She wrenched her gaze from his mouth. She stared at her hand as it began moving down his arm, gathering speed as she flicked at his sleeve and then continued with jolted strokes across his chest to his other shoulder and arm.

When she'd finished, he breathed again, taut and shallow. "Th…thanks."

"You're welcome."

Her gaze drifted back to his mouth, and she found he was smiling - a little shaken, a little tentative, but still with the power to captivate her. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, offering his hand to assist.

She should run now. Because if she ever got within kissing distance of that mouth again, her resistance would be about as useful as tissue paper in a blizzard.

And kissing Clark Kent …

Lois couldn't see how there could be any way back from that.

But she didn't run.

She took his hand and sat down. Clark began unpacking the basket, and Lois sipped from her coffee, as inside her, trepidation and euphoria engaged in a feisty battle for ascendency.


Part 5

"Bread?"

Lois stared at the chunky slices Clark had cut from the two-person artisan loaf. Each new container they had unpacked from the basket had escalated her surprise to new levels. But it wasn't just the enormous variety of foods that had stifled her flow of words. The extra touches Clark had included - the small blue vase holding a single stem that exploded into a circle of creamy lace flowers, the thick white napkins, embossed with three blue petals in the corner - had catapulted her beyond surprise and into the grip of astonishment.

"It's sourdough," he said.

"Thanks," Lois said, taking a slice and putting it on her otherwise-empty plate.

"I … I wasn't sure what you liked," Clark said, offering her a small dish of butter. "I hope -"

"How did you get all this?" Lois asked, running her eyes over the spread of cheeses, bite-sized quiches, thick slices of turkey bacon, cranberry chutney, bratwurst, currant doughnuts, buns draped in butterscotch sauce, plump juicy grapes, red cherries, a mix of nuts with dried fruits, and a selection of chocolate pastries. "You said nothing is open."

"I have a friend who owns a store. I went to see him last night and asked for his help in putting together a picnic breakfast. I know there's too much, but I wanted to make sure we included something you'd enjoy."

Lois took the butter and picked up a knife. "It's amazing, Clark."

"You like it?" he said with a hopeful smile.

"I … I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this …" She gestured across the assembled multitude of pots and containers.

"So … you like it?"

"Of course, I like it, Clark," Lois exclaimed. "It's just …"

His smile died. "Too much?"

"No. It's … " How could she say that it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her? And the scariest? "How could I not like it, Clark? You … This must have taken you all night."

"Not really," he said, picking up the plate of assorted cheeses and offering it to her. "I just wanted … I hoped ..."

His hopes didn't need to verbalised - they were being boomed from every carefully chosen ingredient, every matching accessory, every crevice of thoughtfulness. "Thanks," Lois said, taking pieces of the camembert and havarti. Seeing that his plate was still empty, she quickly added some bratwurst, a quiche, and a handful of grapes. Then, she leaned back against the wooden upright and sighed with what she hoped sounded like contentment.

Clark put some cheese and bacon on his plate. As he reached for a slice of bread, he said, "I hear you broke a huge story yesterday."

"The Senator story?"

"Yes. It sounds as if it's going to have far-reaching ramifications. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Lois said, reflecting that a damp picnic breakfast in Iowa with Clark was a long way from her usual celebration of chocolate-fudge ice cream, eaten straight from the container as she sat alone on the sofa in her apartment. "How did you know about my story?"

Clark's grin was a little bit self-conscious as he said, "I heard a radio news report this morning. They said the story had been broken yesterday by The Daily Planet."

"My name was mentioned?" Lois asked with surprise.

"No," he admitted. "But I figured it was most likely your story, so I took a chance."

"What if it hadn't been my story?" Lois asked. "What if my biggest rival had written it? What if I'm annoyed that he got the story and I didn't? What if that particular story is the last thing I want to talk about?"

Her volley of questions didn't diminish Clark's smile. Quite the opposite, in fact. "As I hear it," he replied, "Lois Lane is the best reporter The Daily Planet has. The odds were solidly in my favour."

