They had dinner at a downscale French restaurant by the water, and after, he put an arm around her shoulder, and held her tightly next to him as they walked along the riverfront.

"To keep you warm," Jonathan told her with a shy smile and slight blush. Martha hid her smile behind her hair.

There were lights over the water, and they left lazy reflections on the little waves. Martha felt giddy, and couldn´t stop smiling at her feet as they made their way toward the park.

"I've always liked it here," she murmured, wanting to say something, anything, to push through the silence that hung over them.

Jonathan's arm tightened around her shoulders. "I've never been here before," he confessed, and Martha pulled back to look up at him.

"Really? Never?" she asked, astonished, and Jonathan just shook his head, smiled.

"Didn't get out of Smallville much before college," he said with a shrug. "I was always busy at home, with the harvests, helping Dad out. And then there was football, and besides, when you're the quarterback in a town that size, you feel like it's the whole world."

He grinned at her, dryly. Martha laughed, and impulsively put her hand in his back pocket.

"Your fingers cold?" Jonathan asked, in his comfortable voice.

Martha shook her head, told him, "No," and he blushed again, and neither of them said anything for a time. Instead they listened to water tapping against the seawall, and the click clatter of the restaurants across the way. It was November, and Martha hadn't worn a proper coat, but she didn't notice the wind that nipped along the sidewalk and through the slim trees all throughout the park.

Beside her, Jonathan was tall, and calm. His hair danced in the breeze, became a blonde halo beneath the streetlights. Her eyes were drawn again and again to his strong jaw, his kind eyes, and the little razor nick right beside his ear. She pictured him nervous, eager in front of the mirror, thinking about her, thinking about dinner.

She wondered if he'd thought about kissing her. She wondered if he thought about holding her. She wondered if it was possible, if he could love her because, oh, how Martha loved him.

Martha Clark was twenty years old. She believed in fate, and fairness, and she believed that love was all she needed. This was their fourth date, and tonight Jonathan had brought her sunflowers. She'd put them in the big white vase by the front door, cooed over them as he shifted his weight uncomfortably behind her, smiling down at his big hands.

"I grew them myself," he'd confessed, proud and embarrassed. "Do you like them?"

Martha smiled over her shoulder at him, told him, "They're beautiful."

"So are you," he'd said then, simply. From any other man, Martha knew, it would sound like a line. It would be smarmy and easy, but from Jonathan – it had taken her breath away.

Martha pressed her head against his chest, and thought she could live on that compliment for months.

Jonathan's lips brushed her hair, and Martha tilted her face up to see his eyes, dark blue and sweet in the half light. "I think I'll kiss you now, if you don't mind, Ms. Clark," he murmured, and Martha could feel herself tremble a little.

"I don't mind at all," she whispered, closing her eyes as he kissed her lightly, tenderly, one hand steady on her lower back.

When they broke apart, Jonathan held her tightly to him, and propped his chin on the top of her head. "What am I going to do with you?" he murmured.

Martha bit her lip, wanted to yell, ‘Marry me,' but instead said only, "What do you want to do with me?"

He chuckled dryly, and said only, "What a question," before kissing the tip of her nose, lightly, and taking her hand again, continuing to walk. His fingers were long and strong in hers, and Martha wanted to say, ‘Listen, I haven't known you for a month, but I don't think I can live without you.'

She wanted to tell him, ‘I think about you all the time, and I hardly know you. I want to see your hair turn grey, and listen to you breathe when you sleep.'

Instead, though, she breathed deeply, felt the cold air sweep into her, and said only, "I'm crazy about you, you know."

The trees shivered, and Jonathan squeezed her hand, gave her a smile that felt like a quilt wrapped 'round her shoulders, and another kiss all at once.

"I don't believe in fate," Jonathan said, after a long moment, "but if I did, it would be because of you." He frowned at their joined hands before looking up, earnest. "You'll think I'm crazy," he told her.

"I wouldn't," Martha assured him, moving closer, until their sides were brushing, until she could smell the crisp sharp scent of his aftershave. "Tell me."

"I've been – I've been thinking about this for days," he started, breaking off, expression earnest and strained. "Trying to find ways to say this - to ask you without - aww, hell. Martha, I think I'm in love with you."

She froze and melted, and when her heart started beating again, she was saying over and over and over, "Oh, Jon - I love you, I love you, too," and he was holding her tight, kissing her cheek, her neck, her ear.

"Come with me," he murmured against her skin. "Come with me to the farm. To Smallville, to see - see if you could live there. If you could like it."

"I - when?" Martha asked, trying to see his face, but Jonathan just held her tighter, said, "Now, tonight."

She laughed, started to say ‘I can't,' but his lips met hers, she found herself murmuring, "Yes, yes, I will."

And three hours later, with her head lolling against Jonathan's shoulder and her lips swollen from his kisses, Martha saw Smallville for the first time, and the thin skin of silver moonlight that covered the fields.

"This is gorgeous," she said. When she turned Jonathan was watching her, and he said, "Yes, it is," and Martha whispered, "Marry me, oh, marry me."

Jonathan kissed her hand, said, "I will."