A/N: This is another story set around S5E22, "Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall." I had an idea about a photo, and I wrote this as a result. As I was checking certain details for consistency in the two-part episode, I noticed for the first time that just before the doctor comes to tell Jessica that Seth will be okay, there is an outside shot of the hospital, and it is getting dark. It was the first time I realized that they were trying to show that she had been waiting for a long time. Not being family, I imagine she would have been panicky and probably felt helpless, being at the mercy of the hospital staff.

I know policies around visitors in ICU have become less severe over the years, but when I knew someone in ICU many years ago, the policies were strict, and visitors were meant to be family only.

I can't sit still. I'm stuck in the waiting room, unable to sit down more than a few seconds before I am up again, pacing, while Seth is somewhere in the intensive care unit being attended to. I found him unconscious on my kitchen floor less than an hour ago and after calling for an ambulance, he was brought here.

I don't know what is wrong with him. I'm worried it's his heart, but I really have no idea. I'm not a doctor; he's the doctor. I need him to wake up and tell me what's wrong.

He wasn't moving when I found him. He was barely breathing. As soon as I called for the ambulance, I got back down on the floor and held him tightly against me. I rocked him back and forth and told him that he couldn't leave me.

I begged for him not to leave me.

A chill runs down my spine as I recall those moments, holding him against my chest, feeling his clammy skin, as I stroked his back and face, willing him to wake up and come back to me.

Seth, wake up. Please wake up. I need you. I need you. You can't leave me like he did. Please.

You are my best friend.

I love you.

I love him.

I know I love him, but friendship love is different from romantic love. Yet…I wonder if I feel romantic love for him, too.

No–I cannot deny it any longer. I won't deny it. I love him completely. I feel whole when I am with him. He makes me smile and whenever he is close and tucks my hand in his arm and we walk together in town, I feel protected and cared for.

But it doesn't matter what kind of love it is or isn't. All that matters is that he gets better. I need him to get better. I don't know what I'd do without him.

When Mort stopped by earlier, he was the one who told me that Seth was taken from the emergency room to the ICU. But he didn't know anything else. I told him that I'd rather stay here. I didn't tell him, but I am not leaving this hospital until I know what is wrong with Seth.

Before he left, I could tell there was more that Mort wanted to say. He had seen me holding Seth, sobbing, in the middle of my kitchen floor when he raced in with the paramedics. Mort sees us together more than anyone else in town, clearly having suspicions and a better understanding of the affection we hold for one another than anyone else, but as he doesn't ask questions, he has always been a safe person. Which is why after staring at me for a moment, he asks me to let him know how Seth is when I find out before saying goodbye.

The waiting is awful; it's almost dark outside when I finally speak to the doctor. But then, when the doctor comes in and tells me it was poison, I am in shock. Poison? Who would want to poison Seth? I don't understand. But all I care about at this point is seeing him. Holding his hand. Seeing him breathe. Knowing he is alive.

When the nurse interrupts and tells me that Seth is asking for me, I hurry after her. She leads me down a hallway, through a locked door into the ICU, the small rooms normally with timed visitation by family only. My throat begins to close. I've been here before with Frank, watching him struggle to breathe at the end of his life and my knees begin to buckle. I begin to panic. I don't know if I can do this. I can't do this. My eyes dart ahead trying to discern which room the nurse is leading me to, instinctively trying to avoid looking towards the room in the corner that I know Frank died in. Please God, don't let Seth be in that room. I can't take it if he is. I won't be able to go in.

I don't panic ever. This isn't who I am. This isn't me. But it is me. It's a relic of the old me that was a lost broken wife who became a widow here, wailing in that room in the corner, one night in early summer seven years ago, when Frank breathed his last. That night, I was an exception again as the nurses knew it was the end and allowed me to stay past visiting hours. Unless they had sent security in and made them literally drag me out of the building, I'm not sure they could have made me leave otherwise. I am confident they knew that. Besides, I am sure they simply knew that Frank wouldn't make it through the night and that we needed to be together at the end. I know the strict visiting hours policy is broken for reasons like mine were then and like mine now, but knowing I am the only visitor at this moment due to another exception to the rule, makes my chest feel weighed down as I try to breathe and my heart pounds.

