Maxwell entered the restaurant shortly after eight. He scanned the room until he found Fran sitting at a corner table sipping a glass of orange juice. His eyes swept over her, appreciating the way her red v-neck sweater clung to her body.

Fran drew in a sharp silent breath as he made his way toward her table. The cream-colored turtleneck contrasted with the black pants and jacket he wore. Images of stripping the clothes from Maxwell's body danced in her head.

"Good morning darling."

"Good morning."

"I didn't think you'd be here already."

"To be honest, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"You look gorgeous."

She blushed under his gaze. "Thank you. You look very handsome this morning."

He smiled his thank you as he settled across from her. They stared at each other, an awkward silence hanging between them. As the waiter approached their table, Fran and Maxwell grabbed their menus, hastily scanning each item.

After the waiter took their order, Maxwell blew out a sigh. "That was smooth."

Fran laughed. "Oh yeah, as smooth as gravel."

Maxwell watched her laugh. He loved her smile. He loved everything about the woman sitting across from him. What amazed him was that as long as they had known each other, he was still discovering hidden aspects of her personality.

His children's accusations crowded his mind. Bloody hell, who taught them to be free independent thinkers? A slow smile crept across his face as his conscious answered the question for him.

Fran instilled in them confidence, independence, intelligence, and the ability to believe they could achieve anything they set their minds to. Before he knew it, his thoughts spilled from his mouth.

"How is it that I'm still discovering things about you?"

"What are you talking about Max?"

"The fact that you've been my friend, my wife, and my lover for the past twenty-one years, and I still don't truly know you; that I'm still learning things about you."

"No one tells absolutely everything about themselves."

Maxwell shook his head. "Sara knew me inside and out."

"I'd be willing to bet that you didn't tell Sara everything just like you don't tell me everything. And if you say you did, you'd be lying."

Maxwell opened his mouth to defend himself and found that he couldn't. "And you've never been curious?"

"Not really because if you wanted to share it with me, you would have."

They stopped talking when the waiter approached their table. Setting their plates in front of them, he asked if they needed anything before quickly excusing himself.

"I guess they were right," Maxwell said as he absently moved his food around his plate.

"Who?"

"The children. They confronted me the day after our argument. Needless to say I was chastised sufficiently by them for doubting your - " He paused, searching for a word or phrase that wouldn't offend her.

"You can say intelligence Max. I already know what happened with you and the kids."

"Ah yes, that's right. You had dinner with them. I should have known they would have told you what happened."

"Coupled with the fact that I know you think that I'm a bit dense at times. But honey, I'm not the same person I was when we first met."

"No, you're not. I am the one who did not evolve – at least as far as you are concerned. I am sorry that I have thought less of you. You truly are an intelligent woman Fran. You're wise and thoughtful and loving and hopefully forgiving."

"Max, you know you can count on me to be there for you in every way."

"I know I can. Believe me when I tell you that I've been very grateful to have you in my life." Maxwell slowly sipped his coffee, gathering the courage to continue. "You know our time apart gave me time to think about things. I realized that part of my problem is that I'm jealous."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"Of your relationship with our children. It is something I never had with my own mother. You came from a close-knit family. You had a warm, loving environment and so do our children. I wish I had that connection growing up but I didn't. Sometimes I wish I were more open with my feelings."

"You are a wonderful, loving father. You have come a long way from that repressed man I first met. You are a lot more open with our kids and our grandkids. You have no need to feel jealous."

Maxwell finished his coffee, digesting Fran's words. He always loved and admired her ability to comfort him and their family. As he set the cup on its saucer, thoughts of being a sad, lonely man for the remainder of his life crept into his conscious. He had to ask. Her answer could either nurture or slay his fears.

"I'm losing you, aren't I?"

"What?"

"I'm losing you." His statement was uncharacteristically timid.

"Max, you're not losing me."

"Yes I am. I can feel it. You're drifting away from me and I feel powerless to do anything about it."

"What makes you think you're losing me?"

"Maybe its just life things: work, the children, our personal problems. I know that every couple from time to time experience boredom with one another."

Fran stared at Maxwell. "You're bored with me?"

"No! No what I mean is that when a couple that has known each other as long as we have, things become predictable."

"I suppose that's true. I remember the last time we went through this."

"But this feels different. This is more than just complacency. Fran, I don't want to lose what we have, what we've found with each other."

"Do you doubt my love for you?"

Maxwell drew back, surprised by her question. "Of course not! It's just that...I think we need to be reminded of our love for one another."

"I completely agree," Fran said leaning over to kiss him.

"I guess that's why I freaked out when you told me about the story you were submitting. I would be devastated by the thought of not having you in my life."

"I don't quite see the connection of your losing me with you being upset about my writing."

"Even though you changed names and circumstances, that story represents loss. Those characters originated from us. That story would be like having a permanent record of my suffering and loneliness."

