"Nor will I. I'm so happy with how we are now, Clive," she reminds him, fingers brushing his hair from his eyes. His tears make her own eyes sting. "For the rest of our lives, you'll have kindness and patience from me. I understand you so much better now."
"I have all I could ask for. My treasure," she says with a warm smile, fingertips brushing over his bottom lip. "You do enough for me, Clive. That's why it makes me happy when you ask for what you want. We have that luxury, now."
The past does factor into that, she feels, but she's reluctant to tarnish a sweet moment when they've already said their parts. Instead, she smiles and nuzzles the underside of his jaw.
“The finest takeout a man could buy, carefully packaged to look like it came from our own kitchen,” he says. “It’s that or I roast up some beef or a coney over a spit in the backyard.”
Jill pats his chest with an amused smile. Never to fear. She's already got a menu planned of sandwiches and leftovers.
"We have plenty food here to take," she assures him, but there seems to be no urgency on her end to get up to get ready as she snuggles into him again. "I wouldn't make you do so much work for something that was my idea, after all."
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“I’d do anything for you, Jill. Anything you could possibly ask for. You deserve it.”
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“I’ll try,” he says. “I’ll try to ask for something every week, if it pleases you.”
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"It would. You don't need to worry about me denying you."
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"Just continue being yourself. Speak your mind. I'll be happy," she promises. "I already am."
Jill shifts to embrace him, squeezing tightly.
"You're all I need."
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"Then every struggle and heartache has been worth it."
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"What do we do next, Clive?"
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“Today? Or in the greater picture?”
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It's been a bumpy morning but she still wants to spend the day with him.
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He runs a hand over the back of her head.
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He looks best with the light on his hair and the warmth tanning his skin. It's not quite summer, of course, but he runs hot, anyway.
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Gentle and loving as she is with him, she likes giving him a fright even now and then, too.
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“The finest takeout a man could buy, carefully packaged to look like it came from our own kitchen,” he says. “It’s that or I roast up some beef or a coney over a spit in the backyard.”
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"We have plenty food here to take," she assures him, but there seems to be no urgency on her end to get up to get ready as she snuggles into him again. "I wouldn't make you do so much work for something that was my idea, after all."
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Just because he's willing to do anything for her doesn't mean he should.
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