"We're closed!" Assumpta called out with her mouthful of cereal.

"I know." Peter yelled back.

She indulged in a full grin, then went to let him in. Not wanting him to get too full of himself, she flicked the lock and let him do the rest. He followed her through to the kitchen.

"I have a confession to make." He took hold of the back of a chair.

"I told you," she resumed her seat, "we're not open."

"I may have mentioned," he rocked on his feet, "under strictest confidence, but nonetheless – I told Mark, before he left, that you and I are going to get married."

She picked up her spoon, hardly surprised.

"And he may have mentioned it to Andy."

"Who told Di, and now your entire family know?"

He looked about ready to take another punch.

She took a mouthful of cereal and pushed the box across the table toward him. "Why else does a priest quit his job? Milk's in the fridge. Finish it before it walks out, will you?"

He did as he was told. Sitting opposite her with his cereal turning soggy, he went on. "That wasn't everything."

"Isn't it too early for this?"

"Mum left us some money – not much." He hesitated. "And it's to be split evenly, between everyone – grandkids, everyone."

"You want to take me out for a nice meal? Ah, it's about time."

He quirked a smile but that wasn't it. "Mark and Andy are pretty well set up so," he was talking as if he was breaking bad news, "they want to give us their share – as a wedding present."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, looking at him like a puzzle – with a piece missing.

"They don't want me near your electrics again." He aimed for a joke and missed.

"It's enough for that?" She daren't believe it.

He nodded.

"But we – there won't be a wedding for... months." She didn't add 'at least'.

"The money's in my account."

She put down her spoon. It took a minute to digest.

He leaned forward onto the table. "I know you don't want to take – um, well, just consider: I'm not bringing much to the table here, am I? You've a property, a business, and I? I've a perfectly serviceable ruck sack, and, ah, no that's it. Half my wardrobe is fast going out of style – for me at least."

"When did style stop you?"

"I've got so little to offer, Assumpta. Let me do this."

"I can call an electrician today?"

He nodded.

"Of course I'll take it! Are you kidding me? No – you are kidding me. So little to offer?"

"Practically speaking. I mean I'm qualified to do what? In fact, it's a good thing I've that rucksack because we'll need it if we ever want to go on holiday. My car doesn't even run."

"Trade it in for a tent. We'll call it the honeymoon fund."

He grinned.

She put her hand over her mouth, still hardly believing, "We can get the electrics done. Oh my god."

"We?"

"Oh, you think I'm letting you go now?"

"What? You'll make me partner?"

"Easy there."

He laughed.

"You don't know how incredible this is. I don't know what to say."

He shrugged. "We'll send Mark and Andy postcards from the camping ground."

She was far too close to tears of relief and joy and every other emotion going.

"What?" He stood and put their empty bowls in the sink.

She shook her head. "What are you doing today?"

"I don't know. What am I doing today?"

"You're a free man. What do you want to do?"

He leaned back on the bench, eyes fixed on Assumpta. It wouldn't often be like this. The pub was rarely closed and with any luck would be open again before the end of the week. They might not have many days entirely to themselves, but they'd have many, many days. In that moment their future stretched out before him with all its possibilities. And it started today. "Summit a mountain." He said at last.

She stood up, nodding and approached him. "You'd better be speaking figuratively."

"With the state of our feet?"

"And your face."

"Oh, I don't know, a little fresh air might be just the thing. Unless you want to try kissing it better."

"You'd be lucky." It was her automatic response.

"No doubt about it."

She reached up and kissed his bruised chin, then stayed close, barely touching him. "Are you nervous?"

His hands danced around her hips, the hem of her shirt. He nodded but held eye contact. "Are you?"

She thought for a moment. "No."

He breathed out. "I'm just guessing, but I might be easier to please."

She smiled. "Maybe, but that's just biology. Don't worry, I'm a card carrying realist."

"Good good."

"Maybe a mountaintop isn't a bad idea – keep everything in perspective."

His warm fingers traced up her spine, beneath her shirt.

"I do have a perfectly comfortable bed, just upstairs."

"Assumpta-" he kissed her forehead.

"Should I shut up now?"

He shook his head, "Just don't take it the wrong way if I interrupt you occasionally." He kissed her mouth too briefly, then her neck, a now-mastered art. He was a quick learner, no denying it.

He stopped, levelled with her. "Go on." He challenged her to keep talking.

"When did you get so good at that?

He smiled and went back to her neck. She ran her hands up under his shirt and then pulled it off over his head, only to be confronted by the yellowing bruise on his arm. It would fade but she dreaded forgetting how close they'd come to missing out on all of this. She pressed her cheek to his chest, inhaling deep at the sensation of his hand spreading wide across her belly. She wanted more contact and unbuttoned her own shirt. He breathed out a low groan at the silky heat and slip of skin on skin. She pulled her bra out of the way and went back for more.

He inhaled as if singed.

"Okay?" She pulled away just far enough to see him and feared for a moment that this was too much, too fast. But he lifted his hand to her breast, then leaned in pressing kisses to her shoulder, her neck, throat and finally caught up with his hand. He rested there as if catching his breath, each ragged exhalation teasing her skin, sending arcs of sensation through her body, each pulse both blissful and infuriating.

"I'm so close." He said.

She nodded and made quick work of removing the rest of her clothes.

