Epilogue

The alarm clock buzzed in the darkness and Ash turned over, her arm finding Pen's waist automatically.

"You don't have to get up now," Pen whispered.

"I've got no intention of getting up now," Ash said, rolling over so that her leg could wrap around Pen's. She nuzzled into Pen's neck and was rewarded with a sigh as Pen pressed her body against her.

"Are you starting things you can't finish?" Pen giggled.

"Would I do that?"

Ash felt Pen's hands creep up along her back, felt the delicious shiver of anticipation as Pen pulled her in and slid a thigh between her legs. Pushing herself up, she began to kiss down Pen's neck as she rubbed against her warm thigh. Her lips found Pen's nipple and she began to suck as Pen's breath started to come harder.

She was just about to continue her trip downward when something launched itself onto the bed, bouncing off her backside and making her screech.

"Fabio!" she shouted, sitting up.

Pen dissolved into laughter. "He's just reminding you that if you're going to be getting up early, he can easily eat an early breakfast."

"That cat is some kind of birth control. Maybe that's why lesbians don't get pregnant," Ash grumbled, settling back down into bed and pulling up the covers.

Pen leaned over and kissed her. "I have to get to work," she said. "But hold all those thoughts until I get back."

Ash pulled her in closer, giving her a proper kiss. "Just so you remember and hurry back," she said when she pulled away.

"As though I could forget," said Pen, hurriedly jumping out of bed and pulling on some clothes for the short trip next door.

One of the problems with dating a baker, Ash thought as she listened to Pen go down the bookshop stairs, was that they had to get up so early.

Mind you, that did mean that Ash got a precious hour or so in bed alone, listening to the gulls outside the window and stretching out to take up the whole bed.

Ten months since she'd bought the bookshop, eight months since she'd officially moved to Tetherington, and it was almost home. Almost, but not quite.

Ash rolled over and closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep again and failing.

For the past few months she and Pen had been living in two flats and there were definite inconveniences. Like leaving a toothbrush in one bathroom when she was in another. But there were also some advantages. Like still having her own space.

But all that was about to change.

Ash gave a sigh and opened her eyes. She was awake. She might as well get up and feed Fabio. Once she started thinking about the future, she had a tendency to spiral which meant there was no hope of getting back to sleep again.

"ABSOLUTELY NO FRUIT cake." George crossed his arms.

"I'm taking that as a hard no," said Pen, crossing out an item on her list. "Alright, chocolate?"

George's face twisted in thought. "I don't know, is that too… common? Expected?"

"It's a favorite for a reason," said Pen. "My only issue with it is that a chocolate cake is moister and lighter than a fruit cake, so tier building can be more difficult. But if you and Billy are sticking to three tiers, that shouldn't be a problem."

"And definitely fancy?" asked George.

Pen grinned. "Bows, flowers, silver balls, the whole nine yards. Do you honestly think that I'd make you a wedding cake without all the frills?"

"No," said George, grinning back. "And thank Pen, we really appreciate it. We're on such a budget, I don't know what we'd do if everyone wasn't helping us out." He sighed. "We just need to deal with the flowers now."

Pen beamed at him. "I can do that," she said. "I mean, it's just advanced cake decorating really, I'd be delighted to help."

For a single second George looked relieved, then he sagged again. "No."

"No?"

"No," he said more firmly. "You've got enough to do with the cake and you're not stretching yourself too thin. We've had this conversation, Pen. You can't—"

"—feed people from an empty pantry," Pen finished, with the air of someone who had heard the phrase entirely too often.

"It'll be fine," George said. "Something will work out. Now, on to more interesting things. The renovations. Tell me everything."

The sun was shining outside and it hurt Pen's eyes to look out of the window. But she didn't want to look George in the eye. He'd see her doubt in her face and that was the last thing she needed. Not that she had doubts about finally living together with Ash, it was just…

"Pen, what's going on?" George asked.

"Nothing," sighed Pen.

"Liar."