My mouth is dry. My body feels numb. I'm not Seth's family. The ICU is for families only. I know that Seth told them to let me in. He is a doctor here, one of the best in Cabot Cove. He helped found this hospital. He is well-loved. If he told them to let me in, it doesn't matter who I am, they will allow it. Vaguely, I understand that if he was able to do that, he must have his wits about him. Thank God, because the only thing that would be worse than Seth dying would be if he lost his mental capacity in any way. His acerbic manner and dry humor are what makes Seth who he is.

I stand frozen less than ten paces away from the hospital room that I can't enter ever again, and I am shaking. I feel separated from my body, as though I am looking down from above and trying to push myself out of my despair. My pain. My fear.

My grief from the past will always be a part of me.

I am still trembling, standing like a statue by the nurses' station. The monitors there and in the individual rooms around the unit are blinking and beeping. Oxygen being administered, along with lowered voices in the background, combined with the squeaking noise of the nurses' rubber shoes when they walk back and forth between patient rooms create a cacophony of subtle sounds.

The nurse who had led me into the ICU was a few feet away from me, trying to get my attention. I shake my head, trying to bring myself back to reality.

"Mrs. Fletcher, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm fine."

"Dr. Hazlitt is in this room, Mrs. Fletcher," pointing to the room next to Frank's. Realizing that the one Frank died in was dark and vacant, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief, squaring my shoulders and focusing on the man who is alive, that I need to see with my own eyes.

Rushing inside, he is there. A little pale with dark circles under his eyes, but alive and cranky. Thank God.

He starts telling me how he feels like there is a barbecue inside his stomach and that his new healthy diet doesn't agree with him. They hadn't told him. He didn't know that he had been poisoned.

I had to tell him and then, I found out the only thing he had eaten was one of the apples in my kitchen before he passed out. One of those damned apples from Eudora. That woman has caused more problems than I could ever imagine since she showed up at my door. First, she drugged me, lied to me, stole my story and now, she tried to kill the man I love. Although, I dimly realize, she must have meant to kill me. She had no reason to kill Seth. But I can't focus on that. I am not important right now; Seth is.

I start to cry without realizing it until he asks, "What's this?" before wiping my tears away. I try to explain how scared I was, how scared I still am, and his eyes show me he knows more than I am telling him.

He knows where Frank died. He was here that night. I didn't know him well then, but he remembers. I sense he is watching me, even as I close my eyes, trying to stop crying. I am here to provide him comfort, but there is a shift as he tries to comfort me, wiping my tears and witnessing my shaking hands and stuttering voice.

I stay close to his bedside for a while trying to calm down, as I hold his hand. He feels cold, but since we don't normally hold hands, I am not sure how his hands usually feel.

I know I can't stay much longer. He needs to rest and heal and I have stayed far longer than the rules allow, even though we have already broken them just by me being here at this time of day. I'd rather say goodbye on my terms than be asked to leave.

"Seth, the doctor told me that they aren't going to let you go home for at least twenty-four hours. Could I go to your house and get you anything? Some pajamas? Maybe a book or your reading glasses?"

"I don't want to trouble you, Jess."

"Stop it. I'm going to go, so you might as well tell me what you want, instead of having me guess."

He sighed, but smiled, understanding that I must do something. Or at least feel like I am doing something.

"Alright, Jess, yes, all of that would be good. My own pajamas, a book and my reading glasses by the bed. My toothbrush and toothpaste, too."

"Do you already have a book you are reading, or do you want me to find one?"

"I'm in the middle of a book now. It's on my nightstand."

"Alright, I'm going to go talk to Mort now that we know to look for the apples and then, I'll go get everything and come back during the last visiting hours tonight. I don't want to bother the nurses more than I probably already have."

"They are fine."

"Seth."

"Believe me, woman, they'd rather let you deal with me than them."

