Disclaimer: Don’t own’em

A/N: This really is a nutty piece. I don’t know how I feel about it. Reading Lace’s story reminded me of how totally baffling that scene was – the one where Harm and Inez make plans for dinner, and Harm invites Mac because she happens to walk up to the elevator. Total puzzler. I still don’t know what was up with that. Anyways, this story fought its way through that mass of befuddlement. Thanks to Lace for the kick start.

I don’t know if the elevator scene happened on Friday or not, but let’s pretend it did.

Pot Roast

Friday

Mac exited the elevator and slowly walked towards her car. If she were wearing anything but her military uniform, she would have dragged her feet, dawdled. Instead, she half-heartedly made the trek to her car frowning slightly, her eyes on the paved road beneath her shoes, her mind on what had just happened in JAG, outside and then inside the elevator. Harm was taking Inez Elgin out on a date. Or rather, she amended, Harm was taking Inez Elgin out to a restaurant. For dinner. That did not mean it was a date that would lead to a goodnight kiss and another invitation for dinner and then to a relationship that would entail commitment and love and devotion ending in marriage and kids and grandkids and a long, happy, shared life together for Harm and Inez Elgin. Make that Harm and Inez Rabb, née Elgin. It did not mean that at all. Not necessarily.

Mac sighed. She had promised herself countless times over the years she had known Harm that she would stop analyzing his actions. She had no right to do that – they didn’t even have the first date on which to build the kiss and commitment and love and devotion and marriage and kids and grandkids and the long, happy, shared life together. Besides, she would never understand why he did at least half the things he did. And yet, she always found herself doing just that: dissecting his actions, his looks, his words, trying to divine some pattern in the tangled yarn of his behaviour. Usually she just ended up choking on the fabric.

No more of that. If he wanted to take a very attractive, single woman out to dinner, he very well could. Who in hell was she to stop him. Just because she had tried to tell him on Christmas in her own clumsy, awkward, clear-as-mud way that she was ready for…for…it. Whatever ‘it’ was, since she had no idea in hell what exactly he was looking for or what she wanted. Regardless of the pesky details, she was ready for ‘it’ and she had tried to tell him. So maybe she wasn’t clear and he didn’t get it. She couldn’t blame him for that, though; she was sure that in this past year keeping up with her made him feel like he was wandering in the Minotaur’s labyrinth – and she hadn’t provided him with the thread to find his way back out. In other words, he must have felt in this last year exactly how she had felt during every other year of their association.

Either that or he was not interested in dating her and building up to the kiss and commitment and love and devotion and marriage and kids and grandkids and the long, happy, shared life together. He was there as a friend, a very good friend, and she knew she could spend a lifetime regretting what they never had, wondering what they could have had, and still never ever want to trade any of that ache and regret if it meant up giving the years of friendship and love that he had given her. Just not the kind of love that led to dates and kisses and commitment and that kind of love and devotion and marriage and kids and grandkids and a long, happy, shared life together. She knew that life dealt hard blows and she knew how to roll with the punches. This particular hit, though, would leave a lifelong bruise. She squared her shoulders: life’s not fair, Mackenzie, you know it. Suck it up. Move on. But she’d be damned if she bought them a wedding gift.

Mac looked up from her thoughts and realized that she had been standing next to her car for the last 7 minutes and 13 seconds, staring into space. She shook herself out of her stillness, unlocked the door and got into the car. Tonight was a night for a drive. A very long drive. Thank goodness it was Friday. She would go home, change, pack a bag and drive somewhere nice and far. She would book herself a room at a bed and breakfast by a lake. She would spend the weekend by herself – the idea alone, given her recent state of mind and the recurrent nightmares she just couldn’t shake, was terrifying. Suck it up, Mackenzie. She would spend a weekend by herself recouping and not analyzing Harm’s actions. A weekend to allow herself to get over an idea she never had the courage to say out loud, a dream she never ventured to make a reality. She would return to JAG on Monday a new person.

Monday

“Morning, Mac.”

She looked up from the papers on her desk to see Harm step into her office. She gave a slight smile and hoped it would be enough. “Morning, Harm.”

He responded with a frown, “How was your weekend?”

