The pair remained staring, open-mouthed, at one another for a full minute before common decency prevailed.

"What are you doing here?" Assumpta half stood up to embrace her former flame, but soon thought better of it.

"Well," Leo began. "I've been keeping tabs on your from London. Heard you'd abandoned your business, joined the circus and then defected to a Little Chef with nothing but coffee and - ohhhh Lucky Strike, tut tut."

"Leo, be serious."

Wordlessly, he helped himself to a cigarette from the packet and sat down beside her. "Just lucky I guess."

Assumpta extinguished her cigarette against the damp wooden table. "Of all the gin joints, in all the land…"

"Maybe someone's trying to tell us something?"

"Don't you start."

Leo looked at her seriously. "Well, I for one am happy to run into you. It's been a bloody awful day."

"Day?" Assumpta looked at her watch. "Little premature there…"

"Well, day – night – everything. I've been driving since dawn, I'm on a deadline and I'm… I'm complaining too much, aren't I?"

"If the shoe fits" she smirked, good-naturedly. "If it's any consolation, I'm not so great myself."

"You're always great."

"Not lately" she reached for another cigarette that she didn't want. "Not now."

"Well, I'm a good listener, or so I've been told…"

" – before you air their dirty laundry in the press!"

Leo smirked. "Off the record, for you."

Assumpta thought back at Peter's previous outburst. Have that boyfriend of yours, Leo, to write a sordid tell-all…

If he saw them now.

"It's a man" she began cagily, deciding ahead of time to protect the innocent and the guilty. "He won't commit."

"To you? I find that hard to believe."

Assumpta couldn't help but notice a quiver in her former lover's voice. Feeling secretly vindicated by this response, she continued, "He's not strictly available – yet. Says he'll become available, eventually, but refuses to tell me when."

"Ah, married."

She relented. Close enough. "You could say that."

"Well," he took a drag from his cigarette. "Ordinarily, I'd say that a man whose attentions were otherwise engaged isn't a sure thing. I'd tell whomever was wrapped up in that situation to excuse themselves immediately and rush, theatrically, into the arms of the handsome journo who'd serendipitously appeared at the very same Little Chef off the Dublin Orbital…"

"That's some advice," she smiled genuinely. He always had a knack for cheering her up.

Leo looked at her seriously. "But, something tells me this is no ordinary situation."

"It's not."

The Irishman pursed his lips, took a final drag of his cigarette and extinguished its butt, like punctuation at the end of the sentence. "In that case, I'd let his actions do the talking."

"Actions?"

"If he's half as serious about you as he seemed to be the last time I came to BallyK, I don't think you've anything to worry about."

Assumpta took a sharp intake of breath. "Who says it's anyone you know?"

Leo gave her a look which silently told her Please… so she decided not to pursue the ruse any farther.

"Enough about him anyhow", her companion announced, jealousy tinged in his voice. "You up for a spin in the Porsche?"

Assumpta smiled, gratefully. She hoped he was right, that soon Peter's actions from being all in had surpassed his words. For now though, she thought it prudent that the curate was given time to digest their situation – to establish a way forward for them both which weighed more than the paper-thin promises he'd made to her.

Fortified by her decision, Assumpta stood up with her friend and told him, "You lead the way."

…

Peter's thoughts raced as he tried to find her. Following his talk with the Bishop, he tried several places before it had occurred to him to head over to the petrol station and restaurant, but by then Assumpta had already left.

As he sat gloomily on one of the picnic tables outside of the Little Chef – the very same table she had been at minutes earlier – and stared disgustedly at the cigarette butts which clumsily adorned it, Peter had the panicked realisation that he may have well-and-truly blown it.

Assumpta was gone. Perhaps from his life altogether.

He tried to quell the sickness building in his stomach. How had he allowed this to happen? He bit his lip in a bid to retroactively dispel those painful words he'd uttered to her just an hour before.

Peter wasn't exactly sure where his venom had come from. He certainly didn't think any of it to be true. It all came from a place of fear and uncertainty. Of knowing that he had something very real and very precious in his grasp but it threatened to disappear if he didn't watch his step.

