AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol took her lunch break a little late, so as to not leave Jacqui with any kind of crowd and, honestly, with little more to keep her company than the old man who sometimes spent entire days sitting at a corner table, sipping coffee, reading a newspaper with mind-blowing slowness and, sometimes, playing games of solitaire with an old deck of cards.

Instead of eating lunch, she did a quick bit of shopping. She had a wonderful husband who loved tradition, and she decided that it wouldn't hurt a thing to thoroughly spoil him just this once. After all, they would never be newly-weds again, and she didn't want him to miss out any of the little pleasures that he might have enjoyed if things had actually happened traditionally between them.

After work, Carol was thrilled to get the text from Daryl that he was going to pick up the rings and, while he was out, he intended to pick up dinner, so she shouldn't prepare anything. She rushed home, hid the cake, and practically ran to the shower to quickly rinse off the day. When she was done, she dressed in the white lace lingerie that she'd just purchased—a splurge, truthfully, but she was sure that Daryl would allow her to wear it often enough to feel that she got something of her money's worth out of it. It was a two-piece set—practically nothing more than delicate and beautiful white lace underwear—but it had been the only white option that got her attention.

She slipped the garter up her leg, too. She didn't really know the symbolism behind the garter, but she thought that Daryl would appreciate it, and that was really all that mattered. She quickly dressed in her A-line dress—the one that she hadn't worn to their wedding—and dabbed on just enough lip-gloss that she felt a little more feminine than she sometimes felt without it.

She checked herself in the mirror, and she had to admit that she was surprised by what she saw staring back at her.

Carol Dixon looked different, somehow, than Carol Peletier had looked only a few days ago.

Carol smiled, sincerely, at her own reflection in more time than she could possibly remember. It wasn't that she was beautiful—she doubted she'd ever see herself quite that way. It wasn't even that she was remarkably pretty. After all, she had the fatigue of the day hanging on her and she'd done very little to doctor her face up to look like the media told her pretty women should look.

She simply looked different. It struck her, suddenly. She looked happy.

And she felt happy. The happiness she felt made her stomach feel wonderfully jiggly like she was always anticipating something, but it was something good. She had run home to prepare for her husband's arrival home—but not in the way she once had prepared for her husband's arrival home from work. There was no need for last minute cleaning with the terror that he would judge that she hadn't done enough during the day. There was no need to take food from the oven with shaky hands, hoping the meal was right. There was no need to scrutinize her appearance—sure that he'd call her ugly, but hoping he'd find no imaginary reason to believe that she hadn't been alone all day.

No.

Now, Carol was almost shaking, but it was with excitement and happy anticipation of Daryl's arrival. It was with happiness over what she was sure was going to be a wonderful reaction to the precious little cake that had been prepared, and to the opportunity to take his wife—adorned as a blushing bride, even if she'd long ago lost her innocence—to bed.

Carol would run around the house, but it wouldn't be to try to prepare things so that she could avoid his punishment. It would, instead, be to prepare things so that she could make everything perfect for his arrival to the house—because she wanted things to be perfect, and because the look on his face would be worth any extra effort put into lighting a few candles.

Carol Dixon looked happy and, at the same time, she looked like she might cry—and felt like she might cry—over the simple realization that her happiness had somehow become as evident on her face as it felt in her heart.

Carol fanned her face, determined to hold back the tears, and quickly left the bathroom. She padded through the house, not having bothered with shoes, and she lit several candles. As a last-minute thought, she brought three of them to the table and arranged them in the middle so that there could be candle glow to accompany the meal that Daryl was bringing home.

And then—in an act that felt totally different than the way it had felt when Carol Peletier had done something similar in her old home—Carol Dixon stood by the window and peeked out, waiting to see her husband turn into the driveway.

When Daryl got home, he looked surprised but pleased by Carol's enthusiasm. She met him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and he begged her forgiveness while he put down the food on the kitchen counter. Then, he returned to where she was and surprised her by lifting her off the ground and kissing her. He squeezed her a bit too hard, and it took her breath until he released her, but she didn't scold him because she knew he didn't mean to and he she'd rather have his enthusiasm, any day, than anything she'd known before or could even imagine.

"What I get a king's welcome for?" Daryl asked.

"Because you are a king," Carol told him. His face ran pink, but he didn't argue—possibly because he couldn't find words to do so. The words he did find, though, said everything that Carol supposed he needed to say.

