A/N: Wow! The responses for last chapter were so amazing! THANK YOU! Really, I was overwhelmed and I loved every minute of it. I hope this chapter lives up to everyone's expectations. I know you were all looking forward to the dinner party. Enjoy!

Perhaps it was all talk. Sybil was much braver on the phone than she was when she saw Tom in the diner the next morning. They hugged, as they always do, but her lips did not even dare to meet the skin of his cheek where he was cleanshaven, a fact that made her smile as she silently appreciated his mindfulness and preparation for meeting her parents that evening. He always looked nice, but here, even more so. Boldly, she managed to ask him if he'd be wearing his current outfit, that of his typical dark-washed jeans and button-up, to dinner that night. Tom paused before answering and when he did, it was made clear to Sybil that he misinterpreted her curiosity as criticism. This was further emphasized when, come that same night, promptly at six o'clock Tom rang the Crawley home's doorbell, carrying in his hands flowers and wearing tailored jeans, a waistcoat over a new collared shirt, and polished brown leather brogues.

"Hi," she beamed, taking him in.

"Hi," Tom gave back. He almost sounded winded, but Sybil soon learned it was more likely that he was holding his breath in anticipation of her, or someone else, answering the door. His nervousness caused Sybil to pause, an act that only made his palms sweat even more as he thought about what could be the cause of her hesitation.

"Is it too much?" Tom asked honestly, his eyes suddenly widening at the prospect of being even the slightest bit overdressed. "I figured—"

"Matthew's wearing a tie," Sybil said casually as she took the flowers from Tom and stepped aside so he could walk in and she could shut the door. She took a step into the home, her body inviting Tom to follow, trailing behind Sybil slowly, as if waiting for further instruction.

"He arrived before me?"

"Mary asked that he come at 5:30. Don't worry," Sybil breathed out. "You're doing fine."

Tom softened. "Thanks." There was more silence, so Tom filled it, sharing with her the thoughts he was having. "The flowers aren't for you…"

Sybil chuckled. "I know that. They're beautiful…"

"I hope your mam likes Dahlias."

"What the hell is a Dahlia?"

It was Tom's turn to smirk. "Those wide, round flowers with the small petals. The florist said—"

Sybil was halted by Tom's words, so much so, that she turned back around to face him. "You went to a florist?"

"Yeah, of course," Tom said nonchalantly.

Sybil smirked. With a furrowed brow, she stepped into Tom once more, gaining control. "You know," she said with words that were slow and already teased, "even if you're wonderful, perfect...they're not going to let you date me."

Hesitantly, Tom smiled. It was clear to Sybil he was trying to diagnose her words as being born from hurt or amusement. "It still matters to me, you know."

"Oh, does it?"

"It does," Tom nodded. "It matters to me that they like me. I want them to like me."

"Why?"

"Because I know it matters to you," he challenged. "And you look—"

She didn't want to hear him say it, so she could only agree. "You too," she admitted with a gulp and a nod of her head in his general direction.

Again, Tom smiled. "Where is everyone?"

"My mum and dad are plating h'orderves and Mary and Matthew are upstairs…"

"Can we go upstairs?" Tom asked quickly, not realizing that his words sounded more suggestive than curious. In actuality, he just wanted to see Sybil's room, and the rest of the house he had always been so curious about ever since he first drove by it with his parents freshmen year. Then again, if those were his true intentions, he could have just asked for a tour, but Tom Branson, Sybil was discovering, was not always the smoothest conversationalist and it provided for more than one interesting event since the two first met.

"No," Sybil smirked, knowing, "we cannot go upstairs. Actually, if my dad knew Matthew was upstairs, he would—"

"I didn't mean that," Tom quickly said. "That was really inappropriate."

Sybil looked up and it was then that Tom noticed how heavy her eyelashes were, each of them coated with mascara that caused them to increase in both width and length. "It's not inappropriate."

"Your father—"

"Isn't here and I'm certainly not going to tell him every stupid thing you've ever said to me," Sybil stated honestly, causing Tom to relax. "Do you tell your parents every dumb thing I've ever done?"

"You don't do dumb things." Somehow, that wasn't the answer Sybil wanted and in sensing this, Tom continued. "I tell them you're beautiful. That you have a good laugh and you're kind and caring. I told them how you want to be a doctor and that you're smart enough to actually make it happen…"

"Sometimes the wonderful things you say outweigh the dumb things," Sybil admitted honestly. She truly had never imagined he had told his parents about her.