Exhausting. Who would have thought that spending two days all by yourself in a beautiful B&B trying not to think could be so damn draining. “Alright,” she shrugged lightly before raising her eyebrows in question, “Umm, do you need something?” She wanted him to leave so she tried to sound casual and friendly yet slightly distracted. She pointed with her pen towards the covered surface of her desk, “I have a lot of to do.”

His frown deepened and she barely refrained from cursing out loud. Why the hell did he get to choose when she was worth worrying about and when she wasn’t?

“I tried calling you at home Saturday morning to see if you wanted to go for a jog. Caught the machine. Same thing for your cell.”

She nodded. There was no question in his statement so she wouldn’t volunteer any information.

He persevered, “Everything okay?”

Just peachy. “Sure,” she frowned slightly, tried to look like she was confused by his confusion. She didn’t think he would ask her where she had been. Then again, Harm’s lack of tact sometimes knew no bounds. She waited for it. One. Two. Three.

“Mattie and I took up Sarah, Saturday. What’d you get up to?”

She would give him points for strategy: volunteer a little information, hope for reciprocation. Well, it was the stupid, pointless hope for reciprocation that got her in this fine and dandy mess in the first place. To hell with reciprocity.

“Harm, I really do have a lot to cover today. Can I take a rain check on the chit chat.” She winced internally. So much for coming back to JAG a new person. What a waste of her weekend and her money. Spontaneity definitely did not come cheap. Although the B&B did have the most fantastic pot roast she had ever tasted. Maybe the weekend wasn’t such a waste. She forced herself to maintain eye contact with Harm. He kept looking right back at her. She vowed to stare him down.

28 seconds later of just staring at each other (stupid pilot resolve), she realized just how much of an idiot she was being. He could date whomever he wanted. She was suddenly so tired of everything and, for the second time, the realization slammed against her hollow heart with the muffled thud of a long fought reality. The first time had been by the taxi stand in Paraguay. This time, however, she wasn’t coming off the adrenaline high from one of the most intense experiences of her life, so instead of unilaterally sounding the death knell to the single most significant relationship of her life, she sighed and decided to make true on the decision she had reached Friday night in the parking lot. She would never regret their friendship and she would never dishonour what he offered her. Even if it wasn’t nearly enough.

“I went away for the weekend. Booked into a Bed & Breakfast. Just some time to myself. Thought I needed it. But you know me,” she offered another slight smile, this one slightly self-deprecating, “Can’t bear to just sit still. Next time I want some time to myself, I think I’ll just sign up for paragliding.” Or for deep sea shark diving.

He grinned and she felt relieved that he wouldn’t pursue it any further. “Or you could come fly in Sarah with me. It’s not paragliding, and hopefully the engine will hold up so it won’t end up being paragliding, but there is sky and wind and the rush of flying involved.”

Or she could just sign up for hand-to-hand polar bear wrestling. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.” She tried to return his grin but all that came out was a sigh. So she buried herself once again in her paperwork and hoped he would leave, although she knew he wouldn’t. She cursed her poor acting skills. Next weekend, she was signing up for acting classes. It had to cost less than a weekend at a B&B. But there would be no pot roast. Dilemma.

She was so wrapped in her idle, irreverent thoughts that she didn’t realize that Harm had not only stayed in the room, but he had made his way around her desk. She could have sworn she literally jumped out of her skin when she felt him place a hand on her arm as he crouched down beside her.

“What is it, Mac?” His voice was gentle, laced with concern and caring and worry. She knew she would see the same reflected in his eyes so she chose not to look at him. Instead she focused on his hand as it rested on her arm. She struggled with anger and her knee-jerk reaction to his coddling, but she was just too tired of it all to put in the requisite effort.

He must have thought she was struggling for an answer, because he repeated the question, “What’s wrong?” this time with an added inflection of support.

Me. “The B&B had a phenomenal pot roast.”

“Pot roast?” Confusion was evident in his tone.

Why didn’t you ask me out to dinner? “Pot roast,” she repeated.

“I can make you a pot roast.” He said this as though it was the obvious solution to all her problems.

She shifted her gaze from his hand to his face. He looked both pleased with his solution and perturbed by her excessive attachment to pot roast. “What?” was the only word her brain and tongue could manage.

“I said I can make you pot roast. I’ll call the B&B, ask for the recipe, and then I can cook it for you. It’d be a first since I don’t make it for myself, but it can’t be that hard – my grandmother makes it all the time. Then you can have the most phenomenal pot roast whenever you want.”

