A/N: Here are some more missing scenes, this time from the days leading up to Jack and Elizabeth's wedding and their wedding night. Don't worry, though, I've written everything in good taste, and rated "T." I hope you enjoy my idea of what might have happened behind closed doors.
Good Advice
The evening after her lovely bridal tea, Elizabeth knocked on the locked door of Abigail's Cafe. Her friend was happy to see her, but was just finishing washing up the dinner dishes. Elizabeth offered to help, talking cheerfully about the day, even confiding in Abigail about the elopement that almost happened.
"I'm not surprised," Abigail said, handing Elizabeth a rinsed dish to dry. "I think most engaged couples consider that at one time or another, especially when they feel the kind pressure from all their well-meaning friends."
"We just want to be together with a minimum of fuss."
"I wouldn't blame you if you did run away, considering the meddling bunch you're dealing with." She chuckled good-naturedly, and Elizabeth joined in, relieved she understood and didn't take offense.
When their laughter died down and they finished the dishes together in silence, Abigail noted how her younger friend seemed restless, nervous. Abigail paused before handing Elizabeth the last dish from the soapy wash water.
"Is there something on your mind?" she asked dryly, amusement twitching at her lips. "It seems rather late for a social call."
"I—well." Elizabeth hesitated, flushing pink. Seeming to make a decision, however, she let out the breath she'd been holding. "Yes," she said, committing to it. "The truth is, I need your…uh…advice."
Abigail had an inkling of what this might be about, and Elizabeth finally took the dish, which the young woman dried automatically and placed atop the stack on the counter.
"In that case, let's go sit down in the parlor. Do I need to put the teakettle on for this?"
"No, thank you."
After drying their hands and taking off their aprons, they walked together in silence to the settee in the parlor just off the kitchen. Abigail turned expectantly to the nervous bride, secretly enjoying how flustered the usually poised schoolteacher was.
"It's about my…wedding night."
Just as Abigail had suspected. "Yes?"
Then everything came out of Elizabeth in a rush, as if a proverbial dam had burst. "I know you're not my mother, but you're my closest friend, and you were married, and I couldn't exactly talk to Rosemary, given that she was once engaged to Jack, and that would be very, very awkward, and well, my mother and sister Viola are in London so—you're my only hope…" Her voice trailed off as she ran out of steam.
Abigail's eyes twinkled with amusement. "My, Miss Thatcher, that's quite the run-on sentence."
Elizabeth covered her red cheeks with her hands. She groaned softly. "I know. I'm sorry. I—this is just so embarrassing, but I don't want to spend my first night with Jack totally in the dark about uh…things."
Abigail reached for her friend's hands, pulling them gently away from her mortified face. "I understand completely, and I'm flattered that you would ask me. Don't be embarrassed. I'll tell you whatever you'd like to know."
"Oh, thank you! The thing is, I wouldn't know how to talk to my mother about these matters anyway. I think she'd give me trite platitudes and euphemisms and not really tell me anything at all. My married sister Viola—well, I think she'd be just as shy as I am to talk about these things, and we've never really been close."
"I'm more than happy to help you. My own mother came to my room the morning of my wedding, looking like she was walking to the gallows. But instead of telling me anything the least bit helpful, she quoted Ephesians, the verse about submitting to your husband. You can imagine my surprise at what transpired that night, given how completely ignorant I was."
At Elizabeth's blank expression, Abigail shook her head wryly. "I guess you really can't imagine."
"Well, I have studied biology and anatomy, and my father used to breed thoroughbreds, so I have an idea of the mechanics of the situation, and I know where babies come from. It's just…I want to be…pleasing to Jack. I hate going into something not knowing what I'm doing." Her face flushed charmingly again.
This time, Abigail couldn't help her merry chuckle. "Oh, my dear, I have no doubt that you will be very pleasing to Jack. I've seen the way he looks at you, and the whole town has seen the two of you kissing at one time or another. He can't seem to stay away from you, like a bee drawn to a honeysuckle vine. There's great passion between you, and that's a wonderful foundation for a happy marriage bed."
"But—but what do I do?" Her voice lowered to a whisper, even though they were the only ones in the room. "I've had friends back home in Hamilton tell me a woman should just lie there and let the man do as he pleases, that the unpleasantness would be over in few minutes."