"Well I'm glad I'm doing something right…"

"You do a lot of things right," Sybil said earnestly. Hearing her words, Tom's forehead creased. He needed elaboration, or at least a smile, but she gave him none. Instead, she leaned in, pressing her hands flat against his chest so her lips could brush his own. All was lost and her palms slid down the soft material of his vest as behind them, Mary and Matthew ascended the steps, taking the pair in. Mary was not wearing a dress, but she still looked smart and her hair, almost as dark as Sybil's but far straighter, moved around her face as she abruptly halted at the bottom step. Sybil knew the reason why, and she stiffened, remembering that somehow she had forgotten to reveal to Tom that Mary did not know who it was she was inviting tonight. As soon as she entered the room, it was clear not only to Tom, but to everyone, that Mary was surprised.

"Christ, Sybil, seriously?"

"What?" Sybil fired back in defense. She hadn't kissed Tom, so it was likely her sister had only seen the way the two froze at the sight of her, specifically with Sybil's hands resting so casually on Tom's chest. They were so offended by Mary's words that they drifted aimlessly back down to her sides, causing Tom to look away.

But then Mary smirked as she continued to walk down the steps. "Hi Tom," she gave. "I'm surprised to see you."

"Hi Mary," Tom replied, doing his very best to remain calm in hopes of keeping the conversation and all of its participants civil.

As Mary passed Sybil and Tom, the two separated, both taking time to stare at the ground. It looked as though they were ashamed, but really both were lost in silent contemplation - thinking just how they could get out of this if only Mary would let them.

"When Mum and Dad said you were bringing a guest I assumed it was Ben. I didn't think you were bold enough to bring Tom."

"Mary…" Matthew tried, grabbing for the girl's arm to stop her words.

She only looked at him and once again gave a very convincing smile. Sybil wondered if Matthew knew, if the two actually did talk the way her and Tom did, but as they all moved she found that was highly unlikely. Instead, it seemed that Matthew, though a guest in this home, was here to calm Mary down, almost as if he'd known about Tom's invitation and forgot to disclose the information to Mary. Similar in the way Sybil somehow forgot to mention a boy named Ben to Tom.

During their travels, through a singular narrow hallway that seemed to connect all of the rooms in the home, Sybil turned on her heel, causing Tom's chest, the same of which her hands were previously getting acquainted with, to collide with her own. Mary and Matthew forged ahead, leaving the couple behind right outside the swinging door leading into the kitchen.

"This isn't about us," Sybil reminded abruptly.

If this was distraction or dismissal, Tom did not know. "I know," he replied simply. "But—"

"I invited you. And I want you to be here," Sybil smirked. "But I want us to fly under the radar. Things will be better this way."

"Yeah, of course."

Together, the two entered the kitchen. Upon seeing her daughter and her daughter's guest, Sybil's mother moved toward them, her arms held lightly in the space in front of her as she walked. "Sybil," she sang, "is this Tom?"

Sybil raised her eyes to meet her mother's glare. "Yes, Mum," she faked a smile. "Tom, this is my mum—"

"Cora Crawley," she said, reaching out in front of Sybil to shake the young man's hand.

"Tom Branson, ma'am."

"And you brought Sybil flowers? That is so sweet!"

"Oh, no," Tom mumbled.

"They're for you, mum," Sybil said brightly as she passed the bouquet off to her mother. Behind them, Robert caught his daughter's eye and Sybil was once again forced to look to the ground. As Sybil pondered how long her father had been standing there, Tom was left to wonder where all of Sybil's confidence had gone, and if before the two met, it was just Robert Crawley who listened to and knew his daughter's heart.

As they all entered the kitchen, Robert offered Tom a drink. He made a clear effort to include alcohol on the list of available beverages, something that made Sybil question if her father was being accommodating, or intentionally perceptive of Tom's age, almost as if to warn or remind her of her own. It seemed, at least the longer Tom saw them interact, that Sybil and her father had a far stronger relationship than she ever let on. It was clear that she was loved wholeheartedly by both of her parents, but the more he existed in their home, Tom found the glances between father and daughter said more than either Crawley parent's words ever would.

Sybil walked to the refrigerator to grab a water bottle for both her and Tom, that of which she poured into glasses at her mother's request. Tom wanted to chuckle at the practice, but knew better, and did not struggle to keep his composure as he thanked Sybil for the drink. Her smirk was equally as telling, as her pursed lips kept a desired eye roll at bay, reminding Tom that he was no more experienced than she at impressing authority figures. After all, just the night before, it was Sybil's sweet talking in the back of a police car that had the officers being accommodating to Tom.