I laugh. Really laugh. Even as I feel tears fall. I didn't think I could ever laugh in this place. But the relief that he is going to be okay and will come home soon, feeling well enough to make snarky comments fills me with joy.

I tell him to rest, and I call Mort and ask him to pick me up.

We have poisoned apples to find.

S/J

Mort and I find the apple that Seth bit into on my kitchen floor and the basket of apples on the counter and he takes them for testing, after dropping me off at Seth's to gather his things.

It's quiet when I arrive. It's getting late and I turn the downstairs light on in the waiting room of his clinic, before climbing the stairs. I know Seth doesn't need much, but I hope he will find it comforting to have a few things from home.

In his apartment, I turn on the kitchen light, wondering if I should bring him some food, but I don't know if he is on any restrictions due to the poison and antidote, so I don't want to risk bringing something he can't have, only to disappoint him.

Instead, I go down the hallway looking for his bedroom. I have been upstairs before, but only as far as the bathroom at the edge of the hallway, which is the first door on the left. I go in there first to find his toothbrush and toothpaste, putting it in a small travel bag from the linen closet. I add his hairbrush and electric razor that are out on the counter, before zipping it up and carrying it with me.

Going back down the hall, there are two closed doors, one on each side. I try the one on the left first and discover it is a small guest room. I turn to the right, reaching for the doorknob. I feel nervous, knowing I am about to invade Seth's private space, even though he gave me permission.

I take a breath and open the door. Turning on the light switch, I smile. I am not surprised by what I see. It is clean, neat, and sparse. Just like the man who lives here. The only thing that is surprising is that most everything is white, with the only real bold color being the navy drapes for the one window in the room, which I suspect are blackout curtains and utilitarian, rather than decorative, so he can sleep during the day if he works overnight. I didn't anticipate there would be many personal touches, but I suppose I didn't picture it being as calming as it is either.

The bed is a queen with soft white bedding that appears almost hotel-like. I am curious…I pull back the end of the comforter, and yes, he makes the bed with military corners as precise and fastidious as the man himself. Shaking my head, I feel a broad smile spread across my face, before I lower the comforter to its original position.

There is a small painting above his bed. A seascape. In oil. I walk over closer to peer at it. It's simplistic, but the colors of the sea are deep and rich, and even though it is amateur, it is pleasing to the eye. As I continue to peer at it, I see a signature in the corner.

Ruth Hazlitt.

Tears spring to my eyes, as I realize Ruth painted this and Seth keeps it hanging above his bed. It gives me a warm feeling, seeing how this dear man remembers his wife, many years after her death.

Looking around his room, there are no other pictures or photos. There is a small bookcase in the corner though with two shelves. I love looking at bookcases in homes and seeing what people enjoy reading. I walk over to the corner of the room and see on the top shelf a variety of well-worn classics, with a few children's books which I presume were Margie's.

When I look at the bottom shelf, I am shocked when I see every single one of my books, all in hardback. I kneel down to the floor and count…yes, every single one. I have suspected at times that Seth has read my books, but other than the one that I gave him a signed copy of because I dedicated it to him when it was published, I didn't know he owned any of them. Has he read them all? I know he is proud of me, and he has made comments about my books as though he might have read some, but as a writer, I don't make a habit of asking my friends and family if they read my books. Some do and some don't, and I never want anyone to feel obligated or awkward if they have no interest. If they want to tell me they have read them, I am happy to hear, even if they have critiques, but I don't have to know.

But I had no idea that Seth owned them all. If I had known he was interested, I would have given them all to him. I remove one at random and open it. Not only can I tell that it's been read, I am certain it has been read multiple times. It's obvious that Seth takes care of his books by looking at all of them in his bookcase, but there is a distinct difference between a book that has never been read and one that has been read repeatedly. Opening several more, I can tell. He has read them. I feel touched. Proud even that he has obviously taken an interest in me, beyond what I was aware of before. I am surprised; I even feel a bit vulnerable wondering what he thinks of my work.