Whenever she wanted? “What?”

He arched his eyebrows in a familiar gesture of amusement, “Is there an echo in here?”

For the life of her, she could not wipe the surprise from her face. His casual behaviour was slowly driving the last nail in the coffin of that little bit of hope she had entertained that maybe she had misread his date with Inez Elgin. But if he was being so cavalier about making her pot roast whenever she wanted, acting as though it was so perfectly normal that he had a date last Friday, then maybe friendship was all he wanted of her. He didn’t want ‘it’. Whatever the hell ‘it’ was.

“What’s the name of the B&B? I’ll call them and ask for the recipe. Come over for dinner tonight. We can make it together.”

He must have misinterpreted her continued surprise because he broke out into a grin, “Alright, fine. I’ll cook it and you can watch. You do drive a hard bargain, Marine.”

“What?” She shook her head but the action did not bring the clarity she hoped for.

“What?” he repeated, shrugging his shoulders and frowning slightly at her continued surprise and confusion.

“You want to have dinner with me?”

He nodded, confused by the absurdity of her question, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“This is the rain check?”

“What rain check?”

Surprise was replaced by impatience, “The rain check from Friday. Your dinner with Inez.”

His mouth fell open, his eyebrows rose and his eyes widened. “Oh.”

She frowned at his reaction and studied him thoughtfully.

“Shit,” he stood up quickly and paced across her office, “Shit.”

She followed his harried pace with her eyes and cocked her head to the side. What was he doing?

Suddenly, the pacing stopped and he turned to face her, bracing himself over the front of her desk. “You thought that I, I mean, that is…Shit.” He resumed his pacing and almost walked into Bud as he stuck his head in the office.

“Sorry, Sir. The witness is in the interview room.”

Harm frowned at Bud, “I’ll be right there. Let me get the file from my desk.” He moved to follow Bud but stopped at the threshold to Mac’s door and turned around. He took three steps towards her and pointed one long finger at her, “I’m making pot roast. You are coming to dinner. 1900.”

He turned and strode out of her office. Mac watched him mutter to himself as he made his way across the bullpen to the interview room. She debated not going to dinner, maybe calling and saying something came up. She got drafted for NASA’s space program and the shuttle is launching tomorrow. Rain check?

Damn rain checks. She slumped her shoulders slightly and hung her head. Apparently, she had dinner plans for tonight.

Later that Monday

Mac entered her apartment and headed for the bedroom. She had 10 minutes to change before she had to head over to Harm’s apartment for the dreaded dinner and the much anticipated pot roast. She stripped out of her jacket and shirt, letting them drop to the floor, as she headed to her room and idly wondered about her sudden fixation with pot roast. Maybe it was a way of coping. Out with the Harm, in with the pot roast. If only she had kept her mouth shut, smiled and nodded, she thought ruefully as she stepped out of her skirt and entered her bedroom. Then she could have put on her most comfortable sweats and sprawled on the couch with a good book, popcorn and some ice cream. Instead she had to walk into the lion’s den.

Mac stared into her closet and considered wearing her most comfortable sweats to dinner. She loved being a Marine and all, but there was something about coming home and putting on baggy track pants and an oversized sweatshirt that just felt so unbelievably good. Although, she did have to admit that there was something incredibly good about just generally wearing civvies, too. No regulations to worry about, no image to project. She forced her thoughts back to the issue at hand: she could hardly wear sweats to dinner. Harm was going through the trouble of cooking. She would wear something nice and comfortable. Decision made, she happily pulled out her most comfortable jeans and her favourite sweater. That seemed like a fair compromise.

Mac changed and headed back into the lounge to pick up the trail of discarded uniform she had left in her wake. It was a little known secret that she undressed so haphazardly. She always hung up her uniform with military precision as soon as she had changed, but only Mic knew that she would start removing said uniform as soon as the front door shut behind her. She saw it as a way to shed the worries of the workday and, as deeply ingrained as the Marine Corps was in her, it was oddly satisfying to strip out of uniform and embrace the rest of her life – her love of palaeontology, her books, the care with which she furnished and decorated her apartment. She took as much pride in these as she did in her career and, when she cared to think about it, figured it was because they attested to just how far she had come from the person she used to be. Only Mic had wormed his way deeply enough into her post-work routine to witness the ceremonial shedding of Mac and emergence of Sarah.