Up until this moment, Sybil had almost forgotten that Mary and Matthew were in attendance. They both stood so silently near the bay window by the kitchen table, sipping at their cocktails, just observing in the way that Sybil currently was. As Tom continued to talk to Cora and Robert about Cambridge, Sybil caught her sister gritting her teeth in careful admonition. To deflect the cold stare Mary was giving, Sybil returned her affection with a bit of warmth - a smile and nothing else. It caused the eldest Crawley girl's gaze to falter and for Sybil to wonder if perhaps Mary was beginning to feel guilty about their confrontation.

Altogether everyone made their way out of the kitchen, and as they began to move, Sybil and Mary remained with eyes locked on one another, unaware of the movement existing around them. They were headed to the library, a back room of the home with bookshelves lining all but one wall, where instead french doors opened out onto a pristine garden. An overflowing fountain created background music as the group, now completed by Mary and Matthew, sat around discussing Matthew's upcoming Polo tournament. That is, Matthew told Robert about the affair, leaving Mary and her mother to listen intently, ultimately giving Sybil and Tom just what they were craving: a moment to themselves.

"You okay?" Tom asked, leaning into Sybil on the small settee the two occupied. He imagined that if they were standing, he'd press a hand to the small of her back, but here they were close enough and his words, soft and low, immediately brought a smile to Sybil's face.

"M'fine…"

"Yes, we already went over just how fine you are," he whispered back with a bit of cheek.

Sybil's face turned crimson once more and she turned to her parents to assure herself that they were not paying attention before returning her attention to Tom. "You're being quiet."

"I'm flying under the radar, remember?" His answer was not what Sybil was expecting, but she found herself wondering if maybe it should have been — if she should expect the best from Tom as he had given her no reason not to.

"Well I'm sorry if me saying that caused you to shut down. I only meant…"

Tom nodded and smiled too. "I know what you meant. It's fine. I get it, alright? Really, everything's grand. Your parents are nice and—"

"My mum's a shoddy cook. I'm warning you..."

"She means well though and that counts for a lot."

"She grew up having to impress everyone. I think that's where Mary gets it from. My uncle was the brains of the family, and he's gone on to continue my grandfather's philanthropy work. My mum was never big on all of that. She just wanted to draw and design and create. Along the way that meant being surrounded by pretty people and nice things. But like you said, she means well."

"I don't think that's a bad thing."

"What? Being materialistic? Well, no," Sybil laughed, "but it's not desirable either. I mean, there are other more important aspects of life."

"Like?"

"I don't know," Sybil sighed. "Lots of things, I suppose. Your education and your ability to be a good friend and person. Having a family. Volunteering."

"Well how is your mam doing with those things?"

"Good, I guess. Mary struggles."

"I thought she was a good person?"

"She's the best person. When she wants to be. She's family," Sybil said strongly. "And I love her."

"Well," Tom sighed. "If she takes after your mam like you say, then I imagine she'll get the hang of things eventually."

"I hope so…"

"Why do you worry about her?"

"She worries about me," Sybil gave simply as if it were the only explanation in the world. "She's my sister. It's what we do. To a certain extent, I imagine it's what all sisters do."

"Siblings in general, I'd say," Tom agreed causing Sybil to smile. "You know," Tom began as he sat back, "You're very perceptive, Sybil."

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "Am I?"

"Definitely. You know who everyone is and why they are the way they are."

"I wouldn't say everyone…"

"Well, not yourself, no. But I don't really think any of us know ourselves. Not as much as we'd like to."

"So it doesn't change? I won't be twenty-six and fully self aware?"

"No," Tom laughed. "I know sixty year olds who are still searching for themselves. I mean, I don't know if any of us find out who we truly are. We just learn aspect of our personalities that we like, and some we don't and we teach ourselves to live with both."

"And then we die," Sybil said honestly.

Tom smirked. "And then we die." He took a sip of his water and leaned in again. "Your father is really a funny person."

Sybil looked over her shoulder to Tom, her mouth agape in disbelief. Constantly it was so easy for them to bounce from topic to topic, all without a glance to the past or even the future. Conversation, amongst other things, flowed freely, turning not just Saturday mornings but any of their interactions into day long events. "He's not funny." Sybil dismissed. "Don't laugh at his jokes. Then he'll think he has a good sense of humor."

"Well it's not a bad sense of humor," Tom stated, emphasizing the contrasting word. "Besides, isn't that the aim here? For them to like me?"

