The next two days pass pleasantly enough. Crane takes Abbie to as many of the "must-see" places as he can, given the time of year, as well as some of his favorite but lesser-known spots. Mrs. Crane gets her shopping afternoon with Abbie while Ichabod and his father stay home and, together, spend their version of quality time: sitting and reading in the same room.
Abbie hasn't been doing an excessive amount of walking – Crane has made certain of that – but by New Year's Eve her knee is still sore, so they decide to spend the morning at home. If Abbie feels up for it, they may venture out in the afternoon.
"Mr. Crane, may I ask a question?" Abbie asks, once again sitting with her legs in Ichabod's lap on the couch.
"Of course, dear, ask me anything you like," Mr. Crane answers, setting his newspaper aside.
"Was there a reason you chose to retire early? I mean, you can't be over 60 years old, and Ichabod says you've been retired for two years now. I am simply curious if there was a reason," she says.
Mr. Crane smiles. "Yes. There was a reason. You may recall I mentioned having borderline high blood pressure." Abbie nods, the light dawning. "Well, it wasn't always borderline. It only lowered enough to become so after I retired," he explains.
"And, the cholesterol was elevated by stress as well," Mrs. Crane adds, joining them. She is carrying a tray with four teacups. "That one is yours, dear," she indicates the one nearest Abbie. "Extra sweet."
"Thank you," Abbie says, taking the cup.
Ichabod reaches for the one that was beside it, his eyebrows raised in a question. His mother nods and he takes his cup.
"Thank you, Darling," Mr. Crane says. "And, she is correct. My work was affecting my health, and since I was fortunate enough to have the means to retire at 54 years old, I did."
"I didn't realize publishing was such a high-stress job," Abbie comments.
"Well, it's not police work, but it has its share of trials," Mr. Crane replies, smiling at the young woman.
"Bert took on more than he should have," Mrs. Crane explains. "He..."
Ichabod's mobile phone rings. When he looks at it, his eyes widen significantly. He glances at Abbie, then swipes across the screen to answer. "Hello?" Abbie moves her legs from his lap to allow him to stand, and he walks into the kitchen. "No, it is not a problem at all. Happy New Year to you as well..."
Abbie and Mr. and Mrs. Crane stare at each other for a moment, not sure how to proceed.
Eventually, Mrs. Crane clears her throat and continues. "Um, yes. Bert did not always delegate responsibility the way he should have done," she says. "He did too much."
"I understand that," Abbie says, nodding. "Best way to make sure something is done correctly is to do it yourself, right?"
"Thank you," Mr. Crane says with a nod. "See, Abbie understands."
"Oh, I'm not saying it's right; I'm simply saying I understand the mindset. Sheriff Corbin was like that. So is my sister," Abbie clarifies.
"Not you?" Mr. Crane asks, raising his eyebrow.
Aha, I knew they had the same forehead. "I try not to be," Abbie admits, smiling.
Ichabod appears in the doorway, and three faces turn expectantly towards him. "Dr. Hayward offered me the position," he quietly says. His mother jumps to her feet and hugs him, overjoyed. His father stands and shakes his hand, clasping it between both of his. "Thank you," Crane says, his voice still quiet. "I have yet to give him my answer."
"Oh," his mother softly exclaims, obviously having expected her son to immediately accept.
Crane looks at Abbie, sitting on the edge of a couch cushion, her posture stiff and her hands tightly clasped together on her knees. "Abbie, may I have a word?" he asks, stepping over to her, his hand extended. She takes his hand and he leads her to the sunroom at the back of the house.
The sun has come out, making the room comfortably warm despite the abundance of windows. Abbie sits on the chaise lounge. "When do you need to give them your answer?" she asks.
"I told him I would let him know before we leave on the second," he answers, sitting beside her, taking her hands in his.
"That long?" she asks, puzzled. "Ichabod, this is everything you want, why do you need time to think?"
