Chapter 1

A/N: I reuploaded to fix a minor timeline issue. Seth and Jessica leave Paris Friday morning.

Seth let himself in the back door at Candlewood Lane. He'd finally persuaded Jessica to keep the doors locked in the evenings. She still refused to lock the back door during the day, but that was a battle he was willing to live to fight again.

He tossed his keys on the counter and headed upstairs. He was late; he'd already telephoned to tell her to eat dinner without him. He'd had just a few things to wrap up at the hospital. One more day to see patients, then they'd fly to Paris for a few days, then take the train to Bayeux in Normandy.

He took the steps two at a time, reckless though he knew it was at his age. He smiled as he imagined Jessica's response. What's wrong with your age? He was full of energy. Here he was, in a relationship with a woman he'd loved quietly, sometimes painfully, for years. Had it really been just over a year since their trip to Nashville? Since she'd admitted that she loved him as much as he loved her? Images from that trip often popped unexpectedly into his mind's eye. It had been perfect, and he was certain that their trip to France would be even more so, were such a thing possible.

He stopped short when he reached the landing. Was she singing? He crept along the hall to her bedroom. Their bedroom…it still gave him pause.

Somebody's gonna give you

A lesson in losin'

Somebody's gonna do to you

What you've been doin'

And I hope that I'm around

To watch 'em knock you down

Jessica was methodically folding clothes as she sang while swaying her hips to a beat only she could hear.

Somebody's gonna give you

A lesson in hurtin'

Somebody's gonna leave you

With your fire burnin'

And no way to put it out

Baby, there ain't no doubt

You're a fool hearted man

He walked up behind her, quietly, and smoothed his hands across her hips and around her waist. She shrieked, jumping as his arms moved around her, but he simply tightened his grasp. "You have a lovely singing voice," he murmured as he kissed the soft skin just below her ear. "But if I had to choose, I think I just might prefer your dancing to your singing."

She laughed as he grasped her hips and began to sway behind her. "You're a fool-hearted man."

"Me? I'm foolish for you, my dear," and he smiled appreciatively as she turned smoothly in his arms.

"And hearing that song, watching you as you sang along…that's when I knew I was equally foolish for you." She kissed him lightly in the lips, and Seth attempted to deepen their kiss. She smiled against his lips as she put a gentle hand to his chest. "No, you don't," she chided gently. "I have to finish packing!"

"There's still plenty of time for that, woman," and he leaned in to kiss her neck.

She laughed. "And there'll be plenty of time for that after I finish packing." She pulled out of his embrace.

Seth waggled his eyebrows at her. "Promise?" Jessica laughed, then turned and continued to neatly fold the pile of clothes beside her suitcase. "Excited, Jess?"

"I am! I'm looking forward to seeing all the sights with you. Notre Dame, the Louvre, drinking espresso and eating croissants at a little sidewalk cafe."

"Don't forget Bayeux," said Seth quietly.

Jessica turned toward him and put a hand to his cheek. "It's never far from my thoughts," she said simply. Seth put his hand over hers and squeezed.

"Now I'm really being foolish."

"No, you aren't," said Jessica firmly. "We're going overseas to commemorate an important anniversary." She clasped his hands in hers. "To reunite with your unit, many of whom you haven't seen in twenty years or more." She brought his hands to her lips. "And you're indulging me by beginning our trip in Paris."

"More like you're indulging me," said Seth quietly.

"Oh, Seth," she said, and dropped his hands.

"What? We're traveling first class thanks to you, seeing Paris…"

"I only thought…why shouldn't we be comfortable?"

"You're right, Jess," he soothed. "I'm sorry. I am grateful."

"I don't want your gratitude."

"Well, I am grateful! We will be more comfortable, I expect."

"You've paid for everything else, Seth. I only thought—"

He pulled her into his arms. "You thought right, woman. I'm just a damn, stubborn Mainer." He smiled when he heard her laugh. "I'd give you the world if I could," he said softly.

"I don't want the world, Seth. I want you."

"I know."

She drew back and eyed him critically. "Do you?"

"A-yuh," he said. He turned her around and lightly popped her behind. "Finish your packing."

She turned to look over her shoulder. "You'll pay for that!"

He winked at her. "I certainly hope so."

Jessica chuckled and returned to her packing. "Are you all packed?"

"A-yuh," he said. "I'll bring my suitcase over tomorrow night. We're still leaving for Portland at 10 AM?"