"If you've won my mother over, which I believe you have, you win my father by default. The flowers were a nice touch," Sybil admitted. "And it helps that Matthew's polo talk is putting us to sleep."

"Matthew's actually not as boring as he sounds."

"That's reassuring," Sybil deadpanned.

"His mum's a doctor. Did you know that?"

Sybil's eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just a general practitioner, I think. His dad was a doctor too if I remember correctly."

"Was?"

"He passed when Matthew was in secondary. Heart attack out of nowhere. He was going to perform surgery on someone, went to the washing station and just lost consciousness."

"You lie."

"I don't," Tom said, almost sounding as if he were proud of the fact. To cement this arrogance, he sat back. "You're not the only one who knows things about people, Sybil Crawley."

"How did you…"

"Earlier in the week, Matthew asked if I wanted to grab a bite to eat." Sybil looked shocked, so Tom continued. "It was a bit odd, but I agreed. I hadn't eaten all day, so why not?"

Sybil thought of Tom's dissertation and her posture became more straight as she pointed a finger toward his nose. "You need to be better about that," she scolded.

Tom rolled his eyes, but it was a small breathy laugh that dismissed her patronage. "When we got home he tried to casually ask me what to wear to this thing."

"He knew you'd be here?"

"Well, no, and it seems Mary didn't know either," Tom said, posing his statement as a question, one that poked at Sybil's side in jest, causing her to roll her eyes heavenward. "But," Tom breathed out, showing he was not bothered by Sybil's unwillingness to divulge information, "apparently he needed advice. And apparently this is important to him."

"Is it?"

"Well if I didn't like you, I don't think I'd care what I looked like. It wouldn't matter how talented you were with your mouth…" Tom said, subtly telling a joke that Sybil wished she was immune to snickering at.

Then, all too seriously, she sat up straight again, and with her chin gracefully resting on her curled fingers, admitted: "I meant what I said before, Tom. I like your waistcoat. And the shoes. And I meant to say it this morning, but I know you got a haircut and it really does look handsome on you…" Her fingers itched to reach out and palm at the hair around his ears, allowing her hand to then rest on his shoulder as the two took one another in. By now, she was accustomed to these moments, ones where she was lost in thinking of what could happen instead of simply acting on her instincts and urges. They sufficed all because they felt so real.

Behind them, Robert stood, announcing that dinner was about to be plated and that they all should grab refills on their drinks before heading to the dining room. Neither Sybil nor Tom moved and it took several delicate moments before the two were officially pulled out of their reverie.

On the way into the dining room, Mary pulled at Sybil's elbow, bringing the younger girl away from Tom and Matthew who laughed together, playing as old friends as they made their way back to the kitchen for another drink.

"Tom? Really, Sybil?" Mary spat. "Do Mum and Dad know how old he is?"

"Yes," she said, not making an effort to cause Mary to sound ridiculous, but finding that her utterance had the same effect anyway. "Dad met him the other night—"

"Excuse me?"

"I thought you knew," Sybil stated rather rudely; she was defenseless and it showed. "Dad said he asked you about Tom—"

"Yes, he asked me about Tom. I don't know. I thought the two had met at a university function…"

"Well thank you for saying nice things about him."

"Nice things?"

"About him being your tutor and a good student."

"Those aren't nice things, Sybil, they're merely facts," Mary stated bluntly. It was all too clear she believed her words and did not need Sybil's validation to do so. "I did not do you any favors."

Sybil rolled her eyes and then looked to the ground. "No, of course not…"

Tom and Matthew happened upon the sisters wearing wide smiles that told of their cluelessness. The conversation was dropped, something Sybil and Tom would never allow had the conversation just been theirs to have. As they silently walked past the foyer again and into the dining room, they all took their seats as Cora put the roast on the table amongst all of the side dishes.

When a prayer was said before the meal began, Sybil thought better of asking Tom if it was alright, or of interrupting her father to declare that Tom was Catholic. The prayer, he told her as they began passing dishes, was customary across denominations, and when Sybil nervously smiled and offered him the bowl of mashed potatoes, she couldn't help but to hear the question she was desperate to ask: Had he heard Mary? And if he had, was he curious? If she wasn't going to be self-aware by twenty-six, she at least hoped to be as secure as Tom was, for surely if she heard another girl's name she'd be unable to keep her curiosity at bay. The constant jesting about the girl in Tom's bed on the morning after their first meeting was only funny because it was untrue, Sybil thought.

"Tom, how is Dr. Kolberg? Mary says he's a bit ruthless, but I've heard nothing but good things," Robert chimed.