She shook her head at her romanticized and slightly schizophrenic conception of herself and diligently hung up her uniform. She wondered where Mic was, what he was up to. She hoped he was happy. She had sent him a letter not too long after that entire fiasco, part of her somewhat masochistic tendency to own her mistakes like some would dig at scabs. She really didn’t like who she had become. Whatever her opinion of herself, Mic had never responded and she couldn’t help but wonder what his life was like now, if he was happy in ways she wasn’t now and possibly might never be given Harm’s date with Inez Elgin-

Damn it. She had been doing so well not thinking about Harm and Inez Elgin. Mac finished hanging up her uniform and headed to the washroom. But was he interested in Inez Elgin? Or maybe in her? No. that couldn’t be. He’d gone out on a date with Inez Elgin. Or rather, he’d gone out for dinner with Inez Elgin and quite possibly that dinner would lead to another dinner invitation and then to a relationship that would entail commitment and love and devotion ending in marriage and kids and grandkids and a long, happy, shared life together.

Mac stepped in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection. She had accused Harm, in another of those all too frequent moments of frustration, of only showing interest when she wasn’t in a position to return it – really, though what had she meant? She had always been able to put herself in a position to return it. But instead she fought it. But just what the hell was she fighting? Him? Her? What? Maybe it was because she had spent the bulk of her life fighting something in one form or another that suddenly giving in seemed so damn impossible.

And recently he had showed interest, a lot of interest – relatively speaking, given their history – and she wasn’t doing much to encourage it. She eyed herself critically in the mirror. Could she really do it; encourage his interest? And did she stand a chance against the likes of Inez Elgin and the rest of the 51 per cent female population on the planet? She turned away from her reflection and sighed. She didn’t think she had it in her to try.

Later still, that same Monday

Mac knocked on Harm’s apartment door and waited. A small part of her hoped that maybe he wouldn’t answer and she could go home to her couch and books and popcorn and ice cream. Another part of her wished she had brought some ice cream with her.

She heard the door unlock. Damn. He was home and she would have to have dinner with him.

The door opened and Harm greeted her with a smile.

“Evening, Mac.”

“Harm,” she returned his smile, hoping it seemed passably sincere.

“Let me take your coat.”

“Sure,” she entered his apartment, shrugging out of her coat, and walked into the most delicious assortment of smells. “Mmm, smells amazing.”

“Thanks,” he threw her a grin over his shoulder as he hung up her jacket. “Pot roast – as promised – and roasted potatoes and some crisp bread fresh from the baker’s.”

He headed towards the kitchen, “I called Grandma for her recipe. I think she’s still recovering from the shock of hearing me ask her how to cook meat.”

As she heard the words, it occurred to her that he really was the type of friend that came around once in a lifetime: he was cooking meat for her.

“Did I mention that we have ice cream for dessert? I couldn’t remember if you liked Ben & Jerry’s or Haagen Dazs, so I picked up an assortment.”

Make that the type of friend that came along once in six lifetimes. She shed her worries over him and Inez Elgin like so many layers of dead skin.

“Thanks, Harm.”

He turned around abruptly at her words and gave her a warm smile, his eyes sparkling, “You’re welcome, Sarah.”

The use of her first name surprised her. She remembered her post-work uniform stripping routine and flashed to an image of the two of them coming home from work and her undertaking the ritual while he watched, amused and indulgent. She shook her head to chase the thought away but only managed to replace it with one of Inez Rabb née Elgin. She sighed.

“That’s it.” She looked up on hearing his words to see him still eyeing her, his warm smile replaced by a look of concern.

“What’s it?” She thought she managed a passable impression of seeming guileless.

“We are going to talk about this.”

She frowned and tried to dig down deep to find her anger. But anger proved an elusive ally. “Or what?” To her own ears, she sounded tired and uninterested.

“Or no pot roast.”

She looked at him, surprised. No pot roast? Was he kidding? “Are you kidding?”

He shook his head, resolute.

