The End

With a smile, the waitress took their menus and walked away from the table.

Cal glanced around the restaurant for a second, drumming his fingers on the table. But, when his gaze fell on Gillian, she was watching him expectantly. His fingers stopped and he smiled at her.

"So?" she prompted.

His smile widened. Straight to the point. "So," he echoed.

"What were you going to tell me?"

He looked down at the table as his smile twitched his lips in an attempt to grow even wider. Now that he'd had time to prepare for this, it didn't seem quite as scary. He was still nervous as hell though.

"Cal…" she prompted, her fingers brushing softly over his.

He lifted his eyes to hers and turned his hand, capturing her fingers with his. "Impatient, aren't you?"

"I think I've waited long enough."

He smiled, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I think you know what I'm going to say, love."

"I hope I do," she told him, a shy smile dancing on her lips, "But I'd prefer not to assume anything."

He laughed, once, in understanding of - and agreement with – that comment. They shared an amused smile, Gillian's cheeks flushing with a hint of embarrassment.

"I suppose the best way to stop you from jumping to conclusions is for me to use my words."

Her eyes widened a little and it surprised him to see how shocked she was that he could quote her own words back at her. She must have thought he paid no attention to her. He supposed he was to blame for that. There was a lot he really should have said to her earlier.

He caressed her hand again, pondering, for a moment, the best way to tell her everything now. No amount of preparation had actually provided him with the best words to choose. No, this wasn't scary, but it was one of the most important things he had ever done: He had to get it right. And none of the little speeches he had come up with earlier seemed perfect. And he wanted perfect. She deserved perfect.

When her fingers moved within his hold, he realised he had been sitting gazing at their joined hands. Shifting his eyes back to hers, he found her smiling patiently.

"Any words will do," she told him.

"I'd like them to be the right ones."

"Anything is better than nothing," she smirked, a sparkle in her eyes assuring him that she meant that remark to be taken playfully. But the strength of the truth behind that statement didn't go unnoticed. If he had just said anything before now, they could have avoided a lot of mess.

"I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner."

Gillian shrugged one shoulder. "Don't be… But be sorry you're still making me wait."

With a short laugh, he shuffled his chair closer to hers, for more privacy.

As he took hold of her hand again, he looked up to immediately find her eyes. "You know, you never said anything either."

"True," she nodded.

And he heard what she wasn't saying. "But I always knew," he stated. She didn't need to speak for him to know he had it spot on. "I'm sorry, darling."

"Cal…"

"I know, I know. Just be sorry I'm still making you wait."

"You asked me to dinner," she reminded him.

"Yes I did."

"Why?"

He brought his free hand to join the other in holding hers and spoke softly. "I was tired of waiting."

This prompted a laugh from Gillian: A beautiful sound.

"I see the irony," Cal added.

"You must have thought about what you were going to say."

"Oh I did… But none of it seems adequate."

"Just say the first thing that comes to mind."

His responding look - wicked smile - said everything he didn't.

"Cal," she warned.

"You are beautiful."

She lowered her eyes, shyly, a blush tinging her cheeks. "Cal."

"That's often on the tip of my mind, love. You are… And I'm in love with you."

Her eyes darted back up to his.

"Completely, totally in love with you."

Her lips parted, curving into a smile.

"That's why I asked you to dinner. I want you to know that I have noticed your loyalty; your devotion; your unwavering determination to keep me alive. I have noticed, darling, that you're in love with me. And I'm sorry I've never acknowledged all of that before. I told myself I didn't deserve you and, evidently, set out to prove it."

"Cal..."

He smiled in request for permission to continue while he was on a roll, and she granted it.

"I'm still convinced that I don't deserve you, but you do deserve to know that I am grateful for everything you've done; for standing by me when I was a complete bastard. And I know it's time I told you that. I truly am sorry that I never told you earlier, Gill."

She took a breath to speak but Cal quickly added, "I'm not expecting anything. I just want you to know that - despite too much evidence to the contrary - you matter to me, love. You matter. And, regardless of what happens next, you will never doubt that again. I promise."

Gillian was smiling, which was a good sign. But she was silent, which always made him nervous.

After a minute or so, she quietly asked, "Can I speak now?"

Cal laughed, with relief more than amusement. "Please do."

She tightened her hold on his hand and leaned a little closer. "You probably don't deserve me," she agreed, "But, as you know, I firmly believe in second chances - and third, fourth, fifth... ninety-eighth chances," she grinned adorably. "And, as you also know, I love you..."

He couldn't help but grin widely back at her.

"This is our chance, Cal. I'm willing to take it. Are you?"

"I don't deser-"

She cut off his self-deprecation with a sudden kiss. Her lips pressed onto his softly yet, somehow, with an assertiveness that brooked no argument. Surprised it was happening now, happening here, happening at all, it took Cal a second to respond but as soon as he did he felt her relax. Their lips pulsed together for one delightful moment, then Gillian dropped back with a barely perceptible sigh.

When Cal's eyes fluttered open she was smiling at him, waiting patiently.

"Are you willing to take it?" she asked again, her voice so soft yet all that mattered amongst the other sounds in the room.

"I am if you are," he told her in equally reverent tones.

The radiant smile he saw now was something he had never seen before, in all their years together - and he had always found her smile to be gorgeous.

"I am," she assured him, with absolutely no room for doubt as her entire being positively sparkled with delight.

He took his forehead to rest against hers, threading a hand into her hair, stroking his thumb across her jawline. "I really don't deserve you," he murmured, in awe now rather than self-flagellation.

"I beg to differ," Gillian whispered before kissing him once more. "You got there in the end."

... ... ...

So there we have it: The end of this tale; the beginning of the next instalment in our favourite characters' story. But as I said before we began, all was not as simple as it seems in getting here.

This was not the dinner to which an invitation was extended in The Beginning. Elements of their conversation make reference to The Muddle. In fact, we have joined them here almost two weeks after that initial invitation. And they almost didn't make it.

Feeling assured now that we need not worry, we'll go next to the middle of the tale. To the Muddle that ensued because of 'love'. We must not forget we agreed to blame 'love'...

... ... ...