Title: A Love for All Seasons
Rating: T (PG-13) – for implied sexy times and potty mouths. Not premium channel swearing, only network TV.
Disclaimer: Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.
Setting: Modern AU
PSA: I hope that you and yours are safe and healthy during the COVID-19 crisis. Take precautions for yourself and others and please don't hoard any goods that your family doesn't need; we're all in this together, even while we remain physically apart.
Follow Me: Facebook (Mary Smythe; look for the lady in red), Twitter MrsMarySmythe and Pinterest mrsmarysmythe

Summary: In the fall they get off to a rocky start. In the winter they learn to understand each other better. By the time the weather grows hot, so do their feelings...Collection of connected, holiday themed OneShots featuring the evolution of Darcy and Lizzy's relationship. Modern AU.

"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, for any one less worthy."

– Mr Bennet, Pride and Prejudice, Vol III, Ch 17

Father's Day
Daddy Issues

FRIDAY
JUNE 18, 2021

"Stop that!"

I held my hands up, well away from the oven, and took a step back. "I wasn't doing nothing, ma'am, honest."

Lizzy shook her extended index finger at me, her face scrunched into the most adorably unintimidating scowl I'd ever seen. "Fibber. You were checking the roast."

"No, I was…uh…" Guilty. "Smelling it. It's smells so delicious I had to come closer for a deeper whiff."

Lizzy just laughed and elbowed me further away from the stove. "Good save, I totally believe you. Now go sit down—I got this."

Hands still raised in surrender, I obeyed and carefully backed out of the kitchen and into the living room where I belonged. Since we were in Lizzy's tiny loft, I only moved about three feet and then collapsed onto the couch where I could comfortably observe my "little woman"—as Lizzy herself insisted I call her whenever she did something domestic—as she puttered around in her bare feet, chopping veggies and occasionally checking on the roast. If I wasn't allowed to help, at least the view was good. Especially whenever Lizzy bent over.

After I'd cooked for so many of our date nights at the townhouse, Lizzy, apparently, felt that she had to prove something, hence this Leave it to Beaver scenario in which I put my feet up and Lizzy played dutiful housewife. She'd even donned an apron and pearls, both of which paired nicely with her jean shorts and old track team T-shirt, and dug me out a pair of slippers from somewhere. Based on the flannel pattern, I assume she'd stolen them from her dad, who has a thing for tartan. I drew the line at the pipe, though, even if it only blew bubbles. Thankfully, Lizzy just called me a spoilsport and left it at that.

At first, I'd liked the idea of sitting back and letting her wait on me. She'd wanted to do it—ironically, of course—and everybody likes to be spoiled now and then. In reality, though, it turns out that I have trouble doing nothing while someone else does everything, hence attempting to sneak into the kitchen and assist. It's not that I was worried about how dinner was going to taste (the part about it smelling good wasn't a lie), I'm just constitutionally incapable of relaxing when I could be helping. Call it a character flaw.

"So how was your day, dear?" Lizzy asked as she chopped up a bell pepper for our salad, her voice honeyed and so intentionally bland that she sounded like an automated phone message.

I snickered at her before I responded. "Fine, honey. How was yours? Did the Beav give you any trouble?"

"Oh, you know how boys can be."

"I'll give him a talking to later."

Lizzy snorted and the silly TV Land sitcom banter dissolved. "Seriously, Will, how was your day?"

I shrugged. "Same as any other, maybe a little slow. Boring. But at least I was able to kick off early and beat the traffic. How was yours?"

"Same." Lizzy scooped up a handful of diced peppers and sprinkled them over the partially completed salad to her left. Pulling a tomato over next, she cut into it and picked the conversation back up. "Though I have to say that it was a thrill being able to go into a store today without my mask on for the first time in over a year. I felt almost naked without it."

Mmm…Lizzy naked. Definitely something to aspire to later on in the evening.

"I know what you mean," I said, discreetly roving my eyes over every inch of her I could see. Since she was behind the counter, my view was limited, but not without reward. That woman really knows how to wear an apron. "I'm not really used to it yet, either. I keep expecting to get dirty looks."

"Right?"

Since the beginning of the month, facemask protocols had started to loosen thanks to more and more people getting their vaccinations. Not that I believe for one minute that every unmasked person I've seen out there in the world has actually been vaccinated, but at least it's safer for those who have been. I still wear one when I'm at work or otherwise expect to be in close contact with a bunch of strangers, and encourage my employees to do the same, but to just walk into a store to pick something up without my face covered…it's freedom. Pure freedom.

"Still going to pick the steaks up for me on Sunday morning?" Lizzy asked next, tossing the salad as she spoke.