She remembered her one-sided conversation with herself in the mirror. What was she fighting? Or rather, right now, what was she giving up? He dragged her over here; no, actually forced her over with his stupid ‘You are coming to dinner’ order to which she stupidly complied. And now he was going to use pot roast as leverage to get her to talk? He could talk if he wanted to. She did not have to listen.

“Fine. I’m leaving,” her sudden determination surprised her. Apparently, the fight had not left her.

Three quick strides had him blocking the front door. “Like hell you are.”

“I can take you,” she threatened.

To her surprise, he grinned. “I know it, Marine.”

“I can cause some serious damage,” she tried again.

His grin widened. “I know.”

She gave him an incredulous look before deflating. This was the worst dinner ever. She brightened marginally at the thought that maybe his dinner with Inez Elgin went along these same lines. She doubted that, though.

He wasn’t going to move and he knew she wouldn’t hurt him. She half-seriously mulled over the idea of jumping out the window but with the mood Harm was in, she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t follow her out. Maybe this was the ‘it’ she had tried to let him know she was ready for in the hospital on Christmas: she wouldn’t push him away and he wouldn’t give her the space she needed to suffocate herself.

Fine. They would talk. She would stare him down with her words, he’d back off and she’d sign up for some damn acting classes. “I don’t understand you.”

He frowned.

She obliged by elaborating. “Dinner with Inez? I thought, I mean, I guess maybe I wasn’t clear in the hospital, I was on meds and it all kind of hurt, but I thought you knew. I thought you understood.”

“I did. I do.” His eyes were fixed on hers, he seemed sincere.

“But then, Friday…Why did you…” she took a breath and willed her resolve not to falter, “why dinner with Inez?”

“It was just dinner, Mac.”

“But, you looked so guilty when I came to the elevators. Like I’d caught you at something.”

“It didn’t mean anything. I wanted to tell you on Saturday…”

She shook her head. Suddenly, it all seemed clear. “It’s alright. I get it. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Harm, and I’ll always cherish that. I think, though, that we need to set some rules of engagement. You aren’t ready for the kind of relationship I want from you, so maybe we really should just-“

“What do you mean ‘the kind of relationship you want’?”

“I can’t do the casual, let’s-also-see-other-people thing with you, Harm. I can’t.”

It was his turn to look incredulous, “Why on earth would you think I want that kind of a relationship with you?”

“You had dinner with Inez on Friday.”

“It was just dinner, Mac.”

“Harm. You don’t tell one woman you want to build a relationship with her, have her in your life in that way, and then go out to dinner with another woman.”

“Mac.”

“Would you have told me about this dinner if I hadn’t walked in on the conversation?”

He suddenly found his feet in need of serious study.

She sighed, “I didn’t think so.”

He continued studying his shoes for a moment before speaking. “I meant what I said at the hospital, I meant what I said at the Admiral’s dining out and I meant what I said at Manderley: I am not going anywhere, I want to be a part of your life and I am ready whenever you are.”

“But Friday-“

Mac shut her eyes against the realization that smacked her right between the eyes, as though that action might ward off the harsh truth. She covered her closed eyes with one hand to strengthen the fortress of denial. “Oh, god. You’re a guy. You got tired of waiting. She was someone to spend the night with.” She was glad her eyes were closed and covered because otherwise she was sure she could not have prevented herself from glancing towards his bedroom.

She did not see the look of pure mortification blaze a trail across Harm’s face. She did hear an oddly high pitched expostulation of “What?! What?!”

She parted her fingers and hazarded a peak. He looked appalled and embarrassed.

“Christ! No, Mac! What?! I would never!” he suddenly paused in his righteous indignation and, in what she thought was an inappropriately matter-of-fact tone, added an amendment: “Well, not anymore.”

She shut her eyes again and closed the gap between her fingers.

“Mac! No!” She felt his hand try to pry hers from over her eyes but she adamantly refused to budge. She couldn’t explain why, but covering her eyes was oddly comforting.

“Mac! I mean, I haven’t ‘just slept around’ in years! Not since I was grounded!”

She opened her eyes at that and allowed him to remove her hand. Instead of letting go, he held her hand in both of his.

“Yeah,” he added with an awkward grin, “having your dreams crash into flames changes your priorities.”

She felt very guilty and was sure her current level of mortification rivalled his own. It wasn’t as though her youth was the stuff of Jane Austen, and promiscuity was hardly as bad as alcoholism. But Harm, despite his jet jock charm, had always seemed so noble, so not that kind of guy, that the idea jarred her.

