" 'Surely you know what a kiss is?' she asked, aghast.

'I shall know when you give it to me,' he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble."

~J.M. Barrie

Peter paced back and forth across the tiny living room for the hundredth time that night.

Where was she?

Wendy had left hours ago to meet Luke, promising her mother she wouldn't be home late. Peter looked at the clock, which told him that it was nearing eleven o'clock. Which, in Peter's opinion, was far too late to be out with a boy.

He scrubbed his hair absently. Something told him that she knew he'd react this way. Maybe that was why she hadn't come home yet. Peter almost preferred that idea; at least if that was the case, then she was only staying out to worry him, and she wasn't with Luke for so long because she was actually enjoying his company.

From what Michael had told him about dating, it sounded as though it were something two people did when they loved each other. But Wendy couldn't love Luke. She still loved Peter. He had felt it last night, when they were talking about what used to be.

Used to be. Was that all they had now? Was that all that Peter had sensed when Wendy told him she still felt something for him?

Peter tried to remember what else Michael had told him about dates. He had said that they would go to movies, or restaurants, and they would hold hands. Was that why she had taken the acorn necklace off? Because she wanted to be with Luke?

Peter bit back a wave of nausea at the thought.

"Peter?"

Peter turned to see Mrs. Darling coming down the stairs. She had a fluffy pink bathrobe wrapped around her, and looked like she was about ready for sleep.

"Why are you still awake, dear? You've been burning a path across the floor all night." Her voice held the usual warm concern that it always did, though she asked the question as though she already knew the answer.

"Sorry," Peter mumbled, looking down at the hardwood panels.

Mrs. Darling was quiet, waiting to see if he would say anything further. "Do you know what I find useful when I can't sleep?" she asked finally.

Peter looked up at her.

She grinned. "A glass of milk. Would you like to join me?"

Peter hesitated, and then nodded. He followed her into the kitchen, where she padded softly between the refrigerator and the island countertop in her slippers. She filled two glasses with milk, and handed him one.

"Cookies?" she asked, bringing over the pig-shaped cookie jar. Peter sat down on one of the bar stools at the island. He doubted he could eat, but took a few to appease her.

Mrs. Darling sat down on a stool across from him, and took a sip of milk, studying him thoughtfully.

"You know, we haven't had much of a chance to chat since you've been back," she said. "Why don't you tell me what you've been up to since we saw you last?"

Peter didn't feel like talking at the moment. He glanced toward the front door. Mrs. Darling followed his gaze, and chuckled.

"I'm sure she's fine, sweetheart," she said.

"She's been gone a while," Peter said.

Mrs. Darling tipped her head. "You know, worrying is usually my job."

Peter flushed.

She laughed. "It's nice to have a partner in arms. But honestly, I'm certain they're alright."

"Wendy said—last night, she told me there wasn't anything going on between her and Luke," Peter said absentmindedly.

"And you'd like to know if she was mistaken?" Mrs. Darling asked.

"I—I don't know," Peter said. "But it doesn't seem like that was the truth, when they're on a date tonight."

Mrs. Darling nodded. After a brief pause, she said, "You know, sometimes it takes a little push to make us realize how we really feel about things."

Peter frowned. "I pushed her?"

"Not literally, dear."

He considered that. "But you think she feels more for him than she told me?"

"I think it's interesting that my daughter has never gone on a date until you entered her life again," Mrs. Darling said, which didn't exactly answer his question.

Peter didn't know what to say. He took a bite of a cookie and looked toward the door again.

"Did Wendy ever tell you about the first time Mr. Darling asked me on a date?" she asked.

Peter was surprised by her question. He thought for a moment. Wendy had spoken of her mother a lot in the time he'd spent with her. She obviously idolized Mrs. Darling. A part of him had wondered, at one point, whether she would have been as devoted to the idea of being a grown-up if she'd had a different mother.

"I don't think so," Peter said.

"I grew up with him, and I loved him for a long time before he ever thought of me as anything other than a child," Mrs. Darling said, smiling fondly at the memory. "Then, one year, it seemed that all of the boys in the neighborhood took an interest at once. It wasn't until those boys started looking my way that Mr. Darling finally noticed me. And one day, Mr. Darling learned that a few of his friends were planning on proposing to me. Of course, he didn't tell me that part until years later."

"You didn't want to marry any of them?" Peter asked.

"Well, I didn't have the chance!" she laughed. "As soon as he learned they were walking to my house to propose, he jumped in a cab and beat them to it."

Peter pondered that. Was it really so simple?

"Of course, he was the only boy I would have accepted anyway," Mrs. Darling explained. "But you see, people can be careless, even with their own hearts. If we feel scared of losing something, we do the best we can to protect ourselves."

Peter wasn't quite sure what she was trying to tell him, but he had a feeling there was more to the story that she wanted him to pick up on.

"It wasn't until Mr. Darling was afraid he'd lose me that he decided to ask me to marry him. But that's because he's a man, and men are much more straightforward when it comes to matters of the heart. Sometimes girls are afraid to ask for what they want," Mrs. Darling said.

"You mean that's why you never asked him for a date?" Peter asked, confused. She smiled sympathetically and patted his hand.