"Yep. I'll bring over the biggest, juiciest ribeyes you ever saw."

"I'm starting to feel like you're my drug connection, except you bring me food. Delicious, delicious food…" Lizzy dropped her head back, opened her mouth and pretended to gargle on her own drool. It would have been gross if it weren't so damned cute.

"Ah, well, the man must provide, and all that." I kinda wished right then that I'd accepted the bubble pipe after all. It would have added something to the eyebrow waggle I gave her.

Lizzy grinned at me and abandoned the salad to come over and plop herself into my lap. I welcomed her eagerly and wrapped my arms around her hips, intending to keep her there awhile, our dinner be damned. She settled in, fingers doing wonderful things to my scalp, and cooed, "And you provide so good, dear."

"Mm…I feel amply rewarded." A beat later, I'd reconsidered my position. "Though I wouldn't turn down a kiss."

Taking the hint, Lizzy bent down and planted her smirking lips against mine. I responded immediately, melting that saucy curve into something softer, more sensual. As she wilted more pliantly into my arms, I set my hands to wandering, one down the length of her bare thigh and the other up the back of her T-shirt. I felt goosebumps raise on her skin under my fingertips, spelling out her arousal as if written in braille.

Just as I'd started tugging on the knot in her apron strings, the moment was broken by the buzzing of my phone. Had it been anywhere else but the front pocket of my pants, I'm convinced that we could have ignored it, but there's really no recapturing the moment when it vibrates against your fiancée's thigh and she all but falls to the floor in surprise.

"I think you have a text," Lizzy said with a breathless giggle.

"Thank you, I'd figured that out," I grumbled, still clinging to Lizzy as she attempted to stand up. "Whoever it is will get a pink slip in the morning."

"What if it's your sister?"

"I stand by my previous statement."

I leaned in and began kissing along the length of Lizzy's throat, hoping to drag her back into the intoxication of our previous activities. I felt her words against my lips as she continued to tease me. "You know who it probably is, don't you?"

I growled wordlessly against her skin. Of course I knew who it probably was and I wasn't about to give up on seducing my future wife just to acknowledge her ongoing complaints. My mother, the tenacious cow, has been badgering me for more than a month to "come to my senses" and break off my engagement to Lizzy by every available means of communication save smoke signals (and she might have tried those if we lived close enough to one another for me to see them). Emails, phone calls, text messages…she'd even sent an old school letter full of crazy Bible verses that had nothing to do with anything, all in an attempt to make me feel guilty and break up with Lizzy. Since responding to any of her various messages had only led to more of them flooding my inboxes, I'd started ignoring them pretty quickly. Doing so hadn't deterred Mother completely, but at least it had become more of a manageable annoyance rather than a constant barrage of bitching.

"You'll have to talk to her sometime."

I pulled my mouth away from where I'd been nibbling at Lizzy's earlobe and fixed her with a flat look. "That's what you said a month ago. Look how that turned out."

Lizzy had the decency to at least look contrite, but there was still an impish gleam in her eye. "Okay, but imagine how she would have taken it if she'd found out when you sent the invitation to our wedding."

"Who says I was going to invite her?"

Lizzy swatted me on the shoulder. "Be a good boy and make up with your mother."

"After the way she treated you?" I huffed in indignation at the very thought. "Why in the hell would you want me to make nice with my mother?"

"Because she's your mother!"

I narrowed my gaze at her, silently commanding, Try again.

She rolled her eyes in return and sighed at what she must have viewed as my stubbornness. "Because I'll forever feel guilty about causing a rift between you. She's your mother, Will. She loves you and wants the best for you."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," I corrected, gently and with solemnity. "My mother wants a lot of things for me, but not out of some maternal instinct to see me happy. She wants what's best for her and that means forcing me to live in a fashion that she approves of. It's just the way she is." A narcissist.

Lizzy slumped down into my arms, burying her face in the crook of my neck. "I guess you know her best…I just don't want to be the reason you never speak to your own mother again."

"Hey." I paused to press a kiss to Lizzy's forehead, squeezing her tightly. "If that happens, it won't be because of you. It will be because my mother can't accept that I'm going to live my own life. That's on her, not either of us."

We sat there together, Lizzy cuddled up on my lap while I rubbed her back, for several minutes until the oven timer blared at us. Reluctantly, she disentangled herself and stood to go check on the roast, calling over her shoulder, "At least see what she wants. Maybe, against all odds, she wants to apologize and buy you a big present to make amends."

I rolled my eyes as I dug into my pocket to retrieve my phone, but I was relieved to hear the teasing lilt back in Lizzy's voice. What bothers me most about this feud with my mother is how it's affecting Lizzy, who simply can't comprehend a parental figure who doesn't actually care about their child beyond what that child can do for them. She's lucky to have the Bennets; for all their silly quirks and personality flaws, they at least love their kids unconditionally.