“Sorry,” she winced at how inappropriate an apology that was.

To her surprise, Harm breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s alright. As long as we got that straight.” He took a deep breath before looking at her with a slight frown. “Did you really think that of me?”

“No,” she answered honestly, “I just don’t know how else to explain it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand – the other was still firmly holding hers – and had the grace to look sheepish. “I don’t know either. Wasn’t thinking. Got caught up-”

She shrugged and tried to reclaim her hand but his grip stayed firm. “It’s alright. Like I said, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Damnit, Mac. I do. I’ve been waiting with bated breath for you to want me in your life, and then I go have dinner with Inez…” He trailed off and she thought she heard him curse under his breath.

“So then why did you?”

“It felt good to feel wanted,” his words were like a hammer to her brittle heart, but his tone was steeped in sadness and resignation.

She jerked her hand away and turned around. She could not look him in the face right now. She crossed her arms and stared at the hardwood floor. What a mess. What a godforsaken mess.

She felt him come up behind her, so close she was certain she could feel his heartbeat pulse in the air between them. He placed his hands on her shoulders and rested his forehead against the crown of her head.

They both closed their eyes and sighed.

“Between your unparalleled ego and my incredible emotional guardedness -“

“We’re going to have a hell of a lot of fun figuring each other out.” Mischief strutted the length of his words.

But she couldn’t share in his optimism. “Or destroy each other in the process.”

He turned her around to face him and placed his hands on her waist. She settled hers on his upper arms and stared at the button on the breast pocket of his shirt – she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know what he thought of her last statement.

“Mac.”

She stubbornly kept her eyes fixed on the button.

“Sarah.”

She bit back a sigh and looked up hesitantly.

“That is not going to happen.” He was emphatic.

She cocked an eyebrow, challenging his conviction.

He shrugged defensively, “It won’t.”

They shared a long, appraising look until finally she spoke, “You’re right. It won’t. You’ll work on swallowing your ego once in a while and I’ll work on stroking it once in a while.”

He gave her a full-blown grin. “What else will you stroke?”

She ignored his comment – for the time being – and continued, “And I’ll work on trusting you and you’ll-“

“Never look at another woman again.” Mischief reappeared on the catwalk.

“Harm, be serious.”

He sobered at her tone, “You’ll work on trusting me with your heart and I’ll work on giving you a reason to.”

They shared another long look, it felt like a lifetime to him and 6 seconds to her. She nodded decisively. “Alright,” and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

Gently, she disengaged herself from his embrace, but kept her hands on his arms. She looked over his shoulder at the stove. “I can’t believe you held dinner as ransom. Can I have my pot roast now?”

He didn’t budge, but she pretended not to notice – their promises to each other left her feeling happy and reckless, and teasing him had always been fun. She knew he was expecting more than a peck on the cheek, but he had actually kept her pot roast as ransom. That deserved some form of retribution. The ego stroking could come later. She stepped around him and headed for the kitchen. “It smells fantastic. Maybe next time you can try the B&B’s recipe, if they give it to-“

Her sentence was cut off by his firm grasp of her hand. He spun her back to him with slightly too much force and she landed against his chest with a small thump, slightly off-balance.

She looked up at him while attempting to regain her footing.

“The damn pot roast is still being held ransom,” his words were soft and slow and held a hint of amusement, but it was his eyes that had her mesmerized. They were deep and intense and so completely sincere that she wondered if she had only ever been lied to before this moment.

“For what?” she whispered.

He leaned forward, “This,” and kissed her slowly, gently, lovingly. She trailed her hands through his hair and pulled him closer, moulding her mouth to his, her body to his. They both half-sighed, half-moaned at the increased contact. He ran his hands up her sides and down her back before wrapping his arms around her. A few moments later, she ended the kiss before they got ahead of themselves. He held her close as she rested her forehead against his the dip in his collarbone and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Wow,” was his opening comment.

She nodded into his chest, unable to disagree with the assessment. “Way better than pot roast.”

He chuckled, “Marine, you haven’t even tasted my pot roast yet.”

She pulled back to look up at him with an impish grin, “But we’ll save that for after dinner, right?”

The End.