"I only mean that I'm sure you will sort this out. These things have a way of working out for the best," she said.

Peter frowned, and picked up another cookie. Even though he didn't know exactly what she meant, her faith that everything would turn out for the best warmed him. He had a feeling that this was one of the things people loved best about Mrs. Darling—her ability to make hopeless situations seem manageable.

"I'm glad I have a chance to talk to you, actually," Mrs. Darling said. "I've been meaning to ask you for your help."

Peter nodded, wondering how he could help her.

"The twins' birthday is on Saturday, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me design a little picnic for them at the zoo," she said. "They've been so excited to see you again, I thought I might make it a Neverland theme party."

Neverland themed? The thought made Peter grin.

"The only trouble is, I've never been to Neverland," Mrs. Darling said. "Oh, I've heard the stories, but I wouldn't know where to start decorating. I had hoped you might help me come up with some ideas."

Peter thought for a few seconds. "Well, I guess the first thing would be the fairies," he said.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Darling said. "I'm afraid those are in rather short supply in London."

And somehow, without realizing that his thoughts had drifted from worrying about Wendy's date, Peter laughed aloud. For the next several minutes, Peter and Mrs. Darling shared ideas and cookies, and crafted a way to bring Neverland to the zoo. By the time Wendy tiptoed into the kitchen, Peter and Mrs. Darling were lost in laughter and schemes.

"What are you two laughing about?" Wendy asked, surprising the pair of them.

Instantly, Peter's eyes were riveted to her. He studied her face for signs of how the date had gone. Wendy returned his gaze with a blank expression, giving nothing away.

"Oh, nothing," Mrs. Darling said. She stood, and dropped a kiss onto the top of Peter's head. "I'm glad you're home, love." She kissed Wendy's cheek, and then bid them both a good night as she left the kitchen to climb the stairs.

Wendy continued to look at Peter for a few heartbeats, and then sighed. She moved towards the island and picked up one of the cookies. "You two looked like you were having fun," she commented.

Peter suddenly got the sense that he had to choose his words carefully, though all he wanted to do was blurt out questions about her night.

"She wanted help with the party planning," he said.

"Hmm," Wendy said, and reached for her mother's glass of milk to take a sip. "That was nice of you."

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted, still watching her studiously.

Wendy glanced up at him.

He drew a deep breath. "How was dinner?" he finally asked.

She paused, then dropped the cookie and stood up straight. For a second he was afraid she was going to leave.

"It was…fine," she said. "We went for sushi."

"What's that?" he asked.

And then, without her permission, a smile tugged at Wendy's mouth. Peter might have been upset that she seemed to be laughing at him, but instead he felt some piece of the heavy weight that hung between them lift, and was relieved.

"Sushi? It's fish. Well, it's a special way of preparing fish, I suppose. They wrap raw fish in rice and nori."

Peter grimaced. "That sounds revolting."

Wendy chuckled at his expression. "It's a delicacy to some people."

"What's nori?" he asked.

"Seaweed," Wendy replied, then laughed even harder when his disgust deepened.

"Why would anyone eat that?" he asked.

"Honestly? Beats me," Wendy said. After a moment, she sat down on the stool next to him.

"And Luke?" Peter asked. "Was he…. Did you two…."

Wendy waited for him to complete his thought, but Peter didn't know how to ask for everything he wanted to know. Eventually, she took pity on him.

"Luke is a nice boy," she said, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. "He was fine company. But it wasn't…."

Peter found himself leaning forward, waiting for her to finish. "Wasn't what?"

She sighed. "It wasn't everything I always thought a date would be. It just felt so awkward, sitting there across from each other, trying to come up with something to talk about. It's different than when we're working. At the restaurant, when he's behind the bar, we tend to just talk about customers, or our plans for the weekend, or…I don't know, silly things. There's really no pressure. But then tonight, trying to talk to him just felt forced. It was strange."

A wave of happiness rose in Peter's chest, but he tried not to show it.

"It's odd. When I was younger, when I'd think of going on dates one day, the whole idea seemed so effortless. I suppose I imagined something more enchanting, but tonight just…. There was no—"

"Magic," Peter said softly, finishing her thought for her.

She met his eyes. "No. There was no magic."

It was astounding to Peter that mere minutes ago he had felt such despair. Now, he felt more weightless than he ever had when he'd been flying.

"Besides," she said. "Something tells me that he only worked up the courage to ask me out because you came back into the picture."

Mrs. Darling's words echoed in Peter's mind. Was that what Wendy's mother had meant in telling him the story?

"So…you didn't have a good time, then?" Peter asked, barely able to contain the hopeful note in his voice.

Wendy pursed her lips in thought. "It was a nice distraction," she said finally.

Peter felt her words touch something inside him. "Wendy, I've been thinking about what you said—"

"Me too," she said, turning towards him.

"I didn't know how to answer earlier," Peter said. "But after I left you, I started thinking about everything."

Wendy nodded. "And?"

"And…I never thought about staying in London," Peter admitted. "Not for a long time, anyways. But at the same time, when I thought about leaving you again, I couldn't…." He shook his head. "That didn't feel right, either."