Lois pulled her gaze from his mouth and rammed his eyes. He held her there, a willing captive, bobbing in the sea of his unabashed admiration.

He blinked, releasing her. "Well," he said. "It's true, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Lois conceded, although for the first time ever, being the best didn't matter in the slightest.

When Clark Kent was looking at her like that …

He plucked a few grapes from their stalks. "What made you suspicious about the Senator?" he asked. "Why did you start investigating him?"

This was easier ground. Lois leaned further into the upright and nibbled on a piece of cheese. "Last year, his office was very keen that we publicise their program to help disadvantaged youth," she said. "The objective was to keep kids in school for as long as possible through mentoring and providing funds for books and other educational costs."

"Sounds like a great idea," Clark said. "But, in hindsight, it's easy to wonder if all the allocated funds got to the kids."

"Exactly," Lois said. "Last month, Perry sent me out to cover a hold-up. Two days later, I got a tip-off that they were about to make an arrest. I got there before most of the police and managed to get a few words with the perpetrator. He was only fifteen. I asked him why he wasn't still in school, and he said there was no money for school."

"That was it?" Clark asked. "That was enough to make you investigate the Senator?"

"The young burglar was a perfect candidate for the program," Lois said. "I wanted to know how he'd slipped through the net."

"And you discovered the program was not as expansive as the public had been led to believe?"

For a reporter who worked in Iowa, Clark was pretty adept at connecting the scattered dots of an investigation. "With a little digging, I realised that - other than the kids who had featured in the original story - it was impossible to find anyone who had been helped by the program."

"So you realised the money had gone somewhere?" Clark said. With a grin, he added, "And you needed to find out where?"

Lois nodded, smiling … because he was.

"How long did you work on the story?" he asked. "A few weeks? A few months?"

Even fellow reporters sometimes assumed that the best stories were mostly luck; that all the facts simply collated themselves into order and were delivered as a neat package to the reporter lucky enough to be in on the receiving end of such gifts. But Clark was different, it seemed. "A month," Lois said. "Every day, after I'd filed my other stories."

Clark gave a low whistle. "That's a lot of dedication based on the word of a kid. I don't think too many people would have given it a second thought. But I guess the Daily Planet is big enough that the editor could afford to give you some help."

Lois shook her head. "I work alone. Always. By choice."

His head jolted up. "Isn't that dangerous sometimes?"

"If you're worried about a few dangers, you're on a one-way track to spending your life writing the obits," Lois stated.

"But you take precautions?" he said. "You let someone know where you're going? You arrange back-up?"

Lois stared at her plate, tensing her muscles to keep from squirming. She gathered all her defiance and looked up, ready to launch her self-defence. "I do what I have to do to get the story," she said in a cold, hard tone.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, his hand raised in surrender. "It's none of my business how you get your stories. I didn't mean to sound as if I thought it was."

"But it bothered you?"

He took a walnut half, examined it closely, and broke it into quarters. "Yes," he admitted finally. "It bothered me."

"Why?"

"Because I care." He tossed the walnut fragments onto his plate and looked across at her. "I care, Lois," he affirmed softly. "I care about what happens to you. I want you to be safe. The thought of someone hurting you …" His eyes dropped. "I just can't stomach that."

Right now, he was the person most likely to hurt her. Because she'd allowed him too close. She'd let him affect her. She'd let him lure her to the place where she cared, too. "It's easier not to care," Lois said, unsure if she were directing her words at Clark or herself. "And a whole lot safer."

"Easier," he echoed. "Emptier. Lonelier. More isolated."

"But caring always involves risk," Lois said.

"Of course it does."

"When you don't care, you can't be hurt."

Clark nodded sadly. "I suppose that if you don't want anything, you can't be disappointed."

"What do you want, Clark?"

Her question echoed around the gazebo. He shuffled a little and released a long breath. "Lois …"

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward. "Tell me what it is that you want."

"I don't want to scare you away."

