Tegwen wasn't especially drunk. Nor was Fenton, which was good at that point. Being inebriated wouldn't have helped further their cause for that night, particularly in Fenton's position.

It had been a fun day. Lots of laughter, lusty looks and heated whispers; promises of things to come. Every single promise then fulfilled, and there were no regrets between them.

Fenton had been gentle and so loving. Tender, appreciative for what they had and the time they'd spent together. Even at a moment of being at her most vulnerable while enveloped in his arms, Tegwen had never felt safer. A truly marvelous concept.

He laid beside her, head pillowed on her chest as he played with ringlets of her hair that had happened to stray into his grasp.

She heaved a contented sigh. All was right in the world. Tegwen turned her head to him, kissing him softly on his bill.

It was only then that she became vaguely aware of the strains of silky jazz playing quietly from the radio on his bedside table. She smiled. Though jazz was not her thing, she felt it suited the mood.

"I love you, Fenton," whispered Tegwen.

"Marry me," was his reply.

Tegwen's smile fell. It was his answer that prompted her to realize that she was dreaming.

Worse yet was the realization that she would soon be waking and the only souvenir from the experience would be a tear stained pillow.

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