A/N: This chapter is dedicated to both willywonka5 and Lady Clark-Weasley of Books. I know they've both been waiting for this. :)

Rose's POV:

I must be dreaming, I told myself, because your unrequited lover just doesn't show up out of nowhere to see you.

Or at least not usually.

But then there was still the fact that I had not hit the ground after my sudden fainting spell. Instead, I was now wrapped quite securely in a pair of strong arms…

My eyes flew open, I saw a face hovering above mine. He had dark messy hair and gorgeous brown eyes that were full of concern as they gazed into mine. It was most definitely Tom.

"Rose, are you okay?"

I took me a moment to answer. My head was still feeling dazed and spinney.

"I think I must be dreaming," I finally mumbled.

He didn't let go of me as he spoke (which was very fine by me—maybe even too fine because being in very close proximity to him was making me dizzy all over again.)

"I'm in town to help my Gran. Indigo told me this is where you work," he explained.

Since when did he and Indy keep in contact? I thought I was the only one who stilled bothered with Tom. But I didn't dwell on those details for much longer because it was too enthralled with Tom to care about how he got her.

I was more concerned with the fact that he was here. At this exact moment. And he was holding me.

"I'm so glad you're here, Tom," I finally said, and we just looked at each other for a long moment.

Before I knew what was happening, he was leaning in toward me, his face getting closer and closer. I was quite certain he was going to kiss me, but just before his lips reached mine, the door to the shop swung open.

Tom and I jumped apart as quickly as we could. The man who had just entered eyed us curiously.

"Can I help you?" I walked over to him, trying my best to compose myself.

"Yes, I need some paints," he answered.

"What kind?" I asked, almost irritably. I was willing him to leave so I could have Tom to myself once again.

"Acrylic," he answered quickly. Apparently my annoyance had shown through.

He picked his paints quickly, paid, and then Tom and I were alone once again.

"Let's go somewhere," I said, grabbing his hand. I was in no mood to deal with anymore customers.

He followed without a question. I put up the hand painted "closed" signed and we headed out the door.

We ended up at the park. Tom bought us both ice cream bars from a vendor.

It was a lovely day (almost sunny—which was a treat considering all the rain we'd gotten recently) and I licked my ice-cream bar contently as we walked down the paved path in the park.

"So," said Tom, breaking the awkward silence. "Tell me more about your art shop."

So I told him how after college, Daddy had lent me some money to get it started, and how, if I had to be working, this was the best job I could think of.

Which led to things I had painted recently. So I told him about the mural I had done on my bedroom wall of the New York skyline, which wasn't very recent, but for some reason I wanted to tell him anyway. He laughed, and reminded me of one of the first proper murals I had done when I was only eight, the one my family on the roof of the house. The one that Daddy had covered with Scrubbable Magnolia ages ago.

So I told him about the other various murals I had done. (I particularly liked the one of the Coliseum) Which led to my trip to Italy.

Saffy was quite adamant about taking me there.

"You need to be more cultured, Rose," she had told me.

This was because the furthest I had ever been was London and that was only because I had gotten onto the train with Caddy to give her back her engagment ring before she ditched Michael for good…but that is another story.

The trip was quite fun (even though it took ages to drive there—but it was bearable in Saffy's brand new yellow Porsche—which when we got there, the police thought we had stolen it. So Saffy yelled at them in English. Then in Spanish. But that didn't work so we drove away very fast and were able to beat them quite easily because sports cars are much faster than old police cruisers. So)

The rest of the trip was quite nice. We only had to do minimal yelling. ("Yelling at the natives in very loud English is the only way to do," Sarah's father told me before we left. Sarah's mother thought otherwise) I ordered gelato (which is much better than plain, boring ice-cream) with every meal because there were so many flavors that I had to try them all. And then Saffy died her hair pink. And I got a tattoo on my lower back (a tiny guitar—which made me blush when I told Tom) that Mum and Daddy still don't know about.

Of course Tom asked to see it them. So I blushed even more and grudgingly lifted my shirt.

"I like it," he murmured, gently tracing it with his finger. I involuntarily shivered.

We talked about bunches of other things as well (things I don't even know how we got to the topic of) Like socks.

I had never liked wearing them much. And Tom said he didn't either, and we both discovered the other wasn't wearing socks right now, even though we weren't wearing summer shoes. We got a good laugh from that.

It was now getting dark, and our conversation was fading. We had circled the park at least a dozen times and my feet were beginning to get sore.

Suddenly, Tom stopped. I followed her gaze toward the darkening sky.

"An airplane," he muttered. "Do you remember when we used to wish on airplanes, Rose?"

I nodded, and whispered, "Sometimes I still do."

In one swift movement, the space between our lips closed. It wasn't anything like kissing the other boys I had. No awkward. Or wet. Or uncomfortable. It was perfect.

After all these years of wishing, my dream had finally come true.