"I can kind of understand what you're saying but Max, it's just a story. You didn't lose me. You won't lose me. We made a vow to each other until death parts us. And even then you won't be able to get away from me that easily."

He intertwined their hands. "I can't imagine my life without you. You know I finally read the story. It could use some fine tuning but you're right, it's a good story."

"You really think so?"

"Yes."

"Oh Max, you don't know what that means to me." Drawing a deep breath, she said, "I've been doing some thinking about what you said. I understand why you were upset but I just thought that it would be the basis of a good story."

"I know. And the advice writers are always given is write what you know."

"So does this mean if I submit my story that you're going to be okay with it?"

"Yes. I told you before and I'll tell you again. I'll support you in any endeavor you wish to pursue."

"I love you Max."

"I love you too Fran."

They finished breakfast in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. After paying the bill, Fran and Maxwell walked out of the restaurant hand in hand.

She softly tugged his arm, indicating for him to follow her. As the elevator made its way to her floor, Fran lightly ran her thumb over the back of Maxwell's hand. He tried not to let his emotions get ahead of him but he hoped it was a sign that she was coming home.

Neither of them said a word as she led him down the hall to her room. He watched Fran slide the card key in the lock and open the door. As he turned to close the door, she pushed him against it, seizing his mouth in a rough, demanding kiss.

All rational thoughts left his brain as her fingers burrowed through his thick hair. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her body closer to his. As quickly as Fran captured Maxwell, she released him.

"I've missed you," she breathed heavily.

He swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control. "I take it this means you're coming home?"

She nodded, a wide smile forming on her face. Lacing her fingers with his, they began to move toward the bed.

Fran slid her palms under his sweater, lightly massaging his chest. "I have the room for a few more hours. Want to put the remaining time to good use?"

"It's not that I don't want to make love to you," Maxwell whispered against her ear, "but when I do, I want to take you in our bed."

She smiled as a delicious shiver radiated throughout her body. Slipping her arms around his neck, Fran whispered, "Take me home."

Sara leaned against the oversized chair, watching her brother plot his next move. They had been in a checkers show down since they returned from visiting their grandparents in Long Island.

"Give it up squirt. I've got you cornered."

"Not on your life," MJ replied. "It's a battle to the death."

Michael looked at his namesake. "MJ, your sister's beaten you eight out of ten games."

"That's not the point dad. I beat her twice before. I can do it again."

Maggie leaned over to Michael. "It must be something about sisters and brothers competing against each other. I swear sometimes Sara and MJ sound like me and Brighton growing up."

Michael laughed and kissed her temple. "There's something to be said about sibling rivalry."

Sara was about to comment on her parent's conversation when the front door opened. "Grandma! Granddaddy!"

Maggie turned as Sara and MJ ran toward them, throwing their arms around their grandparents. Jonah, Grace, Eve, and Brighton entered the living room, wondering what was behind the high-pitched squealing. They smiled at the sight of their parents led into the living room by their niece and nephew.

"Did you have a good time visiting your daddy's parents?" Fran asked settling next to Maggie on the couch.

"It was a lot of fun, although we missed both of you."

Fran hugged Sara and MJ. "I missed both of you too. So what did you get?"

"We got a lot of clothes," Sara replied.

"And money," MJ added.

"They gave us toys and games and stuff. Grandma gave me this doll that's over a hundred years old! Wait, I'll go get it."

"I want to show them my stuff too!" MJ whined.

"Hey you two, no running in the house!" Michael shouted following behind them.

"I'm glad you're home," Eve said.

"We all are," Brighton added kissing Fran on the cheek. "Me too. I was so lonely without you all."

Robert made his way down the staircase and entered the living room. "Mrs. Sheffield, I'll carry your bag upstairs to the master bedroom."

"Thank you Robert." Turning to Maggie, Fran asked, "Do Sara and MJ know about what happened?"

No. They haven't been here that long."

"Good."

Sara, MJ, and Michael came back into the living room to show the family their prized possessions.

"Excuse me," Maggie said, "weren't you two in the middle of playing checkers?"

"Oh yeah," MJ said. "I'm going to destroy you."

"Fat chance you little monster."

"Mom, did you hear what Sara called me?"

"Don't go crying to mom. You need to learn how to defend yourself."

"Why can't you two ever play nice?" Michael asked. "No more name calling. Go put your toys away."

"But daddy!" MJ and Sara whined.

"Do what your father said. Now march!" Watching her children head slowly upstairs, Maggie rose from the couch. "I bet that's one thing you didn't miss."

"Actually I did," Fran replied. "They remind me a lot of you and Brighton. And Brighton and Gracie. And Jonah and Eve."

"Must be something about having silly brothers in this family," Eve whispered to Grace.

"Hey we heard that!" Jonah and Brighton shouted.

"So what? You won't do anything about it," Grace replied.

Maxwell stood, offering Fran his hand. "So your mother and I won't have to witness any bloodshed, we're leaving. Whoever survives, we'll see you at dinner."