Nothing was ever indelible. In his entire life, nothing had ever gone according to plan, so why should this be any different? As much as he tried to believe someone like Assumpta would actually denigrate herself to be with someone like him, it never seemed likely. Peter was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He supposed it had occurred to him that she came for the collar and nothing else, but he'd buried those fears so deeply inside that it shocked even he when those uncertainties manifested themselves into actual words.

A notch on her bedpost. Peter smirked. Chance would've been a fine thing. He realised then that his fear of intimacy – of doing that ultimate thing was just a hangover from his former life. Catholic guilt, you might say. For there was nothing wrong with being fully and completely with the person who had your heart completely. Married, not or somewhere in between – it didn't negate the feelings he had for Assumpta, or – god-willing – the feelings she returned. It was in that moment – outside that derelict Little Chef, located in the forgotten corner of nowhere – that Peter made a vow to replace the one he'd made to the Church: he would find Assumpta and he'd ask her to marry him, and if she accepted, he'd give himself completely to her. He owed her that much.

Before he knew it, Peter was back in the Javelin and en-route back to Ballykissangel, excited and terrified, in equal measure, about what awaited him there.

…

Assumpta could only watch as the Porsche turned around the corner, leaving her to walk the rest of the way back into Ballykissangel.

Leo had offered to driver her back home of course, but that would have taken some explaining when Peter found out that her old boyfriend had indeed been the person she turned to when things went south between them.

It was all such a mess.

In some ways it was comforting to know that Leo would always be there for her, no matter what. He was the easy choice, good job, great car, no collar… but, try as she might, he just didn't set her heart-rate pulsing as that certain Mancunian had.

In the distance, over the rolling hills of Wicklow, she could tell it was starting to rain. Great, she thought. This was some pretty dumb luck she'd been having. As soon as she realised it, the downpour began, soaking her through-and-through. She thought about running, dashing to the nearest cowshed but really, as the rainwater permeated every inch of clothing she wore, Assumpta realised there'd be no point.

So, she simply carried on walking, allowing the precipitation to roll off her as if she were entirely hydrophobic, and not just soaked to the core. It was freeing, somehow, to be this hopelessly wet. It stung her to realise that it was a little like being in love – being so wrapped up in the other person that there was really not much else you could do. Assumpta pulled her jacket tight around her, allowing its saturated fibres to give her a reassuring hug – it would all be okay… he'd take back what he said and she'd allow it. They were going to be fine.

But a nagging voice at the back of her head reminded her that with Peter, since when was it ever that easy?

…

As exited the motorway, the main roads and then the turning which promised Ballykissangel – 4 miles, Peter rehearsed what he'd say to Assumpta when he caught up with her –

I'm sorry… you have every right to be angry.

I didn't mean what I said – any of it.

I was riled up… you always rile me up. I wasn't thinking straight.

The problem was, every line he tried would elicit an equally compelling response by his reckoning –

Do I need your permission to be angry?

Then why say it?

On your bike, Peter.

He'd known Assumpta for so long now that his ability to anticipate her retorts was almost standard. He knew what she was about to say, perhaps even before she did. In any case, nothing that he could conjure up would convey the abject remorse and misery that he honestly felt.

Peter hoped for a eureka moment when faced with the publican again. He would get it together before he saw her next – perhaps he'd even have time to plan some grand romantic gesture. He'd figure something out, he was sure to. He refused to believe that this could be well and truly it for their epic romance – a romance that had barely even begun.

As he approached a figure walking along the side of the road, Peter realised that he was about to have his moment.

Assumpta…

He slowed the car the a crawl until she was level with his door. Peter rolled down the window and asked, weakly "I'm going to Ballykissangel. Need a lift?"

He remembered those words vividly, first spoken by Assumpta as he trawled through the grass and mud on his inaugural visit to the village he'd later call home. He was so grateful for the offer, he recalled. Grateful to get out from the cold and rid his burdened shoulders from that dreadful backpack. He remembered how those feelings of gratitude were soon replaced by something altogether different when he finally looked at her – really looked at her – and instantly felt like he was home.

