Dinner with the Callaghans was like wearing her favorite oversized sweater. They enveloped her in this fuzzy warmth, and it was easy for her to get lost in the depths. There were moments when she merely felt like an observer, someone watching the cheerful dinner table interactions from a distance, but she was always pulled right back into the thick of it within seconds. Whether it be from a light nudge under the table from Mary's foot or a soft gaze from Jack sitting across from her, they didn't let her drift far.

Dinner would have passed without incident, if everyone's favorite topic didn't seem to be Lucy and Peter's relationship. Fortunately, the Callaghans seemed fully capable of having this conversation without her, so she simply stared into her mashed potatoes as Elsie and Sal talked about honeymoons. She was grateful that she'd worn her hair down, covering the tops of her currently flaming ears. After her sudden epiphany about Jack, it was harder than ever to keep her secret to herself.

Fortunately, Madge was just as invested in all of her children's love lives, and Lucy's status as "happily engaged" apparently afforded her with the privilege of chiming in on Jack's single state. Her head popped up with surprise when Madge addressed her directly.

"Lucy, you think you can find me a nice girl for Jack?"

Lucy's eyes shot up involuntarily to take in the Callaghan in question, a slight pain in her chest at the sight of him. Could she think of a girl for Jack? It really wasn't hard to imagine him walking down the street hand in hand with some sweet girl, dark head inclined toward him as he held her close with one arm. "Well…. I…"

Jack interrupted her, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Mom, come on…"

Lucy smiled to herself. She couldn't help but find his discomfort somewhat amusing. This seemed to be something that came up fairly often, if the put upon look on Jack's face were any indication. His mother might have been distracted recently by the drama with Peter, but Lucy was certain that Jack's happiness had been a pet project of hers for years. She nearly snorted when she thought of Madge setting him up on blind dates.

The true hilarity of the situation struck Lucy suddenly, giving her the inappropriate desire to burst into hysterical laughter. The image of Jack cuddling up with some mystery woman slowly began to shift, the woman's features morphing into her own until she saw nothing but herself wrapped in his arms, her own dark hair fanned out across his chest. It was preposterous that she couldn't even imagine him with someone else.

She snapped herself out of this dangerous loop of thoughts, and looked back to Madge. "I mean, I, uh, don't really know Jack's type, so I'm not one to, uh... "

"I like blondes." Jack's voice rang out deep, as he dug into his mashed potatoes, giving the whipped starches more attention that they ever could ever possibly deserved, in spite of his mother's many assertions to their unparallelled creaminess. Glancing up briefly to gage Lucy's reaction, he added, "Chubby ones."

This caught her attention, drawing her gaze to him once again, this time with narrowed eyes. If Lucy didn't know better, she would have said he was blushing, but it was hard to tell. The consumption of wine and the generally warm and jovial atmosphere made these kinds of things harder to discern. Regardless, Jack's response did seem to put an end to the conversation. Ox and Sal began to chatter on about something or other, and Lucy looked back down at her own plate.

Jack's mother took his answer at face value and turned her attention back to Lucy, winking as she said, "Well, we all know what Lucy's type is."

For a millionth of a second Lucy was horrified, wondering if Madge had somehow managed to use her strange powers of perception to look directly into her mind. Feeling found out, her heart thundered in her chest, panic spreading to her diaphragm as she forgot to breathe. Then, it suddenly occurred to her that Madge was talking about Peter, and she felt her shoulders fall, a quick little sigh of relief slipping through her lips. Duh. She felt like an idiot.

This dinner was absolute hell. There was no other way to describe it. Jack wondered if maybe he'd died and actually arrived in the heated torture chamber. He could think of no worse endless punishment than being constantly reminded that Lucy was engaged to and in love with his brother.

And his mother, God love her meddlesome soul, she was making things damn near unbearable with her slew of questions, always bringing the conversation back to Peter, even going so far as to draw Lucy into speculation about his own love life. Who could blame him for thinking this was eternal damnation?

He felt… twitchy. He couldn't really think of a more accurate way to describe the restlessness he felt. The collar of his sweater suddenly seemed too close, and the mass manufactured chair felt hard against his back, the ladderback digging into his shoulderblades when he reclined. Shifting this way and that, Jack tred to find some position that he didn't feel absolutely antsy in. He could feel Mary's curious gaze lingering on him, but he couldn't do anything about it, so he just feigned ignorance when she cut her eyes at him.

We all know what Lucy's type is.

