"Smell that air, Lisbon. Smell it! It smells like success. True success, of course, not the contrived notions of success society tries to push down our throats."
He lifted his wife's hand with his own into the air with a sharp, long intake of air, only to swing it back down again with a loud exhaling.
"It's certainly a start," she commented with a shy smile, putting her free arm around his waist. She looked back to the quaint cabin, finally cozy enough to spend an evening in. "You've done a good job." He beamed down at her and kissed her hand, which anymore always led to him kissing her mouth, and then feeling the need to kiss her belly. Up until a month before she'd been saying things like, 'You're just kissing the burger I ate yesterday,' or 'You must really love that case-closed pizza, huh?'. She'd stopped now, -though it didn't stop her from rolling her eyes- because it was undeniable. The bump was a real bump, and Patrick Jane saw to it that it was kissed, and frequently.
"C'mon," she said, tugging gently at his sleeve. "I want to get back before it gets much later. God knows what kinds of creatures come out after dark."
"Ehh." He stood up, smoothing out the rumples in his pants. "I have faith in your markswomanship."
She cocked an eyebrow and lip at him. "I...don't think that's actually a word, Jane."
"Sure it is. Have you checked the dictionary lately? They're letting them all in. If it's not already, soon as we get home, I'm sending an email to the good people at Websters. It'll be accepted by breakfast."