Tom looked up. "He's a brilliant man. I mean, some of the articles he has published are just astounding. His knowledge of political theory is really essential for the department."

"But?" Cora lead in with a small laugh.

"Well, he's a bit harsh. But I think that would happen with any professor in his situation. He teaches both graduate and undergraduate classes so he struggles with separating the material sometimes and it doesn't help that he expects a lot out of his students…"

"Well, it helps me," Robert chuckled before passing the bowl of salad to the boy on his left. "Matthew, have you ever taken a class with him?"

"Oh, no," Matthew said, passing off a bowl of asparagus to Mary. "I've heard things though. Good things," he assured quickly.

It seemed to Sybil, who was busy poking at the meat on her plate, that neither Tom nor Matthew could gauge whether or not Robert wanted honesty, all because it was difficult to tell if the Vice Chancellor was aware of the professor's unsatisfactory behavior. As a beat of awkward silence turned to several more, Sybil found herself staring at her sister and the blonde-haired boy sitting to her right. Did Matthew know about the incident with Dr. Kolberg? Or was it another thing Mary kept to herself? The vulnerability is what she feared would cause Matthew to flee, but Sybil imagined, if it worked at all like it did with Tom, the boy would actually gravitate toward her weaknesses, faults, and flaws.

After only a couple of months, Sybil felt as if she had told Tom everything there was to know: about how she didn't learn to ride a bicycle until she was eleven years old, or how she loved thunderstorms but loathed running and all other forms of intensive exercise. He knew about the time her cousins locked her in a closet and Mary came to her rescue, or about the summer she spent with a woman from the village, helping her clear out an old office while hearing stories of the Holocaust. Tom revealed less, but the way in which he listened was of equal value and every time Sybil inquired, about his past, about his family, or the town in which he grew up in, he merely told her that she just had to come and visit. Ireland, it seemed, was so much more than a place to Tom — it was a symbol of all he was, and the man he felt he needed to be.

Sybil was the most silent during dinner, finding that because she did not attend the university her father presided over she had little to add to the conversation. That, and she was thoroughly enjoying the way Tom looked from this angle: his hairline precise as his eyes brightened and he confidently gave Robert answers to the questions he asked. The two meandered from topic to topic, setting the conversation and therefore the mood, allowing others to chime in when necessary. Cora was amused by this, and Sybil too, the latter giving her sister a genuine smile when she realized Tom and her father's discussions gave Mary and Matthew some time to converse between themselves.

Cora leaned toward her daughter, pulling Sybil's eyes off the back of Tom's head. With her, she brought a smile, one that showed of cluelessness as her mother began to speak. "Is everything alright, darling? You're very quiet."

"Yes. Everything's fine." Sybil pressed a hand to the back of her neck. "I hadn't even noticed I was being quiet. I guess I'm just surprised that Dad and Tom are getting along so well. I hope Mary's not disappointed…"

Cora smirked as she reached across the table to grab for her daughter's hand. "And why would Mary be disappointed?"

"Well tonight was about Dad meeting Matthew and—"

"And he's done that. And the two seem to be amicable with one another."

"I guess it's just surprising. Last night Dad picked us up from the police station. Today Tom's over for dinner. Life's weird like that sometimes…"

"That it is," Cora mused. "And you and Tom have been dating for how long?"

Sybil's eyes suddenly became quite wide. "Oh, we're not…" Her voice slowed down, unable to form coherent sentences worthy of convincing her mother the truth was anything other than what she had just guessed upon.

"Well isn't it? That's where you go after pilates, correct? I saw you two last week. You were headed into that cafe next to the art supply store. Tom held the door for you…"

"Oh, that was one time," Sybil said casually. Her eyes were glued to her plate of half-eaten food and her fingers were making quick work of brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not lying," she said quickly, recapturing her mother's gaze. "I'm not. It was one time. I ran into Tom on the way to pilates and I didn't want to go anyway and we had been hanging out prior to that…at the library."

"Yes, the library," Cora agreed with a sip to her wine.

"Mother, I'm being serious! Please. I promise you, I'm not lying…"

"Alright, Sybil!" Cora hushed. "I believe you. Calm down," she brushed off with a laugh as she looked around the table to see if the youngest dinner guest had caught the attention of any of the others.

She had not.

"You know, Dad said some hurtful things last night and I need...I wanted to…" Cora kept a high brow as she waited for Sybil to divulge the information. Her youngest daughter sighed. "It's not fair for Dad to insinuate that Tom is taking advantage of me. It discredits me and it's offensive."