I unlocked my smartphone screen with a swipe and touched on the pending text message alert at the top. After a few milliseconds of buffering, the app opened and I sucked in a sharp breath.

George: In town to sign some papers. Want to meet for dinner tomorrow?

I'm not sure how long I sat there staring at my phone, but it must have been awhile because Lizzy's voice startled me back to reality. Even though she was in the next room, she sounded oddly far away. "Uh oh. What did she say this time?"

"It's, uh…not from Mother."

"Who's George?" I jumped, not having realized that Lizzy was right next to me. She settled herself on the arm of the couch, leaning down to read the message on my phone.

I swallowed, just to lubricate my throat so I could choke out an answer. "My father."

o0o

SATURDAY
JUNE 19, 2021

I struggled to yank off my tie as I stalked out of Firebirds and barreled down the sidewalk toward my car. Lizzy skittered along behind me, chewing her lip as she had been for the past hour or so and looking ready to burst into tears. Seeing her like that, unhappy and on edge, made me despise my father all the more.

Not that I'm all that surprised that William George Darcy Jr—more commonly referred to as George since he apparently hated my grandfather the same way I hate him—stood us up, but to involve Lizzy in our ongoing back and forth is too much. To specifically ask to meet her and then bail is just…suffice to say it's bad enough when he disappoints me or Georgia, but royally pisses me off when he does it to my fiancée.

Of course, I'm almost as pissed at myself as I am at him. I knew better than to think he might be somewhere he said he was going to be, to believe him. My father has made an art out of flaking on his children, and always with a seemingly good reason to do so. Work. Doctor's appointment. Sudden trip to the Caribbean. This particular time, it was supposedly some emergency related to his newly instigated divorce—turns out Georgia won the pool this time; I'd given Bella less than a year as Mrs George Darcy, but she'd lasted a little over one and a half—one which took place outside of general business hours and apparently couldn't be put off until Monday. Typical.

Even more typical? He'd cancelled the same way he'd summoned—via text.

George: So sorry, can't make it tonight. Let's reschedule.

Like hell we'd reschedule. Lizzy and I didn't get dressed up, drive half an hour to accommodate him and then wait around for two hours for him to show up just to indulge him. I could have been back at Lizzy's loft playing house with my glorious future wife instead of wasting our valuable (and scarce) private time on that unreliable blowhard I call Father.

But, honestly, what can I really expect from Dear Old Dad? We haven't ever had a close relationship, even when I was a kid. Back then, it was a lot of empty promises of showing up to school events and awkward family dinners. And that was before my parents had split up and my father had felt more obligated to be a family man. After the divorce, he'd been preoccupied with his own life and a string of new families and rarely seemed to find time for his son. Georgia didn't fare much better.

Then, five years ago, he just up and moved to Europe. He'd had the decency to retire first and sign most of the responsibility (though not the actual deed) of Pemberley over to me before he left, so I guess the bare minimum had been covered. Once he'd essentially emigrated, I only heard from him sporadically—such as the time he'd urged me to hire Greg Wickham, as wonderfully as that had turned out—via email. Unlike my mother, he didn't bother with any additional forms of communication and, now that I think of it, I'm fairly certain that I haven't heard his actual voice in a few years. Since he rarely bothers to respond to any of my messages, I hadn't even realized that he knew I was getting married, but I guess he read that one. Or maybe my mother has been hounding him from across the Atlantic.

Whatever. In Italy, he'd picked up his latest wife (his fifth; one more and he'll be tied with Henry VIII, prompting Lizzy to jokingly ask me if any of them had been beheaded), Bella, and eloped with her. Sent Georgia and I another email to announce it and left it at that. I'd never personally met her, but I assume she's like all the rest of them since my mother—cheap, dim-witted and far too young for him. (Well, Gloria had been pretty nice and slightly more age appropriate, though she was the lone exception in my father's string of failed marriages. My own mother included.)

At least George has perfected the art of the iron-clad prenup with his lawyers or Pemberley would have been lost four (soon to be five) times over by now. The bubble heads always sign it, though, presumably figuring it'll last longer than all the others, though I have no idea why. Mostly they get bored even before he does because few twenty-something-year-olds want to play house with a man more than twice their age. But at least they leave the marriage with a decent settlement that one can only hope they'll spend on something sensible, like a college education.