Now, years later, it seemed unlikely that Assumpta shared even an ounce of this sentiment as she marched faster from his window.

"Cute," she remarked, snippily.

"Assumpta – "

Peter realised in that moment that he needed to ditch the car and run after her. If she wasn't going to come to him, he'd have no choice but to go to her.

"Assumpta, hold on…"

The publican carried on as if his pleas were just white noise. She managed these hills a fair bit faster than Peter – practice, no doubt. He wondered briefly, with a pang, how many other boys she'd stormed away from like this. Peter refused to let her beat him.

"Wait…" he lunged to prevent her from going any further, a motion which the publican flinched away from as if it were hazardous to her health. She didn't carry on up the hill any further, however. For now, his entreaty had worked.

"What I said… it was all rubbish. I'm full of rubbish. Of course I don't think any of that… you know that that person isn't me"

"Then who is it, hmmm? Sure looked like you, sure sounded – "

"My insecurities." Peter interjected, honestly. "My fears. Assumpta, I can't for the life of me understand why you would want anything to do with me – now or then. You're this remarkable, beautiful – just this incredible individual and I have nothing, literally nothing. No reason for anyone to want to have me or be with me. And I'm afraid. I'm so afraid that I'll wake up and none of this will be real – that I'll be back to being an arms' length away from you and I won't be able to close the gap."

Peter took a breath, studying the publican the entire time for some glimmer of hope – some sign that he was getting through to her.

"If that were to happen, that arm's length very well may be a canyon because I won't be able to touch your face, or hold your hand or tell you how much I love you – how much I've always loved you."

At this revelation, Assumpta's cool exterior seemed to fracture slightly. She took a breath and averted her eyes in a bid to regain her composure.

Peter saw this as a very bad sign. He needed to get her back. He needed to bring her back to him – "It's why I left the priesthood, just after you left. It's why I told the Bishop about everything. I made a vow, in that moment, you see. I knew that when I finally found you again I'd make sure that I'd never lose you" he paused to allow his words to sink in. "I now know what it means to be all in – I had no right to promise you that before, as a Priest. You deserve better – so much better and, if you'll take me, my commitment to you will never be anything but."

Peter fumbled for his pocket, for the small brown envelope containing his mother's classic solitaire engagement ring – an item she'd bequeathed to him as the dementia took hold… just in case . His hand shook as he removed the ring, stymied entirely by the gale-force storm which seemed to be ripping through the valley at this precise moment.

When at last he had her attention again, Peter dropped to his knees and held out the ring in front of him. He intended to speak words but yet again, his voice had failed him. He took a breath and tried again but uttered nothing.

All the while he struggled with speech, Assumpta was oblivious, instead focussing on the words he had already said, the impossible gesture that he was making and, without forgetting, the world's most perfect diamond he was brandishing in a bid to make her see reason.

Her face was already so wet Assumpta was only aware of her tears as she tasted them, their visceral saline bringing her back to the here and now. She felt herself drop to her knees to join him, hold his head in her hands and kiss him urgently and happily, a gesture which brought Peter back to life.

"I l-love you Assumpta. I want to marry you. I know that this is sudden but I want you to know where this has been heading for me – where it's always been heading. I'll understand completely if you want to put a pin in this decision for now. I get – "

Again Peter's voice was silenced but this time it wasn't of his own volition. Assumpta caught his mouth with hers and nodded her response.

"I can't see why not?" she jibed with a smile, pulling away from his smitten embrace.

Assumpta realised as she stood, pulling her future husband to his feet, that this was indeed the exact spot where she'd met Peter all those years ago. The O'Leary farm, the location of their ill-fated union, could be seen in the distance along with the spire of St Joseph's and a speck of yellow from the façade of her pub. Their life, as they'd known it, was still there waiting – in the village they'd met and ultimately, fallen in love. However, she wagered, it was going to be altogether different now as they drove into Ballykissangel together, united, and almost definitely all in.

...

A/N That's all folks! Thanks for all of the lovely comments for this story. Have half an idea for a new fic, based on what Peter really ought to have done when Assumpta came back all married. What do you reckon? Does it have legs? :)