It was light before the sun rose, light enough to pretend it was morning. Peter didn't look at the clock, he didn't want to know. But there were no newspapers outside Kathleen's very closed shop, so it was probably too early for breakfast.

No one was about. He looked up at Fitzgerald's. Perhaps he imagined Assumpta's curtain flutter. He marched up to St Joseph's but couldn't bring himself to go in. The river offered more fitting solace at this moment. He walked the length of the town on the rocks and then back along the road.

She wanted him. The thought came back time and time again. There was plenty to consider and much of it terrifying but then there was Assumpta wanting him, after everything. He knocked softly on her back door, not really expecting an answer. As he tried the handle she opened it.

"Oh!" She clearly hadn't expected him.

"Sorry, I - " he stuttered then resolved on which thing to say. "I couldn't sleep."

"No. I've never been up so early without a flight to catch. Tea?"

He followed her in. "What's weird is that I had no problem sleeping the night after we, well, after."

"That's not so strange." She pulled out a chair for him and he took it.

"No, I suppose not."

Her cup was half empty and it probably hadn't been her first because she emptied the teapot into a new cup for Peter. There was barely enough to fill it. He was glad of the warmth against his fingers and his lips. "Is this really happening?" He asked finishing his not-so-hot cup.

"It better be." She met his eyes. "I keep forgetting, and then remembering."

He nodded. "Remembering."

She took his hand. That was all the encouragement he needed and pulled her in, kissed her hard, raw and honest. When they broke for breath he slid off his chair and knelt on the floor between her knees, arms fast around her, his face to her stomach. She gasped at the rush of sensation and the sound inspired him. He pulled her forward and ran his hands down her back. Feeling over-bold, he hesitated.

"Peter," She said, all breath, then pressed her hands into his hair. "We have to be careful."

"I will be." He skimmed his hands over her hips and beneath her thighs, where they reached out from the chair.

"That's not what I - " she groaned. The sensation of his cool hands on her legs put all thought of consequences and interruptions from her mind. There was only warmth, frission, this incredible, longed-for connection. His hands on her came as enough of a surprise to bring her out of the fog, for a moment, but before she'd a chance to speak, even to think of how to say this was reckless, the pressure of his tongue replaced his hands. She gripped the table with one hand, Peter's hair with the other. His fingers were warm now, firm on her thighs, and the pressure and pulse between, divine. She arched, opened, moaned, more than the reassurance he needed to continue. She'd been aching for release before he began and lifted to meet his touch, soon insensible to the scrape of her chair against the floor. He caught her up and held the chair in place as she came, the throb against his tongue enough to silence any complaint in his arms.

He eased her into the chair but didn't let go. Eyes heavy, breath heavier, then slipped down onto his lap, put her arms around his shoulders and hid her face in his neck, marvelling.

"I love you." He said. "So, so much."

She almost laughed. "You don't say."

He squeezed her tight and then loosed his hold at the feel of her hip against his arousal. He didn't particularly want the favour returned, not right now, not only because it wasn't a favour to begin with.

"How did you – I mean - " she began, feeling she'd worked herself into an awkward corner, "I thought, maybe, that the other night could have been the first, but clearly not." She didn't know if she hoped more that he did understand, or that he didn't.

"It was." He'd have said more, perhaps, if she hadn't been looking right into his eyes.

"Then, how?" She managed.

"I was teenager once."

"I don't remember teenagers knowing how to do that."

"Well, not that exactly."

She took a deep breath, digesting the information still – she had been his first. His only.

"It's been a long time though." He said.

"You've a good memory. I'm still shaking."

"You are. Is that a good thing."

She smiled, kissed him. The utter satisfaction of moments before had passed. She shifted to be closer and he groaned. She put one knee between his, hooked the other over his hip and then remembered where they were.

"It could be a while," he said, breath shaky, "till we don't have to hide, and pretend."

She nodded against his ear, pressing her nose into his hair. "Except between us. We needn't pretend now."

He moaned agreement.

She leaned back, looking into his eyes. "Come up?" She might have imagined his nod, but when she stood he did too, if a little painfully. She faced him, desperate for him to be sure. This wasn't quite the same heat of the moment as that night in the guest room, though there was heat enough. He raised his hand to her collar, his thumb outlining the bone as if it were a priceless treasure, fragile and sacred. "I need you." He spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm utterly yours."

She took his hand and kept him by her side as they climbed the stairs.

He looked around her room, from his position near the door, while she cleared a few things away. She finished and faced him. He stepped across to her, put a hand to her cheek, and kissed her, demanding nothing, offering everything.

"You're sure." She flattened her hands on the sides of his body, forcing herself to go slowly, moving up. She was the more experienced, sure, but it was a limited experience and this would surely be overwhelming no matter what had come before. Her breast kissed against his chest, three or four layers of fabric besides; she felt full to bursting, every nerve alight.

"I want to do this right." He kissed her forehead, her eyelid, "No hurry. No fear." He kissed her mouth and anything else he'd meant to say was forgotten. She reached up, stretching out against him. He pressed into her and then pulled back. "Though the no-hurry bit might be, ah -"

"You've nothing to prove." She unbuttoned his collar, scooping her fingers beneath. "I am also," another button, "yours." She pressed a kiss to the triangle of his chest, then stayed there, his fingers in her hair a perfect pressure on her scalp.

