"Don't peek! Don't peek!" Elijah says.

"I can't," Enid replies. "Your hand is over my eyes."

He walks her into his living-room bedroom, and as the curtain falls shut behind them, he takes his hand away. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Three red, plastic roses rest in a vase at the center of the table. There's a handmade card on one side, next to an empty crystal wine glass, and another wine glass and a bottle of vodka on the other side. She sits down on the floor and reads her card as he sits down across from her.

Dear Enid,

I don't just think I love you. I'm pretty sure I do. You're the best girlfriend I ever had. Well, okay, the only one. But even if I'd had 1000 girlfriends, I'm sure you'd be the best. You're just that great.

Love,

Elijah

She tries not to laugh. "It's so sweet," she says. She eyes the peach vodka. "Where'd you get the booze?"

"Daryl and Carol traded it to me, remember?" He pours them each a little. "When we went our separate ways. Before I found Maggie and came looking for you."

It's strange to think it was just a few months ago when they met and parted and then met again.

"I still have most of it," Elijah says. "I'll share with everyone, of course…if things get bad."

"I don't think we can live on vodka."

"Well, it's made from potatoes."

She laughs, takes the glass, sips, and makes a face. Then she makes herself take another sip before setting it down. "Thank you. I wasn't expecting anything for Valentine's Day."

"Uh…you told me I better get you something."

"I was just joking. But I love all this. I feel terrible, though. I didn't get you anything."

"That's fine," Elijah says as he lifts his glass. "It's not really a day for guys." He sips.

"Well, I could always give you a blow job."

He chokes on the vodka and almost spits it out before swallowing it down. "Are you serious?"

She shrugs. "Well, I mean…I could try? I don't know how." She rolls her eyes. "I know, it's not rocket science. You've done it a hundred times."

"Uh..no. Never."

She laughs. "Oh yeah. I guess you'd have to be pretty flexible."

He smiles. "Are you drunk already?"

"No. Just stupid."

"You're smart."

"I mean it," she says. "If you want one…I can try."

"If I want? You think that's a question?"

"What if I suck, though?" she asks.

Both his cheeks dimple. "That's what you're supposed to do."

"You know what I mean!"

"I'm sure you won't be bad at it. And even if you are, I don't think I'll know."

She snorts. "God, you're cute."

"So…?"

"Let me just have some more of this first." She drains all of the vodka he poured into her glass, and then says, "Come over here."

[*]

Rosita is on watch, feeling envious of everyone enjoying their Valentine celebrations, when Javier's voice comes through the radio. She removes her gloved hand from her pocket and unclips the radio before bringing it to her mouth. "Hello, handsome."

"Happy Valentine's Day, hermosa."

She smiles. "Did you get me anything?"

"Well, I told Amos how useful you are, all the things you can do. Reloading. Explosives. Watch. Changing oil. I talked him into letting me bring your people a bride price, in addition to all the trade food we'll bring for the gunpowder."

"Really?" she asks. "So you're buying me now, are you?"

"Of course not. You're beyond price."

She chuckles. "Nice attempt at a save." She looks out over the frozen fields to the dark outline of the barren trees. "So what is this bride price?"

"Maggie knows how to milk animals, right?"

"Yeah. She grew up on a farm."

"Good, because you Hillcresters are getting a female goat," he tells her. "She has a precocious udder."

"A what?"

"She gives milk even without having kids. Three to six gallons a week, the low end in cold weather. Your people will have a continuous, fresh supply."

"That's great! Although…Honestly, I think I'm worth two goats."

"You're worth a thousand goats to me, hermosa. But Amos believes he's being extremely generous. We aren't milking the sheep at all right now. Some of the goats are resting. She's one of only three animals that is giving us milk right now."

"I'm grateful," Rosita assures him. "Thanks for haggling for me with him. It will help my people a lot."

"Also…Amos said we can't lend you an incubator like we planned. We only have two and one broke. Even Garrett couldn't fix it." She doesn't ask who Garrett is. "But in mid-May, we'll bring Hillcrest three young hens. By mid-June, they'll lay eggs for your people."

"Don't they need a rooster for that?"

He laughs. "No. Only if they're going to be fertilized."

"Don't laugh. I'm not a farm girl," she tells him.

"Listen, we have to marry when I come to trade, before I can take you back to Dead End. It's important to Amos, that you're legally my family before you enter the gates."

"There is no law in this world," she says.

"There is at Dead End. So do you want gold bands, or silver?"

