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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to those of you still reading/reviewing! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! And long live the Spuffy Realm, I sincerely hope!!
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It started off slow, following the night Buffy found him- Rather, the night he found her in a hole at the cemetery. Hours spent talking and kissing faded into early morning. With Buffy's permission and gratitude, Spike followed her Jeep back to her house to make certain she got in safe and sound.

Before doing just that, she ran to his car and made him roll down the window for a final kiss goodnight.

Neither cared about the lack of sleep they would suffer from that day. The hours themselves felt surreal and dreamlike without physical exhaustion, and pleasant enough that neither Buffy nor Spike cared very much about it. An entire week went by in a similar fashion. Snow melted into the hardened earth and chilling temperatures rose just high enough to remind everyone winter was slowly fading away.

Weightlessness and relief blossomed like a spring flower for one man, while joyful anticipation replaced the feeling of being haunted for the woman in his life. And Buffy was, in his life.

January came to an end alongside rekindling. Buffy was calling Spike as often as he dared call her. Shaky hesitance broke beneath the punching of cell phone buttons. They met up three times consecutively after that night in the cemetery, and for a change of pace went out to dinner. Even though it was still unfavorably cold, and there were only two decent places to dine at within twenty miles of town, they made a point to do it.

Going to Buffy's house would inevitably lead to more than a shared meal and conversation. While Spike had no issues with this, he also recognized her needs and respected them for what they were. Hell, he was scared of fucking things up, too, and if distance of the physical sort was all she asked for, he would humbly resist temptation. Besides, she let him kiss her; sometimes, Buffy even did it first.

It was more than he deserved, spending time with her at all. Dinners strangely lacking in awkward expectation- but a shared meal of any kind would more than suffice -were another gift. He and Buffy talked very much like before. Little by little their evenings absorbed a sense of comfort, devoid of guarded looks, filled to the brim with timid handholding that made hearts beat double time. Across linen draped tabletops and open menus they found solid ground. Uncertainties of higher magnitude fell away like time.

As the days continued to pass with cold frequency and all disbelief simmered to a whisper, February brought more changes into Spike's life. For one, his hours at the body shop were extended. He was on the evening schedule now, with one afternoon shift a week. It worked out nicely. He was still able to put in time at the school, but his graveyard occupation took a predicted hit.

Speaking to the deacon was inevitable, and after much grumbling the old man eventually decided he would try to find somebody new to take over the job. Spike was down to one night a week, and that was just fine. While a part of him felt suddenly sentimental about the place, likely due to a certain revelation that took place in that dreary old guardhouse, he also wanted more time at the body shop.

Spike enjoyed the work there, now more than ever because he wasn't using it to forget about everything else he didn't have. Instead, he daydreamed while repairing brake lines and completing oil changes. Daydreams that weren't mocking him with impossible things. Daydreams based in not just hope, but possibility.

He thought continuously of Buffy, but when he was at Bandoni's romantic consideration spread out like an ocean, his heart anticipating what awaited him at home. In that near empty farm town of cornfields and movie screen tourist shops.

Her smiles were warm and steadfast, even with the ever growing chill outside and distance between them on select days, she still laughed with him, still blinked coquettishly before accepting a kiss or initiating one herself. There were moments Spike nearly forgot what it was to be anything but this damnably happy, then he would show up at the store to say hi or buy the girls lunch, and find Buffy multitasking on her toes. Her hair had a tendency to fall into a wild, haphazard ponytail by the end of the day. He'd locate her amongst the antiquities, sporting dusty jeans and coaxing a sale while Anya furiously rang up a line. Their onslaught of valued customers never noticed more than the charming smiles, blind to the fact one shopkeeper was constantly catching her breath. And in all her messy beauty, Spike would fall again.

Those slow business days Buffy was used to were missing in action this year. What was once a ghost town following the holidays had regained its tourist trap status typically reserved for summertime. It had a lot to do with a new inn that had just opened up, about thirty minutes East and in a town much smaller than theirs. She told him Anya left a stack of flyers at the front desk. Buffy hadn't even known they had flyers.

Anya Harris was nothing if not a go-getter, and if his girl was a little flabbergasted by the onslaught of new business, she was still happy about it. Such success birthed long, entertaining stories for their time together, and lit Buffy's emerald eyes from the inside. It made her proud, and Spike guessed, distracted from the missing portion of her workweek.

Concern for her evasiveness regarding the high school grew regularly. Spike figured she kept avoiding the topic because she did miss being there, being the ever dependable guidance counselor. She was merely too afraid to want for the job back.

By now, one would think she would have gathered a pile of reasons to return, even if each one remained purely sentimental. If she had, though, Buffy wasn't saying. Kids came by the store often enough, but they never stayed for longer than necessary with all the new racket and goings on. This was likely the one thing about Anya's influential flyers Buffy regretted.

