by Nell Kincaid
He rested his head against hers, and they held each other. "Kate," he whispered. "I'm so glad."
Tears came as she remembered another time he had said those words, when they had first made love—the night she had realized how much she loved him.
And then part of her began to pull away again, charged with fear and questions: what would happen next? What could happen next? What had happened to her resolves?
She fought with herself—part of her loving this feeling of being in his arms more than anything in the world, part protesting it couldn't last.
Finally, she raised her head and looked into his eyes. "Maybe love can't do it," she said. "It didn't work before, Ben."
He shook his head slowly, his eyes deep and clear. "Because I was holding back," he said quietly. "Just as
you said. And you were holding back, just as I said, Kate. But now—now it's different."
"But for how long?" she asked. "I just can't—it hurt enough before, Ben. Later, when it's been deeper—"
"I want you forever," he said softly, gazing into her eyes. "Forever, Kate, as my wife."
"Oh, Ben," she said, laughing and crying at the same time. "It's such a beautiful thought." To have him always, to give herself over to the love she had been fighting and fearing and wanting. . . .
"Say yes, Kate."
She smiled, running her fingers through the softness of his hair. "I don't—I just don't know."
"I promise you something, Kate," he said quietly. "You were right about my search for the perfect woman. I had found her and I was afraid. That woman is you, Kate. It took your good-bye to make me see that. There is such a
thing as perfection, Kate, when you love another as I love you, as I love everything about you."
"I love you so much," she murmured.
And she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him in a long, deep kiss, a perfect kiss that sealed their love forever.