"Tired sweetheart?" Maxwell asked as they entered their bedroom.

Fran nodded, attempting to stifle a yawn. "I told you I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Why don't you lie down for a little while?"

Fran slipped off her shoes and stretched across the bed. "Hotel beds are okay but there's nothing like sleeping in your own bed." Maxwell sat beside her, stroking her cheek. She took his hand and pressed his fingers to her lips. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He nodded, moving to his side of the bed. As she settled in Maxwell's embrace, Fran slid her arm under his, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Don't forget we have plans later," he said kissing her forehead. "I intend on ravishing you tonight."

"I certainly hope so. Love you."

"I love you too. Go to sleep."

Maxwell woke up an hour later. Gently easing her body from his, he covered Fran with the afghan that lay at the foot of the bed and lightly kissed her cheek before heading downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, Maxwell was surprised to see Jonah, Maggie, Eve, Michael, Grace, and Brighton sitting around the table talking.

"Since there was no bloodshed and all my children are alive and well, I assume a peace treaty was worked out?"

"We called a draw," Brighton said.

"That's because you took unfair advantage of the situation," Maggie replied.

"Michael is our brother-in-law. It's only fair that he help us," Jonah countered.

"Come on Maggie, how can you have mismatched opponents in a snowball fight?" Michael asked.

Maggie swept a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. I'll get you back."

Michael smiled. "I certainly hope so."

"Can you two knock it off?" Brighton asked. "You're almost as bad as mom and dad."

"Just wait until Laurie has you trapped and at her mercy," Grace said. "Then you'll be singing a different tune."

"I think I'll just grab a sandwich and go to my office," Maxwell said. "The less I know the better."

"Where's ma?" Eve asked.

"She's asleep," Maxwell replied putting a sandwich and some chips on his plate. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "She's awfully tired, so please let her rest."

The six of them watched him tuck a napkin under his plate. Pushing the door open with his hip, Maxwell disappeared from the kitchen.

"I wonder if he realized he was whistling a Barbra Streisand song." Brighton said.

"Some how I doubt it," Grace replied.

Maxwell ate lunch, happily consumed by thoughts of Fran sleeping soundly in their bed. He leaned back in the chair, letting a warm, blissful glow envelop him. Nothing could alter his mood, not even the abandoned manuscript David Jacobs couriered to him.

Pushing his plate aside, Maxwell picked up the few messages left on top of his desk. He crumpled the paper and tossed them into the trash. Once he finished reviewing the script, he'd call David back.

Fran turned over, reaching out to snuggle against the warmth of Maxwell's body only to be greeted by the coolness of the bedcovers. She switched on the lamp, shielding her eyes with her hand against the bright light flooding the room.

"Max?"

Pushing the afghan aside, Fran slipped off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Re-entering the bedroom, she opened the door and went in search of Maxwell.

As she entered the living room, a smile spread across her face at the sight of her children and grandchildren scattered around watching a movie.

Nudging Grace's shoulder, Fran asked, "Where's your father?"

"He's in his office."

"What are you guys watching?"

"A classic comedy, Mrs. Doubtfire." Fran looked at Grace. "What? To us, this is a classic. Look how old we were when it came out."

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes and exited the living room. Fran ran into Robert as she stepped into the hallway.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Sheffield."

"Good afternoon Robert. Thank you for unpacking my bag."

You're welcome. I'm happy you're home. The house just wasn't the same without you."

"Thank you. That's very sweet of you. Is Maxwell still in his office?"

"Yes ma'am."

Fran tapped lightly on the door. She waited until she heard Maxwell answer before opening the door.

"Well here you are," she said entering the office. "I woke up expecting to be in the arms of my husband and all I found was a cold empty space."

"I'm sorry darling. I had to finishing reviewing the manuscript that David overnighted to me and return his multiple phone calls. How are you feeling? You look well rested."

"I am. How long have I been asleep?"

"About six hours."

"Wow, I must have been more tired that I thought."

Fran slid into his lap. Drawing her arms around his neck, she brushed her lips against his. Maxwell let her tongue explore his mouth, deepening their kiss. She pulled back to look at him.

"Are there anymore sandwiches left? I wouldn't mind pastrami with American white cheddar cheese on pumpernickel with lettuce, tomato, and" she paused, smacking her lips slightly, "spicy deli mustard with some chips on the side and a bottle of water my self."

"How on earth did you know what I had for lunch?"

"I've got two words for you baby: kissing contest."

Maxwell smiled. "Oh yes. I remember that kiss very well. One of many of your kisses that I've enjoyed over the years." He gave her a long lecherous look. "Among other things."

"Max!" He traced the neckline of her sweater. She gently pushed away him. "Oh no you don't. I plan to keep you busy tonight as well."

"Promise?"

"Definitely." Fran gave him a quick kiss. "See you later." She slid out of his lap and headed for the kitchen.