In reality it had only been about two weeks since she last walked the school halls. Her complete silence on the matter worried him, but Spike didn't want to push. Maybe, after some more time had gone by he would broach the tender subject again.

"Anyone home?!"

Spike blinked. Thoughts scattered as he unfolded his arms and pushed off the kitchen counter. In his living room he found Jack standing beside the sofa. "Just let yourself in now?"

The boy shrugged, backpack dropping from his shoulders. "When you don't open the door but leave it unlocked, yeah."

"I'm supposed to know you're here, how exactly?"

"I knocked. Hard and a lot."

Spike blinked again, unperturbed. "Well." Had he really been so wrapped up in his musings that he hadn't heard? It would figure; even when he was happy, all awareness blanked out like electricity in a storm if he was thinking about Buffy.

Once, such moments had been stapled together by hopeless longing and faulted dreams. He didn't blame himself for giving into the joy of a new reality, one where Buffy was slowly coming back to him after all he'd done. Where her hands rested warm and sweet upon his face and her smiles were as tender as the day she'd first met William-

"Spike!"

The man scowled, head whipping around. "What?"

"What freakin' planet are you on?" Jack sighed and tossed his backpack onto the couch. "I've been trying to talk to you and all I get are blank stares. They're not even at me!"

Spike shrugged. "Got stuff on my mind."

"I can tell," he scoffed.

"Then why do you interrupt?

"You're ogling your recliner!"

"Pfft." An eye roll. "Can only imagine what that'd imply."

"I'm not interested in finding out." Jack removed his coat and draped it over the back of the sofa. It was customary for him. Spike's home had become like a second over winter break, all that time spent training in the basement, or the living room if necessary. Sometimes they would push the furniture to the walls and roll up the rug before taking swings in front of an ash filled fireplace.

Today a fire was lit, which only made sense considering the temperature outside. Jack frowned still. Every light in the house was on, and four window curtains had been dragged open. He wasn't sure Spike even believed in sunlight, yet the living room was swathed in it.

Just as it had been the last time Jack stopped by, now he thought of it. The school was a more frequent meeting place generally. They had both been busy, and training was slowly becoming a fun pastime rather than a necessity. He hadn't dropped in with the intention of asking for a refresher. What he came to discuss was far from the topic of physical defense.

Only now, Jack had noticed something else worthy of his attention. "You're acting weird."

"Am I?" A smirk appeared.

Jack pointed it out immediately. "Yes! What's with you? The last couple times I've seen you you've been all..."

"Distracted?"

"It's more than that." An expression of pure puzzlement fell upon Jack's face. "It's almost like you're happy."

Spike paused, then said all too casually sarcastic, "Hope you'll pardon me."

"Will you cut it out!"

"Being happy?"

"Not telling me why you're happy."

Spike chuckled, his secret smile spreading into a broad hint. "Take a guess, Nancy Drew."

"Don't call me that."

"Ah, that'll make me quit." One brow rose inquiringly. "Would you like 'Sherlock' better then?"

"You're an ass."

"A happy one at that."

Jack crossed his arms with uncharacteristic parental impatience. He stared at Spike's familiar face wearing an unfamiliar grin. Not because the man never smiled, but because he hadn't through the entire months of December and January; and here was one out of the blue, sprouting like a flower from concrete.

His eyes were clear and bright, posture relaxed. He looked like he'd been getting rest, and there was a smell in the air. "What is that?"

"What is what?"

"That smell." Jack's nose twitched. "Onions and garlic? Are you cooking?"

"I was, 'til you sauntered in." Spike turned and headed for the kitchen, the boy following.

"I'm not the one who does the sauntering around here."

The Brit ignored that mutter, strolling to the stove as Jack sat in a chair beside a black, wide wooden table. He waited in the center of the kitchen, frowning deeply while Spike freed steam from a skillet, lifting the foggy lid with his bare hand. The man took a nearby spatula and stirred its contents.

Jack thought hard. He knew he hadn't seen Spike eat a decent meal in weeks, let alone cook one. At the risk of fretting like a grandmother Jack had actually nagged Spike about his diet several times over the last couple months. It had not been anywhere close to decent for a long time.

With this same realization came a memory of walking in on him standing over a different fire, burning paper instead of browning food to edibility.

Like a shock, the boy jolted upright in his chair. "You and Buffy are back together."

Spike replaced the lid and turned, smiling still; Jack's mouth widened to make room for one of his own. "Holy shit."

"She'd reprimand you for that."

"Holy shit!" His hands slammed against the tabletop. "When?!"