She blew out a breath. "It's really nothing. I'm probably being silly."

"Why don't you let me decide that?" asked George kindly, stroking her arm.

She shrugged. "It's just… I don't really know anything about the renovations. Ash doesn't talk about it and, well, I'm a bit worried that she might have changed her mind."

It had seemed like such a good idea, and at the beginning, Ash had been thrilled. They'd knock through the upper walls joining the two flats together and they'd add in a door between the bookshop and bakery so that customers could go between the two. It wasn't even that much work, not once they'd thought about it.

Then things had gotten complicated. With her debts, Pen couldn't get any kind of loan. So Ash had declared that she was taking over and would pay for the flats at least, and ever since then she'd been… secretive.

"Why would you think that?" George asked. "Ash is devoted to you. Quite sickeningly so. I'm surprised she's not hanging all over you right this minute, I nearly never see you alone anymore."

"She just doesn't talk about things," said Pen, aware that she sounded sad.

"Then ask her," George laughed. "It's a little thing called communication. Everything will be fine, Pen, you know that."

She should know that. Really she should. She forced herself to smile. "You're probably right. Alright, let's talk icing, royal or buttercream?"

Her worries about Ash could wait. She had other things to do right now.

AT HALF PAST two the bookshop door was flung open so hard that the little bell rang dementedly, bouncing on its spring. Ash looked up from her book to see a familiar figure struggling in with a far too large suitcase. Her stomach sank.

"Mum."

"Darling," said her mother, dropping the suitcase and opening her arms wide as she swooped on Ash. "Darling, I'm so glad to see you."

"Where's Ted?" Ash asked, suspecting that she already knew the answer.

"Ted? Ted?" screeched her mother. "Don't get me started on Ted. In fact, no, let's never mention his name again. Not once."

"So you've left him," Ash said. It wasn't a question. Her mother's marriages tended to last around a year, so poor Ted was already getting to his expiration date.

"I have. And I thought what better way to mend a broken heart than… well, in The Mended Hearts Bookshop," she said. "A little sea air will do me good."

Ash eyed the suitcase. "Mum, I don't mean to be uncharitable but, um, there's only one bedroom."

"Oh don't worry about that," said her mother, beaming. "I've got a room at the pub, I just wanted to stop by here first. Where's Pen?"

Ash rolled her eyes. Her mother had taken an unexpected shine to Pen and the two of them together could talk the ear of a donkey. In fact, there was a solid chance that her mother was here more for Pen than for her. "She's working."

"Right, well, I'll just pop next door to say hello, shall I?"

A second later, her mother was gone, leaving the enormous suitcase sitting in the middle of the shop. Ash groaned. She had enough to deal with right now without her mother visiting as well.

PEN WAS SWEEPING the floor when she saw Lucy walking by the window, she banged on the glass and Lucy came in. "I wasn't going to stop," Lucy said. "I'm on my way to the town hall."

"I won't keep you," said Pen. "I just wanted to ask if you've got catering for the opening yet?"

Lucy opened her mouth then stopped, her face getting pale. "I hadn't even thought about it," she admitted.

Pen laughed. "You're having an art exhibition opening, I think you have to have some hors d'oeuvres at least. Shall I knock up some quiches or something for you?"

For an instant, she saw the same look pass over Lucy's face as she'd seen on George's just that morning when they'd been talking about flowers. A mixture of relief and… guilt perhaps?

"It's alright, thanks though, Pen. I'll handle it," Lucy said. She checked her watch. "And I have to run, see you later."

Pen watched her go, a little unsure of what had just happened. It was almost as though no one wanted her help anymore. Was she really that useless? Thinking back on it, she couldn't even remember the last time Moira had dropped by with the kids, or Sarah Hanson with her collection box.

It was like people were avoiding her.

She finished the sweeping in a glum state of mind, but as she turned the shop sign to closed and left the door unlocked she couldn't help but start to smile again. Ash would be closing up the bookshop right about now, which meant it couldn't be more than ten minutes before they were safely ensconced upstairs together. Her heart sped up a little at the thought.

