Tom propped himself up and stood, “I have to go back. See you at eight tomorrow morning. Set an alarm so you don’t oversleep.” With that, he walked out.
After he left and closed the door, Agnes slowly came back to her senses on the sofa. Her heart was racing, and her cheeks were flushed. Her whole body felt weak from his proximity, a particularly intense physical reaction. He hadn’t even taken a sip of the orange juice.
Downstairs in the driver’s seat, Tom took a long moment to collect himself. What was he doing? He had nearly lost control. He had promised Mr. Campbell that he wouldn’t touch her before marriage. It was a man’s responsibility; love meant restraint, and Tom understood that.
He glanced up at her room before reluctantly driving away. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the open window, the cool night breeze blew against his handsome face. Tom had never felt such a strong impulse to marry and protect a woman for the rest of his life. He knew he had found love.
That night, Agnes couldn’t stop thinking about the sudden kiss on the sofa as she bathed and went to bed. Such intimate contact had completely unsettled her. It was her Mr. Kitten, the man she had been devoted to for so long. They were together now, finally getting married-it felt like a dream. But she knew it wasn’t a dream. The happiness in the air made everything feel wonderful.
Agnes found the documents she needed to bring and placed them carefully beside her computer before starting to work on her comic again. “Mr. Kitten, You Are My Sweetheart Cookie” was a sweet title with a sweet cover; no one knew how much she loved him. She needed to capture this feeling from their kiss immediately, so she began creating.
Night at Fritz Manor.
“Why hasn’t Tom come back yet?” Grandma had asked several times, glancing out into the dark yard now and then. “Jane, is he not coming back? How will he give me an answer tomorrow? Is this boy playing tricks on me again? Days without seeing him?”
Just as she finished speaking, car lights shone into the living room-Tom was back.
Jane smiled, “You should ask him yourself. I’m going upstairs.” She headed up the stairs.
When Tom entered the living room, he saw Grandma holding a cup of milk nearby, still awake. He was slightly surprised, “Grandma, it’s so late…”
“Waiting for you,” she said, handing him the warm milk.
Tom took it with a thank you. He saw a mix of complaint, dissatisfaction, urgency, and expectation in her eyes-a particularly complex expression. But Grandma said nothing more; as she turned away, her final glance seemed to say: Let’s see what answer you give me tomorrow!
Tom stood there holding the milk cup, watching Grandma’s retreating figure with unspoken words.
The next morning.
Agnes was awakened by her alarm at seven, shattering her beautiful dream-but today felt even better than any dream. She had just finished washing up when there was a knock at the door.
“Coming,” she called out curiously as she opened it.
Two women stood outside with bags and boxes in hand, smiling at her. “Good morning, Miss Campbell. We were sent by Mr. Fritz.”