They knew nothing about Lucy. Absolutely nothing. He'd felt her heart beat against his as she'd hugged him, seen the sadness in her eyes when she talked about her parents. He'd come full circle once again. Back to believing that Peter and Lucy couldn't possibly be what they seemed. They were absolutely wrong for each other, and that feeling was only strengthened by his own attachment to her. His mother's assertion was the final straw. He was seconds away from pushing back from the table and asking to be excused; the only thing keeping him in his place was the urge to blurt out his feelings for her, to beg her to admit she felt nothing for his brother. It was stupid, and he was grateful that Mary was perceptive enough to pipe up when she did.

"Blondes? What are you talking about? You like brunettes."

Mary's comment deflated him, like a straight pin popping a balloon. Sneaking a glance at Lucy, he found her staring at him open mouthed, a forkful of mashed potatoes hanging in mid air. The blood rushed to his face and he settled back in his chair. Thank god his family was too loud and obnoxious to pay attention to this little interaction.

Then, miracle of miracles, she was smiling at him. It was shy and almost secretive, but it made him feel warm all over. Whatever displeasure the evening had brought instantly wicked away as his mother and father chattered about roast beef and mashed potatoes. Lucy's soft brown eyes lingered on him. They both silently marveled at how a conversation about dinner could segue into a debate about nazis and John Wayne, communicating in raised eyebrows and little quiet laughs.

He couldn't believe how far gone he was.

Sometimes Lucy wondered how frail Elsie really was. She hardly seemed like a fragile little flower, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling as she contradicted the cantankerous old man at her side. She could hardly believe that this woman was the reasons she had leaned into her lie about Peter. This version Elsie certainly seemed like she could take any news, no matter how shocking, in stride, merely blinking a few times before continuing on with whatever conversation she'd been having. The older woman winked at Lucy whenever her barbs at Sal found their mark.

Before Lucy knew it, her plate was clean, and desert had been served, alongside dainty little cups of coffee. Madge had prepared decadent chocolate souffles, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a dollop of real whipped cream. Lucy drew her spoon along the edge of the ceramic ramekin. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, the dish in front of her blurring slightly before she blinked the moisture away.

There were seven of them, each one lovingly prepared for every member of the family and served with a pleased little smile. Until this very moment Lucy hadn't realized how integrated she'd become in their lives, and the thought of Madge measuring out enough flour and cocoa for seven servings made her feel a little light headed. It was silly, and she knew it, but knowing did little to stop the sudden surge of emotion.

She dug into the confection, sighing deeply as the first bite landed on her tongue, rich cream spreading out across her taste buds. Her eyes drifted shut as she enjoyed the silky feel of the chocolate..

"You know, Lucy, you could always have a chocolate wedding cake. Tradition says white, but really, who cares about tradition? If you love chocolate, you love chocolate." Madge's voice cut through Lucy's dessert induced euphoria.

"Wedding cake?"

"Yeah, there's this little place downtown that's amazing. They'll do any flavor you want. We should go down sometime and pick out a topper. A dashing little groom and a sweet dark haired bride. So cute."

Wedding. She blinked, a string of curses zipping through her head, guilt coursing through her limbs. She felt like jumping up and yelling her confession before running out the door. She'd never be able to face any of the Callaghans once they found out.

Luckily, or not so luckily, depending on your point of view, Lucy was loathe to ruin such a lovely evening by acting like a dramatic idiot. There would be a time to confess, it just wasn't now. Concentrating on her dessert, she took another large bite and mumbled through the mouthful, "Mmm, yeah."

Madge gave her a little squeeze and turned her attention toward Mary, launching into a lecture about the importance of school work and applying to colleges for early acceptance. Lucy let out a sigh of relief, and returned to the far more enjoyable task of watching Jack interact with his family.

She loved how they ruffled his feathers, making him nervous and irritated in equal measure. He had carded his fingers through his hair more than a dozen times in the past hour, the floppy side part sticking up in a few places. Her fingers itched with the urge comb through the shiny strands, pat down the flyaways. Even now, he was staring dubiously at his father as the older man described a new method of moving unwieldy pieces of furniture. He tensed slightly, but settled in to listen to his father.

A current of love ran beneath all of it, and she counted all of the little smiles Jack directed at the members of his family. She felt like storing them away for future use. A time was coming when she probably wouldn't have access to them at all, a time when the most she could expect from any Callaghan was a baleful stare. She sighed just thinking about it.