In any event, now that he's ready to divorce the former Miss Thorpe he apparently wants to consult his preferred law firm (the one he uses to get rid of all of his wives when they become inconvenient somehow), hence his trip home. Per his own information, he's heading back to London in the morning, so this dinner was our one and only shot at getting together so that he could meet Lizzy. I can't even wrap my mind around the how and when of rescheduling considering this narrow timeline; I assume he just typed it by rote.

When we reached my car, me still struggling to disentangle myself from my tie, Lizzy blocked my path to the driver's seat. She held up her hand, palm flat and open, and demanded, "Keys."

"I only had one beer," I countered, scowling at her. "I can drive."

"Not when you're this upset, you can't. Keys." Lizzy flapped her fingers at me in a gimmie motion, resolute.

I sighed, in no emotional condition to fight her on this, and handed them over. "Fine."

I rounded the car to the passenger side, opened the door and flung myself inside. In a show of petulance—one I felt, at the time, was completely warranted—I slammed it behind me. I then slumped down, arms crossed over my chest, and glared out the windshield at the flow of shopping center traffic. People wandering in and out of stores, a long trail of cars releasing from the movie theater, kids skipping along the parking lot hand-in-hand with their parents. Hmph.

On the other side of the car, Lizzy descended into her seat with more calmness and grace, shutting her door with the appropriate amount of force. She dropped the keys into one of the cup holders, but instead of pressing the Start button next to the steering column she turned so that she was facing me. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay to you?"

Lizzy pursed her lips at me, but didn't fire back. In hindsight, I'm grateful to her for not escalating that moment—I wasn't angry with her, after all, and she didn't deserve my snippiness. Instead, she reached over and untangled my arms so that she could hold my hand. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you when you said you didn't want to come tonight."

I whipped my head around to face her, startled at her apology. "Why should you be sorry? It was my father who stood us up."

Lizzy sighed and dropped her eyes. "Because you warned me that he probably would and I pressured you to come anyway. I really need to learn not to meddle between you and your parents."

I turned my body more fully toward hers and wrapped her hand between both of mine. "Hey." Lizzy still wouldn't look at me, so I bent forward a bit more and placed myself within her sightline. "Hey, really, it's not your fault that my parents are messed up people. You're not used to that."

Lizzy blinked and I could've sworn that I saw moisture gathered on her lashes. "But you'd think I'd have learned after all that stuff with your mom. When you said your dad probably wouldn't make it, I should have listened to you. I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, Will."

Seems like I won't speak to either of my parents again. Not without lawyers and legal documents between us, at any rate.

I pressed my lips to Lizzy's forehead, savoring her scent for a long moment, before moving back slightly so that I could rest my cheek against her temple. Against the shell of her ear, I murmured, softly, "Just consider this a learning experience. It's something you don't really get until it happens to you. But, honestly, it's not your fault…my dad lives to disappoint people, especially his kids."

And I honestly had tried to explain my relationship with George—as well as his general proclivities toward women, in case of the unlikely event that he actually came and then said something inappropriate—to Lizzy before accepting his dinner invitation. I'd warned her that you can't trust my father to actually show himself until he's already there, but she'd been optimistic enough over his good intentions for the both of us and I'd caved against my better judgment. To Lizzy's detriment more than my own, it seemed.

I heard a small sniffle from Lizzy before she quipped, weakly, "This means I'm part of the family, then?"

I kissed her forehead again. "Pretty much. Though at this point I think I'd rather just join yours. William Bennet has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

A soft laugh. "It's certainly less pretentious than William Darcy the Third."

"Mm, it's settled then. I'm taking your name."

We kissed properly then, drawing love and strength from one another, before pulling back and starting the inconveniently long drive home.

o0o

SUNDAY
JUNE 20, 2021
FATHER'S DAY

"Dad says he has a big announcement today," Lizzy said the next morning over breakfast.

Mention of Mr Bennet is one of the few things that can draw my gaze away from the naked skin beneath Lizzy's shirt—well, my shirt—and I looked up to her face. By the twinkle in her eye, I knew she'd thrown that out there just to distract me from her legs. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. No idea what it is, but he insists the entire family needs to gather round to hear it, so it must be important. He usually just tells Mom and lets her pass it down the grapevine."

"I know, I'm part of the family text chain now." I winced and that sparked a giggle from Lizzy. I don't really mind being part of the Bennet Family Text Chain (or the BFTC, as Lizzy and Jenn call it), though I have to be extra careful to silence my phone at work now. When Barb really gets going, she's capable of sending messages every couple of minutes, each of them saturated with emojis and outlandish punctuation (!?). I'm sometimes surprised that my phone hasn't shorted out or literally exploded. But, hey, at least I feel included. For better or worse.