"Yes. Phyllis has us on the 10 AM train to Portland. We'll get to La Guardia around 2 and our flight leaves at 5. We'll be in Paris Tuesday morning, well rested and ready to see the sights. Us at least," she said sheepishly.

Seth rubbed her shoulders. "We'll be able to sleep on the plane, I'm sure."

"I think so. Don't forget to give me your toiletries bag and anything else you want to carry on. I'm taking one bag with us and checking the rest."

"I will. I'll want to spiff up before I escort the most beautiful woman in Paris."

Jessica grinned. "Flattery, Seth!"

"I know, I know. I just hope it'll get me somewhere after all."

Seth was amazed by how refreshed he felt upon waking. It was early, still dark as he peered out the window, pulled back just far enough to see a sliver of the sky. He didn't want to disturb Jessica, who was still sleeping beside him. He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shifted in his seat as much as he dared. Paris, then Bayeux. He was eager to spend a few days in the world's most romantic city with Jessica, but he was even more excited to take her to Normandy, to share another, private part of himself with her, to introduce her to his friends. Show her off, more like.

And what of it? He was proud of Jess, proud to be on her arm. She was a naturally beautiful woman, but she also had style. She was always so well turned out, no matter if they were on Caleb's boat or some fancy occasion in New York. He did wonder how the wives would take to her. He wondered how she might take to them. He risked a glance at her. Even asleep on a plane she was lovely.

She'd been right, too, about first class. It was a luxury, but she had been right. They had so little time in Paris. If they could minimize any jet lag, so much the better. But if he was being completely honest, it rankled. He felt a bit awkward, still, about money. Money wasn't as tight as it had been, but neither did it stretch as far as he wanted it to go. His retirement account was growing at a respectable pace, and his own needs were modest. He had a little more disposable income with which to wine and dine Jessica, and he could generally afford to accompany her to New York and other occasional trips. And he'd been saving for this trip for quite some time. He'd had the Normandy leg booked for several months now, almost the moment they left Nashville. But he hadn't factored in Paris, and Jessica's desire to wander through its streets with him.

As a consequence, he'd allowed her to make the arrangements and pay for the Paris leg. It wasn't much to swallow his pride to please her. His logical mind and his natural Yankee thriftiness agreed that it made sense for Jessica to foot the bill, so to speak. But he sorely wished he could have bankrolled the whole trip himself. Jessica might accuse him of being a male chauvinist, if he ever admitted those feelings aloud. He could admit those kinds of feelings were from another era. Jessica herself had assured him that she seldom gave thought to the disparity in their incomes. Only as it pertained to his feelings on the subject.

Seth, money is a useful tool. I never expected to have this kind of money, and I've taken pains to fund various accounts for my brothers' children and for Grady. I've made charitable contributions. I've invested a goodly sum for my own retirement, and I live comfortably. I want us to be comfortable.

Us.

Yes, us. Unless…

He remembered with sharp clarity the shock and pain in her those bottomless blue eyes and he was quick to soothe her.

Of course, Jess. Of course. I love you. So much, he'd breathed in her ear as he crushed her to him. So much. I'm just being foolish.

I know this is hard for you.

Nonsense, Jess! I appreciate what you've done for us. Paris will be wonderful. I've never been. And seeing it with you…well.

Are you sure? He could still hear that painful fragility in her voice. As if he would ever leave her. As if he could.

I'm sure, woman. As sure as I know my own name. I love you. You know sometimes I can be a stubborn jackass.

He'd been relieved to hear her laughter, which sounded genuine and musical to his ear. But he continued to fret over that conversation. It wasn't entirely true…he was resentful of…not Jessica, but perhaps, sexist though it was, his inability to pay, to support her financially. He was just now to the point where his savings could—barely—cover his own retirement expenses, and that meant living more frugally perhaps than Jess would care to.

He'd told her he was grateful, that he appreciated this trip, and he did. He knew it was dangerous to let feelings like these fester, but he was doubly ashamed of himself. Ashamed that he couldn't pay for them both, and ashamed he was taking money from Jess. He turned to look again at the view from the window. "You're a fool, Seth Hazlitt," he murmured softly.

"You're not a fool," said Jessica quietly, causing Seth to jump.

"I'm foolish for you, woman," he said as he turned to face her and squeezed her hand still clutching the blanket to her.

She laughed quietly and laid her head on his shoulder. "What time is it?"