He shyly smiles at her. "Don't you see, Love? It isn't everything I want." He lifts her hands and kisses them. "I had... intended to do this later. Tonight, as we rung in the New Year. But... I think I'd like to do it now..." he says, stumbling over his words a bit. "Abbie," he starts again, sliding off the chaise to kneel in front of her, "I cannot take the position here if you are in Sleepy Hollow." He kisses her hands again as she watches him with wide eyes. "And, as much as I want this post, there is something I want even more." She gasps, and bites her lip, anticipating his next words. "Abigail, my love... will you marry me? Will you marry me and do me the great honor of being my wife?"
"Yes," she breathes, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye. "Yes, I will, Ichabod," she says leaning forward to meet him as he reaches up for her, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "I have no idea what I'll do here, but yes!" she whispers, laughing.
"Treasure, you can do whatever you wish," he says, leaning back to smile at her. It's a stupid, lopsided, lovesick grin, and she laughs more. He catches her laughing lips with a kiss, his knees growing sore, but he doesn't care because she is in his arms and she said "Yes". "Oh," he pulls away, remembering. "Wait here." He pecks her lips, unfolds himself from the floor, and jogs from the room.
Abbie waits, mind reeling and face smiling. She faintly hears Mrs. Crane's confused inquiries as she sees her son tearing through the house. A minute later, Crane returns to the sunroom, only slightly out of breath. "I did say this house was much too large," he comments, returning to Abbie's side, sitting beside her. He lifts a small black box hidden in his hand and opens it, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.
"You came packing?" Abbie blurts. She claps her hands over her mouth as Crane laughs. "Sorry! I know that wasn't the right reaction!" she says, laughing. "It's beautiful, Ichabod," she says as he lifts her left hand and places it on her finger. "And, it fits!" She hugs him tightly, tucking her head against his chest.
"Yes, I 'came packing', as you said," he says, kissing her hair. She lifts her head to look at him. "While you were out bargain hunting with Jenny on the day after Christmas, I also went shopping," he explains. "I have been thinking about this for several weeks, to be honest. By Christmas, I knew no matter what the outcome of this trip, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. It doesn't matter where. My home is where you are." He thumbs away a tear that has slipped from her eye, then kisses her forehead.
"I feel the same way," she whispers, overwhelmed by his admission and her feelings. She reaches up and cups his cheek, her fingers stroking his beard. "As long as I'm with you, I'm... I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been."
Crane exuberantly kisses her, at a rare loss for words. She makes a small squeak as he leans her back against the raised end of the chaise, deepening the kiss. She sighs and threads her fingers into his hair, meeting his questing tongue with her own.
"Oh! I... oh, dear..." Mrs. Crane exclaims, standing awkwardly in the doorway, her face scarlet. Crane and Abbie quickly separate. Abbie is giggling; Crane's ponytail is askew. "I'm sorry... I was just making sure everything was all right... you were tearing through the house... apparently, everything is all right, so..." she stammers, backing away from the door.
"Mum," Crane says, standing, "it's fine. Everything's fine. Everything is fantastic, in fact." Mrs. Crane steps forward again, curious. "Abbie has just consented to be my wife," he explains, lifting Abbie's left hand and showing his mother.
The older woman's face lights up, she yells, "Bert!" and hurries into the room. Instead of hugging her son, she hugs Abbie, then looks at the ring. "Oh, Ichabod, it's lovely," she says. Then, she hugs a laughing Ichabod.
Mr. Crane enters the room, asking, "What are you shouting about, Phillipa? I was— oh," he pulls up short when his wife shows him Abbie's hand. "Well, then. That is worth shouting about," he says, smiling and nodding his approval. "So, does this mean you're taking the job?"
Ichabod looks at Abbie, then back to his father. "Will you give us a moment?"
Mr. Crane's eyebrow's lift in surprise. "Honestly? You still haven't—" he starts. Mrs. Crane quietly shushes her husband and gently pushes him from the room. "But, I thought since Abbie said…" His voice fades as they retreat.
Ichabod takes her hands and guides her back down onto the chaise, waiting for her approval. She gazes up at him and bites her lower lip. "You don't have to answer right now, Love," he says.
