Arthur took Amelia's hands in his own as they stood at the front gate of the place the young writer had called home up until a year ago when fate had brought him to New York. At first he'd believed that fate had lead him to pursue his dream of becoming internationally known for his skills. Now he saw things differently. Now, after entering a tiny corner tea shop on a whim; now after spending some of the best days of his life with the most wonderful person in the world, he was convinced that fate had lead him straight to her. Of course, he wouldn't have breathed a word of his whole-hearted confession to her face (at least not yet), but he would go to whatever lengths it took to convince his parents that she, if nothing else, was worth his remaining in the States.

The two had arrived the day prior, both groggy and jet-lagged, and had spent most of the day in bed or touring lazily around a few tourist spots in London. Arthur had arranged to have dinner with his family and here they stood anxiously at the foot of the driveway.

"Everything will be alright, Love. There's no need to fret."

Arthur soothed, rubbing his thumb in small concentric circles on the outside of her palm. Amelia turned her eyes up to meet his, flashing a teasing grin as she answered,

"I could say the same to you."

The couple walked in tandem towards the door, pausing a short distance away to separate from one another, allowing Arthur to take the lead. He rapped his knuckles three times against the chestnut wood and not a moment passed that a stream of light flooded the darkened steps.

"My baby boy's come home!"

An incredibly short woman (whom Amelia assumed was Arthur's mother) emerged from the innards of the house to wrap her short arms about Arthur's waist. She was stout for her height, her light brown hair falling at a flat line against her shoulders, delicate framed glasses on her cheerful face. The woman wore a shade of green blouse that Amelia had seen on Arthur many times before, and couldn't help but find the whole thing utterly adorable as—although somewhat embarrassed—Arthur knelt down slightly to return the affection.

"Oh Artie, mummy's missed you! Yer father's been nearly beside himself this whole time with takin' care of Wes and Liam. And don't get me started on Scott! He and his antics…I need someone sane around here again—"

The woman continued to drone on, Amelia detecting a hint of Scottish flare to the rich British accent she spoke in, unable to understand a few words here and there due to the speed of her excited slurs.

"Yes yes, Mum. It's wonderful to see you as well…" Arthur chided, gazing up to stare apologetically towards Amelia who merely smiled, doing her best to stifle a giggle. "We can talk about it over dinner, eh? It's quite chilly out here and I feel it would be rather unlike the Kirkland family to leave a guest out in the cold."

At her son's suggestion, Arthur's mother finally shifted her eyes away to notice the girl standing on the opposite side of the porch. The older woman gave Amelia a quick once-over and managed to pull herself from Arthur long enough to offer a nod in greeting.

"So you're the lovely lady friend that my Arthur's been goin' on and on about in his emails." She pressed, Amelia unable to hide the flush of red now appearing on her already rosy cheeks.

"Yes ma'am." She quickly curtsied, adding, "Amelia Jones. It's wonderful to finally meet you, Mrs. Kirkland."

"…Pleasure, dear."

The silence until Arthur's mother had answered made the entire party feel unsettled. Yet Amelia took it with stride, making a concerted effort to remain congenial and exceptionally polite. She could see Arthur fidgeting nervously just beyond his mother's view.

"Molly? Is that who I think it is?"

A masculine voice called from behind the door, opening it completely to reveal a fiery-haired, freckled wonder with stunning green eyes. The man was tall and wore what looked like an eternal judgmental look on his features. Unfortunately for her, Amelia had been the one closest to the doorway as Arthur had stepped to the side to converse with his mother. With intensity he stared down at Amelia, the girl forced backwards by the commanding presence of whom she deduced was Arthur's father.

"Amelia….isn't it?"

The hair on the back of Amelia's neck bristled, wishing desperately to be under a rock somewhere in the middle of nowhere rather than under the weight of this gentleman.

"Y-Yes sir." she spoke softly, watching his every move for any sign of recognition or approval.

The pair locked eyes for a few lingering seconds, then Arthur's father put his hand to his chin. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, mirroring his wife's earlier practice of sizing up the contestant.