Seth looked at his watch. He'd set it to Paris time as soon as they'd settled into their seats. "Just past 5 AM." he rumbled.

Jessica yawned and stretched. "I slept surprisingly well. How did you sleep, darling?"

His heart never failed to clench when she called him darling. He had a feeling she knew that. And what exactly made her so alluring? He couldn't seem to get enough of her. "Just dandy, woman! I'll be ready to hit the ground running once we land."

Jessica smiled brightly at him. She was so lovely; he couldn't help himself. He reached up to smooth a lock of her hair away from her face.

"I'm sure I look a wreck, Seth."

He cupped her cheek. "Never, Jessica. You look radiant." He leaned in closer. "If we weren't on an airplane…" He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed and whispered in his ear. "You've never been tempted to join the mile high club?"

Seth barked a laugh, and Jessica covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. He leaned in close to her ear. "Maybe on the way back home," he whispered, and, by the set of her shoulders, he could tell he'd surprised the laughter right out of her. He pulled back to place a swift kiss on her lips. "We've got to behave," he said quietly.

"At least for a little while," she said and winked at him.

"Don't tease, woman," he warned playfully.

She drew a breath to retort, but Seth was saved by the appearance of a flight attendant with offers of coffee and breakfast. He squeezed her hand. Soon, he'd be walking the streets of Paris with the woman who'd made these past few years worth living, first as friends, then lovers. He smoothed his dog tags with the fingers of his other hand, as he often did when he reflected on his good fortune. That rash, brash young man could never have envisioned the path his life would take, the joys and sorrows. He was here, now...a fortunate man indeed. He wanted to remember that, and show Jessica in word and deed just how grateful he was.

The Hotel d'Angleterre St. Germain was an unassuming hotel, nothing like what Seth anticipated, and he chastised himself for forgetting that Jessica was the polar opposite of ostentatious. She appreciated quality, though, and as Seth followed in Jessica's wake, leaving the driver to manage the bags, he could see that the small hotel was very well appointed, if the lobby was any indication. Marble floors polished to a gleam, brass twinkling in the sunlight, the wood grain of the counter at reception carried a smell of lemon and beeswax he hadn't come across since childhood.

They were greeted kindly. Jessica had stayed here during her most recent visit to Paris and she was welcomed warmly by the staff on duty. The concierge came by to shake her hand and assure her that no need was too small to trouble them with. Seth might, had he not known Jessica so well, attribute this reception to money, but he knew it was her engaging warmth that people responded to. She made friends anywhere she went. His heart lifted again at the notion of introducing her to his old friends. They would love her.

The bellhop, having collected their bags from the driver, escorted them to their room on the second floor. Jessica exclaimed in delight as the bellhop opened the door for him. The room was bright and airy, and Seth immediately noticed the four-poster bed that looked to be king-sized. They were used to sleeping in Jessica's queen-sized bed. He'd never slept in a king-sized bed.

He tipped the young man as he left, then he walked up behind Jessica. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and the light framed Jessica's outline. She seemed to shimmer in his eyes. He'd expected that his feelings for her would have settled by now. That he wouldn't still feel so overcome. He supposed it had something to do with his age. Maturity, he corrected inwardly.

Even now, he thought of Ruth. Any new experience he had brought her to his mind. In spite of all the death he'd seen during the war, he still hadn't been prepared for Ruth's. Somehow he'd thought death couldn't touch them. He was also a striver; he worked hard to build his practice so that it could support Ruth and Margie. They'd expected to have more children, but somehow it hadn't worked out. It wasn't that he didn't love Ruth, wasn't in love with her. Not at all. It was more that he couldn't appreciate her, couldn't appreciate his family, his life. He'd been so consumed by getting ahead.

It was different with Jessica. He was older now, settled, in some sense. It had taken several more years of grueling effort and meager living, but he'd finally cleared the debt he'd accumulated between Ruth's illness and Margie's education. Those years of deprivation had taught him something about himself, taught him how little he actually needed, how little of what he longed for money could buy. Now, he worked because he enjoyed it, still, after all these years, and of course he had to work. Only a fool would look at his accounts and deem him ready to retire. He had a few years left; he wanted to be able to support himself when he retired. He didn't want to obligate Jessica.