While I had permission to be here, I am beginning to feel like I am snooping which was not my intention. Glancing at my watch, visiting hours for the ICU begin soon. I need to get what he asked for and call Dimitri for a ride back to the hospital.

I open the closet door, finding an organizer with small drawers that contain his pajamas along with undershirts and boxers. Even though he only mentioned pajamas, after considering, I go ahead and grab one of each, along with a fresh change of clothes for tomorrow. There is an overnight bag on the floor of the closet, and I place the clothes inside, along with the small toiletries bag that I have been holding, shutting the closet door, and putting the bag on the bed. Picking up the book from the bedside table, I see that it is about the Jacobite Risings during the eighteenth century. The barcode on the cover shows it is a library book. Seth is well-read and I know he reads all kinds of things that catch his interest, going to the library often. I feel another spark of happiness at getting this peek into his private life.

Nothing prepares me for what I discover next though. The only thing left that I need to find are his reading glasses, but they weren't on top of his book as he said they would be. In fact, the lamp, an alarm clock, a phone, and the library book were the only items on the nightstand. Without thinking, I open the nightstand drawer, and there are his reading glasses directly on top of a picture frame. I pick them up and almost shut the drawer, not intending to look at the picture or anything else, but I see my face peering up at me.

I can't help it. Carefully, I lift the simple black frame out of the nightstand drawer, and it is a candid photo of me in the center, with Seth directly to my left, and Mort and Adele over further to my right but at the far edge of the photo. We are seated on outdoor chairs, and I recognize that it must have been taken during the Fourth of July picnic last year. It must have been late in the afternoon, as we were in the shade outside. It looks as though none of us realized the photo was being taken as Mort is obviously talking, Adele and I are looking at him, and I'm laughing at whatever he is saying.

But when I look at Seth, I am in disbelief. He isn't looking at Mort. He is looking at me. He is smiling softly at me, but his eyes tell the story. One at which I must admit seeing in this photo, with no other distraction, that I have seen before. Probably many times, but I was too afraid to notice or pay attention to. But his eyes and the softness of his gaze show love…and devotion.

I have believed for a long time that Seth loves me. But this picture? It's proof he does. The eyes are the windows to the soul, as I have heard many times, and if ever there was an example, this is it.

Love and devotion may be hard to describe or quantify, but I would venture to say that if I showed this photo to anyone here in Cabot Cove, people would realize what I have just seen. If they don't know already. Which may be why this photo is hidden in his bedside drawer.

Looking back, I vaguely begin to remember more. It had been a wonderful day. The heat was mild for the Fourth of July and the parade and picnic had been enjoyable. Everyone was visiting, waiting for the sun to fully set and become dark enough for the fireworks show. I don't remember what Mort was saying when I laughed, but I was happy that day, as I am most days. Whenever I can be with Seth and my friends.

This picture humbles me in a way that I am not sure anything else could. His vulnerability here with the way he is looking at me, almost breaks my heart guessing that he must fear I don't return his love.

I wipe a tear that has fallen. Well, he won't have to wonder any longer. I will make sure he knows that his love isn't one-sided.

I set the framed photo in the center of his nightstand. I'm not going to hide that I have seen it. Grabbing his reading glasses, I put them in the bag, zipping it up. Calling the cab company, I raced downstairs to lock up and wait for my ride.

S/J

Tonight, I am one of a small group of people waiting at the double doors to open for the last visiting hours of the day. Everyone is quiet. We are all here because a loved one is seriously ill. We wouldn't be here otherwise. I still feel a bit like an imposter, knowing I am not family, but feeling ready to admit the love I have for Seth, I hope I will be.

When the doors open, I hurry through, refusing to look at the still dark and vacant room where Frank died, focusing instead on the one next to it where Seth is alive and improving.

Peering around the corner, he is awake and fussing at the nurse.

"Hi, Seth. How are you feeling?"

"Jess, talk some sense into this nurse. They won't give me anything to eat."

Looking at her, I smile, knowing there must be a good reason. She is charting, as she tells me, "He can't eat until tomorrow morning. They are continuing IV fluids and want to make sure the poison is flushed out first."