This particular morning, I was happy to feel part of someone's family, having recently experienced so many disappointments in my own. My crazy mother vehemently objecting to my marriage. My deadbeat father failing to show up to the dinner he'd arranged. At least I have Georgia to represent my side at the wedding, though it'll be pitifully empty otherwise. Chad and my cousin Richard will be standing up at the front with me, so it'll just be her. Maybe she'll bring Gloria and Annah to fill a couple of the seats.

"We're heating up the grill at exactly noon, so you'd better get your ass to Pemberley Markets and pick up those steaks." Lizzy's playful nag was delivered with a peck to the cheek, so I didn't feel terribly beaten down by it.

"Yes, dear."

Though I'd attempted to slow the process with my wandering hands, Lizzy successfully managed to get us dressed for the day in relatively short order. I'd been denied my ultimate goal, but I was far from finished with her. While she fiddled with locking the front door, I was determined to fiddle with her.

"Will, stop it!" she demanded, swatting at where my hands were gripping possessively around her hips. She giggled, though, when I began kissing my way up her neck, undercutting her scolding tone.

I growled into her hair, left loose and bouncy around her shoulders, and pulled her up flush against me. She squirmed as if to get away and I reciprocated with a pleased grumble, one Lizzy has occasionally referred to as my purr. "Don't want to. C'mon, let's go back inside."

"No, you need to go get the steaks."

My fingers inched up the hem of her shirt, tickling the steep slope of her sides as they explored. "They'll be waiting for me when I get there."

"It's already eleven."

"It'll only take fifteen minutes to get there and back." I nuzzled at her earlobe just before nipping it. "Tops."

"We've got to go…" Lizzy made another vain attempt to redirect my creeping, teasing fingers, but it lacked any true conviction. She was wavering.

"We've got time." I tweaked a nipple through her bra as I whispered this hotly into her ear.

I heard the clatter of dropped keys on the welcome mat just before an elongated moan of surrender. "Wiiiiiiiiiiill…"

Lizzy's head tipped back and rested against my shoulder, a pose of submission which I took advantage of. I latched my mouth onto her neck, that spot just beneath her ear that always drives her wild, and began to suckle in earnest. My one hand that wasn't otherwise occupied fumbled around in front of us for the doorknob I knew was there somewhere.

"A-hem."

My heart lurched with surprise and I raised my head, though I didn't otherwise remove myself from Lizzy as I looked around for the interloper. There he was at the base of the stairs, glaring up at us with searing disapproval. Tom Bennet.

I was mostly frozen with mortification at being caught feeling Lizzy up by her own father, but luckily Lizzy was more on point. With panicked efficiency, she pushed my hands away from the inappropriate places they'd been roaming and shoved me away to put some space between us. Then, bless her, she placed herself directly in front of me to hide…well, I think you can guess.

"Jeezus, Dad! You scared us."

Tom frowned at her, then turned a more intensely scornful expression upon me. For a split second, I wondered if he was about to reach behind him and pull out a shotgun, but he must have left it at the main house. "Sorry, Lizzy-Bear, didn't mean to. I was just checking on something in the office," he nodded to the lower portion of the barn, which housed both the gift shop and the farm offices, "and thought I'd wait to walk over to the house with you. I didn't realize you had…company over."

Company. Considering the ring on Lizzy's finger, I felt like I had been upgraded from company by then. I wanted to roll my eyes, but one did not show disrespect to a lady's father after being caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. (Said cookie jar being Lizzy's shirt.)

I couldn't see Lizzy's expression (I was looking at the back of her head by then), but she fisted her hands and planted them on the crests of her hips and addressed Tom with a disapproving tone. "Dad."

Tom just waved his hand dismissively at her and sighed. "Are y'all ready to head over, then?"

"I am, but Will needs to get over to Pemberley Markets for the meat. Which he's going to do now." Lizzy looked over her shoulder at me, eyebrow quirked and her lips pressed into a serious line, before she started down the stairs.

When she reached the ground, Lizzy looped her arm around her father's and started tugging him up the gravel drive and away from the scene of our shared humiliation. I was forgotten from that point on as they walked away, discussing something between them.

I sighed and bent down to retrieve Lizzy's keys where they rested on the doormat. After locking up, I pocketed them and tromped down to my car to run my errand, frustrated but otherwise unscathed.

o0o

The steaks were dutifully picked up at the nearest Pemberley Markets location—many thanks to Cole, the butcher, for setting aside the best cuts for me before I'd arrived—and brought back to the Bennet homestead an hour or so later. Since Mrs Bennet—Barb, sorry, still getting used to that—now considers me family, I walked right through the front door without bothering to knock and carried my burden directly into the kitchen where the ladies were in a flurry of meal prep.