Jessica had confided in Seth, offered to show him her accounts, offered to put his name on her accounts. He wanted more, and he couldn't understand her reluctance. She refused to marry him. Or at least she put him off. Not yet, darling, she'd said the last time he'd broached the subject. He did wonder what she was waiting for. Money, or his lack of it, didn't appear to factor in her calculations.

He shook himself. They were here, now, together, in the world's most romantic city. At her expense, he thought with a twinge. Did that matter so much? Seth was surprised to discover that it did matter. He decided to dismiss that thought, and instead closed the gap between them, cupping her shoulders and squeezing. He leaned around to nuzzle her neck. She relaxed into him and sighed.

"Happy, sweetheart?"

Jessica reached up to put her hands over his. "I am. I love Paris, and I love being here with you." She turned her face to drop a kiss on his hand. "Most importantly, I love you." He squeezed his fingers against her shoulders again.

"I love you, too, Jess," he rumbled. "What would you like to do today?"

She turned smoothly in his arms. "You're not too tired?"

"No, actually. I feel pretty good right now."

Her eyes sparkled, and he thought he had seldom been happier in his life. "Then let's go out and explore for a bit. I did make a reservation for Thursday night, but otherwise, we're free until Friday morning."

He pressed her to him, then drew back. "Let's go, woman!"

Paris was a busy, crowded, vibrant city. Jessica, accustomed to the bustle of New York, took it all in stride, but Seth felt a little out of his depth. He supposed that was only natural. He lived in a bubble, a small, isolated bubble. He held Jessica's hand as they strolled along the Seine. You're here now, Seth admonished himself. You're here now, and you'll take her other places, too. This won't be your last grand trip. He stifled the part of himself that asked where the money would come from. He'd saved years for this trip; they'd only just started these memorials, and being here for the 45th anniversary was special indeed. He felt his health would probably permit him to come to the 50th, but there wasn't really a reason to wait. He'd always intended to invite Jessica, even before their Nashville trip and…Seth smiled at the memory. That she'd plotted to seduce him was a memory that never failed to warm him. He squeezed her hand and she looked at him, glowing in the bright sunshine, eyebrows raised in question.

"I was just remembering our last trip," he said with a sly grin, and Jessica laughed.

"I suppose I'll have to try and outdo myself on this trip." She laughed again. "The look on your face, Seth!"

He brought their joined hands to his lips. "I'll hold you to that, woman," he rumbled.

She laughed and squeezed his hand. "It's lovely, isn't it? Paris is such a beautiful city." She sighed. "I can hardly believe we're walking along the Seine." She turned impulsively to Seth. "Can you?"

"I'm pinching myself every day I spend with you, woman." He saw the tears sparkle against her lashes.

"You're an old romantic, Seth Hazlitt." She pressed a swift kiss to his lips, then started walking again. "Come on, Doc! There's so much to see and do!"

Seth let her pull him along; he fancied Jess his own personal tugboat who pushed and pulled and always brought him into port. He felt a twinge of sorrow for Ruth; he'd been a decent husband and he'd loved her dearly, but he knew he'd been difficult, even irascible. He'd been so ambitious, working so hard to build the kind of life he wanted to provide for his little family. Almost before he'd begun it was done: Ruthie gone, he and Margie wandering through the desolate house like ghosts. He'd seldom taken the time to smell the roses, as she'd often urged him to do.

Many years later, as he began to admit his feelings for Jessica were much deeper than mere friendship, he vowed to be a better man. It was a poor way to honor Ruthie, and, absurd though he believed it to be, he'd made a sort of peace with Ruth's memory some time ago, even before Jessica invited him to explore Nashville with her. And even though he'd faltered there, out of fear, insecurity, he thought he'd recovered rather well. After all, here they were, and a part of him felt like that eager young buck who'd stepped onto the tarmac in Devon all those years ago.

"I love you, Jess."

She turned to him, a bemused look on her face, without breaking stride. "I love you, too, dear."

He laughed. "If we weren't in public…"

"We won't always be in public," she said and winked.

She had him looking for a discreet alley to kiss her.

"No you don't," she said, laughing, then stopped. "Oh, Seth. Look!"

The cathedral at Notre Dame was suddenly before them, an awesome sight. They stood for a moment, dumb, then Jessica began to speak.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

Then Seth joined her to finish.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.*

"I didn't know you knew that prayer."

"A-yuh. Used to recite it in Chapel when I was in medical school."

"That's lovely," said Jessica softly.

"Wish I'd known it when I was over here the first time. I prayed, of course, but my prayers weren't nearly as eloquent as St. Francis'. Nor as selfless."