"Nonsense," said Abigail, though she was the one to blush now, remembering the happiness of the early days of her own marriage. "It's by no means unpleasant, not if you love each other. And no man wants a cold fish, least of all a man who kisses you like Jack Thornton does. Do what you feel. Touch him as—as he touches you. If you are uncertain, let him take the lead, but let your passion guide you, and he will be beyond pleased, I promise you…and so will you."
They were both silent a moment, Abigail lost in the past, Elizabeth pondering her own exciting future.
"I should tell you, however," Abigail began again, "something I really wish my mother had told me, if nothing else." She hesitated, never having had this intimate of a conversation with anyone else before.
"What?" prompted Elizabeth, scooting closer, blue eyes wide.
"It will likely hurt, that first time, but don't be afraid; it's perfectly normal. I'm sure Jack will do his best to make it okay for you. You'll have to be patient with yourself, with him, until you get accustomed to it. Then…if you love each other, it will be truly wonderful, a close bonding experience that will strengthen your marriage, bring you closer than you ever thought possible. Eventually, you may even find it…fun." Abigail's gaze went from misty to aglow with a secret feminine light, her cheeks a soft rose.
"Sort of like when I was learning to ride a horse," said the innocent maiden.
Abigail laughed aloud, squeezing her hands. "Oh, my dear Elizabeth, I have no doubt you and Jack will be just fine."
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Elizabeth would often think of her conversation with Abigail over the days leading up to the wedding. She kept coming back to Abigail's comment about the passion she'd seen between her and Jack, and there was no denying that, especially since he'd come back from the Northern Territories. They'd spent a lot of time kissing lately, and she felt a thrill in her heart every time his kisses turned from sweetly chaste to deep and urgent, his strong hands gliding up her torso to rest daringly beneath her breasts, leaving her tantalized, wondering if he'd move just a little further up. There were even times when she felt those hot hands ghost gently over her bottom, then quickly slide back up to her back, as if he'd suddenly remembered himself. She was surprised that she hadn't been offended, as any well-bred young lady would have been. On the contrary, she'd felt almost…disappointed that he'd stopped.
Frequently, he would end these ardent encounters by forcing himself to pull away from her willing arms, breathing as heavily as if he'd just run a race, shaking hands running through his already unruly hair that she'd messed up moments before. Of course, she'd been similarly affected, and she wondered sometimes if her stays would cause her to swoon like the women of her mother's generation. She was grateful in those times that they'd agreed on a hasty wedding.
The Sunday after her talk with Abigail found them riding their horses to a pretty spot overlooking the valley, picnic basket in tow. They dined on egg salad, pickled vegetables and lemonade, ending with two slices of Abigail's famous apple pie. With full bellies they cleared the blanket of the remains of their luncheon and lay side-by-side, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, the music of birds singing in their ears. She had just begun to doze in the warmth of the spring sunshine when she felt Jack take her hand, lacing his long fingers with hers.
"In less than a week, you'll be my wife," he said softly, his voice filled with wonder.
"Hmm," she said groggily, eyes still closed, though a smile now hovered around her lips. "Yes."
She was pleasantly surprised when she felt his warm lips on hers, and she gasped as he nibbled with renewed hunger, his free hand caressing her cheek, then her neck and shoulders. Lazily, sensually, he took his time kissing her, her heartrate rising steadily as their mutual desire took flight. Her arms came up to pull him closer, and for the first time in her life, she felt the weight of a man's body pressing into her. It was the most wonderful, amazing thing she'd ever experienced, and their kisses grew wilder, more passionate as Jack reveled in the feeling as much as she.
It was exciting and daring, hinting at how things would be between them in a matter of days. Instinctively, she raised one knee, offering him a cradle for his desire, and his mouth broke from her lips so he could moan into the flushed warmth of her neck.
"Elizabeth," he breathed. "I want you so much." Her hands slid up his back to delve into his soft hair, holding him against her. She was tongue-tied, unable to express how his words had affected her. All she knew was, as close as they were, it wasn't nearly close enough, and she longed for an unnamed something to fulfill the need he'd stirred deep inside of her. She was glad one of them had the presence of mind to stop things before they went too far, despite her sense of loss when he gave her one last lingering kiss beneath her jaw and rolled off of her to lie back on the blanket.
He stared sightlessly into the bright sky, chest rising and falling rapidly. Now energized, she turned to her side, resting her head against his racing heart, one arm draped over his torso.
"Do you think it will be good between us?" she dared ask.
She felt his breathless laugh tremble in his chest. "I have no doubt…if I survive until then, that is."