Barb was rinsing potatoes in the sink with Lady (whom my mother seems to have forgotten entirely since none of her recent communiques have been in effort to get her dog back) begging at her ankles, Jenn was whisking something up in a mixing bowl and Lizzy was crouched down on the floor, digging through one of the lower cabinets. She stood when I came in, a large platter in her hands, and crossed the tile floor to give me a kiss. "If it isn't my noble provider!"

I grunted like a caveman at her and she snorted a laugh in return. In more modern language, I asked, "Where do you want them?"

"I'll take them." Lizzy presented her empty platter and I set my package on top. "Just heating up the grill now. Good thing, too, because these bad boys will need to cook awhile." She hefted them up and down as if struggling to hold them up.

"Need any help?" I offered, intending to follow her around and make a flirtatious pest of myself. Nothing so intense as an hour prior, but the occasional sneaky kiss or innocent grope wasn't off the table.

"So you can be underfoot like you were on Friday?" Lizzy smirked at me, clearly onto my game. "No, thank you. You've done your part, now go relax."

So saying, Lizzy spun on her heel, grabbed a pair of salt and pepper shakers that were already out on the counter and zipped out the back door onto the patio. I watched her retreat and considered following anyway, but I noted a pair of familiar Adirondack chairs out there and thought better of it. Too many uncomfortable Labor Day memories.

Instead, I decided to attempt making nice with my soon-to-be in-laws. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I was immediately, but politely, rebuffed by Barb. "That's sweet of you, but we've got everything handled," she said, grabbing another potato out of her dirty pile and putting it under the faucet. As she scrubbed, she suggested, "Why don't you go sit with Tom? He's in the den watching football, or some such."

Unless the football in question was of the soccer variety, I highly doubted it since it was mid-June. But I didn't say as much to Barb since that would have been rude. "Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure." Barb nodded toward the open archway which I knew led out into the home's cozy living area. "Go make yourself comfortable."

I didn't particularly relish the prospect of time spent alone with Tom, especially since that uncomfortable encounter on the barn staircase, but I didn't see how there was much choice. Lizzy had shooed me away, Barb was doing the same and I suspected I'd be three-for-three if I offered my assistance to Jenn next. Chad was on the lake with his own father and so I couldn't expect to see him anytime that day. Just me and my future father-in-law. What joy was to be mine.

I dragged myself out of the kitchen and down the hall toward Tom's den, which was technically a family room but had been, according to his wife and daughters, slowly turned into a man cave over the years.

I stopped at the threshold of the familiar room and scanned it with my eyes, feeling like the moniker "man cave" was entirely appropriate. It was undeniably masculine and felt very much like the cave of a grumpy bear. The walls were papered in blue flannel print—seriously, Tom really loves his flannels—and the bookshelves built around the wall-mounted television were overflowing with male-centric media. Action movies. Tom Clancy books. Sports memorabilia. A few outdated Farmer's Almanacs. Exactly the kind of clutter one would expect a middle-aged man to collect.

Along the far wall were framed family photos, many of which included Lizzy, and a Clemson sports pennant held up by tacks. These precious memories and indications of team spirit hung above a threadbare blue sofa, one which closely matched the wallpaper, covered in myriad throw pillows and blankets. Another sofa mirrored it across the room, just inside the doorway where I was standing, to give the furnishings some semblance of symmetry.

And right there, in the direct center of the room, was Tom Bennet in his ugly plaid recliner watching Sports Center. The chair was held together by duct tape and prayers and looked older than Lizzy by a decade or more. It was obviously comfortable, though, because Tom obviously loved it enough to prevent his HGTV-loving wife from dropping it off at the dump behind his back. The Bennets must have come to some sort of agreement about his recliner because I don't recall seeing it at Thanksgiving, nor at any other major holiday since then, and so I assume that it's put away when special company comes over. Kind of like with the BFTC, my bearing witness to Tom in his natural habitat, complete with ugly-ass chair, apparently means that I've been accepted as one of their own. It's an honor I could do without, but it could be worse. At least Tom doesn't lounge about in his tighty-whities.

"Hey, Tom."

My greeting was met with a grunt of acknowledgement, but nothing more. I could see the reflection of the TV glinting off Tom's glasses.

I flicked my eyes up toward heaven for an instant and came fully into the room, making a beeline for the couch at the far side of the room. The one closest to me had a few springs loose and is, therefore, a pain in the ass. Literally.

I sat down and turned my face toward the TV, fully expecting the above interaction to the whole of our conversation; Tom had been frosty to me since last February and I highly doubted he was intending to be suddenly friendly again. I could only guess at the reasons why since he'd never treated Chad with such open hostility, but I suspected it had something to do with Lizzy being his favorite. No man wants to think about some guy having regular sex with his daughter, but when they're particularly close…I get it, but the disgruntled pouting seems like a bit much.