"It's not my decision alone, Ichabod," she says. "This is your job. You shouldn't accept it based solely on what I want," she answers.
He caresses her cheek with his hand. "You know what I want, Abbie. Whether it be here or there..." he trails off, shrugging one shoulder as though they were not pondering a life-altering decision.
"You would give up your dream job for me?" Abbie quietly asks, almost afraid to pose the question. He nods. She looks down at her feet, glances at the ring on her hand, the tangible representation of their love. I would never ask him to refuse this offer. But, knowing he would if I did… She looks up at him. "I would like... to return here next fall with you, Ichabod," she says.
He exhales heavily and hugs her tightly, pulling her onto his lap. "Thank you," he whispers, tucking his face into her neck. "Thank you so much. You've made me the happiest man on the planet," he says, still smiling. I think I will be forever smiling. "And, we probably should move back here next summer."
Abbie laughs. "Of course, right," she says. "Oh, man... so much to do..."
Crane softly kisses her. "We have time, Love," he reassures. "And, now is not the time for fretting over those details. Now is the time for celebrating."
Her eyes widen. "I have to call Jenny! What time is it?"
"It is 10:44," he answers. "Which means it is 4:44 a.m. in Sleepy Hollow."
She hesitates for a moment, biting her lip. He wordlessly hands her his phone, knowing she's going to call her sister despite the time.
"Thank you," she says, bringing up her sister's contact information.
xXx
Mr. Crane had already made dinner reservations for the four of them, and the evening became even more of a celebration with the addition of Abbie and Ichabod's engagement.
"We should order champagne," Mr. Crane suggests, looking over the wine list.
"Oh, yes, that would be lovely," Mrs. Crane agrees.
Abbie glances at Ichabod, and he clears his throat. "Dad, Abbie is taking antibiotic medication for the infection in her knee," he informs.
Mr. Crane looks up. "Oh, yes, that's right." He puts the wine list down on the table. "Plan B then."
"If you all would like champagne, that's completely fine," Abbie speaks up. "Honest. I just won't be able to have any."
Mrs. Crane looks at Ichabod, then back at Abbie. "I know my son. If you don't have any, he won't, either. That would leave Bert and me to drink an entire bottle of champagne, and trust me, dear, no one wants that," she says, laughing.
Abbie smiles, wondering if she will one day hear stories about the youthful revelry of Cuthbert and Phillipa Crane. "What is Plan B?" she asks.
"Well, if we're not having champagne, we'll have to make certain to save room for dessert," he simply says.
"Oh, I am definitely down for dessert," Abbie replies, smiling.
They all thoroughly enjoy themselves at dinner. The trip has been good thus far, but now that the matter of Ichabod's job has been settled, everyone feels as though a weight has been lifted from his or her shoulders. The conversation eventually turns to Ichabod and Abbie's move the following summer, and when Mr. Crane inquires about an approximate date, Mrs. Crane interrupts.
"Well, I think we have a more important detail to nail down first," she says.
"What's that?" her husband asks.
"The wedding date," Ichabod supplies, guessing his mother's thought.
"Specifically, will you be marrying in the US or here?" she clarifies.
"Oh, that's a good question," Abbie says. "There may be laws we have to consider for citizenship..."
"I believe there is a special visa for which you can apply. It may even be called a 'Marriage Visa'. That is, if you plan to get married here," Mr. Crane says.
"It is traditional to have the wedding in the bride's hometown," Mrs. Crane says.
"Abbie, what do you think?" Ichabod says, reaching over for her hand.
"Well, to be perfectly honest, it doesn't matter that much where we get married," she answers. "I mean, as long as it happens, whether in Sleepy Hollow or London..." she trails off, lifting her free hand palm up.
"From a practical standpoint, it might be easier for you to gain citizenship, if you wish to do so, if you marry here," Mr. Crane recommends.
"Jenny already said she would come visit me," Abbie says, the prospect of a wedding in England becoming more and more attractive.
"Oh, dear..." Mrs. Crane suddenly says.