"I see. Seth, be nice to the nurse. You know she is only doing her job."

"I'm hungry, Jess."

"Which I'm sure is a good sign."

The nurse leaves the room, chart in hand. I set the small bag on the table by his bed, getting out his book and reading glasses to place on his tray table within his reach.

"I take it that you are feeling better?"

"Ayuh, just hungry."

"Hmm."

I pull the chair close to the bed and sit down, reaching for his hand. He is warmer. He appears surprised at my touch, which concerns me. Perhaps I shouldn't touch him without asking.

"Is it alright to hold your hand?"

"Ayuh, if you want to."

I smile at him, looking down at them. It feels strange, yet it makes me happy to see our hands together. As though something has been missing and is now made whole.

On the ride here, I debated telling him I found the picture. Originally, I thought it might be better to tell him when he gets out of the hospital and goes home. But I want to tell him, and I want to tell him now.

"Seth, you're looking a bit better. Your color is coming back."

"Ayuh, I feel better. Did you happen to bring any food, woman?"

Grimacing, I admit, "No, I thought about it, but I was worried not knowing what you could have, which it sounds like a good thing I didn't since you can't eat until tomorrow."

"Damn."

"Now, Seth, don't be petulant."

"Woman, I was apparently poisoned today, I believe I have the right to be as petulant as I want."

He has a point. I attempt to shift the focus. "Mort and I found the apples, Seth. He has taken them for testing."

"Something bothered me about that after you left. If you had poisoned apples in your house, that must mean someone is after you. Not me. Unless you have suddenly cracked and planned to murder someone in real life. What is going on, Jess?"

This isn't going how I planned, but I try to calm him down as quickly as possible. I plan to leave at the end of visiting hours, as I know it will be noticed if other families leave at the same time, and I don't. That wouldn't be fair. After I do my best to assure him that I am safe and I will talk to Mort in the morning, I squeeze his hand and say, "Seth, I want to talk to you about something."

"Hmm."

"Your reading glasses weren't on the book. They were in your bedside drawer."

There is a long pause, before he says, "I see. You found the picture."

I nodded. Easing into the conversation I want to have, I ask, "Who took it, Seth?"

"One of the summer interns at the Gazette. I stopped by after the holiday to check on a patient, and there were photos from the picnic laid out on a table. They were selecting some to use in an article about the holiday celebration. I…I saw that photo and knew immediately that not only could it not be chosen but that I wanted it for myself. I asked the intern if I could have it and I think he was too intimidated to tell me no."

"Why did you want it?"

"Because you didn't realize the photo was being taken; you were so natural and relaxed and when I look at it, I can hear you laughing. I let my guard down looking at you like that, but I couldn't help it. Seeing the evidence on my face for how I feel about you made me worry though if they printed the picture in the Gazette that it would embarrass you."

"You framed it and hid it in the drawer. As though it was a secret."

"I suppose it was, Jess. I felt a bit deceitful keeping it, but I put it in a frame and kept it out of sight. But I looked at it last night. I…I do most nights. I must have taken my glasses off and put them in the drawer by mistake when I put the picture away."

"Why did you look at it last night?"

"I was thinking about you. I do that often. Sometimes I'll talk to you, sometimes Ruth, out loud before I go to sleep."

"What did you talk to me about last night, Seth?"

He shrugged, trying to lighten what he was going to say, "Just about how I'm worried about you, Jess. You are working too much like I already told you. I may have put it off on you needing to stop and smell the roses like you would have with Frank, but the reality is that I miss you. We haven't had much time together lately. I know I don't have any right to you…"

She stopped him, putting her hand on his arm to get his attention. "Seth, I love you. You aren't alone in the feelings you allowed to surface in that photo. I'm sorry that you have felt like you are. I need you to tell me to slow down sometimes. Heaven knows I won't do it for myself. From now on, when you feel this way, I want you to tell me that you miss me and I'm doing too much. I promise you that it will get my attention. I never want to treat you callously and I'm sorry you have felt alone. That makes my heart hurt for you. Will you forgive me?"