She smiled to herself, loving how she could bring this strong, confident man to the edge of his control, excited for that not so distant day when she would see what it was like as he allowed himself to lose his battle with propriety. Something told her when that time came, they'd both be winners.
After a few minutes, Elizabeth listened as his heart slowed to normal, and with a deep sigh, she felt him relax and drift off to sleep. The buzz of nearby bees, the soothing sound of the breeze in the trees, accompanied the steady rhythm of her beloved's heart to form a perfect lullaby. Soon, she joined him in the carefree nap of the incandescently happy.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the final days before their wedding, there was little time to spend alone together, especially with the church fire and the town having to perform miracles to save their wedding. As they finally stood together before God and Hope Valley's wonderful congregation, everything seemed to happen too fast to fully grasp in the moment. That is, until Jack kissed her—their first as husband and wife—and the world slowed down, time seeming to encompass only them.
The reception and the banquet and the champagne toasts seemed never-ending, and the newlyweds politely gave individual attention to the attendees, expressing their love and gratitude for the beautiful wedding they'd blessed them with. Occasionally, however, Jack and Elizabeth's eyes would be drawn across the saloon to each other's, and they could read the mutual, impatient excitement there. So, after the cake and the bouquet toss (Elizabeth's sister caught it, much to their father's chagrin), they said their goodbyes amidst gleeful tosses of rice. Jack helped Elizabeth into the wagon someone had decorated with flowers, streamers, a Just Married sign, and a train of tin cans and old shoes.
The short, clattering ride to Elizabeth's—now their—small house was taken in smiling silence, a mixture of joy and nervous anticipation humming through them. There was also a sense of the surreal, and as they left behind the music and laughter at the saloon, the breathtaking, pink-tinged sunset added to the perfection of the day. In no time, Jack pulled up on the reins and the horse trotted to a stop. He looked over at his wife and smiled tenderly before bestowing another of his magical kisses that never failed to weaken her knees and set her heart aflutter.
"We're home, Mrs. Thornton," he whispered, briefly rubbing his nose against hers.
"Yes," was all she could manage over the sudden tightness in her throat.
He hopped down and reached up for her hand, helping her to the ground and back into his arms. He kissed her again, holding her tightly against him, neither of them quite believing this moment had finally arrived.
After unlocking the front door with his own new, shiny key, naturally he swung her easily into his arms, both of them chuckling as they were overwhelmed by yards of lace and tulle. His romantic, traditional gesture became an arduous struggle to get them both over the threshold and inside without shutting the door on her dress. But at last he stood inside their home, his bride still in his arms, still laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Neither of them was surprised that fate had once again interfered with their best laid plans.
"Well," she said, bussing his smooth cheek, "at least you didn't drop me."
She gave a sudden squeal when he pretended to nearly do so, and he bent to stifle her giggle with another passionate kiss. He lowered her to the floor, never breaking contact with her mouth, and her arms came up to encircle his neck.
"Is it too early to go to bed," he whispered, kissing his way to her ear. She shivered in reaction.
"No," she said, and he drew back to look meaningfully into her eyes, though the room was dim in the fading light from the window. They didn't bother lighting lamp or candles downstairs, as he took her hand and led her wordlessly to the second floor. It occurred to her that he'd never actually been in her bedroom, as of course no gentleman would have done, so she was a little taken aback when he lit a lamp and she saw his battered suitcase on the chest at the foot of her bed.
"Lee brought it over for me earlier," he explained, following her gaze. The Coulters had a key for emergencies, and seeing that masculine item in the midst of her feminine bedding and fripperies, warmed her as much as his kisses. He was actually here, she thought. He was hers forever. She smiled radiantly at him.
"That was nice of him."
"I'm glad we have such good neighbors."
They stood facing each other awkwardly, pulses gently thrumming.
"I need to—" she began, blushing, nodding toward the new Chinese screen she'd sent for from a catalog, behind which was a chamber pot so she wouldn't have to run outside to the privy in the middle of the night. So they wouldn't.
When her meaning dawned, Jack flushed too. "Oh, of course. I'll just go…downstairs." Everything seemed suddenly so…intimate, and they hadn't even done anything yet.
"Wait!" she called, realizing her predicament. He backed almost comically back into the room.
"I uh, need a little help please." She turned her back, brushed her veil over one shoulder, and he was confronted with a daunting number of tiny pearl buttons running from her neck to just below her waist.