Cora's mouth twisted in a forced smile. "Darling, your father has always struggled seeing issues as they are. Instead, he sees them how he wishes. But in his defense, what are we supposed to think? Are we not supposed to think it's odd that our sixteen year old daughter is friends with a twenty-six year old?"

"Maybe it is odd. I mean, Tom and I struggle with it sometimes, but only when it's brought up. If no one is discussing age, we forget."

"Yes, Sybil, but you mustn't forget. You understand that right? Because he is twenty-six and you are sixteen. And for as much as that doesn't matter to you, it means a lot to most people."

"Well that's silly. Besides, like I've said, I've never given you or Dad any cause to worry…"

"No, dear, you have not. Not until Tom came around…"

"Mum!" Sybil practically whined. "He's a good person! He's smart! He comes from a good family. If things have happened, they are my fault. I was being young and stupid at the rally and—"

"You can't use your age when it conveniences you and dismiss it at other times, Sybil. It either is or it isn't."

"Then, it's not."

Another sip of her wine and Cora was smirking again. "Well you can't dismiss it completely, dear. You are sixteen. You'll be sixteen for almost another month."

"Maybe I don't want to be sixteen," Sybil bit out.

"And maybe that's what scares me. As a mother…" Cora said, her voice coming down to a whisper. "I trust you, I do Sybil, and your father trusts you, possibly more than I do and he likes Tom so I have to assume that counts for something. But you are sixteen and I want you to want to be sixteen and experience the things that a sixteen year old experiences. And you should experience them with other sixteen year olds - all of you doing things for the first time together. Being a teenager is so exciting, Sybil. But I fear it won't be, that all of these years will be completely lost on you with Tom around. He's no doubt older and more mature. He knows things you can't even imagine. You two are just at different stages in life and I don't want you to skip this one in your life to meet him at his stage only to find that you'll not be able to go back."

"We're just friends," Sybil stated clearly. Her words were admission and dismissal all in one. She was done discussing this but she hoped her forceful nature didn't cause her mother to doubt her words in the way her father had last night. Defense did not always show signs of guilt, though Sybil had to admit, with just a tinge of heat denoting her excitement, that she was enjoying lying to her parents.

When the dinner ended, Sybil's girlish fire continued when Mary and Matthew announced that they were going out to the cinema. Cora and Robert shared a look, one that made it awkward for both Sybil and Tom who were only praying the two wouldn't be invited, or worse — coerced by Cora and Robert to tag along. Thankfully, both parents allowed the pair to leave without incident, and Sybil continued to find amusement in the way Mary delicately kissed her father's cheek in appreciation, all the while wondering if the two were actually going to the cinema, or some place more private, like Matthew's flat, or even the backseat of his car. Still, she was happy for her sister and she wished the two had time to talk so she could share this thought with her.

With the couple gone, Sybil and Tom headed for the door. The action occurred naturally, and it was clear to Cora and Robert that the two had been craving reprieve in the form of one another since the meal first separated them.

Still, Robert called out: "Tom, I was wondering if you wanted to stay for a bit. There are some books in our library you may find interesting."

Tom looked to Sybil, his eyes practically asking for permission. Seeing his apprehension, Sybil turned to her father. "Dad, I don't know if Tom has time…"

"It's a Saturday night, Sybil. Am I supposed to believe he's going home to work on his dissertation?"

"I'd love to see the books if that's alright, sir."

"Robert," he reminded again. "And yes, it's more than alright. Really, it would be my pleasure."

Sybil and Tom shared a glance again before ultimately separating. Tom walked to Robert and the two disappeared behind an oak door leading to the library while Sybil and her mother walked upstairs.

"It seems I don't have to worry about you and Tom," Cora teased. "Your father seems to be more in love with him than you are…"

With an exasperated sigh, Sybil threw down her hands and rolled her eyes. Everything about her actions as she trudged up the stairs spoke of her age, and Cora laughed as at the top of the stairs the two women separated, heading for opposite ends of the rounded out hallway.

In the library, Robert offered Tom a glass of bourbon which the boy readily accepted as his eyes began to feast on each book spine with such amazement. It was clear he would have accepted anything, regardless of value or quantity, in the presence of so many classics and several books and encyclopedias he had never seen before.

Robert handed Tom a low ball crystal glass and dropped back his hand to chuckle. "Well it's clear you and Sybil have that in common. This is one of her favorite rooms in the house."