To my surprise, however, Tom instigated a conversation at the next commercial break. After a quick glance toward the kitchen—presumably to be sure that the women were too occupied to pay us any mind—Tom turned in his chair to face me and launched into what must have been a prepared speech.

"Okay, Darcy, listen up," he began, his bushy eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses. "I'm only going to say this one time and you can consider yourself duly warned. If you hurt my Lizzy-Bear in any way, shape or form, I will gut you with my pitchfork, throw you into the woodchipper and feed what's left of you to the pigs. Do I make myself clear?"

"Uhh…"

Jeezus, what does a guy say to that?

Not that my brain malfunction mattered, because Tom continued on without my input. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to you for helping us save the farm, but not so grateful that I'd sell my daughter's happiness for it. I would dismantle my entire life's effort before I let you hurt my baby girl. I should have said this months ago, but I guess I was hoping that your…fascination with Lizzy would fizzle out eventually. Since it apparently hasn't—or at least hasn't yet—and you've proposed, I'm saying it now."

Holy shit, was that what all of Tom's passive aggressive silence had been about all that time? He felt guilty about supposedly trading Lizzy for the farm? And he also apparently thought I was some kind of old school movie villain, using my riches to bend a helpless damsel to my will.

Once all that sunk in, I was kinda ticked off about it. "Now wait just a damn minute—"

Tom held up his hand to shush me and I cut myself off, though only love for Lizzy made me at all inclined to hold back my outrage. "I already talked to Lizzy about this while you were at the store and assured her that, come hell or high water, I would get her out of any obligation she has to you if she asked me to. All she has to do is say the word and I'll do whatever I can to make it happen. It puts me in a precarious financial position, but…well, don't think that will stop me.

"Lizzy, however," here Tom rolled his eyes in an exasperated arc, "is apparently determined to have you and wouldn't hear of me doing anything to chase you away. She says that your relationship has nothing to do with the farm, that she loves you, and I believe her. Which is why I'm warning you," Tom pointed an index finger at me, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line, "not to mess up."

I sat forward on the couch, clasping my hands in front of myself as I patched together the shredded tatters of my temper. I refused to fly off the handle at my future father-in-law who, for all of his insulting threats, was just trying to protect Lizzy. Unlike my own parents who always had their own agendas, Tom was solely looking out for Lizzy's happiness, as a loving father should. Realizing this didn't immediately erase all of my offense, but it helped take the edge off of it.

I breathed in deeply and then began my own speech as calmly as I could. My jaw was still somewhat clenched, my words stiff, but it was the best I could do under so much provocation. "I understand your concerns, but I swear to you that I love Lizzy and would never purposefully hurt her. I—"

I was interrupted by a skeptical snort from Tom. "From what I've heard, you don't exactly have the best track record with that."

I glowered at him and bit back the first retort that came to mind, determining that it wouldn't be wise to antagonize the situation further. I raised my head and looked Tom dead in the eye. "No, I don't, but Lizzy and I have worked that out between us. I've apologized and we've moved on. As I was saying, I love your daughter and will do anything and everything to make her happy. I can't make you believe me, but I swear that I will take care of her for the rest of her life, that I won't ever give her cause to regret marrying me and that her welfare will always be my first priority."

Tom reciprocated my eye contact throughout my impassioned defense, his expression slowly softening the longer it went on. At the end, he chuckled wryly and shook his head, breaking our intense staring contest. "Wait until you have kids before you promise me that. They change everything." He sighed. "Still, I do believe you, for what it's worth. I've been paying attention these past few months, whether you knew it or not, and as far as I could tell you've been treating my girl right. I think I just needed to hear you say it before I could be comfortable with giving you my blessing. After all, it's a father's responsibility to look out for his children, even when they're all grown up and don't seem to need him anymore."

It felt just then like my throat was tightening around my Adam's apple and I swallowed. George definitely didn't share Tom's parenting philosophy and I felt a sudden ache in my chest, right in that hollow portion of my heart.

While I struggled with the painful emptiness, Tom continued, "If what you say is true, then you deserve my Lizzy-Bear. I couldn't have parted with her to anyone less worthy."

I won't say anything so trite as my heart suddenly became whole because, honestly, nothing about parent-child relationships is ever that easy. I will say, though, that the ache eased somewhat to be finally, completely and wholly accepted by the last of the Bennets. I had no doubt that Tom would absolutely make my life miserable if I ever slipped up and hurt his "Lizzy-Bear," but I felt as if we'd come to an understanding. I agreed to love his precious daughter with everything I had, he agreed to support the both of us.