"Mum, what on earth are you—"
"Mary Wells," she interrupts. "Do not look, Ichabod. She's over there," she points with her eyes, not turning her head, "with a man. I just saw her look directly at you."
"The gold-digging ex?" Abbie asks. "Ooo, I want to look so badly," she adds, grinning.
Mr. Crane clears his throat. "Pay her no mind, for goodness' sake," he says, his expression tight. "If you like, I can investigate what paperwork needs to be done," he continues, attempting to steer the conversation back. Ichabod had told Abbie that his father was almost angrier than he was when the truth came out about Mary.
"Look now, Abbie. Quickly!" Mrs. Crane whispers, patting Abbie's hand. Abbie and Ichabod both look.
Abbie sees a woman about her age. Dark hair, pale skin. Pretty, but not gorgeous, from what she can see. Mary laughs, and her high-pitched titter reaches Abbie's ears. Then, Mary turns to look towards their table again, and Abbie, not wishing to be caught staring, begins looking around, her eyes searching the restaurant, as though she is trying to locate their waiter. She furrows her brows, shrugs, then turns her attention back to her own table.
"I never liked her laugh," Ichabod says. "Very smooth, Abbie," he adds, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
"I think she saw that," Mrs. Crane comments.
The waiter appears, and they order their desserts.
"Oh! Sorry. Yes, Dad, it would be most helpful if you could look into that information for us," Ichabod says, remembering his father's earlier attempt.
Mr. Crane nods. "Consider it done. Abbie, is there anyone else who might be able to make the trip over?"
"Frank Irving and his family would probably like to be here," Abbie says. "He's the head of the Criminal Science Department, and a dear friend. Maybe Captain Reyes. She's another colleague. I honestly don't have a lot of people."
"Abraham may wish to make the trip over," Ichabod says. "Difficult to tell with him though."
Their desserts arrive, and the conversation steers back towards the wedding and relocating. Just as they are discussing why it wouldn't be very practical for Abbie and Ichabod to live with his parents until they find a place of their own in Oxford, Mary walks past, headed to the restroom. She quickly goes by, but makes sure to get a good look at Abbie.
"It would be an hour's commute for me, Mum, that's all," Ichabod says, studiously ignoring Mary yet keeping track of her, remembering her jealousy and possessiveness.
"I know, Darling," Mrs. Crane admits. "It was merely a hopeful thought, that's all."
He smiles at his mother. "We'll probably just find a flat in Oxford," he replies.
"For a while," Abbie amends, smiling.
"Yes, of course," Ichabod agrees. "Good thing I never did find a house to purchase in Sleepy Hollow. I had been looking," he adds.
"Fortunate, indeed," Mr. Crane agrees.
"Or, perhaps you weren't meant to buy a house there," Mrs. Crane points out.
"Good fortune or divine intervention, either way, I'll take it," Ichabod says, smiling over at Abbie. His eyes drop to her plate. "May I try a bite of your cheesecake?"
"Mmm, yes, of course," she says. Instead of pushing the plate towards him, she takes a forkful and offers it to him. He smiles at her as he takes the bite.
"Remember the first time you did that?" he asks after he swallows.
Abbie nods. "Our second date," she immediately answers.
"Oh, how sweet," Mrs. Crane says.
"It was a brownie with peanut butter," Ichabod explains.
"I never understood the American obsession with peanut butter," Mr. Crane comments, a wry smile on his face.
"Clearly, you haven't had one of these brownies," Abbie replies.
They finish their desserts, Abbie and Ichabod telling his parents about their first two dates (Mr. Crane was very intrigued by the Monte Cristo sandwich). Mr. Crane pays the bill and as they stand to leave, Abbie accidentally bumps her cane from its resting place, and it clatters noisily to the floor. Several heads turn, most almost immediately turning back to their own tables.
Mary Wells watches with wide-eyed interest as Ichabod bends and retrieves Abbie's cane for her. She smiles up at him, saying "Thank you" as she grasps it with her left hand. Mary sees the sparkle of the sizable diamond on Abbie's small hand and her mouth involuntarily opens in a soft gasp.
