A fire crackles on a winters night, a red-head lays with her head resting on a silver heads chest, their limbs entwined and her swollen stomach resting between the newly married couple, they can both feel their unborn child kick.
"I love you Jethro" she said softly as she kissed his lips gently.
"I love you too Jen", he replied grinning as he kissed back lovingly.
But that was simply a dream.
She was dead.
They had never admitted their true feelings to one another.
There was no unborn child.
And the fire had died long before Jen took her last breathe.
Jethro now lay beneath the skeleton of a boat in his basement with a bourbon in hand as he reminisced on the happy times where he had Jen in his arms.
The time of Paris and LOVE.