"M'dear, a bit more?" he said smiling, holding the decanter in his hand. "Thank you," she said softly, holding out her crystal glass toward him. "I'm so very pleased you were able to return following the 'small domestic crisis.' At least once a week we both deserve more than a lovely, leisurely minute, don't you agree?"
"I do. Once the kitchen was ship shape, I realized next Tuesday seemed too far away. It's silly, but I felt a week was too long to wait." She was going to continue, but the warmth of his smile and expression rather took her breath away. Losing herself in the moment, she found herself unable to look away. Battling with her romantic instincts, she paused and was surprised to hear herself saying, "So tell me Captain, was this part of how you charmed women in your day? A lovely handwritten invitation, the promise of quiet time and an excellent drink as well?" she asked, holding her sparking glass aloft.
"You mean are you the first or . . .?" he said, never taking his eyes away from her face. "Well, uh, no, I mean I don't, I of course didn't think . . . never mind." Her mind spinning a thousand different directions, she looked down, away, and then back toward him. His eyes never wavered, the sparkle of humor obvious in his expression. Somehow, she found the security, the courage to say what she truly needed to ask, "Yes. Exactly that. I know it's silly and not truly my business, but yes. Am I?"
Leaning closer to her than ever before, she saw his gaze soften. "M'dear, in over 140 years, I've traveled the world, indeed met many fetching women, drank under some awful, and some spectacular settings, but only now, with you have I ever issued such an invitation. No invitation that I have ever extended was accepted with so much pleasure. You have my entire assurance this moment is indeed unique. As is my companion." With that he stopped, head tilted, waiting for her reaction.
He watched with pleasure as her face colored, her eyes grew moist and a beguiling smile formed on her lips. "MOM! The kitchen sink is flooding! Help!" they heard from the bottom of the stairs. He grinned as he reached for her glass, "Yes, I know another small domestic crisis. Can't be helped." "Yet, we should finish this conversation I think?" she offered, "Next Tuesday perhaps?" With that, she flew out the attic door, and he heard her footsteps disappear down the stairs. "When ever you are ready Mrs. Muir, no matter how many Tuesdays it takes," he said quietly before disappearing himself.