Abbie doesn't hear the gasp, but her eyes land on Mary nevertheless. She takes no joy in seeing the stricken look on the other woman's face. She feels pity for her, in fact, and offers her a quick, small smile before looping her right hand into Ichabod's elbow.
"Abbie, dear, I should mention I have a good friend who is one of the top orthopedic surgeons in London. Please remind me to give you one or two of Arthur's cards so you may have your physician contact him," Mr. Crane says as they walk out.
"Thank you, Mr. Crane, that's very thoughtful of you," Abbie says. "Honestly, it was a concern of mine."
"Dr. Bradley is quite good, Abbie," Mrs. Crane adds once they are in the car. "He did my older sister's hip replacement four years ago and she hasn't had a lick of trouble with it since."
"That's reassuring to hear, thank you, Mrs. Crane," Abbie says.
"Please, dear, call me 'Phillipa'," the older woman replies.
"Yes, and do call me 'Bert'," Mr. Crane agrees. "Or, if you are so inclined, 'Dad' would also be acceptable." He smiles at her in the rear view mirror.
Abbie glances over and sees Mrs. Crane nodding her agreement as well.
"It's been... good Lord, 25 years since I called anyone 'Dad' or 'Mom'," Abbie says, smiling. "Or, I guess it would be 'Mum', wouldn't it?"
"Whatever you like, Abbie," Mrs. Crane answers, chuckling fondly at her future daughter-in-law.
xXx
"Abbie," Crane whispers, gently nudging his sleeping fiancée. "Love."
Abbie incoherently grumbles, turning her face into his chest.
"It's 11:50, Treasure. Would you like to wake up and ring in the New Year with me?" he softly asks, stroking her cheek.
She groans. "Why did you let me fall asleep?" she asks, blinking her eyes open.
"I did not 'let' you do anything," he counters. "You simply did."
"You wore me out," she says, pulling on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms with the t-shirt of Crane's she hastily had yanked on for warmth before snuggling into his chest. She was asleep moments later.
"I seem to recall you were quite a willing participant, even taking charge at one point," he says. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with his thick, plush bathrobe on and Abbie's (which Mrs. Crane insisted on purchasing for Abbie on their shopping trip) in his hand.
"Well, whatever the case, I must have been pretty exhausted. Why the robe?" she asks, slipping her arms into it as he holds it out for her.
"We're going outside," he says. "Put on those fuzzy boots of yours." He opens a chest at the end of his bed and withdraws a large quilt.
"Outside?" She eyes the blanket suspiciously. "Are we having a picnic?" She reaches up to unwind the scarf from around her head, but he stops her.
"You don't need to undo your scarf; we're only going across the hall. There's a balcony off that bedroom. The blanket is just for warmth."
She drops her hands. "Oh," she says, taking his hand and following him out of his room and into the guest room.
"Mum was always afraid I would use this balcony to sneak out when I was younger. That's why I was allowed to have the room with the en suite," he explains.
"Right, because it wouldn't occur to you to just, oh, go across the hall. 'Oh, no, I can't sneak out because the balcony isn't in my room!'" she laughs.
"Spoken like a woman who knows a thing or two about sneaking out of houses," he replies, raising an eyebrow at her as he opens the door to the balcony.
"I did tell you about my misspent youth," she reminds him.
"Yes, Love, I do recall," he says, nodding. "Here." He pulls her closer to him and wraps the quilt around both of them. "Look," he instructs.
"Oh, it's an amazing view," Abbie breathes, looking out over the back garden. She can see the entire neighborhood, cast in a silvery glow from the moon high overhead. She looks up and sees bright stars, clear and twinkling in the black sky.
"This was one of my hiding places," Crane explains. "When I was a boy. I liked to come out here and sit and just... watch things. Birds. The neighbors, if it was daytime. Mrs. Johnson," he points one house over and up, "used to sunbathe in a bikini." She laughs and he grins at her.
