"You didn't believe any of that, did you."

Not that he was upset or offended by it, or if he wasn't he wouldn't let it show. Patrick Jane, psychic extraordinaire, always had a smile on his face for everyone no matter how skeptical they were. Getting upset only made it look as though he had something to hide. And he didn't have anything to hide as far as his viewing public and adoring fans were concerned. He had a gift, and he used it to help others.

But this one was different. She smiled a tolerant smile at him, did not point out where he might have gotten things wrong in his reading of her at the taping that day. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jane..."

"Please, call me Patrick."

Her smile widened a little, and he had the discomfiting feeling that it was something along the lines of I know what you're up to. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe in psychics. My friend is a huge fan of yours; she won the tickets on some radio show and I thought I would give her a chance to convince me."

She meant, really, give him a chance to convince her. It was a challenge, and he had never been able to resist a challenge. "What do you want me to tell you?" he spread his hands, entirely assured of his abilities to win her over to his camp. "I could tell you that you like..." Her upraised hand stopped him.

"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself instead?"

His smile faltered, just for a moment. "I'm not really one to talk about myself. Really, I'm not that interesting..."

"But you're a psychic, Mr. Jane. That must be tremendously interesting..."

She was putting him on. She didn't find it interesting, or at least, she didn't seem to. She didn't believe and she didn't find it interesting, but her eyes and her body said that all her attention was focused on him. That was more than a little disconcerting. What did she want from him?

"What do you want to know?"

"You turned me down. Twice."

"And now I'm saying yes."

He couldn't quite believe it. Somehow he expected her to have a gallery opening to attend, some sort of event to host, something. She had given him all manner of excuses the two times he'd asked her out to dinner before, and that was more than he had spent on any woman. More time, thus far. He wasn't used to it. It irked him.

And it intrigued him, he had to admit. It did make him want to know more about her, who this woman was who, for all he could read of her that still got him no closer to understanding her. He knew that what he knew had an effect on her. He knew that he was having an effect on her, and yet he was having no effect at all. No practical effect, at any rate; she continued to turn him down. Except tonight. So what was special about tonight? Was it the occasion? Something he had said or done?

"So, will you be picking me up or shall I meet you there?"

He had been thinking too hard. His eyes flickered back to her face, a little wider than he wanted but he didn't think she would notice. So few people actually noticed what they were looking at, which was how he had stayed in business. "I'll pick you up at seven. If that's all right?"

"Seven will be fine."

And now was the part where they parted company. He should retreat now, to plan the dinner more further than some sketchings of reservations and an idea of where and how to go to dinner, but he found he didn't want to move so much as a foot from her side. He forced himself to smile, a flicker of savage retributive glee at the blinking of confusion on her face, and retreated. As he should.

They'd have dinner, now, after all. They had further plans. It wasn't as though he was never going to see her again.

"... you still haven't said yes."

It wasn't dinner and champagne and expensive steaks. It wasn't skywriting or an announcement on live television or even anything special. He'd had the ring in his pocket for about a week, constantly second-guessing himself, worried that he was reading her wrong. Worried that she would say no. And she hadn't said no, but she hadn't said yes, either.

He hadn't bought the house with this in mind, but he hoped it helped. And hoped that it hadn't hurt, that it wasn't too over the top.

She smiled up at him, though, smoothing his hair back as she did, smoothing down the front of his vest. "Silly Patrick. Of course yes." And the moment she said that he could breathe again.

Well, of course yes, he told himself now. She had put on the ring, hadn't she? She was wearing it. She hadn't thrown it at his head or looked at him like he was insane or anything like that. He had invited her to share his life, his new home, to bring their lives together and go on from there.

(He'd made sure it was a home for families, too. Just in case. Just in case, in his wildest dreams.)

"Yes?" he blinked, and he knew it sounded stupid, but he wanted to be sure.

"Yes, Patrick." She kissed him. Possibly to shut him up. "Yes, I will marry you."

His heart broke a little, just to hear her say that. Broke, and burst, and he pulled her into his arms, tears stinging his eyes, and he couldn't name what he was feeling but he thought that it was very much like joy.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.