"Right," he said wryly. His large fingers began working at the buttons, and she tensed at the first touch of them against her skin. Three minutes later, his initial smile became a frustrated chuckle as he struggled with each tiny ornament.
"I'm tempted to put Rosemary in the stocks for this," he muttered, and she laughed, breaking the tension a little.
"I'll warn her you're coming for her."
But then he was kissing the bare skin he'd revealed above her corset, having parted the lace dress to her shoulders. She closed her eyes and caught her breath at the sensual feel of his hot lips upon her cooling flesh.
"Do you need help with anything else?" he asked, his tone highly suggestive, as he nuzzled into the sweet scent of her nape. His fingers slipped inside her dress to lightly caress her shoulders. This was a new side of Jack, and it made her feel lightheaded.
"No. I—I think I can manage the rest on my own. Thank you."
"I'll be back…soon," he emphasized, after another kiss to the side of her neck. She shivered, and turned to find him gone.
She spared a moment to catch her breath, then she became a whirlwind of action. First, she pulled her wedding dress off her arms and shoulders, letting it fall in a white heap around her feet. She stepped out of it, taking precious time to hang it up in her chifforobe in the corner, along with her headpiece and veil.
She looked down at herself and hurriedly took off her petticoat, standing only in her white silk corset and strapless brassiere, stockings, and low-heeled wedding shoes. She used the chamber pot, ever mindful of Jack's possible footsteps on the stairs. She washed her hands and patted her face with water from the washstand pitcher, appreciating how it cooled her flushed skin. As she toweled off, she noticed herself in the mirror, her breasts gently rising and falling above her corset. She studied her wide blue eyes.
"I'm married," she said to her reflection. "To Jack. I'm about to become his in every way. God, please let me be pleasing to him."
Her eyes watered, and she dabbed at them with the towel, willing herself to keep it together. Suddenly, her eye caught the reflection of a beautiful cream lace confection, hanging from the back of the screen. It was a peignoir set, the cream lace inset with peach satin covering strategic places. And to think, she'd been about to put on her nicest cotton night rail.
"Rosemary," she breathed, turning to finger the lace in admiration. It was obviously hand-made, each intricate rosette of lace a work of art. She unhooked the front closure of her corset and replaced it with the nightgown and dressing gown, the sleeves falling to her wrists. Of course, it fit perfectly, and she wondered how many hours her friend had spent making this for her. Certainly she must have started it months ago, after she and Jack had announced their engagement. The cream and peach set off her skin in the lamplight, making her appear almost—she swallowed—naked.
With impeccable timing, she heard Jack's footfalls on the stairs, and she waited behind the screen, taking deep breaths to steady her nerves.
"Elizabeth?" he asked, when he didn't see her right away. With a grand entrance that would have done Rosemary proud, Elizabeth stepped from behind the screen. Jack's reaction was worth every moment of anxiety. His brown eyes grew round and dark in masculine appreciation, and he gazed boldly at her from her head to her slippered toes. Everywhere his eyes rested, she felt herself grow at once hot and shivery.
"You look…like you stepped out of a dream," he said, his voice filled with awe. He'd removed his uniform coat and his knee-high boots downstairs, and he stood before her in stockinged feet, black trousers, and his finest white dress shirt, unbuttoned to show his tan throat.
"That's funny, because I feel like I'm in one right now."
He smiled and walked purposefully toward her. She stood still, though her knees felt like rubber, letting him glide his hands over soft lace and softer satin, bending his head finally to give her a lingering kiss, filled with all the promise of the night to come. He rubbed one fallen curl from her updo, and, anxious to feel all of its silken length between his fingers, he found and removed one pin. "May I?" he asked politely.
She could only nod.
One by one he dislodged each hairpin, dropping them into her waiting hand, until her curls fell around her shoulders, just like he liked them. She reached blindly for her nearby dresser to drop them there, but she missed by a mile and he laughed softly as they scattered all over the wooden floor.
"We'll get those later," he said, and he walked her backwards to the large, four-poster bed, a birthday present her father had sent her in her second year at Hope Valley. She sat heavily on the feather mattress, as Jack kneeled before her on the rag rug she'd made herself. Looking up into her eyes, he raised the hem of her gown, watching her face closely as he removed first one shoe, then the other. He couldn't resist sliding his hands up her silk stockings, his eyes still on hers lest she protest his forwardness. He stopped when he found the ribbons of each garter, just above her knees.
