Peter sat, staring out at the rolling green hills that covered the landscape for as far as the eye could see.

Maybe it was when Leo had first shown up. Maybe that's when he fell in love with Assumpta Fitzgerald. He'd seen the look of excitement on her face, the look of absolute adoration on his. He'd felt something sink in his stomach; the kind of sinking feeling that shouldn't happen to good Catholic Priests. But then, as Father Mac had hinted so many times, he wasn't necessarily a good Catholic priest. He'd barely been able to hide his…what was it? Dismay? Shock? Distress? He wasn't really sure; maybe it was all three. He'd barely been able to hide his emotions, anyway. He hadn't needed to for so long; he was out of practice. Sure, he'd had feelings for women before; Jennie was a prime example. But nothing like Assumpta. He'd fallen, and fallen hard.

Somehow he'd always known she'd be his undoing. Those dark eyes, the way her cheeks flushed when she was angry. The way she'd accepted him for who he was, rather than everyone else who'd automatically accepted him for his collar, and then realised he wasn't such a bad guy.

Maybe it was when Leo arrived; but then, maybe that's just when he had realised just how much trouble he was in.

Maybe it was when she offered him the driving lessons on his birthday. It had been a hard day, and he'd been distinctly disappointed when everyone had said they were busy that evening. He'd decided to go to the bar anyway; at least he could have a drink on his birthday, albeit alone. Surprised was definitely the emotion he'd felt when he'd arrived to find streamers and the cheering faces of his friends waiting for him. His eyes had gone straight to hers, somehow knowing it had been her that had organised it. She'd smiled straight back at him.

He definitely knew at that point.

Or maybe it really was that final lesson in the mud, when she'd admitted that the only reason she'd offered was because she didn't want to see him dead in a ditch. She'd been so angry – he'd been furious, and frustrated. He'd still been coming to terms with her anger; the way she would fly into a rage, and he'd be left there, sidewiped by her fury. It had taken a while, but he'd eventually worked it out. Well, mostly. She'd be angry with him, for something he'd done or said. Or, she could be angry with the church – he had to tread carefully there. He knew when that happened, he was being judged, and her words had stung more than once. Or she was angry at something else entirely, and he usually happened to be the closest person. In more ways than one, by the end.

Maybe it was when he realised she stopped seeing him as the church and more as Peter. Somewhere, when he realised she'd stopped calling him Father. He wasn't sure quite when that had happened. When he'd realised – it had been very late one night, or early one morning, when he couldn't push her out of his mind – he'd spent far too long than was healthy trying to remember the last time she'd called him Father.

Maybe it was when Niamh and Ambrose finally got back together after the incident with the falling Saint. That night, when he'd looked across the room and met her eyes; eyes that gleamed with admiration and gratitude. He'd realised she had been right; being 'economical with the truth' had been the right option. But then, she was rarely wrong about those kinds of things, especially when it came to Niamh.

It might have been when Jennie had come. He'd realised he didn't really love Jennie; not anywhere near enough to give up the priesthood. He'd been young, and stupid, and he'd told her as much. Feelings come and feelings go, and as a priest, he had to be aware of these kinds of feelings.

His feelings for Assumpta…well, they'd crept on so slowly but so fiercely that he didn't stand a chance. By the time he had realised he was in love, it was far too late. It had only been a matter of time, really. He'd fooled himself, telling himself that if he could only get away for a while, reconnect with God, then maybe he'd be ok. Maybe he could forget her, with God's help.

But clearly God had had other plans.

Maybe it was when he'd first met her. That first meeting, when she'd picked up the half-drowned young curate on the side of the road. Neither of them had missed the irony of that encounter; her, the very Irish, staunch anti-Catholic publican, and he the new English priest. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but he knew it hadn't taken long. He'd always thought she was beautiful, from the moment he saw her. He had always known it wasn't long after that; sometime in those first few months.

Jennie had been right. There had been another. He didn't think she'd really meant it; she'd said it out of hurt more than anything else, but she'd been right. Maybe she'd suspected Assumpta all along…

Assumpta had once said that when two people were meant to be together, no force on the planet was going to keep them apart.

She'd been right, as usual.

Maybe there was no 'moment'. Maybe it had been so gradual - or so quick - that it was impossible to pinpoint a moment when he could decisively say that he'd fallen in love with Assumpta Fitzgerald.

All he knew was that he loved her with everything he had; more than he'd ever loved anything. That was the only thing he'd known for certain for a long time.

He looked out across the room, his eyes searching for her. She'd barely left his side all night, until Niamh had dragged her away to the bathroom. She'd been gone nearly ten minutes. Yup, he was counting.

She suddenly emerged from behind a large wooden door, her eyes instantly meeting his. He raised his eyebrows in amusement; she had blushed slightly when she'd seen him, lowering her eyes. He wondered briefly what had been discussed in the bathroom, but gave up quickly. It was not for him to wonder what occurred in women's bathrooms. He watched as she made her way over to him, smiling self-consciously. She was wearing a red dress that revealed her knees, he noticed – not something Assumpta Fitzgerald did every day. The dress hugged her slim figure closely; the square neck showing just enough of her collarbone and neck. Peter decided that he liked that dress. A lot.

He stood as she reached him, turning his face away from the many people who milled around the room. He made a show of running his eyes up and down her body, from her feet to her head, stopping at her eyes. She blushed fiercely, and he grinned. He took a step closer to her, so he was barely inches away from her.

'Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?' he whispered in her ear. He heard her draw in a slight breath.

'You may have, once or twice,' she said quietly, unable to conceal her satisfaction – and delight – at his words. He leant back, running his fingers down her arms.

'Are you ready?' he asked quietly. She looked up at him, her face mirroring his nervous expression. She nodded, giving him a small smile, one he returned. He turned to see Brendan and Niamh watching them. He nodded to Brendan, who grinned and stood up, yelling over the crowd. Peter turned back to Assumpta, ignoring the minor chaos that had erupted behind him.

'Well, Mrs Clifford, I think it's time we made our exit,' he said, his voice smug. She shook her head and grinned wryly at him.

'Mrs Clifford,' she said slowly. 'That's going to take some getting used to.'

'Well, you'll have a long time to get used to it,' he replied, the air of smugness not leaving him. She smiled at him, unable to hide her happiness.

'I look forward to it,' she said quietly. He smiled back at her before turning and taking her hand.

Just something little that popped into my head a little while ago. I hope you enjoy. Chapter 2 is coming!