A/N: You guys, you guys! My guilty pleasure show is back! I am so excited!

So, so excited for Season 2, and you guys, there is so much to talk about in the first four episodes alone! Joe and Mel and the kids are back, and Lennox is tackling things like sex, and Joe is acting so much like a worried dad, and it makes my heart melt. Seriously, Mel and Joe were meant to be parents to these kids. It's part of what makes this show so great. I adore the way they interact, and have no fear, if this season proves to be just as good as the last, you will be seeing more of me!

This story came about because once I saw that the kitchen was completely redone in episode three, I knew there had to be more to the story. Oh, by the way, the part with their fingers just touching on the bed? Totally stolen from My Fake Fiance, which was the movie that made me realize how much chemistry Melissa Joan Hart and Joey Lawrence have. Please enjoy! To wrap up my ramblings, welcome back!

Disclaimer: No one you recognize is mine. I just like to play with them.

Summary: He was lying beside Mel Burke, in bed, and he had no idea what to do next. One-shot. Complete. Rating for mild innuendo.

Hope Springs Eternal

"I'm so glad the kids aren't here."

"Why, Burke? Don't want them intruding on your little, uh, love-fest?"

"Our love-fest, Longo, in case you've forgotten."

"Whoa. Hey. No. Don't lump me in with you. I didn't volunteer for this."

"No, I believe you asked to join me."

"Just to make sure you aren't going to make some stupid decision that I have to live with later!"

"Relax, Longo, I've done this before. You act like I haven't."

"Well, you've never done it with me!"

"Gee, I wonder why…"

"Don't look at me like that, Burke. Like I said, I was a different guy when I did this the first time."

"So, what do you think?"

Joe Longo frowns at the woman in front of him. He peruses the sight before him for several long moments, and then shakes his head in a decisive vote. "No."

"Aw, why not?" Mel Burke pouts, her lower lip extended, sounding more like her teenage niece than she realizes. "I like it!"

Joe stares at her, one eye brow arched incredulously. "Mel, it's orange."

The woman in front of him pats the couch she's perched on lovingly. "I prefer to think of it as tangerine."

Joe eyes it dismissively, and then shakes his head again. "Whatever color you, uh, think it is, I don't care. It's not going in the living room."

"But it would add a splash of color!" Mel protests, reluctantly getting up to follow him as he moves away, deeper into the other aisles of the department store, all displaying their racks of home goods.

His voice carries from two aisles over, where he is studying cutlery and cookware. "Burke, I am not sitting on an orange couch when I want to watch football."

Mel props her hands on her hips and huffs an exasperated breath at him (her twentieth in this hour alone). "If you're just going to veto every single one of my suggestions, why did you even come?"

"Because last time I checked," Joe shoots back, hefting a wok and eyeing it, running his free hand around the rim, "I live in that house, too. And like I said before, I don't want you bringing home something stupid that I have to live with."

"Maybe I should have brought the kids," Mel muses, crossing her arms, eying him warily. "I don't think they would have argued as much."

Joe gives her a quick, sharp smile. "Oh, Burkey. You know it wouldn't be as much fun without me."

"Dream on, Longo."

At her quick and easy retort, Joe's grin only widens. He has to admit that he loves their verbal sparring matches, and he also has to admit that he did ask to be brought along on this expedition. Mel had announced her intent to go furniture shopping last night over dinner, and Joe knew that if he wanted a shot at selecting his own dishes and kitchen utensils, he would have to go with her.

So far, it hadn't been a bad day. Aside from the recent orange couch debacle (which they had spent fifteen minutes arguing about), Joe has managed to convince Mel that yes, even though he has kitchen utensils and cookware, one clumsy move during the packing-up of the kitchen resulted in smashed plates. So at least, here, he has full command of what he wants to choose.

Studying a set of dishes that are deep red, Joe taps his nails against the glaze, testing the strength. No, his house does not have little children, but it does have two teenagers and a woman who occasionally sets her plates down on surfaces that are not quite stable (the plate-balanced-on-the-glass-in-the-sink incident springs to mind), and the plates and bowls he picks out will need to last for several years.

Hopefully, he will outlast them. Hopefully, this is not the only trip of this nature that they will make together.

Two hours later (and numerous squabbles later, one involving raised voices and so much wild gesticulating that it is a surprise security wasn't called), they have almost everything they need. The cabinets were ordered weeks ago, in a teal-like blue that they both like, with warm honey-colored wood on the counters and island to complement it. The table and chairs have been taken care of at another store, and there isn't much left that needs to be purchased. Joe has picked out the plates in the deep red and bowls in forest green, and Mel has managed to find a couch that she claims is her Couchey's long-lost cousin, a cream colored sofa that is elegant enough to suit her tastes, but not so prissy that Joey will feel the need to perch on the edge of it, lest he break it.