"This is hardly helping." He stared at her in awe.

"That depends," she undid his belt, "on your definition of helping."

"I don't want this to be over in just a few minutes." He took her hands off his pants and finished taking off his clothes himself.

"It won't be." She looked him in the eye, trying to be understood. He looked unconvinced. She tried again, "Even if it is, it won't be." She pressed herself against him, all that pure, bare sensation near-overwhelming. He rocked on his feet, balance wavering. She pulled him down to sit on the floor. She leaned over him, close, looking into his wide eyes, willing him to just relax. He ran his hands down her body, reaching for her thighs.

She kissed his mouth and lifted her knee, grazing up the hard length of him.

"Oh-" he groaned, alarmed.

"Breath." She straddled him, barely touching. "Just enjoy it."

He closed his eyes at the first touch. She struggled to reign in control of herself. His pull on her thighs was too much. She sunk down onto him. Both shocked, they stopped.

He looked up at her and she felt it begin. Lifting herself, she gave him everything, looking right into his eyes almost throughout. He tried, struggled to keep his eyes open. She slowed as he recovered, but she was so close now. He lifted himself to reach her, pressed his face to her breast, his abdomen clenching against her. Her moan was clue enough. He pulled her harder against him. She arched back and crested the wave, coming down in shudders, pushing him back till she lay on top of him in the pale morning light.

He lifted her head so as to kiss her – one firm, clumsy inhalation, the one of the other.

"I see what you mean." He said, pushing into her again.

"Yeah?" She could barely see through the haze yet.

"It's not over."

She rested her forehead on his. "I'm all yours."

He skimmed his hands up the sides of her body, then firm down, taking in every curve, moving her against him. He came fast, gripping her so fiercely she wondered if he'd leave a mark. Not that she'd begrudge any proof that this wasn't all a dream. She stroked his face and kissed him as he came out of it.

They lay there in silence, this new reality still difficult to believe.

She sighed, propping herself up on her elbow, so as to see him. 'I take you," she smiled, "Peter Clifford."

He grinned. "On the kitchen floor."

She held his gaze. "For so long as we both shall live."

He brushed the hair back from her face. "And I take you-"

"To bliss." She interrupted.

He glowed, "And to be my wife."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"I didn't hear any objections."

She laughed and sat up. "I won't tell if you won't." She reached for her shirt, pulling on the sleeves. "Are you cold there?"

He shook his head and sat up. "Not cold." Slipping his hand up under her half-open shirt, he thumbed the underside of her breast. "Bit naked though."

She put her hand to his calf muscle, trailed her fingers all the way up his leg, up his chest, leaning forward to embrace him, too terrified to speak. This was a big step for him – for them both, but she'd never regret it. He might.

"I'll get used to it." He slid his hand down over her hip, between her thighs. "Bit of practise."

The rush of relief made her hold him fiercely. He had plans to practise – he couldn't regret it. She hadn't realised the strength of her fear, but he'd surprised her again.

"Are you alright?" He stopped his tentative exploration and pried her back.

She nodded, "I'm fine. I'll get used to it." She kissed him. "Bit of practise."

He resumed drawing warm lines up and down her thigh. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me." He pressed he fingertips inside.

"Gentle." She instructed.

"Like this?"

She took a deep breath, tense and welling again. Speech seemed an awful lot of work. She nodded.

"Or not at all," he trailed his fingers down her thigh and back up but not all the way – not far enough. :Tell me."

She turned on him, "My, you do corrupt quick." She immediately regretted the words but he smiled, knowing better than to take offence.

"Tell me."

She pressed her lips together, searched his eyes, "You don't feel... guilt, or regret?"

"No." He answered without pause.

"Yet." She supplied.

"Assumpta," he delved inside and her breath caught, "how could I ever regret this?"

"You're a marvel."

He pulled out and ran his fingers up over her stomach, between her breasts. "You-" his voice faltered. He shook his head in wonder. "I don't even know how to tell you how much I love you."

"I'm getting the picture. You're giving up everything."

"I don't know how it took me so long. I'm a slow learner."

"You're really not."

He pushed the shirt back from her shoulder and traced the line of her clavicle with his nose. "I think this is my favourite bit."

She laughed a little, sighed.

"But I've a lot to learn. Perhaps I'll find something better."

The floor was starting to feel awfully hard, though no longer cold. "Come on; bed." She started to get up, pulling him with her.

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"And he thinks he's a slow learner." She picked up her clothes and handed him his shirt.

He bent to retrieve his jeans, holding them in front of him, near-modestly. "To think – in your kitchen."

"Almost seems fitting."

"What? Why's that?"

"I was standing right here when I gave you up." She cocked her head to one side. "When you gave me up."

He nodded. "You cried." He looked to be on the verge of doing so himself.

She bit her lip. "I don't do that often."

He shook his head in agreement. "If only I'd known. I could have just done this." He only touched her lips with his, a barely-there kiss that somehow said everything.

"Just like that." She whispered. "Well, except you were dressed differently."

"I was dressed – at all."

"That'll be where we went wrong."

He smiled and kissed her again. "I loved you then – but this," he kissed her, open, hungry, familiar and whatever else he'd been going to say was better expressed in that kiss.

Breathless, aching for him, she broke away. "Uh-uh. Upstairs." She turned him around and nudged him forward, showing him the way.