Three weeks later...

Viola climbed out of her car, pulling her handbag after her, and then cringed. The melting snow from under her feet - the cold and dirty slush it had turned into - had just splashed onto her trousers and rushed into her shoe. Spring had officially arrived to Fleckney, and Viola couldn't say she was that fond of the season. She'd always preferred the coldness and the pristine whiteness of Winter.

Her phone rang in her bag, and she pulled it out.

"Morning, darling," Rhys purred, and Viola's mood immediately improved.

"Morning," she answered and took a few steps towards the cottage in front of her.

"What are you up to?" he asked in a jolly voice.

Sunny weather and the madness of Spring had always affected him, she remembered, although he would never admit it. Unlike Viola, who'd grown up in the concrete jungle of a big city, all of the Holyoakes, with the exception of John, perhaps, retained a strong connection to Nature and seasonal changes even in their adult years.

"I'm at Fiona's," Viola said. "I'm sitting for that portrait again."

"Ah, right," he said with a chuckle. "Can't wait to see it. What is it, a fairy queen, or something, right?"

"Yes, Queen Mab, the midwife of the fairies," Viola answered and shook her foot in slight annoyance. "Surprisingly, not an Ice Queen or some sort of a cold-blooded mermaid."

"You aren't cold, love. You're warm and soft and... delicious," he said, and Viola snorted.

"Only with you, my darling. Only with you." She shook her head in amusement. "I'm already at the cottage. Was there something you wanted?"

"I was wondering what time you're coming, so I can order our dinner."

"Ah, dinner," Viola drew out, faking pensiveness. "Have we planned it? I don't recall."

"Don't play with me, love." He gave out a rather convincing growl. "These have been very long three weeks."

Viola burst in a series of small giggles.

"You never could tolerate abstinence well," she said, and he groaned on the other end of the line. "I'll be at your place at six," she said.

"Alright. Any preference on the food? Not Chinese, I remember. Indian?"

"Fish and chips? I really don't care, to be honest. But I appreciate how you're turning our first shag since my diagnosis into such a special event," Viola drew out in a theatrical emotional tone, and even gave out a long, loud sigh. "It's so romantic."

"I'm going to come to Will's cottage now, throw you over my shoulder, and there will be no dinner or prelude to it at all, if you don't stop bollocksing," he snarled, and Viola laughed in her throat.

"But, darling, I require flowers and proclamations and– Bugger!" she hissed because her foot slipped into yet another puddle. "I can't stand all this melting and the muck. I think I've ruined my favourite Jimmy Choo's."

"It's Spring in Fleckney, Vi," he said with a chuckle. "Why are you even wearing those stilts of yours? Where are your wellies?"

"I forgot them at your place last week," she said. "Clearly, your cottage is still very much cluttered and disorganised if you haven't noticed a pair of aubergine coloured wellingtons lying around."

"You still haven't moved in," he said, and she could bet he'd just shrugged. "Come live with me, and I'll make it look like a magazine page."

"Let's start with a weekend of mindless sex," she said, "and then we can talk about the state of your cupboards."

"Well, if you insist," he said.

"Alright, I've arrived." Viola lifted her hand to ring the doorbell. "See you tonight."

"Laters," he answered, and she hung up.

No one answered her first doorbell, and she wondered if Fiona and Will were working in their earphones again. She hesitated, but rang again. And then the door flew open, and disheveled, clearly bedraggled Fiona showed up on the threshold. Viola immediately wondered if she'd mixed up the day.

"Oh Viola! Um– Were we supposed– Oh my, the portrait!" Fiona exclaimed.

"Morning, Fiona," Viola said with a soft smile. "Would you like to reschedule?"

"No, no! It's just– Please, come in! Come in!" Fiona beckoned Viola inside, and then for some reason looked behind her at the driveway. "Will is at the brigade training, and–" She muttered something else and backed up into the hall like a crayfish.

"It really is no trouble if you want to reschedule," Viola said, and Fiona waved her hands at her frantically.

"No, no, I want to paint! I actually need to paint! To set my mind straight, you know. This morning was–"

She flailed her hands in the air, turned around, and headed for the kitchen, still mumbling and wiggling her fingers. Viola hung her coat in the closet, took off her shoes, and followed the painter.

"He was eating toast, you see," Fiona said, putting the kettle on.

Viola sat down at the table, giving the woman space to run around, gesture wildly, and talk. It had proven the best way to deal with Fiona Holyoake's verbal explosions.