Seth looks at me in confusion. He opens his mouth as though he will speak, before closing it again. I think his mind is trying to comprehend what I am saying, but I don't know how to convince him how I feel, other than to show him.

I perch on the side of the hospital bed around the armrest, so that it doesn't jam into my ribs, and I lean over and kiss his lips. They are warm and soft, and I want to melt in his arms. I can tell I have shocked him by kissing him, but when I begin to pull away, he responds by kissing me back. He seems tentative and afraid, but he must find a bit of courage as he steadily deepens the kiss and reaches with one hand to hold my cheek. I sigh with an appreciative moan, and I do melt in his arms then, as he brings me to his chest to hold.

It is as though we both realize at the same moment just how exhausting this day had been, as he strokes my hair, my head resting on his chest.

"Am I hurting you?" I murmur quietly.

"You are healing me, Jess."

I cry. I can't help it. I almost lost him today. He rubs my back, and I suspect he is struggling to fight tears as well.

Just then, the bell rings, telling us that visiting hours are over, and I sit up to leave.

Seth opens his mouth; I know he wants to tell me to stay longer, but I touch his lips with my finger and shake my head. "No, it's not fair to the other families. I'm going to go home and tomorrow morning, I will help Mort with the investigation and as soon as they release you, I'll be back to take you home."

"You don't drive, woman."

"I'll have Mort bring me or call for a cab. But I'll be here."

The bell rang again, and I could hear the other family members leaving. I lean over and kiss him softly one more time. "Sleep well, Seth. I love you."

He grabs my hand tightly. "Wait." He stares at me, trying to discern something in my eyes. I hate that I can't stay and convince him that my words are true. But they are and I hope he can see it in my eyes. I touch his face and tell him one more time, emphatically, "I do love you, Seth Hazlitt. I will see you tomorrow."

He releases my hand but doesn't reply. I hurry out the door, but look back over my shoulder one last time. He is watching me as I leave.

S/J

An hour later I am in bed, trying to settle down to sleep when the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"I love you, too."

"I know."

"I didn't say it earlier."

I say, softly, "I'm sorry we didn't have a lot of time. Perhaps I should have waited to tell you until we had more privacy."

"Don't, Jess." I hear him clear his throat, as he seems to be struggling with emotion. "I–I don't know what to say. Except don't ever apologize for telling me you love me."

My free hand traces the outline of my quilt, needing something tangible to feel. My fingers use the stitching to ground me. We have bared our hearts today. Something I never thought would happen. And yet, it did, and it happened after Seth almost died from being poisoned by an apple that was intended for me. There is so much here to process and yet, we are both silent on the phone, the only sound is our breathing.

"Seth–darling, you and I will spend a good deal of time tomorrow. Alone. I love you. Now you should get a good night's sleep."

"Alright. Good night, sweetheart."

I smile. It is the first time we have exchanged terms of endearment and my heart fills with happiness.

S/J

The next morning is a blur as I work with Mort to determine what happened with Eudora and all the people who followed her here to Cabot Cove. When Mort tells me that the apples were confirmed to contain poison, I am not surprised; nothing else made sense. But if Eudora had been standing in front of me this morning when Mort gave me the news, I am certain I would have been tempted to strangle her.

Thankfully, she isn't and after a flurry of activity, between getting my manuscript back and finding her stepson, before he could hurt anyone else, it is all over.

"Mrs. F, can I take you over to the hospital and we can find out if Doc can go home?"

Looking at my watch, I realize that his forced twenty-four-hour observation is almost over and I nod eagerly.

Seth is dressed in the clothes that I brought him last night, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting to be discharged, when Mort and I enter the room. He looks as cranky as usual, which thrills me. My beloved Seth is back to his usual self.

I smile at him, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. I know that there is far more we both want to say, but with Mort as our audience, we refrain.

"You look like you are feeling better, Seth."

"Ayuh, if by feeling better that means I'm about to starve and go stir crazy!"