"I remember these," he said fondly, his thumbs massaging her pretty knees. She smiled, recalling with rosy cheeks when he'd first seen them in the mine that stormy evening long ago.
"I guess it's not so improper anymore," she said.
"No, I suppose not." And he slid each garter down to its respective foot, smiling as he saw the ribbons were an unexpected blue—Rosemary's surprise "something blue" she'd presented to Elizabeth that morning. Jack rolled her stockings down next, his warm hands adoring her smooth, unadorned legs while his eyes never left hers.
Then he took her hands, his face growing solemn.
"I love you, Elizabeth," he said, "and I'm unbelievably grateful to be with you now, sharing this night with you. I don't want you to be afraid. I promise I will try my best to—to be gentle. Do you trust me?"
She nodded. "With all that I am. And I'm not afraid, not really. I'm more excited than scared, because you're here with me, and I know you'll always protect me. And besides…I love you too."
They both smiled into each other's eyes, and then Jack was kissing her again. She vaguely felt that he'd removed her dressing gown, and his wonderful, slightly calloused hands were running up and down her bare arms. As their kisses deepened, he eased her back onto the bed. Suddenly, like a man possessed, his hands were everywhere, cupping, caressing places no man had ever touched, as she sighed and gasped helplessly. She felt like she was floating above herself, but at the same time, she'd never felt more herself, more connected with another human being.
With very little effort, he pulled her up higher on the bed and joined her, once again resting his entire body on hers, pressing her into the mattress. Like that day of their picnic, his position didn't make her feel dominated; she felt like a strong, sensual woman, and this time, she bent both knees to hold him closer. This time, he didn't immediately roll off of her. Instead, he began to move, and she could feel his desire against her, in the exact place where she longed for him to be.
"Elizabeth," he murmured against her mouth. With one hand, he reached down and bunched the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up, and she bravely raised her hips to accommodate his movement. He moaned in pleasure at this, but, taking a deep breath, he kept pulling on her gown until he'd revealed all of her to his hungry eyes. Her hands went up as he slipped it finally all the way over her head and off, to toss it wantonly somewhere on the floor. He paused a moment just to look at her, and when he met her eyes, his hands resting on her bare, flushed skin, it was the most sensual moment of her life.
He kissed her lightly on the lips, but then his frenzy returned, and his mouth took the place of his hands. She lay there, overwhelmed with feeling, taken to heights of pleasure she didn't know existed. But then, she had the intense desire to see him too, to feel and caress his body as he was hers. It was a strange moment to suddenly hear Abigail's words return to her: Do what you feel. Touch him as—as he touches you.
While he was kissing her stomach, she reached up to unbutton his shirt. At first he seemed oblivious to her tentative movements, so intent was he on his own task, but when her hand slid inside his half-open shirt, he sat up suddenly and…helped her. In moments, his shirt was gone, pulled over his head with half the buttons still buttoned. He stood for a moment to divest himself of his trousers too, and she watched him without shame, too overcome with love and what she knew was lust to look away. Years of hard work, Mountie training, and time in the saddle had made him well-defined and strong. He was simply beautiful to her, more stunning than the Greek statues she'd seen in a museum. He would have laughed to hear her say that aloud, but she was certainly thinking it.
His eyes intently on hers, he touched the waistband of his loose-fitting drawers. She was amused to see him suddenly shy, so she smiled at him, challenging him as she had always done in the past. After all, she was lying there in the altogether; it was only fair…He understood her expression at once, and he smiled smugly back at her, taking her challenge and pulling his drawers down and off in one efficient movement. He stood before her in only his socks.
"Are your feet cold?" she dared tease, after taking in his amazing body with lustful fascination.
He chuckled, and his shyness completely left him. He bent and removed his socks, and she held her arms out to welcome him back. He re-joined her on the bed, and if she had thought having his weight upon her had been amazing before, it was nothing to the feeling of skin against skin, hot and perfectly aligned as if he'd been made only for her. She held him tightly against her, her hands running over his muscled back, and she felt him shiver at her touch. She allowed herself to get lost in his kisses once more, but she wanted—needed—to return the favor by touching him as he'd been touching her.
Her hands slipped between their bodies, and she ran them over his chest, following the curve of his chest muscles, then his arms, then his stomach, feeling it tighten beneath her touch, hearing him draw in a sharp breath near her ear.
"You feel like marble," she murmured, marveling at his tan, smooth body, "but much, much warmer." He moved back to watch what she was doing to him.