"I suppose it depends where the bands come from. Did you cut them off a walker?" That's what she heard Glenn did, and the idea creeped her out.

"The gold ones would be from Mason and his late wife. The silver would be from Juanita. The old abuela I told you about? Her husband died a year before the Epidemic. She's kept the rings on a necklace."

"Wow. And they're both just willing to give them up?"

"They're both happy for me, hermosa. Both happy to see life and love press on."

"It doesn't matter to me," she says. "Which would you prefer?"

"Juanita was married for forty-seven years. I think that's a good omen."

Rosita has also heard a rumor that Mason's wife cheated on him and that Carson isn't biologically his. "I'd like the silver."

[*]

People are shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table for dinner, but the barstools where Enid and Elijah usually sit are vacant. The young lovers hustle in to dinner late, after everyone has already started eating. They're giggling and a little tipsy, and Enid has a bit of trouble getting onto the stool.

"If I were your mother," Michonne says, "You two would be in a world of trouble right now."

Henry looks from face to face, clearly not sure why Elijah and Enid would be in trouble.

"Like you never did the same thing when you were their age," Rick tells her.

"I didn't. I was the perfect daughter." Michonne shrugs. "Except that one time I snuck out, stole my daddy's new Camaro, and totaled it by driving it into a water fountain."

The whole table laughs.

[*]

"'Nything at all?" Daryl asks.

"Well…within reason," Carol replies. "I'm not a gymnast." She's willing to make the offer in part because she trusts his desires are fairly simple. They aren't using condoms anymore, which gives them greater flexibility and spontaneity.

"Hmmm…." He seems to be considering his options. In the end, he just says, "Want ya on the bear skin rug. In that little black one ya wore at Christmas. With all them little ties."

Daryl "unwraps" her slowly before the fiercely burning fireplace. His fingers explore each spot of bare skin as its revealed, and his lips and tongue follow. She's squirming by the time she's completely naked. Still, he keeps torturing her with kisses and caresses for a while before pulling away. "Yer turn."

Carol reaches out to begin undressing him – his shirt is off, but he still has his pants on – so she can touch him as he was touching her, but he says, "Nah. Mean…Yer turn to touch yerself. Wanna watch."

Carol flushes, and it's not from the heat of the fire. "Could I maybe have a blindfold?" Maybe if she doesn't see him watching her, she won't feel so self-conscious.

His eyes darken. He seems to like that idea even more. He stands and grabs a red silk tie from an untouched suit that hangs in the bedroom closet and returns to tie it around her eyes. She can only make out shadows and light.

Carol senses him lying down on his side beside her, his elbow likely on the rug and his head propped up on his hand so he can see.

She can't see him, but she can hear him as she begins to fondle her own breasts – his breath growing deeper, and his voice smoky as he offers the occasional encouragement – "That's m'girl…" "Yeah…." "Pinch it…" "Mhmmm.." "That's a good girl…" "Make yerself feel good, Carol."

She's lost in the pleasure she's giving herself when she hears the snap of his pants popping loose. "Keep goin'," he tells her, his voice hoarser than usual. "'Tween yer legs, now."

She slides one hand down from her breast as she lets her legs fall open.

"Play with yerself," he commands. "Make yerself good 'n wet."

She does.

"So damn beautiful….Feels good?"

Carol chews on her bottom lip and whimpers.

"Mhmmm…." Daryl grows quiet. Except for the low, hoarse sound of his breathing, she wouldn't know he was there. Except the rasp of his zipper, when he lowers it, seems louder than the crackling of the fireplace. "Keep goin'," he tells her. "'S good."

Carol gives into the pleasure she's giving herself. She's almost brought herself to climax when his hand seizes hers, and he yanks her fingers away. She whimpers at the sudden loss of sensation, and gasps in surprise when he flips her onto her stomach. Daryl lifts her slightly up onto her knees and plunges into her from behind with a strangled groan.

She braces herself with her hands flat on the bear skin rug as the orgasm rips through her on his first stroke. She tightens all around him and he moans and stills, waiting for her pleasure to finish ripping through her, before he seizes her by the hips and thrusts and grunts his way to his own explosive end. All sorts of words spew out of him while he takes her, ending with the sharp shout of her name.

He slides off of her, thuds onto his back, and pulls her over and half on top of him. Together, a sweaty, tangled mass of limbs on the bear skin rug, they catch their breath.

Daryl grabs the silk tie at the back of her head and yanks it loose. She blinks him into view. He licks his lips, catches one last breath, and asks, "That fire feel too hot to ya?"

"It does now."