"Brought you dinner."

She smiled at him, nodded, and thanked him as she unpacked the food he'd picked up. In passing, she'd told him that she'd been craving barbecue. He'd remembered her craving, and her whole body ran warm with a feeling of overwhelm over something so simple. She served the food, inviting him to sit at the table, and they ate in silence for a while before Daryl finally asked her how her day was and opened the door for the simple, everyday exchange of the little events that filled the hours while they'd been apart.

Before Carol cleared the dishes away, and just at the moment after Daryl mopped his hands and face clean with the damp cloth she brought him—both of them needing one after eating ribs with some enthusiasm—Daryl produced a box from his pocket.

He opened the velvet box and, nestled inside, side-by-side, there were two platinum bands of different sizes.

"They're beautiful," Carol said.

Daryl smiled at the box.

"They're pretty, ain't they?" He wiggled the box at Carol. "Last chance to change your mind," he teased.

Carol held her left hand out in his direction. He plucked the smallest ring from the velvet box and turned it around in his fingers, looking at it.

"Last chance to change your mind," Carol teased, her stomach tightening a little. "It—kind of looks like you might be considering it…"

Daryl looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"What? No. I was just—I was thinking. It feels like I ought to say something, but…we already said our vows and all."

"Say whatever you want," Carol said. "If you want to say something, say it."

Daryl considered her and the ring for a moment. He nodded his head and cleared his throat. He took her left hand in his hand, and he worked her hand, for a moment.

"I don't know what to say," Daryl said. "But—I guess—same as I promised before. All of that. Even though, I admit, I don't remember everything we said. Don't matter. I still promise it. But—mostly I just want to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Carol asked, her chest tightening.

"For bein' you," Daryl said. "For marryin' me. Giving me a chance to show you that—I ain't like him."

"You haven't been anything like him," Carol said.

"And I won't be," Daryl said. "I'ma prove it. A little every day. I guess this ring just—it asks you to give me the chance to do that, you know? Every day. Forever."

Daryl frowned. Carol had seen the frown before. It was an expression of overwhelm. She knew, if she looked hard enough, she'd probably see that his eyes glittered a little brighter in the candlelight than they normally did. She wouldn't draw attention to the moisture, though. Instead, she simply smiled at him when, after slipping the ring on her finger, Daryl lifted her hand and kissed it.

She reached for the box and pulled his ring free. She waved her fingers at him, and he handed her his hand. She rubbed her thumb over the rough skin of a man who used his hands regularly, injured them from time to time, and was not exactly the biggest fan of regularly moisturizing his skin. These hands were hard, and strong, and precious to Carol. She only realized how precious as she held his hand like this and, suddenly, it was her that was swallowing repeatedly to choke down the feelings bubbling up inside her.

"Thank you," she said. "For—being you. And for marrying me. And for—coming into my life, Daryl, when I didn't even realize how much I needed you. And—for showing me that you aren't like him. That you're everything I wouldn't have even dared to dream existed. Thank you for giving me the chance to try again."

"Try again?"

"To be—a good wife," Carol said. "To be—everything I wanted to be."

"You already are everything," Daryl offered.

Carol smiled to herself.

"You know what I mean," she said.

"I do," he assured her, nodding his head. She laughed quietly, to herself, and slipped the ring onto his finger.

"I do, too," she teased, lifting his hand and kissing it much the same way that he'd kissed hers. "I have a surprise for you."

"For me?"

"Mmm hmmm," she hummed.

"Why? What'd I do?"

"You're you," Carol said. "And—that's more than enough. I think—you might find there's a few surprises for you this evening."

Daryl's face went noticeably red in the candlelight. He looked thoroughly pleased just to imagine his surprises, though, and Carol felt a renewed jolt of excitement surge through her body.

"Do me a favor and—clear the dishes?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded and enthusiastically set about clearing the table and putting the food away. He rinsed the dishes and slipped them directly into the dishwasher. Carol excused herself into the laundry room where she'd hidden the cake, and she waited until she heard the water shut off and Daryl sit back at the table before she emerged with the cake.

Upon seeing it, his eyes lit up like a child when their long-anticipated birthday cake arrives. Carol almost hated that she hadn't broken tradition to put candles in the little cake.

"You baked a cake?" Daryl asked.