Until she remembered Ash's mother was in town.

Not that she disliked her, not in the slightest. In fact, she found Ash's mum pleasantly upbeat and optimistic, particularly for someone who'd been married as many times as Lisa Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Now-Was.

But she could use a little time alone with Ash. Things weren't right and instinctively, Pen knew it. She just didn't quite know what was wrong or why or anything else.

She was surprised a quarter hour later when Ash climbed the stairs alone, carrying a sheaf of papers.

"Where's your mum?" she asked as Ash came in and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Ah, I sent her off to the new debate club at the town hall," Ash said, pulling a face. "I told her that all the eligible bachelors would be there. I hope you don't mind, but I'm exhausted and I just couldn't deal with her tonight."

"It's fine with me," said Pen. "But is it okay with her?"

Ash shrugged. "She'll deal. It'll be fine. She'll be fine." She collapsed onto the couch. "I need to go over these plans for the renovation."

"Not a problem, I can help with that," Pen said, getting ready to snuggle in next to Ash.

But Ash brushed her off. "No, no, I can handle it. Why don't you put the telly on, or read a book. You could use some down time."

Stung, Pen stood up again. "Anyone would think that you don't want my help."

"But I don't," Ash said, flicking through her papers. "I can handle this, I told you."

"Apparently, everyone can handle everything nowadays," Pen said, the sentence coming out more bitter than she'd intended.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ash.

"Oh, just that George can handle his wedding flowers and Lucy can handle her opening night catering and Moira can handle all the kids and you can handle all the plans. It's like no one needs me anymore." She could feel the tears rising up in her throat, could feel them almost starting to choke her.

"Oh, Pen, don't be like that," Ash said, finally putting her papers down.

But Pen didn't even want to look at her. She knew that Ash was keeping something from her. Probably the fact that she didn't want to give up her independence after all, that she didn't want to live together.

"I'm going for a walk," Pen said, grabbing her jacket. It was the best thing she could think of to do. The beach wouldn't mind if she cried and the last thing she wanted to do right now was listen to Ash try to come up with excuses for why the renovations shouldn't go ahead.

THE SUN WAS balancing on the horizon, turning the sea orange, a sight that never failed to make Ash glad that she'd finally decided to move.

Not that everything was going great. Apparently, she was an idiot. In her defense, this was her first real relationship and she'd had good intentions. Clearly, those intentions had been misguided. She put her hands in her pockets and jogged down to the water's edge before turning and walking in the direction she knew Pen would have gone.

She should have followed immediately, she thought, as she hurried along the beach. But it had seemed important to try and fix her mistakes first, so she'd had a few phone calls to make. And now, well, she just had to hope that she'd guessed right and this was where Pen had come.

She walked for another five minutes before she saw Pen's round figure materializing out of the dimming light. Her heart skipped a beat as it did every time she saw her, her perfect, kind, loving, giving little ray of sunshine.

Skipping into a run, Ash closed the gap between them as quickly as she could.

"Don't say anything," Pen said, looping her arm through Ash's when they met up. "I was being overly sensitive and I'm sorry."

"No," Ash said. "You weren't at all. And this is all my fault. I'm really sorry, Pen."

Pen stopped. "What's all your fault?"

Ash groaned. "I thought… Well, with all these things coming up, George and Billy's wedding, Lucy's exhibition, the renovations, I thought that… I thought you might try to do too much again. So I told everyone that they had to rein things in and take care of their own problems so that they don't over-load you."

Pen frowned. "So… you told everyone not to accept help from me?"

Ash nodded. "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. I was trying to protect you and I ended up making you feel like you're useless and I never intended that."

For a moment, Pen stood still, then she came in closer and closer still until Ash could feel her warmth, smell her scent. "That's about the most lovely thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Made you feel useless?" Ash said.

"No, tried to look after me," said Pen.