Jessica turned and gathered him in her arms, and, for some foolish reason, he had to fight back his tears. She held him for a long moment, then tightened her grasp around him before she let him go. "Should we go in?"

Seth sniffed and cleared his throat. "A-yuh," he said gruffly.

"At least I believed in what I was feeling."

"What?"

Jessica laughed. "Remember Athena? I had the urge to genuflect in the cathedral as well."

Seth laughed with her. "So did I, woman."

Jessica paused on their way down the path that would take them back to the main boulevard along the Seine to look over her shoulder. "Why do you suppose we don't build grand cathedrals like that anymore?"

"Labor laws," quipped Seth.

"Oh, Seth."

"That's no small part of it, Jess. Think of the men who labored to build this cathedral, many of them knowing they'd never live to see it built. That selflessness, whether forced or offered freely, well, we don't have that today. Imagine asking a young person to devote his life to the creation of something he or she," he added hastily. "Would never live to see."

Jessica was quiet for a long moment. "That was rather harsh."

"I think I'm just applying a little logic," said Seth mildly.

Jessica turned to him quickly. "Not what you said, dear. What I said. The ancient Greeks believed in something greater than themselves, even if we today consider it more superstition than theology. They were reaching for God, and I ought not to have disparaged that."

Seth took her by the elbow and steered her down the path. "Woman, sometimes I think you hold yourself to a standard that's too high." Jessica frowned slightly, and he put his lips to her ear. "But I wouldn't change you for the world." She smiled. "What would you like to do next?"

"If I'm not mistaken, Shakespeare and Company is close by. Would you mind terribly if we stopped in?"

"A bookstore? Lead on, MacDuff!"

Jessica's peal of laughter seemed to echo against the stones of the cathedral, and Seth's heart lifted. I'm smelling the roses, Ruthie.

He wandered the stacks, looking for the History section. It was a quaint store, with creaky hardwood floors and the smell of old books. He was looking specifically for The Longest Day by Cornelius Ryan. He hadn't read any accounts of the Normandy invasion. He'd been one of the lucky ones, one of the fortunate few, and he preferred instead to dwell on the respect he could pay those that had given their lives by living his own life as blamelessly as he could.

Now, of course, he could see that he'd prioritized providing well for Ruth and Margie instead of giving them more of his attention, attention that he knew he could have spared. He thought he'd had time, more than enough time to accomplish both. He'd learned nothing from the war. Nothing. In the end, his skill couldn't save her and their money evaporated in the face of the various treatments they tried, that he had encouraged her to try, until finally Ruth put her foot down.

Enough, Seth, she said, gently stroking his face. It's time to face the truth.

But Ruth, there's a trial—

No, Seth. No more trials, no more drugs, no more hospitals. I want to enjoy the time I have left. I want to feel as well as I can for as long as I can. I want to wake up in your arms, have breakfast with Margie, drive her to school. I want to do all the usual things, Seth, for as long as I can. Can you give me that?

I'd give you anything, Ruth. Anything.

She smiled at him. I know you would. It's why I love you so.

He jumped as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He hastily brushed the tears from his eyes. "A-yuh," he said gruffly. "Be better if I could find the book I'm looking for."

Jessica squeezed his shoulder. "What's the title?"

"The Longest Day."

"I'll find someone to ask," she said and before he could stop her, she was off. He trailed behind her, watching as she found one of the salesgirls and inquired in halting French as to whether or not they had that particular book.

The girl said yes, even Seth could glean that much. His French, never that good, was practically nonexistent now. He saw recognition dawn in the girl's eyes, and she switched to English. Hers was very good.

"But you are JB Fletcher, are you not?" Jessica, surprised, nodded. "Oh, this is such an honor. We have several of your books in stock. Would it be…" She paused, searching for the correct word, but Jessica saved her the trouble.

"I'd be happy to sign some for you, if that's what you're asking."

"Oui, oui," said the girl excitedly. "I'll bring you the books and I'll find the one Monsieur Fletcher is looking for. I'll be right back!"

The girl scurried off before Jessica could correct her. She turned to find Seth staring thoughtfully at the girl's back. "Oh, Seth," she said as she walked over to him. "I hope you're not offended. I didn't get an opportunity to correct her."