"Sounds like she was a young Mrs. Johnson," she says.
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely a trophy wife. Mr. Johnson was a doddering old fool with more money than sense," he agrees. He tucks the blanket more securely around them and continues. "I fell asleep out here once. Mum was about ready to ring the police when Dad found me." He chuckles. "At the time, I think I would have preferred the police."
Abbie laughs more at this.
"I love the sound of your laugh," he says, gazing down into her large, brown eyes. He kisses her once, softly and briefly, gathering her closer, making sure she is fully ensconced in the blanket. "I would—"
The sounds of revelry around the quiet neighborhood interrupt him. They aren't terribly loud or raucous, but just enough so that Crane and Abbie know it is time. "Ah. It must be midnight," he says, lifting his head. "Happy New Year, my love."
"Happy New Year, Ichabod. I love you so much. Thank you for bringing me here with you," she answers, leaning up to kiss him.
They kiss for a time, no longer noticing the cold winter air around them, warm and secure in their little cocoon on the balcony.
"Thank you for coming with me," Crane says, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. "Thank you for everything, Abbie."
Abbie smiles and tilts her chin up to peck his lips. "You're welcome. I really do like it here."
"I'm so glad to hear you say that," he says. She feels his hands move, and he brings one up to her face, caressing her cheek then tucking an escaped tendril of hair back inside the scarf. He smiles down at her, his expression somewhat strange.
"What's that smile?" she asks, curious.
"Just a memory," he says, kissing her forehead. "I suddenly remembered something I hadn't thought of in years."
"What?" she asks.
"It's silly."
"Now, I definitely need to know," she says, resting her chin on his chest.
"I used to have dreams when I was younger," he says. "Dreams involving who I always assumed to be the woman I would one day marry."
Her eyes widen. "I'm not sure I want to know any more."
He laughs. "No, it's nothing like that! The only thing I remember is she had dark hair and large, dark eyes," he says. He leans down again and kisses her eyelids. "I don't know if the dreams were telling me something or I simply wanted it to be the case, but since then, I always had a feeling that the woman with whom I would fall in love and marry would have those two qualities."
She smiles. "That's not silly at all. It's very sweet, in fact." She huddles closer. "Can we go inside?"
"Oh! Yes, of course," he answers, taking one second more to look at the vast starry sky overhead. Then, he drops the blanket, pushes the door open, and allows Abbie to scuttle through, back into the warm house. "It's really amazing," he absently comments, returning to his room.
"What is?"
"Looking up at the stars outside, it hit me how immense this world is and how you and I have come from such different backgrounds and places, yet we still managed to find one another," Crane says, taking off his slippers and robe.
"Thanks to some idiot undergrad plowing me down," Abbie replies, chuckling. She slides into bed, sitting up and waiting for him to join her.
He takes their robes into the bathroom to hang up, then returns. "We should find said 'idiot undergrad' and invite him to the wedding," he jokes, climbing into bed beside her. "Honestly, while I am unhappy you were injured, I am so grateful for that incident."
"Me, too," she admits. "I wonder how long we would have kept orbiting one another had he not knocked me over."
He smiles. "That's a good word for what we had been doing. I think I would have found a way to make our paths cross," he says, remembering his conversation with Bram and Mrs. Gardener during the football game which now feels like it was 100 years ago.
They snuggle down into bed, and Crane pulls Abbie close, facing him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
"I was about ready to make that happen, too," she admits. She leans up and kisses him. She smiles at him, lightly petting his beard, but there is a very slight sadness in her smile.
"Something is troubling you, Love," he says.
She sighs lightly. "I don't know if 'troubling' is the right word, but..."
"Please tell me," he urges after she hesitates.
"It's... well, you sound like a man who has finally realized all of the dreams of his younger days," she starts. She pauses, and he waits patiently for her to continue. "Which is a good thing," she clarifies. "Everyone should be so lucky." She stops again, kisses him, and says, "My next words aren't going to sound the way I mean them, but... this isn't exactly how I pictured my life turning out."