"Have you noticed how they eat? There's just something so– I just feel so hot right away, and it's hard to breathe! So fit! It must be the jaws! And the way I react to it, it must be something biological! Something hormone driven, right?" Fiona stared at Viola, clearly expecting an answer.

"I'm afraid you lost me," Viola said with a chuckle.

"Right, yes. You see, the Holyoake men, when they eat–" Fiona's gaze grew distant. "And again, it's probably the pregnancy hormones too. But it's always been like this, since day one. I think it was fish and chips that first day. I can't recall precisely, but something we ate with our hands. And it's just like this screeching noise in my head, and then– pop!"

Viola sorted out through the painter's rambling and nodded.

"It's the chewing," Viola said and nodded again. "We find them attractive when they eat because they chew with their mouths closed, but it's not too mannerly. They are civil but still very natural and authentic. Manly. And they all have an attractive jawline, you're right. And the beards just add to it."

"Oh thank you, I was worried I was the only one," Fiona said and sat heavily on a chair. "He was eating toast, and I proposed to him."

Silence hung in the kitchen, and then Viola heard Fiona inhale sharply.

"Again. We'd talked about a wedding a few months ago, and then it turned out I was pregnant, so we tabled this discussion, and then this morning he was eating toast– Yeah, so that's what happened," Fiona said in a lost voice.

Viola's face broke in a wide grin.

"That's wonderful, Fiona!" Viola leaned to the painter. "What did he say?"

"He– he agreed," Fiona said, her face relaxing. "I wasn't sure you'd understand, and I'm so happy you do! And it's such a relief that you think it's wonderful, because I just hate for you to think it's mental, and then again I'm just so confused, and not sure what I'm supposed to be doing–"

"I'm here for you," Viola bent down and picked up Fiona's hands. "We will figure it all out, don't worry. And I'm very happy for you. And Will. I know you said you didn't want to have another wedding, and I'm sure he's happy you changed your mind."

"Oh thank goodness, you understand! You've been through the same, I reckon," Fiona said and shook both Viola's hands. "I just– knew at that moment, and it's sort of silly, because I'm pregnant and now we'll have to rush to organise it all. How often do women go into labour at their wedding?"

"More often than you think," Viola said and chortled. "It's all that eating and dancing. I've seen quite a few women arriving at the triage department in the white dresses."

"Oh dear, what did I get myself into?" Fiona muttered and rose to pour them tea.

"It'll be alright," Viola dismissed. "If you have your wedding around the end of June, beginning of July, you're safe. And we'll make sure you aren't stressed or dancing too much, so Teddy stays put."

Fiona exhaled and put a mug in front of Viola.

"Will you be my maid of honour?" she asked simply, and Viola gave her a wide smile.

"Of course," she answered, and Fiona threw her arms around Viola's neck.

She then winced back and mumbled an apology for 'grabbing' Viola.

"Don't be daft," Viola said and pulled the painter back into a tight hug.

Fiona laughed shakily. "You sound like a Holyoake."

"I am a Holyoake," Viola said and patted the woman's delicate back. "And you're allowed to touch me any time you feel like it."

***

Viola rang Rhys' door, which opened right away. He gave her a beaming smile, and she stepped into his hall. He helped her to take off her coat, and she heard a rather raspy 'woah' behind her.

"You look lovely tonight," she said and patted his upper arm under a light blue button-up.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes roaming her. "I mean, ta. I mean, you too."

Viola laughed, hooked her finger on the belt on his denim, and started walking backwards, pulling him after herself.

"I was going to slowly torture you through the evening, eating dinner and forcing you to have a civilised conversation while all you can think of is taking this dress off me," she purred, and he swallowed hard and nodded. "But then I decide that would just be so stupid," she said and smirked.

She'd reached the stairs leading to his bedroom, let go of his belt, and carefully took a step up, and then another one, still facing him. Their eyes were now level, and she smiled.

"Hi," she said and opened the top button of her shirt dress - and he lunged ahead.

When they fell on the bed, she grabbed his ear, pulled at it, making him meet her eyes.

"Fiona gave me this great idea of how we can solve our predicament with the question of a wedding and moving in together and–" Viola paused and pecked his lips with a giggle. "You aren't listening to me at all, are you?"

He tore his eyes off her lace bodysuit and shook his head forcefully, like a large animal coming out of water.

"I– can't," he choked out.

"Fair enough," Viola said and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

Marriage proposals could wait, she decided.