"Offended? I'm flattered," said Seth stoutly. "Maybe she's put some ideas in your head, woman." Jessica paused for a moment. Marriage was a tricky subject between them, and the last discussion they'd had about it had been tense. "It's alright, Jess. I was only teasing," said Seth mildly, and he was relieved, and a bit disappointed, to see the grin that spread across Jessica's face. He wanted to marry her, of course he did. He wanted her for his wife. Was he a male chauvinist, a Neanderthal, as Jess sometimes teased him? Perhaps, if only in the sense that he wanted the world to know, without a doubt, that they were together. That they belonged to one another. He belonged to her completely. He wouldn't, couldn't, be here otherwise. But he'd be lying if he said he believed Jessica felt the same. He wasn't sure she could belong to anyone completely. Anyone perhaps Frank.

Jessica touched his elbow. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Just lost in thought. I'm going to try to find that book on my own, Jess."

Jessica watched him walk through the stacks. A part of her did want to marry him. But a part of her worried about losing her independence, about fading into what he wanted rather than what they decided together that they wanted. It was beginning to put a strain on their relationship. She'd hoped Seth might come round to her way of thinking, but that was as good as hoping for a blizzard in July. They were both strong-willed, opinionated people with established beliefs. She knew what it cost him to live as she wanted, and she loved him all the more for it.

"Madame Fletcher?" Jessica turned to see the girl with a stack of her books. "We have a table in the back, if you'd care to sit?"

"That sounds lovely, dear," and Jessica followed the girl through the store. "Were you able to find the book my friend was looking for?"

"I checked, we have it in stock. As soon as you are settled, I'll find it for him. But, he is not your husband?"

"No," said Jessica, and she was surprised to feel the warmth of a blush spread across her face.

"My sincere apologies," said the girl, flustered. "I assumed—"

"It's quite alright, my dear. I'll just start signing, shall I?" And Jessica sat at the table and took the first book off the stack.

"Oui," said the girl uncertainly. "I'll just find that book for your friend."

The slight emphasis she put on the word wasn't lost on Jessica. "Thank you," she said, and she opened the first book to the frontspage and inscribed it.

Seth lay awake, stroking Jessica's shoulder and listening to the sounds of traffic from the busy streets below. Jessica had asked if he minded having the window open while they slept, and he'd agreed, happily. Were he a younger man, he would have made love to her on their first night in Paris, but he conceded that they were both travel weary.

He spooned against her warm, soft form. She was asleep, but he couldn't make his mind settle. He kept going over their trip to the bookstore, and his being mistakenly referred to as Monsieur Fletcher. How he wished it hadn't been a mistake. How he longed to make her his wife.

But why? Why was it so important? Did it really matter? Jessica didn't seem to mind. In fact, she'd told him she couldn't love him more if they were married. Many times she'd said that, but he knew it was to assuage him. Not that he doubted that she believed it, but she was so desperate not to get married, it seemed. Was he wrong to want it?

No, he thought carefully. He wasn't wrong to want to be married to her, just as she wasn't wrong not to want to marry. Just because he didn't like it didn't make it wrong. He wasn't so narrow minded that he could begrudge anyone happiness when he found it. But all the same, it rankled.

He'd laughed it off as they left the store and he put her arm through his as they strolled along the Seine back to the hotel. He'd tried to behave as normally as possible, but he knew he hadn't fooled her. When they got back to their room, she suggested they order in room service, make it an early night, and he agreed. He was a bit tired, and he noticed even her legendary stamina had ebbed.

Their meal was excellent; Jessica had raved about this hotel, and the evidence had borne her out. Was it so wrong to enjoy some of what her income could provide them? If the shoe were on the other foot, would he begrudge her anything? He knew himself too well. He wasn't a stingy man, but he was thrifty. Childhood scarcity and the war had taken their toll on his personality. He'd given Ruth what he could, and he knew he'd fussed and fretted over their expenses from time to time. He had an opportunity now to do things differently. Would he take it?

Jessica grew restless, murmuring, perhaps in response to a dream. He stroked her arm and evened his breath, and soon she settled more firmly in his embrace. He smiled in the dark and thought perhaps he could be the better man she inspired in him.

The remainder of their time in Paris flew by. On Thursday, they visited Paris' oldest church, the St Germain des Prés, after Jessica inquired about the bells they'd heard. They walked Pont des Arts, where Seth surprised Jessica by purchasing a lock to fasten on the bridge. She was almost overcome by such a quietly public gesture from such a taciturn man.