The soft scuff of a shoe broke the silence and we both looked, in tandem, toward the doorway to find Lizzy herself standing there with a hand cupped over her mouth. She was blinking rapidly and I strongly suspected that the sparkle on her eyelashes were tears, but she just cleared her throat and announced, "Dinner is ready. Come on out back."

There wasn't anything to be said that wouldn't have been unbearably awkward, so Tom and I stood without comment and followed Lizzy back down the hall, through the kitchen and into the backyard.

Outside on the sprawling green lawn, there was a large cedar picnic table loaded up with so much food I distantly wondered if there would be any room for us to eat. There was potato salad, grilled squash and zucchini, garden salad (most of the ingredients pulled from the Bennets' private family garden), corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes, assorted dressings and sauces all in addition to the steaks I'd brought, which were the centerpiece of the meal. It all looked incredible and I offered my compliments to the ladies, which earned me a tittering blush from Barb, a serene smile from Jenn and a squeeze of the hand from Lizzy.

My fiancée was beaming at me, the glitter of moisture still in her eyes, and I suspected that much wasn't related to my pretty words over how well she grills meat. I leaned forward and pressed our foreheads together, whispered "I love you" and had the pleasure of hearing it parroted back to me before we parted and began passing dishes around.

When everyone had been served and Barb had said the blessing, I lifted my fork with the intent to begin devouring what was in front of me, but halted when Tom stood up and began lightly tapping the blade of his steak knife against the neck of his beer bottle. We all lowered our utensils and gave him our undivided attention.

"I wanted to, first of all, echo my future son-in-law's compliments to the cooks." Tom grinned at each of his girls in turn and they reflected it back at him. "And, second, welcome said future son-in-law to the Bennet Clan. Son," he tipped the open mouth of the bottle in my direction and I felt a tingle of warmth at this new title, "I think you'll fit in around here fine. Just don't give me any cause to go get my pitchfork." He winked at me and I gusted out a laugh, hearkening back immediately to his creative threats against my entrails from earlier. I wasn't entirely sure how serious he was, but I hoped he was joking. He probably was. I think.

There was a chorus of "hear, hear!" from the women folk and everyone took a swig of their chosen beverage as if it were a wedding toast. I took a sip, too, grinning around the mouth of my bottle as I looked around at my new family.

"And finally," Tom said, drawing himself up with theatrical importance, "I want to announce that I'm officially retiring at the end of this summer. Lizzy, I'm signing the farm over to you and your young man effective the first week of September. Consider it an early wedding present."

There was stunned silence around the table for a heartbeat. Then two. A third. Right around the fourth, Lizzy dissolved it by bursting into tears and jumping out of her seat to run around the end of the table and throw herself into her father's arms. Tom, smiling wistfully over her shoulder, set down his beer and wrapped them around her. He teased her for being silly and emotional, but I could see the mist in his eyes even from as far away as I sat.

Once Lizzy had moved, Barb and Jenn stood and joined the family huddle, hugging and exclaiming over the news. Lady barked and ran circles around them, I think looking for a space to wriggle her way in, too, but the Bennets were so tightly knotted there didn't seem to be any room for anyone else.

I remained seated, feeling a bit embarrassed to witness a private family celebration, until Lizzy broke away from the group and dragged me to my feet. I was then absorbed into the multifaceted-embrace and, though it was awkward for a lot of reasons, I slid one arm around Lizzy's waist and used the other to pat Tom on the back.

"Okay, okay! Enough of that," Tom finally shouted, laughingly, over all our heads. "It's Father's Day and I want to eat my steak before it gets cold. Back to the table with all of you, go on."

Author's Notes: Apologies again for the delay of the Mother's Day chapter. I hope back-to-back updates makes up for it a little.

Firebirds, like Maggiano's, is a real restaurant. Somewhat upscale steakhouse, but with a relaxed atmosphere. Great food, especially the BLT salad…mmm. There's a couple different locations, but the one Will and Lizzy went to is in the Ballantyne/Piper Glen area in south Charlotte over near where I grew up (all the fancy stuff mostly appeared around us and we got to take advantage).

Fun Fact: my grandmother once sent my mother a crazy letter full of Bible verses when she was angry at her about something. That something is still unclear to this day, but the verses themselves had nothing to do with anything; it almost seemed like she'd just plucked them out at random. Since I'm convinced that Granny is the living embodiment of Lady Catherine, I thought I'd throw that in there.

In the States, our independence day from the British is famously set on July 4th. See y'all again in two weeks! (Bangs head on desk.)

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Next Update: Independence Day (US) 2021
Expected Completion Date: September 2021

– MrsMarySmythe