I'm a little nervous about this. As far as I've seen, no one else has ever gone here... Maybe there's a reason for that! Haha but let's just see what happens ;)

Chapter Two

'Ah, Peter,' Brendan said brightly as his temporary lodger trundled into the kitchen, 'Can I interest you in some breakfast?'
'Yeah, thanks.'
Peter smiled weakly as he sat down at the small table. He rubbed his eyes, which were red and sore from lack of sleep. After adding some extra bacon to the pan, Brendan turned and fixed Peter with a cheeky grin and two twinkling eyes.
'Now, to be honest, Peter, I wasn't expecting to have to feed you this morning. When I didn't hear you come in last night, I just assumed you were spending the night in her ladyship's lair...'
'Well, you assumed wrong.'
'Oh?'
Peter tried to keep his tone casual as he explained, 'You didn't hear me come in because I got back before you did.'
Brendan merely looked confused.
'We didn't go for the picnic,' Peter bluntly clarified.
'And why not?'
Peter shrugged as he stood to fetch some juice from the fridge, wanting to escape Brendan's inquisitive gaze. 'Assumpta had too much work to do.'
Brendan raised his eyebrows, clearly no more convinced by this line than Peter himself had been. 'On a Thursday night?' he asked doubtfully.
'Yes,' Peter stated with finality as he poured his juice.
Furrowing his brow, Brendan couldn't resist prodding the young man just a little further. 'But weren't you going to...'
'Just leave it alone Brendan, okay?'
Reluctantly, Brendan did, and the pair ate their breakfast in somewhat awkward silence.

Assumpta tossed and turned between tangled sheets.

How could you do this to me?

Peter's face was flushing red, contorted with rage.

I threw my whole life away for you! I should have known you weren't worth it.

She was crying, begging him to understand.

You bitch.

She knew she was dreaming. She had to be. She sank to the floor and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake.

She did so with a desperate cry.
'Peter!'
She felt someone gently grip her hand.
'Shhhh, it's okay.'
Niamh's voice was soothing, as though she were speaking to Kieran. She stroked her best friend's hair. 'It was only a dream.'
Assumpta sat up, and wiped the tears from her burning cheeks.
'Oh, Niamh,' she breathed anxiously, searching in her friend's eyes for help she could not give.
'Assumpta, what's going on?'
Assumpta merely shook her head.
'Come on, Assumpta. We've been friends all our lives; I know something's wrong.'
Assumpta sighed. She knew there was no use in pretending.
'I can't tell you, Niamh. I wish I could, but I can't. Not yet.'
Niamh was disappointed, maybe even angry, but still she remained there, holding Assumpta's hand.

'What are you doing here anyway?' Assumpta asked after a few moments of silence.
'Working.'
'This early?'
'It's eleven o'clock – opening time...'
'What?!'
Assumpta jumped out of bed, and went to race downstairs.
'It's fine,' Niamh called, 'I've done everything. I thought it was best to let you sleep. You looked knackered last night.'
'Oh... Thanks.'

Niamh left to open the bar, while a grateful Assumpta went to shower and dress. As she did so, she tried not to think about her dream.

Naturally, all she did was think about it.

On the way to Cilldargan, Peter drove past Fitzgerald's. He desperately wanted to stop and go in, to distract Assumpta from the sandwiches she'd be making, to say something stupid and kiss her while she laughed at him. He wanted to satisfy himself that everything was okay – that she was just in one of her moods last night and the problem didn't run any deeper than that.

But he couldn't stop; he had to be in Cilldargan for a meeting with Father Mac. The final meeting, to be precise. This afternoon, he would sign the last of his paperwork to be sent to Rome. After today, discounting a month's worth of paper pushing, he was free.

Free to marry Assumpta Fitzgerald. Free to hold her and kiss her without any traces of guilt. Free to threaten any bloke who tries it on with her in the bar. Free to weave his way into the deepest part of her heart. And free to find out what was troubling her, and to fix it.

The day passed in a whir as Assumpta kept up a constant stream of activity, the noises of the pub sounding like a helicopter in her ears. Dread continually tried to creep up and snatch her from behind, but years of trying to keep Peter from her mind had her well trained in forcing her thoughts to white noise.

