Shelagh waited up in her room, trying hard to find the calmness prayer usually gave her. Her heart was beating quickly, and her hands felt damp. Her new dress and cardigan seemed appropriate, but she still wondered. The changing light from her window told her that it was going past six. Patrick was late. She shouldn't have been surprised, time was his enemy, but the strangeness of the day filled her with doubt. What if he had realized how much she was asking of him? She had no one but him now. Turning her back on her sisters had left a raw wound, perhaps he thought things should slow down.

The doorbell chimed downstairs. Without thinking, Shelagh stood. She heard voices in the foyer, and footsteps on the stairs. Breathing deeply, Shelagh opened her door and went to meet him.

Patrick stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. He held a small bouquet of flowers, nervously passing it back and forth between his hands. Her step was quiet, so he didn't seem to hear her approach until she was nearly at his eye level. She stopped then.

"Hello, Patrick," she said quietly.

"Hello, Shelagh."

They stood like that for a moment, and then he put the flowers out to her. "These are for you. I didn't know what kind you'd like. I thought perhaps daisies, they always seem so cheerful to me."

"Thank you, Patrick." Nervously, she clutched them in her hands. Trixie had said a man who brought daisies was glad to have you for a friend. Pushing the thought down, Shelagh asked, "Should we take them with us? Put them on the dinner table, maybe?"

"Yes. Yes, that's a good idea. And then you can take them home afterwards. Shall we go?"

He hadn't made a move towards her, aside from handing off the flowers. Shelagh thought perhaps he was holding himself back. When the door closed behind them, and the peering eyes of her housemates were no longer on them, maybe then he would reach out for her. He turned, and held the door for her as they left.

Shelagh felt her nerves rising to the surface again as they walked to his car. Searching for conversation, she wondered why he wasn't speaking. She wished Timothy was there. Then it would be easier to pretend not to notice the strain between them.

"Thank you very much for inviting me to dinner. It was very kind of you," she started.

Patrick frowned. He could feel the tension as well. Why was this going so badly? He halted for a moment, then continued, opening the door. Had she changed her mind? Now that the dust had settled, had Shelagh begun to regret her promise to have dinner with them? And more?

He closed the door, and walked slowly around the bonnet of the car. Taking a deep breath, he slid in beside her. "Timothy is waiting at the house. We have a Shepard's Pie in the oven. Mrs. Frobisher left it for us."

"That's nice," she answered.

Silence descended over the car as he put it into gear and drove off. Patrick's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Shelagh watched outside the window, not seeing anything. The ten minute drive seemed to last an eternity. Finally pulling up to the door, Patrick put the car in park, and sat still. Long moments went by as he tried to gather the courage to break her silence.

"Shelagh, you don't have to come in. I'll understand if you're tired and would like to go back."

Keeping her eyes out the window Shelagh nodded her head. "Perhaps that would be for the best," she whispered.

Patrick sighed. "All right, then." He turned his head to reverse the car, then stopped. "Shelagh?" Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Shelagh covertly wipe a tear from her cheek. "Shelagh, look at me. Please."

"No. Just take me home, Patrick."

"Shelagh, sweetheart. I am so sorry. I've pushed you too hard. Forgive me. I can give you time. Just say you'll let me start over," he pleaded.

Stunned, she faced him. Her face was covered in tears now. "What do you mean? Patrick, I don't understand any of this. I thought-but how could you? I'm not your responsibility, you don't have to take care of me. I have to learn to do that for myself." She straightened her shoulders.

"Shelagh?" he faltered.

"Please take me back now, Patrick. I've misunderstood, that's all. I'll be fine."

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he reached out and rubbed his thumb against her damp cheek. "I don't want to take you back. Please stay with me, Shelagh."

She turned her face to his, her brow wrinkled. There were no more words, now. Bringing his other hand around, he cradled her face. Slowly, he pressed his lips to hers, not breathing. Her stillness flooded into him, her tranquility giving him hope. A tiny sound came from deep in her throat, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. His lips parted from hers ever so slightly, moving back to take her upper lip between his. Patrick felt her move against his mouth and rejoiced when Shelagh began to kiss him back. The nervousness and strain were gone from between them, and the kiss deepened. Long moments went by before Patrick finally parted his lips from hers. Pressing his forehead to hers, he heard her sigh deeply.

"We should go in now, sweetheart. I'm afraid Timothy will come barging out here any minute demanding his dinner if we don't."

She chuckled. "Only if you promise to kiss me like that again."

"Oh, I think I can manage that, sweetheart!"