Equilibrium had been more than restored, in fact I was verging on euphoria. I suddenly found myself laughing again, eating all my cheesecake, and having another piece. The banter flowed easily, and we chatted and laughed and drank away in the dusky evening light. The dark came upon us quite quickly, crept up on us without our noticing, and the chill, too. I popped inside for a sweater. We agreed it was nicer to stay outside, although we did relocate to the creaking swing seat on the lawn. The one with the old-fashioned floral hood, positioned to watch the sun sink over the horizon, or, in this case, the moon to rise and send its milky glow across the water. At length Ted put his arm around my shoulders in an easy motion, laughing at something I'd said. He gently pulled me close. I snuggled happily. The chair rocked slightly with our shifting positions.

"Only fair to tell you I can get motion sickness even on this," I told him as it swayed.

“That's seductive. Do we need a bucket?"

"I'll give you fair warning if we do."

"Excellent news." When I looked up to smile at him, his eyes were shining down into mine. He took my chin in his hand and lightly kissed my lips. Drew back a moment to gauge my reaction, which was not a bad one at all. Indeed, I believe he must have seen that it was good. He kissed me again, more thoroughly this time, and I found something unclenching and uncoiling within me. It was as if the white roses inside in a vase on the breakfast bar had taken this moment to relax: to unfurl their petals, hold their heads up to the sun and submit to nature's warmth, or perhaps, to a Cornish summer.

As we regrouped and he held me, it felt so good. I could feel his heart beating through his vast blue sweater and I'm sure he could feel mine. But then we heard something else. The front door was opening then closing.

“Flora?” called Celia.

We glanced at each other warily.

“Out here,” I called back.

We instinctively shifted positions a bit, although Ted didn't take his arm away from my shoulders, and I was glad. I waited for Celia to come out into the garden. The candles were still burning on the table, French doors open, occupation obvious. I heard hurried footsteps, and then she popped her head round the covered swing seat. Her eyes found me in the dark. She looked a bit hectic.

“Flora, can I have a word?”