Now, Joe watches in bemusement and a little confusion as Mel heads towards the beds that are stretched against the wall, beyond the couches they were looking at before.

"Uh, Mel?" Joe wonders after her. "The register is that way." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. "We put it all on hold; now let's pay for it and go wait for the guy to bring it out to the car!"

The woman gives no indication that she has even heard him, slipping around sofas and loveseats and recliners with all the grace of an intractable river flowing around boulders. She seems drawn by the fluffy white mattresses, all appearing to float like clouds—an illusion assisted by the fact that they are sitting on dark bed-frames that blend into the darker wood of the floor below, placed against a wall painted a deep blue-purple, obviously meant to mimic the night sky and calm the viewer, invoking images of sleep and relaxation.

"Mel," Joe grumbles after her, picking his way around the furniture in order to follow her and banging his shin against an oddly placed end table, drawing stares from the couple he was attempting to shuffle past. (And she made it look so easy…). "Sorry," he grimaces, wriggling between a chair and a loveseat and finally pulling himself free, only to find that Mel has already ascended, flopping onto the nearest mattress with a sigh of near ecstasy.

"Mel," Joe stands beside the bed, his arms folded, frowning disapprovingly down at her (much in the way he had when he was looking at the orange couch.) "Your bedroom wasn't touched by the water. Well," he amends as she cracks open one blue eye to stare at him, "your, uh, bed wasn't, much."

"Joe," Mel tells him with a long-suffering sigh, opening her eyes long enough to return his disapproving stare inch for inch, "if I had to spend the last thirty minutes watching you debate over woks and skillets and pots and that weird pair of tongs, then I get to test mattresses."

Joe rolls his eyes at her logic, and tries a different tactic. "Uh, Mel, I don't know if you remember, but it's my job to pick up the kids. Ryder? Lennox? Your niece and nephew? Remember them?"

Mel flaps a dismissive hand, already molding her body into the mattress beneath her. "Eh, they're kids, they'll survive. Now lighten up, Longo!" With that, before he can figure out what is happening, she has reached over and yanked him onto the bed with her.

Mel Burke is stronger than she looks, despite her small frame, and she has gravity on her side. Joe huffs out a surprised breath, and then he is sprawled on the bed next to her, while she settles back into her previous position with a triumphant, "Ha!"

Joe quickly rolls over onto his back, the same position Mel is in (making it seem like he meant to join her there all along). He tucks one hand behind his head, the edge of his t-shirt riding up along his ribs, his other hand resting by his side. He resists the urge to tug the hem of his shirt back down. (He is proud of his body, and besides, it's not like anyone is staring at him.) Beside him, Mel is quiet, her breathing slower, her eyes closed. This close, Joe can only turn his head and marvel. When he does so, his breath catches in his throat, his blood freezes in his veins, and he finds that he can't move.

He is lying beside Mel Burke, in bed, and he has no idea what to do next. (Well, not really in bed together, but—oh, you get it!)

The last time he went furniture shopping, it was with Tiffany, just before they got married. They had climbed up together to test out a mattress just like this one, but their minds weren't on the bedding they were testing. (More like how much making out they could get away with before the salesclerk came over to tell them they had to stop or she would call security, and they would be charged with public indecency.) They had been young, and in love, and full of passion and spark…but never electricity like this.

Joe closes his eyes, attempting to ignore the woman next to him (yeah, like she would ever let that happen). He feels the mattress give a little under his weight when he relaxes fully, and it molds and forms with him as he moves. It's an excellent mattress, he won't deny that, but Mel's very presence keeps distracting him. There is not much space between them, and Joe cannot help but remember that night a week ago, when Mel mistakenly and sleepily crawled into his bed and curled up beside him.

He isn't going to lie—he thought it was a very pleasant dream at first, the way she snuggled up against him. He moved his arm up to curl around her shoulder…and then the screaming began. He acted disgusted because, well, that seemed be the norm at the time, but instead, he was wondering if she had done it on purpose.

And now, here…what did this all mean? He exhales, wondering what the next move should be.

Mel decides that for him. Slowly, ever so slowly, and by so many cautious, gentle degrees that he's sure that he didn't feel the first two brushes, Mel's fingers reach out to curl around his where his free hand lies on the mattress between them. Joe's entire body tenses, but he doesn't move. If he moves too quickly, he'll scare her off. This move has to be executed perfectly…

He could roll on his side, prop himself up on his elbow. He could lean down and kiss her, finally—and properly!—kiss her, and he knows she wouldn't pull away, because she was the one who kissed him weeks ago. Yeah, he'll do that, provided he has the courage. His muscles tense as he prepares to make his move…

"Can I help you folks find something?"

