“Love, if you don’t leave the room I don’t think anyone is going to get breakfast and we need to eat, allegedly. “
He tilts his head to keep Molly in his sight as long as possible and smiles to himself as he waves his wand to stir the batter and pour. The pancakes flip after a few minutes on their own and Arthur flips them onto the plate when they’re ready. After the stack grows considerably, his favorite pair of arms wrap around his waist.
“Merlin, I hope that’s you or this morning is really going to take a turn for the worse.”
Arthur twists his face to the side and smiles at her, turning his back on the stove to hold onto her hips, pleased to see she put on one of his red and black flannels.
“Fresh pancakes, made by probably the best pancake chef in Scotland-at least for this weekend.”
He hands her a plate and gives her a sweet peck on the lips.
“So other than the hike, what do you want to do today? I uh…” The tips of his ears burn a little.
“I saw a little chapel from the train station, asked around and er, they take walk ins.”
Arthur smiles brilliantly at Molly.
“If uh, that interests you. It’s okay if you-I’m just feeling spontaneous. Blame the altitude change.”
Molly begins to take a bite just as Arthur says the phrase that stops her heart.
“I’m feeling spontaneous. Blame the altitude change.”
She knows her eyes get wide, and she almost chokes on a perfectly good piece of pancake. But her mind races to how...sudden that would be. And how she doesn’t want anything to do with it.
The fear creeps up through her throat, tasting like pennies. It doesn’t make any sense. She tries to swallow it down, remind herself that this is not what he means, he’s being funny, he’s being nice, fuck it, he’s being in love with you, you dolt.
Her therapist had mentioned something several sessions ago that she’s determined to wear around her neck like a charm.
You are not the things you fear. And your fears cannot, nor will ever be, who you are.
“Arthur, I...” and Molly thinks about stopping there, because wasn’t it her several days ago who’d wanted to marry him in the grass right after he proposed? And how stupid would it be, right now, to say to the man whose kiss thrills her, whose proposal swept her off her feet, that she isn’t ready to get married on a whim, she’d just now decided?
Not stupid at all, her therapist would say. It would be reasonable. You are reasonable. And everything is okay.
Her forehead is sweating. She puts the plate back on the table because her hands are trembling, and she counts the stitches in the tablecloth before she speaks again.
“Arthur, I...no. We can’t. I...I’m sorry. I want to do it properly. At least sort of. Small, like we talked about?” She doesn’t need to justify it. She sees in his eyes that he’s already understood, and she’s kicking herself for mentioning it at all...
You are not the things you fear. And your fears cannot, nor will ever be, who you are.