"I understand," he nods. He knows she isn't expressing disappointment with her life, she is simply stating it's different than what she expected.
Abbie tucks her head under Crane's chin. "When I was younger, I had no interest in being a police officer, or anything like that. I never thought about boys until I was a teen, being shuttled from foster home to foster home, and... and at that time they were simply a diversion." She stops again and looks up at him. "I certainly never imagined I'd be engaged to a skinny, British, white History professor," she adds, smiling. She kisses his smiling cheek and drops her head back down. "I honestly never thought I would get married." She sighs. "I see you fulfilling your dreams: a post at Oxford after spending three years experiencing life in the U.S. Engaged to your dark-haired, dark-eyed literal dream girl," she pauses a second, then adds, "and, as a bonus, you get dark-skinned as well." He chuckles and she smiles against his chest, then kisses it. He gives her an affectionate squeeze in return. "My dreams were meager, but... they've gone unrealized. Don't misunderstand, I'm happy. Very happy," she explains, lifting her head again, this time propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him. "I'm only saying seeing you realize yours makes me realize – and remember – mine. I mean, yeah, running away with Michael Jackson or becoming a Fly Girl aren't viable options anymore, but..." she trails off again.
"Abbie," Crane quietly interjects, "you keep dancing around what your dreams actually were. What did you want to do? To be?"
She looks down at her left hand, idly picking at his shirt. "I wanted to be an artist," she says. "It was the only thing I was any good at that I also enjoyed."
"Really?" he asks, intrigued. "How is it you never told me this?"
She shrugs. "I was told that academics were more important. That I wouldn't be able to make a living doing art. I was discouraged from pursuing it, and by the time Corbin, um, rescued Jenny and me, my dream was basically forgotten. He may have been the one person who would have encouraged it, but he never knew."
"Abbie," he says, furrowing his brows, "I've gotten everything I wanted. Why can't you have the same?"
"What do you mean? Take up art again?"
"That's exactly what I mean," he says, growing excited at the thought. "Remember, you won't really need to work once we move back here, so... why not? I know you would go crazy with boredom doing nothing, so if you're going to do something..."
Abbie's small smile broadens significantly as he speaks, the idea creeping into her brain and spreading its branches, taking root. "Why not do something I like?" she finishes. Crane nods enthusiastically and she narrows her eyes at him. "You don't even know if I have any talent. I could be a complete hack."
"I doubt it," he says. "You could draw something for me if it would make you feel better," he offers.
"What, now?"
"No, not now," he chuckles. "Tomorrow. Er, later today."
"I'll think about it," she says.
"Come here," he softly beckons her back down to his shoulder. "All I want is for you to be happy, my love."
"I am happy, Ichabod. You make me happy," she answers, turning her face to kiss his neck.
He lifts her face to his and kisses her. "My purpose in life," he replies, kissing her again. "For, if you are happy, I am happy," he adds, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, brushing against them as he speaks. He captures her lips with his again, ardently kissing her, his tongue hungrily seeking hers out. "I love you so much, Abigail," he whispers, moving over her.
His lips move to her neck and she angles her head into the pillow to allow him more access. The movement partially dislodges her head scarf, and she absently pulls it off and sets it aside. I'll re-do it later.
Abbie's fingers move into Crane's hair as his hands begin shoving at her t-shirt. She yanks it off and tosses it aside, and he does the same with his. His lips return to her neck, his hand on her breast.
"I have one question," he breathlessly asks, lifting his head.
"Hmm?" she replies, slightly dazed and wondering what he could possibly be thinking.
"What is a 'Fly Girl'?"
She laughs, throwing her head back. Then, she cups his face with her hands and gently pulls him to her for a kiss. "I'll tell you later," she answers, her hand slipping into the back of his shorts.
He groans into her mouth, she answers with a soft whimper, and they become lost in each other.
Later, as they drift off to sleep again, Ichabod and Abbie know they will no longer orbit one another: separate, never touching. Instead, they are joined, forever and irrevocably connected, by their hearts.