He drove them to his cottage silently, and she waited for him to come out and open the door for her. He gave her a surprised look, because she'd often gotten out before he'd gotten a chance to be his old-fashioned chivalrous self - although he'd try every time. That was just one of the things that the Holyoakes did - and tonight she enjoyed it.

When they entered the cottage, she froze with her hands on the buttons of her coat.

"Oh dear." She looked around in disbelief. "What happened here?"

He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet.

"Mrs. Little," he answered grudgingly.

"You hired a cleaning lady," she drew out. "When?"

"While we were at the Dance," he said. "I sort of thought–" He didn't continue.

"You thought we'd come here after the Dance," Viola guessed.

She handed him her coat, took off her boots, and walked in.

"I hoped we would," he said. "Would you like anything?"

"Some red wine if you have any," she said.

He gave her another surprised look but went to the kitchen. Viola visited his bathroom and returned to find him in the half-lit kitchen, pouring their wine. She climbed on a tall stool near the island and folded her hands on the counter of attractive dark grey soapstone. The surface was pleasantly uneven. Rhys put a glass in front of her and took a sip from his. She could feel his attentive gaze on her, and she sniffed the excellent Malbec.

"So, Vi–" It was hard to imagine that the word 'adorable' could be applied to Rhys Holyoake, but she couldn't find a better description for his uncertain, tentative tone. "How do you want to play it? I have an extra bedroom, but there's just a li-lo there. And there's sofa of course, and it's big enough, but–"

He stopped muttering, and sort of shrunk under the amused look she gave him over her glass. She drank some wine, licked her lips, and lowered her drink.

"So, you're giving up your bed for me then," she said as if pensively, and his eyebrows jumped up.

She knew he wanted to ask - but he didn't, and simply nodded.

"Of course," he said.

"Just like that?" she asked and chuckled. "Aren't you going to ask why I suddenly invaded your home?"

"I'm not questioning my luck," he said, and she laughed.

"But you don't understand," she pointed out. "You see, you've said it before. You don't understand my thought processes. And isn't it why we had this ridiculous row at the Dance?" She gently swirled the wine in her glass. "Because you didn't understand why I'd left without saying anything, and I didn't even try to explain because I got angry, because I too thought I knew what you thought and felt."

He frowned and nodded, taking a large gulp of wine.

"I think the problem is that we operate on our old assumptions about each other," she said. "And we don't talk things through."

He shrugged. "So, what do we do then?" he asked quietly.

"We ask questions," she said, and he threw her a quick sharp look.

"Why did you leave without saying anything?" he asked without as much as a two second pause. "And why did you–" He jerked his neck awkwardly.

"Yes?" she encouraged, lifting her glass slightly.

"Why didn't you let me do anything?" It was entertaining to watch him stumble through his questions about sex. Is that blush on his cheekbones? "You just– You were everywhere, I couldn't even move– I didn't have a second to think, to reciprocate - and then I just conked out."

He looked irked now and finished his wine in one go. He poured more and took another long sip.

"It was dark, and I felt relaxed and frolicky because you couldn't see me," she said. His eyes boggled, and she laughed. "And I enjoy that sort of thing. With you. I always enjoyed that with you. So you did tell me to do what I wanted."

She saw doubt in his eyes, and in an uncharacteristic silly move, she stuck her tongue at him.

"What? Some women enjoy it - with some men." She clicked her tongue. "And I thought you'd wake up, and miss me, and then you'd see me at the Dance in my sexy outfit, and swoon," Viola said and shook her head in amusement. "I suppose I didn't expect you to interpret it so differently."

She saw that he was pondering her words, and she shifted her now empty glass to him. He poured her more Malbec, and she traced the bottom of the leg of the glass with the tips of her fingers.

"Allow me to make another assumption," she said, and he raised his left eyebrow. Viola giggled. The wine was starting to take effect. "Mind you, I'm all open to corrections. But maybe, you just aren't used to a woman taking charge in bed with you," she sing-songed.

The wine was definitely working its magic, and so was the warmth of his kitchen, the view of the organised counter space, and the glimpse of the perfectly neat insides of his cabinets she'd caught earlier. Viola snorted. Only you would be turned on by a decluttered space, Viola. But seriously, brava, Mrs. Little!

"I wouldn't generalise," he grumbled, his eyes twinkling. "But I'd say I'm definitely not used to you taking charge in bed."