"Little over a week ago." Spike's eyes filled with memories, passion, a rekindled wave of happiness. "Was goin' to tell you-"

"Why didn't you?!" He wasn't enraged, far from it, but Jack did wonder why he hadn't gotten the chance to feel this thrilled as soon as fucking possible.

"Because we haven't officially made anything of it." His smile slipped, but not due to weight of sadness. "Hasn't gotten there yet. Never really did, before."

"But... it's on its way, right? I mean you guys are together. You're seeing each other and hanging out and... and you're exclusive?"

Spike frowned briefly. "Didn't know you knew what that word meant."

"Bite me- But answer first."

"Yeah." His teeth gleamed even as Jack's concern grew visible. Spike recalled one of the many conversations he and Buffy shared this week, his favorite one so far, if the man had to choose. "She's... forgiven me. And she isn't leavin'. We've talked. Still talking, but a lot of the worst is behind us."

Jack laughed brilliantly. Relief had never appeared so jovial on anyone. "Thank God!"

Spike chuckled, turning the heat down on his food. "That tired of keepin' an eye on me, mate?"

Jack scoffed. "No, you did it for me first. But I am glad I won't have to endure every single rant you give on the 'bloody pointlessness of censored television.'"

One brow lifted humorlessly. "They shouldn't put decent films on the telly if they're goin' to take every cuss word out of 'em. It's just ridiculous."

"Yeah, but now I won't be the only one forced to hear you bitch about it."

"Clem put in his fair share of time," Spike muttered. He stirred the meat, vegetables and spices again, adding more salt. "You want somethin' to eat?"

"I'm good, thanks." Jack leaned back with ease. His cheeks hurt. He wanted to call Buffy and proclaim an affectionate I Told You So alongside congratulations, but caution warned against it. He didn't dare do anything other than be happy for her and Spike. If he said something to fuck this up, well, he'd kick his own ass.

"Since you guys have been seeing each other again," Jack asked lightly, "has she said anything about when she's coming back to school?"

Spike covered the noisy skillet again. "Uh, no, actually."

Jack frowned heavily for the first time in minutes. "What?"

"It's hard for her... She's not sure about comin' back yet." Which was bull. His girl knew exactly what she wanted, just not how to ask for it, and still lacking confidence due to events carried out by Michael O'Henry and his partner in crime. If Spike were honest, he'd say Buffy was blaming herself for not seeing the possibility before it happened, which of course made no bloody sense.

"She has to come back," Jack complained. "What, is she thinking she'll just give advice out of her shop forever?"

"Watch it," Spike scolded. "She's tryin'."

"I know," the boy sighed, looking his age for once. "It's just I liked her being there. So does everyone else, and Wood's been handing out detentions like candy canes ever since she left. There's more fights and-"

"Trust you're not gettin' involved there."

"Well, um... not usually." He looked perplexed. "Why?"

"Just don't want you stickin' your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"Oh. Right. I'm not." Jack scratched said nose, a tell he wasn't being completely honest. Another sigh, quieter this time, slid past his lips. "Actually, that's the main reason I came here. Getting involved with things."

Spike frowned and switched off the stove. He crossed his arms. "All right. What's on your mind then?"

"You're going to laugh at me, or get angry, but I needed to talk to someone."

"What about Buffy?"

"Honestly? I think you're the only person I know that'll work better in this situation."

"Stroke my ego a bit more an' I might not bother gettin' angry."

"Like you need it." Jack grumbled, his shoulders pinching tight and rising above the back of his chair. "Besides, it might be kind of embarrassing asking her about this."

Spike's left brow peaked along with his interest. "I'm all ears."

"Valentine's Day is coming up. Which means so is the annual dance." Jack's lips compressed momentarily. "For a change, I'm interested in going."

Spike held back a chuckle, squinting severely. "S'there a bird involved here?"

"Ding! You win a prize."

Amusement turned quickly into pride. "Well, who's the lucky girl?"

"She isn't my date or anything, but I promised her I'd go to the dance."

Spike paused. "But not with her?"

"No. She's on the dance committee but she's having trouble finding volunteers-"

"Wait, wait..." Spike held up one hand in mock seriousness. "There's a dance committee?"

"Yeah."

His sigh was full of derision. "Of course there is. Why am I even surprised? An' I assume this chit you're interested in has coaxed you into helping?"

Jack rose his pointer finger quickly. "I only offered to find more volunteers."

"So she's got you helping."

"It's not that simple. I'm not on the committee."

"I bet she's a pretty prep, probably listens to music you hate but smiles like a cheerleader. Very hard to say no to. "

"Will you stop?"

"Is she a cheerleader?"

"What does that matter?!"

"M'just wonderin'."

Jack was quiet and stone faced for a solid minute, glaring at Spike's smile. He eventually sighed and said, "Look, are you going to help or not?"