They undressed slowly, denying urgency until no obstacle remained, but then he felt the soft plane of her stomach on him and she felt his thigh against hers, her breasts brushing his chest, it was all too much. She lay down, reaching across to the night stand, and the distance between them was more than he could bear. He ran his hand up from her ankle, kneeling beside her.

She lay back, hands shaking, and sheathed him. He watched her face, rather than her hands, struggling for control, and as soon as she let go of him he kissed her, keeping himself aloft for a few more seconds.

She wrapped her legs around him and groaned low at the first touch. She ran her hands up from his hips to his shoulders, reached to kiss his neck, her open mouth exhaling fast as he entered her.

He moved up, arms surrounding her, and deep, his eyes closed, mouth open. He pulled away but not right out, met her gaze and then pressed in again. It was fully daylight and every bit of it deliberate, so utterly different from the last time, and yet the exact same sense of discovery, of finally belonging, of coming home.

Her heel on his back, the other foot on his leg, pulled him in again and he felt the rush of anticipation. She arched, loosing her grip on his shoulders. Her arms fell back and she gasped, moving impossibly beneath him, lifting in shudders.

Tension spun and effervesced in his head, down his arms in his calves, and then zeroed in and took hold of him. He lifted her now-relaxed, supple body to meet each stroke, insensible to all the world beyond her soft flesh and the look in her eyes, all hope and joy and, he was beginning to really believe it, love.

As their rhythm slowed he lowered himself to his elbows, planting dozens of kisses on her face till she laughed and pushed at him. He rolled off but she held on and settled above him. Adjusting her knees, she constricted around him and he took a deep breath, letting his head drop back into the pillows. She splayed her hands across his chest as if measuring him in hands-breadths. When she sighed he raised his eyebrows in question.

"I have to open the pub in an hour and a half."

He nodded, ran his hand up her side and thumbed the side of her breast. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm expected in Cilldargen at two."

"Plenty of time for a kip."

He sat up, shaking his head, arms going around her. "Plenty of time to sleep later."

"Hm." She moaned as he pressed open kisses against her breast. "Make the most."

He rested his forehead between her breasts and let out a sigh. "Any plans for breakfast tomorrow?"

"I've not yet had breakfast today."

He looked up at her, "Well, then."

"You want to make breakfast?"

"Wouldn't that be the gentlemanly thing?"

"You didn't stay over."

"See? I've amends to make." He lifted her just high enough and moved out from beneath her, turning away. And fair enough, she gulped, realising this was yet another first for him. Turning back he kissed her. "Won't be long."

She resisted the urge to put a t-shirt on. It was all very well to pretend they might make a daily habit of this but she couldn't rest easy assured of a happy ending, or even a happy week, yet. They'd make the absolute most of this precious morning. No holding back.

But Peter had donned a towel, she saw on his return, tray in hands. "Hope toast is okay."

"So long as it's delivered to my bed, I'm not picky."

"That right?" He set the tray down and sat on the bed carefully.

"Well, by you at least. Any randy tourists can save their best offers till there's a bar between."

"I don't doubt you 'Sumpta."

"I wouldn't blame you. I've no sparkling record."

"I'm not sure you're entirely to blame."

She sighed, taking the proffered coffee. "So, what now?"

"We do what has to be done." He put down his toast, unbitten. "When we figure out what that is."

"And until then?" She met his gaze, an adoration that seemed to dwarf every oncoming obstacle. "This is never going to stay a secret."

"No. It might help if I say away for a whi- "

"Don't." The word slipped from her lips with all the dread she felt at the prospect. "You've a job here if you want it, and a roof over your head if you can't get it elsewhere."

"Assumpta -"

"I'm serious, Peter. If we're doing this – and we appear to be doing," she smirked, "it."

"So, we dive in."

"The only way." She took a bite of toast, licked melted butter from her lips, gently amused at the hungry reaction in his eyes.

"I suppose that's why we put this off for so long. Most couples have something of a trial period."

She cocked her head to the side. "There's just no dating a priest. Or that's the idea."

They ate in silence a while. He broke it, saying, "I knew a priest who was laicized."

"Yeah?"

"I should look him up."

"He fell in love?"

"He married her before his release came through."

Assumpta's eyebrows went up at that. "Pregnant?"

He shook his head. "No, just knew what he wanted."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "You want that – to get married?"

He met her gaze and eventually, simply, said, "Yes."

Her lips twitched to smile and he grinned, reaching across the tray to kiss her. They almost toppled the coffee so he sat back again.

She poked at crumbs on plate, licking them off her finger. "Doing it in a church isn't going to be an option anyway, but I suspect my thing might take longer than yours."

"Your thing." He said, swallowing a sigh."

"I've no idea what Leo's going to do, and the only lawyer I know did Ma and Dad's will."

He often forgot she'd lost both her parents so young, that she'd taken on the family business straight out of varsity. She was strong, resourceful, had courage in spades. And she loved him. They would get through this.

He moved the tray aside and then took her coffee cup from her.

"I wasn't finished with -"

In fact, she was.