Wendy drew a deep breath. "So what did you decide?"

Peter was about to launch into his whole plan. He was about to tell her that he wanted her to come back to Neverland with him eventually, maybe in another week or two, and give it another chance. He wanted to tell her that if she gave it another shot, she might like it better this time.

But when he looked into her brilliant blue eyes, now filled with such hope, he couldn't find the words. He could barely keep a thought in his mind.

He didn't realize that he had leaned across the distance between them until a startled look entered her eyes. Through the fog, he tried to figure out what he was doing, exactly. It had been completely instinctual for him to draw nearer to her. This had been the same pull he'd been experiencing ever since he'd arrived. But this time felt different. It felt like something was about to happen.

"Wendy…?" he asked.

Wendy studied his eyes for a moment, and then her gaze dropped to his mouth. He held perfectly still, knowing that the slightest movement could break the spell. She took a breath, and he heard the shaking of her inhale.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small movement, and a moment later he felt the slight press of her fingertips on his chin. She ran her fingers over his whiskers, and looked back up at his eyes.

For a terribly long moment, he waited for…something. He didn't quite know what. But his whole body had begun to itch, as though he wanted to leap out of his skin. His heart had begun pounding a frantic rhythm, and he felt it everywhere. With one touch, she had completely disoriented him.

He felt her breath on his mouth, and watched as she closed her eyes. For a moment, he wanted to protest, wanting nothing more than to see her sparkling blue gaze trained on him.

But in the next instant, she leaned forward a fraction of an inch, finally closing the remaining distance between them.

At the first touch of her lips on his, Peter gasped. He hadn't the slightest idea that such an intimate gesture existed. And yet, at the same time, everything inside of him compelled him to lean even further towards her. It was as though this was the moment that he had been waiting for the last few days.

No. It was what he'd been waiting for the last few years, and had never known it.

Wendy inhaled sharply, and began to back away. Without knowing what he was doing, Peter wrapped a hand around the back of her head, pressing gently against her hair to keep her in place. He felt her relax against his hold, and she pressed her lips to his again.

This close, he sensed everything. Her lovely scent, of fresh linens and flowers, filled his whole being. He heard her breaths, now coming short and fast, and felt her heartbeat in the places where they touched. He'd never known it was possible to experience another person so completely. He wondered why people didn't do this all the time.

Wendy's fingers grazed his jaw, tracing a path down to his neck. The sensation of her touching him gave him chills, and he couldn't help himself from wrapping his other arm around her waist to pull her closer to him.

She pulled her mouth away briefly, and tipped her head before meeting his lips again. Peter stifled a groan. He felt her smile against his skin, and then draw away slightly.

"Peter," she whispered.

"Wendy," he said, completely at a loss for words.

To his great disappointment, she lifted her other hand and pressed softly against his chest, withdrawing from his hold.

He opened his eyes, and saw that she was looking at him intently. Her lips were red and a bit swollen, and at that second he wanted nothing more than to lean into her again.

They sat there for a while, frozen, just feeling each other as their heart rates returned to normal.

"What—what was that?" Peter asked.

Wendy thought for a moment, and then grinned. "A thimble," she said, with all the satisfaction of someone enjoying her own private joke.

Peter grinned, and didn't quite know why.

"I'm quite a fan of thimbles," Peter replied, and Wendy laughed, her head falling backwards.

He lifted his hand from her hair, impulsively tracing the lower curve of her lip with his thumb. He doubted there was anyone in the whole world as Wendy at this moment.

Wendy's laugh cut short, and she caught his eye again. This time, she looked a bit apprehensive.

Suddenly, she stood, pushing her stool out behind her.

"Perhaps we should say goodnight," she said.

Peter fought the urge to reach for her. "But—"

"It's just—we can't go too…."

Wendy froze, seeming uncertain.

"I've never done that before," she admitted in a whisper.

Peter grinned, that one fact filling him with a possessive sort of joy that he had never before felt about anyone.

"I'm glad," he said.

Wendy smirked. "Don't look so haughty, Peter Pan. You haven't, either."

"How do you know?" Peter asked, feigning shock. "I very well could have shared thimbles with any girl in Neverland."

Without missing a beat, Wendy began to laugh again. This time, though, her laughter was so overwhelming, so uninhibited, that she ended up doubled over, gasping for air, supporting her weight on the empty stool with her hand. Once again, Peter got the sense that she was laughing at him. But he was far too happy to care.

"I'm sure you have shared lots of thimbles," Wendy said, struggling to breathe. "Especially because there are so many girls on Neverland."

Peter shrugged, enjoying her amusement.

When she finally caught her breath, she smiled down at him for a long moment. "I should go to sleep," she said finally.

And then, as though acting on a second thought, she leaned down quickly and dropped a kiss on his lips. But this one was far too short, and she had spun away before he could even reach out to catch her.

He watched her walk out of the kitchen, his happiness so full and complete that he knew he'd never get any sleep tonight.

But as he lay on the couch later, thinking back over the day, his mind kept circling back to one question. What would he do if she wouldn't go home with him? And eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming about strange jungles, and fairy dust, and girls with bright blue eyes.