"It's our wedding cake," Carol said. "And Jacqui piped the roses to make it look extra special."

"It's our weddin' cake?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. His expression was a bit strained, and her stomach twisted. She tried to tell herself, though, it was probably because of overwhelm and not disappointment. "You take—a picture of it?"

"No," Carol said.

"You gotta take a picture of it," Daryl said without explanation. Carol decided, really, that his request needed no explanation. She got her phone and quickly took a picture before she arranged, with him, another—the two of them holding hands, just over the cake, so that both of their rings were visible.

"Are those good?" She asked, offering her phone to Daryl for inspection. He looked at them, carefully, and then nodded.

"I want 'em," he said. "Send 'em to me?"

"Of course," Carol assured him. "You want to cut it?"

She went for plated and the server. Daryl happily cut the cake and served two pieces onto the plates she offered him. She moved her chair, sitting next to him instead of having the table between them. She wondered, honestly, why they didn't eat like this more often, but she didn't say anything.

"Tradition says you have to feed me," Carol said. "And I have to feed you."

"I've seen it on movies, but I never understood it. Why do we do it?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged.

"I honestly don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes—people smash cake in each other's faces, too."

Daryl picked up a chunk of the cake with his fingers, and Carol laughed to herself. She closed her eyes, preparing for the cake to coat her face. She was surprised, though, and she shivered, when she felt Daryl's breath blow across her ear.

"Open your mouth," he said.

The request shouldn't have run through her body like it did, but Carol felt it everywhere. It was only cake, and they were only practicing a silly wedding tradition in their kitchen. Still, she'd felt it everywhere. She opened her mouth and, when he placed the cake on her tongue, she closed her lips around his fingers, sucking them as he slowly pulled them back until she'd held the last one a second longer than the others.

"Shit, woman, you gonna kill me one of these days," Daryl said. "But damn if I don't die happy."

Carol laughed and finally opened her eyes.

"Your turn," she said. Daryl nodded. He didn't close his eyes. He did open his mouth, though, making it clear to Carol that he was not a fan of the part of the tradition where they smashed cake in each other's faces. Carol stood as she took the cake in her hand and, unceremoniously, she invited herself into Daryl's lap even as she placed the cake on his tongue. He sucked her fingers, and she lingered long enough to allow him to do so. As soon as her damp fingers were her own again, she brought her lips to his and they exchanged a cake flavored kiss as Daryl's arms encircled her to hold her on his lap.

Carol held the kiss a long while, and Daryl didn't fight her to break it. When she pulled away, her heart was beating hard in her chest and she wondered if her pupils looked as wide as Daryl's. There was no need to blame it on the dimness of the candlelight—she could feel his enthusiasm from her chosen seat across his lap.

"I have other surprises for you," Carol said, smiling at Daryl and smoothing his hair back.

"You're runnin' the distinct risk of spoilin' me," Daryl warned playfully.

Carol smiled to herself.

"Why don't you take me to the bedroom so I can make sure you're good and spoiled?"

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"You wanna—put the cake up or…anything?"

"Leave it," Carol said. "We'll need a snack to keep our strength up later."

Daryl nodded.

"Tell you what," he said. "Gimme—a chance to see if I can go to the bathroom and—get control of things enough to piss. And—you blow out the candles?"

Carol laughed to herself and nodded.

"Good idea," she said. "It'll give me a little time to light some candles in the bedroom, too, and get things set up like I want them."

"In that case," Daryl said, squeezing her gently against him where she sat. "I'll take my time to make sure you get everything up to your standards."

Carol kissed him one more time before she slid off his lap, and then she laughed at him as he put on a dramatic show, for her benefit, of managing his current erection, and playfully grumbling loudly about the suffering she put him through, on his trip toward the bathroom.

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AN: I will go ahead and warn you that some chapters, like this one, will be somewhat self-indulgent. I want to enjoy these characters. I have waited a long time to write them as I really wanted them to be when I first imagined this story, and I want to enjoy them now. I know that some readers don't enjoy these types of chapters. Trust me, I also know, by now, that many readers seem to stop reading and supporting stories once Caryl is together and things are somewhat domestic. Still, if I'm going to finish the story, which I intend to do, I want to finish it with all the little moments included that I want to enjoy between them.

I do hope that you enjoy them, too, but I apologize if you don't.

Please do let me know what you thought of the chapter.