Her coffee cup drained, and her ramekin scraped clean, Lucy was sad to see the dinner end, but also happy to add it to her memory bank. Mary had been a delight, regaling her with teenage tales of woe as she ushered her to the foyer, extracting promise after promise to perform sisterly duties like gossip about boys and do each other's hair. Lucy felt giddy talking to the young girl, and was in the process of saying her goodbyes before she even realized what was happening.

Jack, ever the gentleman, had opened the door for her, a portal out into the cold Chicago night, and she'd stepped up beside him, pausing to let the final bit of warmth run through her. She blinked, her eyes not quite used to the darkness in front of her.

Mary's chirpy voice cut through the reverie. "Hey, look! You guys are under the mistletoe."

They both froze, Jack looking like a deer caught in headlights, Lucy holding her breath. There was indeed a sprig of mistletoe tacked to the top of the doorframe, something she'd failed to notice when she'd arrived. The voices urging them to kiss for the sake of tradition all faded to a gentle murmur and all Lucy could see was the faint stubble along Jack's jaw, and the quick way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

Elsie's voice cut through the fog. "Come on, idiot. Kiss her."

It was all the encouragement Lucy needed. If Elsie approved it surely couldn't be that bad. Jack seemed to feel the same because he bent forward slightly, waiting for her to meet him halfway. When their lips touched, it was in a chaste kiss, her own lips only puckering slightly as they landed on his. The whole thing only lasted half a second, but Lucy could feel her stomach swirling around madly as she pulled away, her cheeks warm. For a split second she was transported back to the first time she saw him, only a few feet from this very spot. She'd felt the little double tap in her chest then, just as she did now, only now she knew it's source. Wrapping her scarf around her neck, she attempted to hide the helpless smile on her face.

She chanced a quick glance up at him through her lashes, and caught his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. She was sure the effects of their little peck were not one sided, and somehow that made her feel better. She turned to bid everyone goodnight, and scurried as quickly as she could out the door and away from the house, nearly tripping as she reached the bottom of the steps.

Maybe it was the heat still darting around in his stomach after the mistletoe kiss, or maybe it was the sudden realization the one kiss would never be enough, but Jack felt his feet carrying him out into the cold, following her like a man on a mission.

He caught her just as she reached the sidewalk, fingers hooking one of her elbows as she turned left in the direction of her apartment complex. "Lucy?" He hoped she couldn't hear the desperation in his voice, the need so blatantly present in the trembling timbre.

"Jack?"

He nodded, breathing hard, his heart thundering as it pumped the blood through his body. It was nine degrees outside, and Jack did not have his coat, but he felt like he was burning up from the inside out. "Um, that was a really bad kiss back there."

Her head cocked to one side as she studied him, stepping a little closer. "Oh, is that so?"

He nodded again, feeling like a broken bobble head doll. "I can't have you going around telling your girlfriends that Jack Callaghan is a terrible kisser, can I?"

She slowly shook her head, one corner of her mouth quirking up. "I suppose not."

"Good." Without any further comment he dragged her to him, one arm holding her tight as the other slipped up to her neck, fingers threading through the silken locks at her nape as his thumb rested against her pulse.

Just as she thought his lips were going to crash down on hers, he stopped, mere millimeters away, breathing against her lips as he drew circles against her skin with his thumb. Gently he pulled her bottom lip between his, kissing her slowly and thoroughly, his tongue darting between her lips at the last possible moment. She took it as her cue, and looped her arms around his neck drawing him closer. Somewhere in the back of her mind she cursed the woolen gloves keeping her from slipping her fingers into his hair.

After a minute… or ten, or a million, she had no idea really, he pulled back. She shivered when his hand withdrew from her skin, felt abandoned when the warmth of his body left hers. She pursed her lips together to keep in the little whimper she felt bubbling up, and stepped back from him.

Jack stared at her, speechless for a moment before he remembered the thin premise his kiss rode on. Shoving his hands in his pockets he managed a semblance of a smirk to cast in her direction. "Thanks, Luc. Don't leave out any details when the ladies ask about Jack Callaghan."

And with that he left her, strode back up to the glowing house feeling more desperately lonely than ever before.

A/N: I know the gaps between updates in this little story are INSANE... sorry for that, but it has to be snowy and ridiculously cold outside for me to want to writer Jack and Lucy... or maybe not.. I don't even know. Anyway... I can't express how much the comments and feedback that I've gotten for this story means to me, please continue to let me know what you think.