The mattress salesman's voice is obsequious and helpful and so very, very intrusive, and Joe grits his teeth against rage as he opens his eyes. His surroundings rush back to him as the electric bubble that he had Mel had been suspended in splits open: the cool, dry air of the department store, the low, indistinctive babble of other shoppers' voices, the fluorescent lights that beam down at him, suddenly too bright now that he is staring directly at them. Worst of all, Mel slides her hand away, and the brief, tactile touch is broken.

"Just testing it out," Joe hears Mel answer cheerfully, and he glances over to see that she is already sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, that the salesman is reaching to lend a hand as she slides to the floor. He appears to be her father's age, maybe half a decade older, and his green eyes sparkle as he gives her a knowing smile.

"I get plenty of husbands and wives here," he chuckles, running a hand fondly over the top of the mattress. Joe quickly swings his legs off the bed and lands on the floor in one smooth movement at this (erroneous) observation. "No, we're not—"

"No, we…" Mel starts he does, but they both stop at the sound of the other's voice, unsure of how to proceed. They have denied this too many times to count—what is it about this salesman that disarms them?

The salesman grins at them both, unfazed by the awkward silence that stretches between the two. "Oh, I'm sorry. Just together then. Haven't popped the question yet?"

The question is directed at Joe, who blinks at the sudden change in direction the conversation has taken, bewildered. "Uh, no."

(He will, nearly three years later, and Mel will tease him about going mattress shopping soon. This time, when they test out mattresses, they will test them out one at a time, Mel on one and Joe on another, knowing that having both of them on one bed will result in a security escort. Lennox and Ryder will be appalled.)

"Sorry, sir." Mel rescues the conversation as she always does—without batting an eye—years in politics standing her in good stead when it comes to dealing with unexpected rebuttals from an opponent. "I recently had water damage in my bathroom, and I was just looking."

"No problem," the salesman—Joe notes that his tag says Eric—says easily, "just let me know the next time you're interested in purchasing one."

"That should be awhile," Joe interjects, finally finding his tongue. "Hopefully the one she has will last."

"I don't know," Mel suddenly smirks, and her sly tone raises the hairs on the back of his neck. (Danger.) "If you help me, honey, I'm sure we can wear it out."

Joe manages not to choke on his tongue or reveal any emotion. (Inwardly, he is flummoxed and intrigued and really wants to rewind to those heated moments several minutes ago so he can just pin her down and kiss her). "Just say the word, baby, and I'll get right on that," he drawls, straight-faced.

Eric just watches the two of them, absolutely unperturbed at such blatant innuendo from a couple half his age. "I can see why you're with her," he murmurs to Joe, casting an approving glance in Mel's direction. "She'll test you, but you'll never be bored."

Joe surprises himself—and Mel—by responding, a satisfied smirk on his face that is belied by the affection glacne he gives the woman across from him. "Never a dull moment."

Mel raises both eyebrows in disbelief at his pseudo-compliment, but she doesn't protest. Instead, they are both saved by the chirping of her cell phone, which she pulls out, quickly consults, and then aims a glare at Joe.

"You were supposed to pick up the kids fifteen minutes ago!"

Joe rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, Burke, I was helping you with your mattress crisis!"

Mel's phone chirps again, this time more insistently, and she gives it a cursory glance before flapping her hands at him, shooing him back the way they came, towards the exit. "No time for that! Let's go!" Sighing, grumbling, protesting, Joe allows himself to be ushered out of the store.

As the sounds of their most recent squabble die away and the reassuring sound of strained Top 40 hits are once again audible over the speakers, Eric turns to find one of the young salesgirls—Claire?—gaping after the couple he has just spoken to. "What was that?"

Instead of grumbling about customers who were attempting to take a nap—as he usually does when he finds people in his domain (as Claire expects him to), Eric surprises her with a delighted smile. "That is something you don't see often. At least, not that visibly."

Claire purses her lips, her blonde brows drawing together as she ponders the (numerous) arguments she and her coworkers have been privy to all afternoon, considering the couple who will surely be talked about in the break room for weeks to come. "The makings of a divorce?"

Her impertinent answer startles a laugh out of the older man in front of her, but he shakes his head, his green eyes soft with memories; memories of the way his wife would challenge him just like that, of how raised voices and clashing words always devolved into soft whispers and love-talk later. They were both fierce spirits, he and his wife, and he misses her, these five years she had been gone.

"No," he corrects Claire softly. "That was love."

Fin

A/N: Reviews are always appreciated!