Dear Dr. Shepherd,

I am writing to thank you(again) for your expertise and compassion throughout my pregnancy. I never planned or even imagined having six daughters, and your patience and reassurance was always helpful and well-placed. While I'm sure any old specialist could have delivered my babies safely,

I'm equally sure that none of them could have made me feel more comfortable, knowledgeable, or cared for. I've enclosed a picture of them from their recent christening. From left, it goes Graciella, Luz, Marisol, Salma, Paloma, and Alegria (They are also very grateful.)

Sincerely,

Elisa Dominguez

Addison slid backwards in her desk chair and opened her file cabinet. She filed the letter with the rest of the ones that grateful mothers had sent her, and pinned the picture on a bulletin board behind her. The six girls, while not identical, all had a dark shock of hair that nearly overpowered their tiny bodies. She pressed her thumb down on an errant corner and stepped back to smile. She really enjoyed getting these sorts of letters; they were the best part of her job.

Her eyes traveled up the myriad photos of different children she had treated during her tenure at Children's Hospital Boston. She had been there for five years, and, so far, it was her favorite job. There was not the cutthroat aspect that had been there while she'd been at Manhattan General—she was now at the top of her game. There wasn't the angst and anxiety that had defined her four years at Seattle Grace—she was happy now. Her return to Manhattan after leaving Seattle hadn't been as exciting or stimulating as she had thought it would be—she'd been too used to being a big fish in a small pond. Boston was perfect: her job at the hospital required that she also teach a class at Harvard, so she had tons of researchers and fellows to work with; she was surrounded by like-minded specialists, but not overpowered like in New York—people still traveled to come to them; these two had combined to make her highly sought-after and respected; and personally, she was in a damn fine place with a damn fine man. She didn't care for Boston the way she did for New York—it reminded her too much of an East Coast version of Seattle—but she enjoyed herself. Her hours weren't hectic or frenetic; most of her surgeries were planned and most of her time was spent in the clinic or the office. Which was very good—she was no longer young and no longer desired the adrenaline rush.

There was a soft knock at her door. "Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?" Her office manager, Jackie, popped the door open a notch. "Dr. Sloan is here to see you."

Addison smiled. "You know, when I'm not with a patient, you can just send him in." She had told this to Jackie several times, but knew that the serious young woman would never do that—and HIPAA regulations were the least of her worries.

Jackie's head disappeared, replaced by Mark's body. "Hey Adds." He said, sliding into the room.

"You're here early."

"Got done with my consult." He shrugged. "Do you have any more patients? I figured we could go picnic."

She grinned. "It's the middle of February. We live in Boston."

"We're taking a walk on the wild side."

"Okay," she said, grabbing her coat. "So where's the picnic food?"

"Oh. Well, we have to pick that up. I was thinking Chinese. Or sushi."

"Sushi, but shouldn't we go all crazy and, I don't know, use picnic food? Brie? Cheese? A little wine? Hell, a turkey sandwich."

"When have you ever been white-bread-and-turkey-on-a-scratchy-blanket?"

"True." She locked her office door behind them. "Alright, Jackie, I'm heading—out. Have a nice night. Don't stay too late."

"Okay. Night, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd." Jackie smiled.

"So which kind of picnic is it going to be?" Addison said as soon as they hit the elevator. "Cause I know what kind of picnics you like, but even if I go outdoors, it's way too cold to pretend like we're teenagers and have sex on the picnic blanket out in the open. Especially since the nearest park has my students wandering about it."

"Who would be crazy enough to go outside at this time of night? We won't run into any students if we went to the park." He pulled something long and dark out of his pocket and shook it out. "Turn around." He commanded.

"What's that?"

"It's a blindfold."

"You're really going for spontaneous-and-romantic, aren't you?"

"I was reading Cosmo at the dentist's today—"

"Stop right there." She laughed.

"What? It was my six-month appointment. I'm thinking of having two teeth capped, what do you think."

"Okay, first let's talk Cosmo, then let's talk teeth-capping."

"Don't laugh. I was analyzing models—to see work they'd had done. Moesha, the receptionist, was very impressed."

"God—people who have jobs in dentists' offices are old enough to have been named after that show?"

"Not necessarily. On the show, Moesha was about 20, right? So the name had to have been around twenty years before the show."

"It still makes me feel old. Like when one of my students announced she'd been named Jennifer Rachel for the Friends character."

"Anyways. I was reading Cosmo—" Mark guided her off the elevator—"and they said that keeping the relationship spontaneous and romantic after being together for years is the secret to staying together."

"Obviously." Addison said dryly. "I mean, you were there for the combustion of my marriage. Textbook answer, Dr. Sloane. All women know that."

"Obviously not. Why else would it be in Cosmo?" he reasoned. "Anyways, I love you too much to lose you because I'm not being spontaneous and romantic enough. So I though, 'Hey! You're ruggedly attractive and quite brilliant. You know Addison inside and out. How come you haven't done anything spontaneous and romantic lately?' So I came up with my plan. And now we're going on a picnic." She felt a whoosh of cold, gritty air as they entered the parking garage. "And I'm making it a surprise. You're just going to have to, you know, stay blindfolded."

"Okay, okay, I'm playing along." Addison laughed. Mark grabbed her elbow and guided her into the passenger side of her Lexus. "Do you need my keys? They're in my purse."

"Got mine." He replied, kissing her forehead. "Thanks, though."

She weathered the drive in silence, her forehead folded in consternation as she tried to figure out where they were going. "Are we headed home?" she blurted out.

"We're going on a picnic." Mark reminded her, laughing.

"Sorry—just seemed like we were headed that way." She smiled. "I'm trusting you, really."

"Kay, we're here."

"I'm a little nervous."

"Don't be. We have to stop somewhere first, though. All right, step. And step. Step." He guided her slowly. Once he had opened the door to—wherever, though she really was beginning to believe it was their brownstone—he said, "Stand. Right here. Don't move."

About three minutes later, he returned. "Okay, take my hand." He instructed. "This way…this way. Okay. Stop." She heard some music start to play—good old stuff, Marvin Gaye. "Take off the blindfold."

"We're indoors."

"Would you do an outdoor picnic? Come on."

She carefully untied the blindfold, cognizant of her hair. Her mouth dropped.

They were in their brownstone, just like she'd suspected. They had gorgeous French doors that opened onto an enclosed deck from their living room, and he had opened them and strewn flower petals—lilies, her favorite. She smiled goofily. He had set up a Caribbean-blue chenille blanket on the balcony, and a picnic basket sat on top of it. Two loaves of bread, a couple of cheeses, grapes, apples, and a plate of sushi were next to the basket. A bottle of wine was on the other side, two wineglasses partially filled with her favorite Zinfandel. "Mark, this is amazing. Exactly my type of picnic." She turned to thank him, and her mouth dropped farther.

He was naked. Stark naked.

He laughed at her look, but she quickly closed it and began devouring him with her eyes. He was still hot after all these years. "Relationships," he said, coming close to kiss her, "are about compromise. So here's the compromise: your type of picnic is romantic with the wine and the cheese. And my type of picnic is naked. So we do both. Get naked." The kiss deepened to soul-penetrating levels, and she quickly obliged to his clothing-off request. As she began to tease him with her fingers, he pulled away. "Picnic first. The picnic is for you, and ladies always go first."

"You," she said, as they knelt on the blanket. "Are the most amazing man I've ever known. Possibly the most amazing man to ever exist." She fed him grapes and shivered as he licked her fingers. "And you cannot possibly know how much I love you."

"Yes." He said. "Yes, I do." He kissed her again, this time not stopping for picnic food.