"You asked me for a date within five minutes of meeting me," Lois reminded him. "Now, we're having breakfast together."

The crease between his eyebrows relaxed, making it easy to believe that a smile was imminent. "Yeah," he said. "But I came horribly close to blowing it."

"Tell me what you want."

He brushed at his fingernail with the tip of his thumb. "I want … one day …" His eyes levelled in hers. "One day, I hope that you can see what I see."

"What do you see?"

His hand fluttered in the space between them. "That us … that we … that this could be … incredible."

She could see that already. She could feel it. The truth of it hadn't stopped battering her heart and bombarding her brain since the first moment Clark Kent had entered her world and filled it with new awareness. "Clark …"

"I'm sorry, Lois," he said. "I'm sorry for everything. I know I shouldn't have asked you out so quickly. I'm sorry for being so intense. It just …" He lifted his hand as if in hope it would express sentiments where words were inadequate. "It's just … this is intense."

"So you think I would prefer indifference?"

Her question drew a small smile. "I don't think it would be possible for me to be indifferent to you, Lois."

His compliments had a way of burrowing deep into her heart, as if intent on finding a permanent home. "Has this ever happened to you before?" she asked.

"No." He prodded at a chunk of bread. "You?"

"No!" she said with a gush of emphasis. "No. I didn't expect this. I didn't believe this would ever happen to me. I didn't believe it could happen."

"I wanted to believe," he said. He put his barely touched plate on the floor and stared out into the gloom.

Lois copied his action, discarding her plate. She wriggled back against the wooden upright. It was hard and uncomfortable. Clark was sitting on the rug with his long legs crooked awkwardly in front of him. She shivered and vigorously rubbed her arms.

He reached over for the soft blanket and held it out for her.

She shook her head. "You must be cold. You take it."

"I'm not cold."

Lois took the blanket. "Come and share it with me," she said.

Clark froze, shooting her a questioning look.

"Over here," Lois said, gesturing to the space next to her. "Share the upright. You can't be comfortable with no support. And you'll protect me from the wind coming from that side."

He scrambled to his feet and settled next to her - close, but carefully distant enough that they didn't touch. Lois handed him one edge of the blanket and placed the other side over her lap, tucking it under her thigh and using the action as a cover to inch a little closer to Clark.

He tensed as her elbow brushed against his side. Lois leaned slowly sideways until her shoulder ran into his arm. It felt like warm steel. She waited a few breaths and when he didn't say anything, she rested her head on the slope of his shoulder. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"No." His reply was deliciously breathless. "Are … you feeling warmer now?"

"Yes. Thank you." After a few more seconds of silence, she said, "You'd be a more comfortable pillow if you relaxed a bit."

"Oh. Sorry." His shoulder dropped half an inch.

Smiling, Lois closed her eyes and let the melody of their combined breaths wash over her. After just a few seconds, the ghost of Lois Lane, Metropolis super reporter, rose up, barging through the tranquillity with a torrent of incensed protests.

Spurning her, Lois nestled a little further into Clark's arm.

It felt so right, being here with Clark - sharing time and place and something that couldn't be seen or heard, but had a solid presence whenever they were together.

The ghost slinked away in defeat, and Lois was left with the staggering reality that she was enjoying this. She liked being with Clark. She loved how he made her feel. And the thought of giving it up …

"What are we going to do?" Lois asked, cautiously slicing through the silence.

He took a breath before answering. "What do you want to do?"

She wanted unqualified assurance that this could be forever. She wanted proof that this indefinable mass of feelings would be strong enough to withstand the erosion of time. But Clark could no more give her guarantees than she could promise him that her feelings - so wild and effervescent now - wouldn't crumble to dust. "I don't want to be vulnerable," she said. "I don't want to do something I'm going to regret. I don't want to believe in something that is impossible."

"Lois …" His fingers tapped against his thigh. "I wish I knew what to say. I wish …"

"Do you wish you knew what to say to make me see what you can see?" she asked, although, a little to her own surprise, there was no hostility in her tone.