They shared wine and coffee at various cafes, where they each indulged a love of people watching. And the museums! Seth enjoyed museums as much as the next person, but he felt he'd seen plenty with Jessica : the Luxembourg, the Delacroix, and of course the Louvre. He would never admit it, but, after only two days, he was just about museum-ed out.

On Thursday night, their last in Paris, Jessica surprised him with a meal at Le Polidor. It was an exquisite experience. The food was the best he'd ever tasted, and the atmosphere was much more comfortable and relaxed than he'd anticipated. He appreciated it all, as well as the woman who'd arranged it for them.

Jessica lay contentedly across his chest, playing idly with his dog tags.

"Thank you again, woman. That was a meal worthy of Julia Child." He smiled as Jessica's laughter reverberated through his chest. He loved the silky feel of her skin against his. "I ate so much, I didn't think I'd be able to move."

"You moved well enough for me," and he felt the curve of her smile.

He snorted, then pinched her gently. "You make me feel like a young buck, Jessica. I never thought I'd feel this way again."

She released his dog tags and began rubbing warm, soothing circles across his chest. "It's the same for me, Seth," she said softly. They lay quietly for a few minutes. "How do you feel about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"We're leaving for Normandy in the morning. How do you feel?"

"Fine," he said tightly, and despaired the chill in his voice. He put his hand over hers and squeezed. "Sorry," he murmured. "I suppose I am a little anxious."

"Understandable," said Jessica neutrally and curled impossibly closer to him.

"Having you here with me, like this," Seth's voice broke. "You know I'm not good with words."

"I don't think you can say that anymore, Seth."

"What do you mean?"

Jessica rested her chin against his chest and looked him straight in the eye. "Fixing that lock to the bridge, telling me you loved me, telling me you'd lasso the moon for me." She sighed. "It was a lovely thing to do, my darling."

"Those weren't exactly my words, Jess."

She arched her brow at him. "You know me. You know It's a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite films. You know that I love to hear you say you love me. You often say it as we're making love." She turned her face from his. "You must know the effect that has," she said quietly.

"It's the same for me, Jess," he said gruffly as he tightened his arms around her. "I still have the urge to pinch myself. It all feels like a wonderful dream."

She turned to him and smiled innocently. "I could pinch you."

Seth laughed. "We'd best not start something I can't finish, woman."

She laughed, then rested her chin against his chest. "I love you, Seth. You're the dearest man, and I'm proud to be on your arm, proud to accompany you in Bayeux. I can't believe it myself."

He swallowed and stroked her shoulder. "I could pinch you," he said, as playfully as he could manage.

"How about a raincheck?"

"Deal." He kissed her head. "I love you, Jessica."

She squeezed him. "I love you, too, my darling."

He murmured soothing, nonsensical words as he felt her relax into sleep. He felt the tears prick his eyelids, and he took long, slow breaths to calm himself. He'd been so afraid for so long, afraid to trust the evidence of his own eyes, afraid to tell her how much he loved her, afraid. Now, she was in his arms and everything was perfect. Nearly perfect.

He'd purchased the lock on a whim. Once she'd explained the custom to him, he wanted a lock for them. Some permanent reminder that they had been here, on the Pont des Arts, that he had loved her, loved her completely. That they were united, never to be torn asunder. Now, he thought to himself. Now was all they had; he was a plain fool to wish for more. He listened to her rhythmic breathing and dropped a soft kiss to her hair. It would be a difficult week, stirring up old and painful memories. He'd wanted to bring Ruth here, had planned to bring her here, but time was a thief. Ridiculous though he knew it to be, he still talked with Ruth, sometimes even speaking aloud to her. Now, with Jessica, he usually conducted these conversations in his mind.

I did what you asked, Ruthie. You wanted me to, I did, almost against my will, I did. I fell in love with Jessica. And she loves me. You wanted me to find happiness, and I have, sweetheart. I didn't think lightning could strike twice. But it has, and I'm a grateful man. I'm trying to be the man you'd want me to be, Ruthie, trying to be the man Jessica wants me to be.

Finally he fell into a restless sleep, plagued by dreams of skies thick with Luftwaffe and the sound of MG42 fire.

A/N: Jessica is singing Lesson in Leavin', which is one of the songs Dottie West performed at the Grand Ole Opry the night Seth and Jessica attended. When he and Jessica first saw Notre Dame, they recited the Peace Prayer of St. Francis.