"I should have talked to you about it instead of just doing it," Ash said, looking down in concern at Pen's wide blue eyes. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. And just so you know, I've fixed everything."

"You have?" asked Pen.

"Mum's going to take care of the flower arranging for the wedding, because who knows better than her? But she'd like you to help her choose some colors. Lucy has only the vaguest idea of what a quiche actually is, but she'd like to come over so you could show her and then she'll make them under your supervision."

"Okay," said Pen, smiling. "That sounds like a good plan. But, um, there was something else. About the renovations…" Her smile dropped now and she looked away. "We don't have to do them if you don't want. I mean, I don't mind us living in two separate flats if that's better for you, more comfortable."

Ash took a large step backward. "What?"

"I mean it, Ash. If this is too much, too soon…"

"You think…" Ash rubbed her face with her hands. "Christ. I really am bad at this, aren't I?" She reached out and took both Pen's hands. "I just didn't want to bother you with all the details is all, you've got enough to handle. George practically runs the bookshop so I've got time on my hands to deal with all the little things."

"Are you sure?" Pen asked anxiously.

"One hundred percent definite," said Ash. "I can't wait, Pen. I can't wait to start planning things together and decorating things together and all the rest of it."

"And I want to help," Pen said gently.

Ash nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. I'll involve you. I just… I want you to have everything Pen. I want you to have the happiest, most trouble free life anyone can ever have because you deserve it."

"You can't keep trouble from me," Pen said, squeezing Ash's hands. "As sweet as the thought is. The idea is more that from now on we handle things together instead of alone, not that you handle things for me."

"I get it," said Ash, breathing out. She pulled Pen in closer. "I need to be better about communicating things."

"You do," said Pen. "And I need to be better about not assuming things. So we both have things to work on."

"I'm not good at this," Ash said, putting her arms around Pen. "I haven't done it before."

"And I haven't done it before with you," Pen said, smiling up at her. "It's alright, we'll figure things out together. That's what this is all about."

Ash smiled at her. "I don't tell you how I feel often enough."

"I know how you feel." The breeze stirred Pen's hair.

"No, I don't think you do," Ash said quite seriously. "You're my everything. I never intended this to happen, I didn't think it could happen. But I wake up next to you every morning thinking how lucky I am, dreading the day that you realize that you're not as lucky as I am."

"I would never think that," Pen said. She looked down at the sand. "But maybe I dread the day that you realize this isn't what you want and you leave."

Ash swallowed. "I'm not leaving. Not ever."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Pen, looking up.

"As sure as I can be about anything." Pen's eyes were so soft, so full of love, that Ash felt her heart swelling up. She cleared her throat. "Um, I've read enough romance novels to know that this is absolutely not the right way to do this."

"To do what?" asked Pen, a curl of hair escaping from behind her ear and tickling her face.

It wasn't the right way to do it. But it was suddenly the most right thing that Ash could ever imagine, the most perfect and beautiful thing she could think of, so right that she couldn't hold the idea to herself for one more second.

"To ask you if maybe you might want to marry me," Ash said.

Pen looked up at her. "To marry the tall, strong, grumpy woman of my dreams and live in a bakery stroke bookshop with a cat and my friends in a town that I love by the sea?" she said. "That doesn't sound perfect at all."

"Your friends can't live in our flat, just to clarify," Ash said, her body feeling lighter than she thought it had ever done before.

"Oh, well, I suppose I could compromise on that," said Pen, standing up on tip toes so that the top of her head almost reached Ash's lips.

"Um, you didn't answer," said Ash.

But Pen was already pulling her head down, already brushing her lips against Ash's, already smiling. "What do you think?" she whispered.

"I think… I think I'm the luckiest person on the entire planet right now," Ash said.

"See?" said Pen. "I told you everything would turn out for the best."

They kissed for a long time with the waves lapping against the sand and the gulls crying above them and the sun sinking below the horizon. And when they were done they walked hand in hand back toward home saying not a word, because there was nothing more that needed to be said.