"Sybil's really smart. I didn't know it was possible to do sixth form so quickly, but she's managed it. You and Cora should be proud…"

Robert paused. "We are." It seemed his attempt to bring Tom into a place that made Sybil feel safe in hopes of getting him to, at the very least, discuss his youngest daughter, was not a bad idea, though it was not wholly necessary - apparently. "You and Sybil have made quick friends."

"We have," Tom laughed casually. "She's witty. When we met I didn't know she was sixteen. She's far more confident, more bright than most girls her age…"

"Well she's a girl, Tom. They're able to be what they want when it suits their needs, no?"

It was Tom's turn to pause. The two men sat, both in highback green velvet chairs. "Excuse my ignorance, but I don't think I follow…"

"Well my daughter tells me you two met in the library."

"We did."

"But my wife tells me that she saw you two out one Saturday morning. You brought her to a cafe in town." Robert sipped at his drink. "I hope you paid."

"I did," Tom lied. It was likely he offered, but to show confusion was to reveal inaccuracy in the story both he and Sybil were working to write all without the others knowledge — they both had a stake in this.

"So you see, Sybil's being extremely particular about what she shares with us. This is unlike her and I can only come to one conclusion."

"Alright," Tom said, breathing out a laugh. He had spoken to prying fathers before, but never fathers of girls he actually, truly cared about.

"I think my daughter likes you, Tom." Tom said nothing, but instead rolled his lips inward and nodded. "And I imagine that's embarrassing for you—"

All of Tom's respect for Robert was lost in a single moment. To assume such a thing was to not know Tom at all, but even more so, was to belittle the wonderful woman and person Sybil was. Tom hoped he never talked about his daughter in such a way. But he hoped that if he did, the boy to whom he was speaking to had the wherewithal to respond in the way he did.

"It's not embarrassing, sir," Tom stated calmly. "I'm a bit surprised, because Sybil and I are just friends and she's made it clear that is all she wants…"

"There are plenty of girls your age on campus and off, no doubt. I trust you know quite a few of them. So please, when you let Sybil down, just do it gently. She's fanciful in thought sometime, but she means well, and she doesn't need to have her heart broken over this."

"Now sir," Tom said as he sat forward, "I'm not discrediting your theory, but it's useful to note that Sybil and I met under business-like circumstances. She's been researching Trinity College in Dublin. Were you aware?"

"No," Robert said bitingly. "Not until last night. But even now I'm still a bit shocked. I thought if anything she'd go to Oxford. Which even I can handle. I understand that not all of my children will attend my alma mater. That being said, I never thought she'd attend a foreign university—" Robert's words were stilled by a bit of laughter bubbling up Tom's throat, disguised by a cough. "No offense."

"None taken," Tom assured smugly. "But we became friends because I mentioned to her that I was in Dublin a lot."

"You offered to take my daughter to Dublin?"

"Weirder conversations have occurred in university libraries," Tom stated. "Were you going to take her?"

"If she asked, I suppose Cora and I would have to."

"But you haven't. You didn't even know she wanted to go." Robert tilted his head to the side, taking time to contemplate Tom's tone. "She was looking at plane tickets when we first met. Did she tell you that?"

"No, definitely not. She's barely told me a thing…"

"She showed interest in traveling alone and I, kiddingly, told her she could tag along the next time I went. Yes, it was an unlikely way to begin a friendship and I was kidding, but I also do really enjoy your daughter's company. She's a special person. You and Cora have raised her well and like you said, she has a big heart…"

"Do you think my daughter is pretty?"

"What?" Tom swallowed only to find his throat had gone dry.

"Do you think my daughter is pretty?" Robert repeated, this time more slowly and with an ounce of admonishment.

"Absolutely. She's very pretty."

Robert nodded. "My wife seems to think that if I say no to Sybil, she will rebel. Sybil's a good kid, Tom, and I don't see you being her downfall. I will admit I have trouble with you taking her to Ireland, but I won't deny that between my schedule and Cora's, we have little time for the trip ourselves…"

"So what? You're asking me to take her and in the process, asking that I not lead her on?"

"Yes," Robert agreed. "I guess that is exactly what I am asking of you."

"She's welcome to come with me next time I go home. It'll be right around her birthday though. I don't know if that's a problem…"

Robert sighed. "Unfortunately, Sybil's mother and I will be out of town visiting Sybil's grandmother and aunt in London. Sybil has not shown interest in the trip despite the requests of her relatives. As long as Cora is fine with it, she's welcome to go." A pause. "I appreciate that you're looking out for her, Tom. Sybil enjoys being independent and sometimes it scares her mother and I how well she does on her own."