But at a quiet moment when Assumpta stood alone in the near silence of the kitchen, with Padraig's pasta simmering on the stove, panic seized its opportunity. It swooped down and gripped her by the shoulders. It shook her, and she struggled to breathe.

She knew that every passing second brought her closer to the time when she would have to tell Peter, and she honestly didn't think she could do it. She wanted to bolt. She decided to bolt. But she just couldn't move. She was trapped there, feet planted on the ground, eyes staring unseeing as the pasta boiled over and began to spill onto the floor.

'Assumpta!' Niamh cried as she rushed to remove the overflowing saucepan.
Shaken halfway back to reality, Assumpta stared, open mouthed, as Niamh tried to clean up her mess.

Clean up her mess...

'Niamh, I...' Assumpta stammered as nausea overwhelmed her.

She ran across the room. She threw up in the sink.

Minutes later, she stood in the bathroom upstairs. Having cleaned herself up, she now stared at her pale, tired reflection in the mirror. She wondered how Peter always found her so beautiful. The thought made her want to cry, but she clenched her fists.

No.

She would not allow it. She would not allow herself to become pathetic, to mope and wallow and to hide away from the consequences of her actions. She had to be strong.

Now, more than ever, Assumpta had to be strong.

She walked back downstairs determined to be ready, determined to be fine.

And there he was, in the kitchen.

That was appropriate, she thought. They always had their painful conversations in the kitchen. Her kitchen, his kitchen, Niamh's kitchen... Never the beautiful conversations; those were done outside. But in the kitchen, someone always cried. And tonight was no exception.

'Hiya,' Peter smiled as he stepped forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.
Assumpta allowed herself to smile back. Though she didn't deserve them, she wanted to take just a few more moments of Peter. Before she ruined everything.
Peter pulled a yellow envelope out from behind his back, and handed it to her.
'What's this?'
'Open it.'
As she did so, he explained, 'I had my final meeting with Father Mac today.'
Startled, Assumpta's eyes shot up to his face. 'Oh, Peter, I completely forgot!'
'It's okay.'

It wasn't okay. Assumpta had thought about this day for a long time. Even before she and Peter were together, she'd imagined what she'd do the day he finally left the priesthood. She was going to go to Cilldargan, to wait outside Father Mac's and surprise him. She was going to take him to Liesel's, her favourite coffee place. They were going to walk down the street, hand in hand, unashamed, together.

But she had forgotten. For the second time in twenty-four hours, she had let him down. And she was about to make it a hat-trick.

'They had me keep a copy of my final paperwork,' Peter was saying, 'I want you to have it, so you'll always know how much you mean to me and know that I'll never regret choosing you.'
And with that, he took her by the waist and pulled her close to him. He kissed her slowly and deeply, trying so hard to communicate the feelings to which words just didn't do justice. Assumpta returned his kiss, holding tightly to him.

Peter took this as reassurance that everything was okay again.
Mistake number one.

When he released her, Assumpta winced.

Don't let me go.

'You okay?' he asked, gently running his hand down her cheek and along her chin.
She closed her eyes for a moment, memorising the feel of his touch. Then she took a deep breath, and opened her eyes into his.
'I need to tell you something.'
'Ah,' Peter responded softly, 'Would this have anything to do with you blowing me off last night?'
Assumpta nodded.

Peter took both her hands in his, and moved backward so he was sitting on the table, his eyes now almost level with hers. His gaze was strong. He was a free man - her man. He was ready for this, he thought, whatever it was.
Mistake number two.

When Assumpta spoke, her voice was small. But it didn't matter; they were standing mere inches apart, their hands clasped together and resting on his knees.
'Before I do this Peter, I just need you to know that I love you, and that these days with you have been the most wonderful days of my life.'
'Mine too,' he reassured her, smiling.
At the sight of his breathtaking crooked smile, Assumpta's first tear fell.
'And I need you to know,' she continued, 'that I'm so sorry.'

Heart melting at the fear in her eyes, Peter squeezed Assumpta's hands.

This gesture provided that last ounce of courage she needed to breathe those two words.

Two small words with the power to change so many lives.

Two words.

'I'm pregnant.'