"No. Not really. I wish I could find the words to explain how I'm feeling."

She wished for that, too. "Perhaps there is no explanation."

He turned to her, bracing his elbow against the upright to provide support for her head in place of his shoulder. He cleared his throat. "You're so very special, Lois," he said. "I want … hope … maybe … if you felt the same, we might … one day … have a future together."

She lifted her head, facing him straight on. "Is that what you want?"

He flinched. Recovered. Answered. "Yes."

"When did you realise this?"

He smiled, awkward and endearingly off-centre. "Is it corny to say 'from the moment I first saw you'?"

Lois smiled, too. "Yes," she said. "Very corny."

"It's the truth."

"Clark … I live in Metropolis. You live in Des Moines."

"That doesn't have to be a problem."

"I hate flying."

"I love flying."

"Are you saying you're willing to come to Metropolis to see me?"

"If you ask me to come, I'll be there. As often as you want."

"That's going to get terribly expensive," Lois said. "And there are no direct flights. You're going to waste hours waiting at airports."

"Coming to see you would never be a waste of time."

"But the cost, Clark. Doing it once was OK, but regularly, it's going to be -"

"The cost won't be a problem, either."

She searched his face for meaning. "Are your folks wealthy?" she asked bluntly.

"Not especially so."

"Then how are you going to afford regular flights on a Des Moines Register reporter's salary?"

"Please, Lois," he said. "Let's not worry about that now."

Lois had always needed to know how things were going to work out. She always planned. Always organised. Always calculated.

She looked through the lenses of his glasses and into those deep brown eyes. She found such warmth there. Warmth that draped around her heart and chased away her fears.

She had become a successful reporter by trusting her instincts. In matters of love, those instincts had repeatedly failed her.

But perhaps she'd never paused long enough to listen to her instincts. Perhaps she'd run headlong into new, and ultimately disastrous, relationships because she'd so desperately wanted to fortify the hope that had been steadily dissolving since she'd been forced to witness the daily decay of her parents' marriage.

Perhaps Clark was different.

Her instincts were insisting that he was different.

Perhaps she could trust him without having to know all the answers now.

She nodded, just a tiny movement. He responded with a soft smile. "Thank you," he whispered.

A mere sliver of space separated them, but it felt like a canyon. "Have you thought about kissing me?" Lois asked.

"Yes." His reply came without emphasis. Just simple truth, unadorned.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you kiss me earlier?" she said. "When I brushed the rain off your sweater?"

"I wasn't sure you wanted me to."

"You wouldn't kiss me unless you were sure I wanted it?"

"I hope not."

"What if you knew I wanted you to kiss me?"

"Do you?"

"Uh huh."

His eyes closed, his mouth moved forward, and his lips touched hers. His hand followed, curling around her neck with his thumb reaching up to her cheek. His kiss deepened, moving with careful thoroughness that searched out her strands of resistance and brought every speck to panting glorious compliance.

Far too soon, he backed away. His eyes opened, looked up, and met hers.

Lois let her hand slide down the contours of his sleeve, reaching his hand and grasping it. "Well," she puffed. "That makes everything so much more complicated."

"I think it makes everything clearer," Clark said.

"How so?"

"That was the best kiss of my life, with the most fascinatingly beautiful woman I have ever met," he said, caressing her with a smile. "What's complicated about that?"

His certainty washed over her in waves. "The best kiss of your life?" she questioned.

He nodded.

It had been the best kiss of her life, too. And as much as she wanted to dwell on the memory, mere memories couldn't compete with Clark … right there … available. "Kiss me again," she murmured.

He came to her, both hands clasping her neck, holding her with infinite tenderness as his mouth imprinted the story of his wonder and fascination.

"Clark! Clark!"

Clark's frustrated groan rose from somewhere deep in his chest, and he eased away before springing to his feet.

"Clark!" A woman Lois recognised as having been in the group with him last night was running through the rain towards the gazebo. "Clark!" she shouted. "We need your help. Shane's called off the wedding."