Tom's brow creased and despite all of the lying he had done, he found it hard to hide his true feelings. "Why is that difficult to handle?"

"She's a girl, Tom. And she's young. She shouldn't be on her own so much."

"No," Tom smirked. "I guess she shouldn't."

With the smell of sweet bourbon hanging in the air, Robert walked Tom to the door. He patted him on the back and thanked him for being so understanding. Tom shook the older man's hand and agreed. Despite never considering himself a dishonest person, he was somewhat proud of everything that had just transpired. And as he headed down the hallway toward the front door, Tom thought of several stereotypes Robert forgot to apply: Boys learn more slowly. The wit and cunning nature of a sixteen year old girl was akin to that of a twenty-six year old boy, all of this fact proven by the way Tom handled himself in Sybil's father's library.

At the door, Tom heard footsteps. Sitting on an upholstered bench near the coat closet, Sybil sprung up. "You've survived!" she exclaimed.

Tom gave one last look to the home before stepping outside, knowing Sybil would follow. "Yeah, and I'm surprised you have too."

Sybil gave him a look, but she laughed it off before shutting the door behind her and crossing her arms over her chest to fight the cool night's breeze. "How was it? Was he okay? Are we okay?" she asked finally.

"We're good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Tom nodded. Boldly, he leaned in, and Sybil nodded, happily accepting his lips upon hers as her hands gripped at the back of his neck. It was seemingly chaste, but they both still felt it, the need to pull away and breathe only so they could deepen the kisses they knew would follow. Again, it happened, and what could be said about their first kiss did not follow through to the second. Here, Sybil's mouth sighed at the contact, causing her lips to part and for Tom to find his way inside. It was warm and a bit wet, but delicately so, especially as his free hand traveled tightly to her hip, keeping her close. It begged for more, all of which Sybil readily gave. The two stumbled backward, seeking solace in the shadows, where the floodlight by the door cast a corner of her childhood home into a hazy grey.

"Godddd," Sybil breathed out of swollen lips. "I have wanted to do that for the longest time."

Tom nodded as his forehead dropped to hers. "Me too," he tried before seizing her lips again.

"You can ask," Sybil mumbled as Tom's lips began nipping at the corner of her mouth, then her chin, then the expanse of her chest revealed by her sweetheart neckline.

He picked his head up, utter confusion gracing his features. "Ask what?"

"Who Ben is…"

"I don't care who Ben is. If he was important to you, I'd know about him, no?"

"Of course," Sybil mumbled again as her hand fisted Tom's hair, pushing his quaffed fringe every which way.

"Stop being so sweet," she tried in between kisses. "And please don't bruise my skin…" Her request dissipated into a moan as Tom licked at her skin before ultimately returning his attention to her lips, wishing to rid them of their sound.

"Shhh," he laughed. Another kiss, their last, left them both smiling. "I should go."

"You should," Sybil agreed teasingly. "Thank you…"

"For the kiss?"

"Well, for those too," she stated proudly. "But I meant for dinner. For coming and for impressing my parents. You're right. It means a lot to me. And they don't have to know that, but it does."

"Yeah, of course…" He sounded so sincere and Sybil couldn't help but to reach up and kiss him again.

She blushed at her need and pushed at his chest. "Go…"

"I'm going," he said, raising his hands and stepping back toward his car.

"And call or text me when you get home."

"Yes, maaaam," he droned.

Tom got into his car and drove off. She was glad everything was pretty silent, and she noted how he didn't put his lights on until he hit the road. Her parents, Sybil knew and it seemed Tom did now too, were somewhat clueless. But they meant well, as Sybil assured, they were just far too preoccupied to spend their time figuring out something Sybil and Tom were still exploring.

When Tom got home, he called Sybil, and she whispered to him on the phone beneath her bedspread to convince her parents she was asleep. He told her of the story he had concocted and together, the two compared notes. She rolled her eyes as she disclosed to him the conversation she shared with her mother during dinner. Tom did not pry in the way he wanted to, but as he fell asleep he wondered if he should have. It was clear Cora did not instill any doubts in her daughter, so perhaps he should have. Already, Tom feared his feelings for Sybil were stronger than any he had ever experienced before, but the last thing he wanted to do was to have her regret him. Like his negation of Ben, Sybil waved off her mother's worry. And like Tom, she was far too involved to let such a fleeting mention ruin her otherwise wonderful night.

Thoughts? I'd love to hear them!

x. Elle