I catch Mort's eye and we both try to hide our smiles.

A quarter of an hour later, Mort is dropping us off at Seth's house. Thanking Mort, I smile at him, and he wishes me luck with Seth before driving away. Seth mutters under his breath about him needing luck dealing with me, and I shake my head. Inside, I follow him upstairs, with him complaining the whole way.

"Jess, I'm fine. I don't know what makes you think you're Florence Nightingale, all of a sudden, but you're not. You are Jessica Fletcher. And last I checked, Jessica Fletcher isn't a nurse. And even if you were one, I don't need a nurse."

We are standing at the top of the stairs now, and he sets his overnight bag down by the couch, and turns back to me, ready to continue our row.

I feel frustrated and almost hurt that he is fussing. Doesn't he know I love him, and I only want to help? Before I fell asleep last night, I had fantasized that once we were alone in his house, we wouldn't be able to keep our hands off each other.

But when his eyes meet my own, I realize what is happening. He has reverted to his normal prickly behavior to protect himself. I remember the photo by his bed and how his eyes looked at me in the picture. How his eyes showed his vulnerability, the windows to his soul, confessing his love for me. Meeting his eyes now, he is nervous and looks terrified that I might regret what I had admitted last night.

I need to speak to soothe his fears and right this ship. Holding his gaze, I whisper, "What about a woman who loves you? Do you need one of those?"

He appears thunderstruck, suddenly mute.

I close the distance between us and place both of my hands on his chest, staring at them, trying to catch my breath, before I can lift my gaze to his face. I feel his heart pound beneath my hands, and when my eyes finally reach his again, they are so full of love and tenderness that I feel tears build in mine. But I can't speak again until he does.

I'm not sure how long we look at each other, but I'm aware that after I place my hands on his chest, his arms wrap around my back holding me close. Finally, I watch as he swallows and says, "If that kind of woman–a woman who loves me–is you, then, there is nothing I need more."

With that, he pulls me to him and begins to kiss me. My knees buckled immediately, his arms around me tightening to keep me standing, as he deepens the kiss. It is as though we are trying to join our souls together with kisses that string along with no beginning or end. Without any memory of walking or falling or stumbling, we end up landing on the couch, our limbs tangled, necking, my body on top of his. His hands are in my hair, keeping me in place, not letting me go, but there is nowhere else I would rather be.

I pull away just enough to whisper, "I love you, darling."

"Woman, marry me."

"What?" What in the world is he thinking?

Moving down my throat, he pulls my body upward, as he moves towards my chest, his voice vibrating against my skin, as he says, "Marry me, woman. I'm about to take you to bed. It wouldn't be right if I didn't at least ask you to marry me first and let you know that I will make an honest woman of you. Besides, there is nothing I want more than to marry you." Reaching around me, unhooking my bra, and moving his warm hands underneath to cup my breasts, he massages them gently. I hear a moan, only to realize, it is me.

I can't think, I can't speak, I can only feel, and I feel marvelous.

I find it endearing that Seth is worried about making an honest woman of me, but there is no need for concern. I am a widow, not a virgin; the jig is up. Why anyone would care if I slept with someone outside of marriage is no concern of mine. As he continues to touch me, his mouth moves over my jaw and to my ear before he says, "Jess, you are all I need. All I need. But if you ever want to give me what I want, I do hope you will marry me…"

"Hmm," is my only reply. I can't think about marriage right now. I only want to be in Seth's arms. It is new and exciting, but so right.

We stand and make our way to his bedroom, losing our clothing along the way. Our coupling is loving and intense, and afterwards, I am deeply satisfied when I snuggle into his embrace. While I didn't have any doubt about his feelings for me, I hope he no longer has any about me either.

Before I can nod off, he spoons me to him, and I see the photo on his bedside table peering back at us in the dim light that told me the truth about Seth and his love for me. The truth that I had sensed and felt but was proven by his eyes when I saw the photo here last night. I smile and before I fall asleep, I whisper, "Yes, I'll marry you, darling," his arms tightening around me.