to talking about myself. And," she was focused on his proffered hand, running its fingers through her own, "I feel as though so many of my secrets have been exposed these last few months."
He adjusted himself to put an arm around her, and she melted into him, feeling sheepish. He kissed her hair, inhaling its clean, flowery smell. As she turned to him, their lips met, and he felt her shoulders drop a measure of tension neither of them knew she was holding.
Breaking the embrace reluctantly, she tugged at his collar. "Why don't you go first. Tell me a secret of yours, then I'll tell you one of mine." He smiled and she curled herself against his chest.
"Alright, then." He thought for a moment, then pushed aside the hair by her ear to whisper.
"Patrick Turner!" she exclaimed, slapping a hand to his chest in surprise. "Is that true?" He nodded.
"Do you still want to marry me?" he asked, rubbing her back and trying not to laugh at her expression, a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
"Very much," she sighed, capturing his lips with hers once more.