Viola hummed, and then she slid off the stool and slowly walked to the drawing room. He followed, his empty glass and the bottle in his right hand

"I just want to enjoy the results of Mrs. Little's amazing work," she murmured, and heard him chuckle behind her. "Just look at the coffee tables! I bet she didn't stuff all your rubbish in one drawer."

"She made me a box of random things, and I think I'm expected to sort it out," he said, and Viola burst into a series of small laughs.

"Your cleaning lady left you homework! Oh dear," she said, out of breath now. "But isn't it better? Look how spacious and calm this room feels." Viola passed behind the sofa, running her fingers on the top of its back, and brushing them to the white afghan folded neatly over it. "Did she sort out all of your rooms?"

She looked at him over her shoulder. He of course knew she was indirectly referring to his bedroom, but he wouldn't dare to ask.

"Yes, I paid extra since it was such short notice," he said.

He was following in her steps, but at a distance. She glanced at the photos on the drawer unit and then walked past his giant telly on the wall.

"I hope you tipped well as well," Viola teased. "After all, in one evening she achieved what I hadn't managed in five years of being married to you."

She peeked and once again saw his sardonically raised eyebrow.

"You know, statistically, couples have twice as little sex as before after they install a screen in their bedroom," Viola drew out and finished her second glass of wine. "You do have a telly in the bedroom, right?"

"Do you fancy a film?" he asked, and then he seemed unable to keep the next quip to himself, "Before you kick me out of my bed."

"Yes, please," she said, halting abruptly and turning to him. He made a few more steps forward, as if on inertia, and stopped right in front of her. "Aren't you going to ask then?" she murmured and looked up at him through her lashes.

"Why are you here, Viola?" he asked, his gaze on her lips.

He then met her eyes, and she smiled.

"We tried going on a date, twice actually, and it didn't work out, and someone almost died," Viola said and brushed the tips of her fingers to his jumper on his sternum. "We went on a family style outing, skating and fish and chips, and two people almost died, including you. Then we had sex, and it worked out even worse. And then there was a formal dance, and I was sure this time we'd finally have our chance... and someone almost died. So, I say, we just get under a duvet and watch a film, like an old married couple. Maybe, this time, it will only end up in light maiming."

He barked a throaty laugh, and then bent, wrapped his arm around her middle, and pulled her in, flush against him.

"So you're just being cautious," he murmured.

Viola rose on her tippy-toes and pecked his lips in the most asexual way she could muster. It was barely possible to hide the mad arousal she'd been fighting off for the past ten minutes - but she was determined to try.

"Yes, and if you think about it, it's endlessly reasonable," she announced.

He quickly kissed her lips, and grinned.

"But of course," he purred. "You're an endlessly reasonable person after all."

"I am," she said stately and kissed him again.

This time she failed to pull away quickly enough, and he caught her bottom lip between his. A lustful shudder ran through her body, and she pressed her hand into his shoulder. He immediately released her and stepped back.

"So, what should we watch?" she asked and had to clear her throat.

He seemed to have broken through her defences. She could bet she looked dazed, considering the smug smirk on his face.

"How about one of those Japanese cartoons you loved so much?" he offered. "If you still love them, of course. We don't want to make assumptions," he added in a conspiratorial whisper, and she gave him a fake glare.

"You mean, the Ghibli films? You never liked them," she said.

"I never understood them, but maybe I just didn't watch them attentively." He shrugged. "Let's try. You do still love them, right?"

"They are my favourite," Viola answered.

"Why?" he asked with sincere interest on his face.

Viola wondered if a real answer would be appropriate for the flirty moment they were having - and then she reminded herself that sex was never a problem for them. Talking and opening up was.

"They make me happy," she said, taking a step to him. He loosely embraced her, and she pressed her cheek to him. "Life feels lighter, easier after them. And food looks delicious in them, they make me hungry." For a second she was embarrassed by her words, and looked up, but he seemed to understand. He gave her a warm encouraging smile. "It's like they remind me that there's beauty in the world," she continued, "and warmth. They're cosy. There isn't enough cosy in my life. They are green, and homey... like Fleckney. Yes, I think that's what it is."

"Brilliant," he said. "Which one should we start with?"

'Start,' Viola noted to herself.

"I think Spirited Away might require the least mental adjustment from you," she said and rubbed her cheek against him. "And I'm going to need to borrow a shirt from you."

"Sure, love," he said and kissed the top of her head.