"And hairier," he added, his dark eyes sparkling into hers as he tangled his furry legs with her smooth ones. It felt heavenly, their differences.
She grinned. "Yes."
His fingers moved to gently trace her face, drawing her wild curls behind her ears, kissing her tenderly, despite the mad pounding of his heart against hers. They began again, this time trading touch for touch until she cried out, her body suffused with heat and tingling everywhere, her limbs weak, her pulse racing in her ears. He'd barely given her time to recover before she felt him join with her. There was pain, and she tensed, and he whispered his apologies over and over, punctuating them with kisses, but when she bent her knees again it was better, and he began to move more easily now.
At first it was strange and she struggled to get used to the feeling of being so close to someone, as intimate as two people could possibly be. But gradually she began to lose her ability to think as passion and instinct took over, and she was carried along with his movements, following his lead, then meeting him, a give and take that took them both to a place of pure pleasure, of ecstasy, of love…
He stayed within her for a few minutes afterwards, kissing her, whispering is love. She'd pleased him as much as he'd pleased her, and the innate knowledge of this filled her with joy. He rolled away from her, his body still heaving and shuddering, his muscles glistening with perspiration, as was she, she found, as she lay beside him, boneless as a ragdoll. He reached for her, pulling her to his side, kissing her damp temple.
"Are you all right?" Jack asked quietly.
"Yes…I feel…wonderful…"
"You certainly do," he teased, and she found herself blushing, despite the intimacies they'd just shared. He adjusted her more comfortably against him, his fingers idly caressing her hip.
"I can't believe that finally happened."
She felt his chest shake with silent laughter. "Me neither. I've wanted this from the first day I met you."
"What? Jack, you couldn't stand me, and I know I drove you as crazy as you drove me."
"My sweet wife, there are all kinds of ways a woman makes a man crazy."
"Mmmm," she hummed, smiling against his chest, understanding completely. She kissed him there, then her own hand began wandering. "Is this one of the ways?" she asked, feeling a boldness she'd never thought herself capable of. He grabbed her tempting hand, and she was suddenly beneath him again in one breathless motion, her giggles quickly turning into soft moans.
Much later, after a different kind of picnic spent in bed—neither of them had eaten much at the reception besides a bite of cake, both too nervous and excited to eat—they lay entwined beneath the covers, the glow of the lamp replaced by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. They'd enjoyed their simple repast of Abigail's blueberry muffins, cheese, and cold sliced ham, eating decadently with their fingers, feeding each other amid much laughter and knowing smiles. They indulged in the bottle of champagne her thoughtful neighbors had left cooling in the ice box, and soon they were feeling as bubbly as the wine.
They were sated now in every way possible, dozing sleepily in each other's arms.
"Jack," she said.
"Hmm?"
"Did I—did I do everything…right?" She thought she must have, given his intense reaction to her, but she found she needed to hear the words from his lips.
He looked down at her in the dimness, suddenly very alert. "Yes. You were perfect. I couldn't have asked for more, truly."
She smiled. "I'm so glad. I mean, I followed Abigail's advice—"
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You talked to Abigail about this—about us?"
"Well, my mother wasn't here, and I needed some advice, some guidance."
He relaxed. "I suppose that makes sense. You could have talked to me too, you know."
"That would have been the most embarrassing conversation of my life," she said. "I could barely talk to Abigail."
He grinned. "Well now I'm curious. What exactly did she tell you?"
Elizabeth was glad it was so dark in the room, so he couldn't see her blushing furiously. "She said to follow my passion, to-to do to you what you did to me."
"Aw, the Golden Rule," he teased.
"Jack!" she exclaimed in pretend offense at what could be interpreted as sacrilegious.
He laughed softly. "I'm just saying, Abigail and the Good Book give very good advice, and you'd be well served to always heed both."
She pulled his head down, found his lips in the dark. "And what advice would you have given me?"
He hesitated, putting serious thought into his reply, despite their joking tone. "All I want is for you to love me. If you do that, nothing you do will ever be wrong."
"I think I can do that," she said, tears filling her eyes, "if you promise to always do the same."
"Is forever long enough?"
THE END
A/N: Thank you for reading. I might write more after the current season is over—I'm waiting to see what happens with the current love triangle. In the meantime, I would love it if you read my other When Calls the Heart fic, "I'll Find You," or any of my other stories from different fandoms. Just click on my name. Thanks again :)