A short, exasperated 'hmph' was all Amelia needed to prove the looming sense of dread that she wasn't acceptable. Arthur, who had split his attention between the doting comments from his mother and to that of his father and Amelias' interaction, caught on to his girlfriend's plight instantly. The sudden falter in her normally charismatic features put him on the defensive. He gently placed his hands on his mother's shoulder and began directing her towards the doorway.

"Dad, wouldn't you agree that we should move this all inside? I'm certain you wouldn't want us to freeze at our very own doorstep?"

"Quite right! Henry, call the boys while I mind the stove—Dinner should be ready soon."

Henry scanned the supposed source of his son's infatuation once more, breaking away from his analysis to do as he was told.

Once the man was well out of view, Amelia entered and closed the door behind cautiously. Before she could take another step on the crisp tile floors of this palace-like abode, she caught herself face-to-face with another. This boy, not much younger than herself, resembled Henry in most respects: red hair, freckles, green eyes. Yet his face was softer, rounder, and his eyes reminded her so much of Arthur.

A low whistle erupted forth as the young man took a step back to examine her. Amelia was positive she'd checked this morning for any "modern art" signs that had been hidden on her person, for she certainly felt like one now.

"Wow! How'd Art manage to snag this one?"

he continued admiring her with more intimacy than Amelia appreciated.

"Calm down, Liam. We don't want to scare her off—There's no telling if Arthur will find another one."

Amelia's attention was pulled away from one handsome male to another. Deep auburn hair was tied in a low pony-tail that lay against his broad shoulders. Unlike the other two, his eyes were of a hazel hue. They held an inner gentleness about them, which was temporarily masked behind a stern expression when he crossed the room to stand as a barrier against Liam while Arthur was off busy entertaining his folks.

"Wes Kirkland at your service, m'lady." He bowed and skillfully lifted her hand, which had mysteriously found its way into his, to his mouth. "I'll ensure that this roughen doesn't bother you any longer."

Amelia and Liam wore similar expressions, though for completely different reasons. Amelia gave the slightest of 'thank yous' as a less than subtle clearing of the throat drew the actors towards the lone member of the audience.

"I see neither of you have changed in the year I've been away." Arthur remarked, arms crossed. "I would request you refrain from touching her without her permission, brother dearest."

Wes released Amelia's hand, letting out a melodic chuckle while making his way over to Arthur. He swung his arm over Arthur's shoulders, ruffling his hair fondly.

"Don't you mean without your permission, oh kindred of mine?"

It was Arthur's turn to blush now, opening his mouth to protest the claim though his efforts were in vain when the youngest of the four Kirkland boys joined in the taunting.

"Seriously, Arthur—Where'd you find her? Did she lose a bet and was forced to go out with you or something?"

The level of annoyance on Arthur's face could only rival the ones seen during the frequent confrontations he had with Francis, Amelia thought. Imagining it like this also helped distract her from the fact that it was she whom they were discussing in the first place. The argument was brought to an abrupt end when the sing-song voice of Molly Kirkland called from the dining room: "Come to dinner, boys!"

The brothers straightened and moved as a unit to the voice's origin, as if nothing riotous had been occurring mere moments before. Arthur, however, lingered behind when he noticed Amelia was hesitant to follow.

"Amelia, is everything alright?"

Her head was tilted to the side, focused on the floor rather than finding the courage to look him in the eye.

"I just, " her fingers clenched tight against her palm, "I feel like I already have too many strikes against me. I can't earn anymore or I'll strike out."

Arthur drew closer to her, unable to contain a small bout of laughter that pulled Amelia out of her spiral of self-pity.

"Of course you'd choose to use a baseball metaphor."

"America's favorite past time."

"Mmmm."

"Does Britain have a favorite past time?"

"Well—"

"OI! Art—you and your girlfriend get in here now. The food's going to spoil before you can eat it!" Liam pleaded, no doubt instructed by his mother or Wes that no eating would occur without them.

"Let's join them, Amelia…My family has always been one for heartfelt talks around the dinner table. I'm sure that you'll hit a home run, just as you did with me."

Amelia couldn't keep the smile from her lips.

"I have to admit, I'm impressed that you continued the metaphor."

Arthur laced his fingers in hers, leading her with him to where the rest of his family waited. "Still not as good as futbol."