"Depends. You need me to volunteer for this V-day roundup I take it?"

Jack glanced down at the table and mumbled, "I would appreciate it, yeah."

Spike retrieved a beer out of the fridge and cracked it open against the countertop. "Done."

Jack's shook his head and blinked. "Really?"

"'Course. Just so long as I don't have to dress up like a baby with an arrow and advertise the bloody event, it's not a problem." He took a swig. "Who else is on this committee?"

"I'm not sure. She said she'll take anyone she can get, and she only has two other students and one of the teachers. A couple parents, I think."

An idea struck Spike before Jack could name those few unfortunate individuals. "People outside the school can help with this?"

"Sure."

"How 'bout asking Buffy, then?"

"You read my mind. I was going to call her next."

Spike paused. "So you don't mind talkin' to her about this?"

"Oh, no. That's something different. I just want some advice on... the girl... thing." Jack's voice descended into a mumble, then shot back to normal when he returned to the main topic. "First I needed to get you to agree to helping out. I promised I'd find at least one other volunteer."

Yep. Definitely a crush, poor kid. "What if I'd said no?"

"Buffy wouldn't. There's at least one."

"True." Spike nodded and took another sip. Buffy would always help, even if asked to assist in planning a dance at the school she still felt guilty for leaving. After she learned of a particular student struggling to find volunteers, her heart would be won completely. "Tell me this; you ever think of gettin' someone else to ask Buffy for the help?"

"As in, not me?"

Spike set his beer aside. "She wouldn't say no if you did, trust me. She couldn't. But I know of a girl she's rather close with. Name of Penny?"

"That's one of the other students on the committee," Jack said. "She's Phoebe's cousin."

"Phoebe is the one you fancy?"

Jack rolled his eyes and ignored the question.

"I don't believe it, you're blushing."

"I am not!" the boy shouted, color rising.

Spike chuckled. "I can't wait to meet her. Now..." He cracked his knuckles absently, ideas forming, considerations swirling. "Think you could ask Penny to convince her cousin to add a bit more pomp and circumstance to this little shindig?"

Jack frowned. "What did you have in mind?"

Spike pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. "Nothin' big, but... I think your lot might need a few more volunteers..."

***

"You have to tell me everything."

Buffy sighed with a smile. "Anya, nothing happened last night that wasn't a feature at the last several dinners."

"Oh, c'mon!" she griped. "I know you guys can't be that boring!"

"Trust me, it was far from boring." Buffy gave her a pleasant brow arch and strolled away. She carried a box of candlesticks to the back of the store where numerous dining sets awaited. Candelabras of silver, copper, gold plate and bronze dotted various tabletops and finishes. The majority of them were shiny from orange oil and Pledge. Buffy's hands still smelled like citrus.

She set the box of tapers down and started unwrapping them one by one. She had learned a while ago pieces sold better when they were decorated. No need to go crazy, just a touch of glitz here, some votives there, a few plates and mirrors. Her large selection of furniture could not be dressed up entirely, but the dining sets were profiting from a special attention to detail these days. The new customers rolling in seemed to appreciate it.

Buffy was still amazed when unfamiliar faces came rushing through her front door, bringing a chill and their open wallets along. She sold various things from various decades to various people every day, which was a distinct change from the last few years. People didn't frequent the store nearly as often in midwinter and early spring as they did in summertime. Complaining about this recent turn of events she was not.

Anya was rightfully proud of her profitable business savoir faire. All the extra activity also guaranteed she could stay on to help even if Buffy wasn't busy at the school any longer.

This thought roused familiar discomfort, so she shook it away and placed another taper inside an awaiting candleholder. Buffy caught the little tag hanging off one metal arm and hummed in approval. She had asked Anya to price every new candelabra in the vicinity, and she wasn't trying to overcharge people anymore, not since the rampage caused by her ambitious advertising. Buffy couldn't be grateful enough. If it had been anyone else working for her, those flyers never would have happened.

It could be wonderful, having a friend as a coworker, especially when you two grew close enough to call each other one of your best. The only drawbacks recently were a sticky computer keyboard, which had thankfully not suffered a worse fate, and Anya's nosy persistence regarding Buffy's love life. More specifically, the rekindled romance between her and the infamous William 'Spike' Pratt.

He wasn't really infamous, though, because Anya had spoken to him a few times now. She simply kept nagging for details. Buffy gave them readily, but there was only so much she would talk about once the big picture was painted.

Their history was theirs, no one else's, and Buffy didn't want to discuss the darker parts of it with anyone. However, she vaguely explained the outline of their renewal. Anya was pleased enough with that, it was just their dinner dates she insisted on prying open like a storybook. She refused to accept the idea Buffy and Spike enjoyed their time together when there wasn't financial gain or sex involved.

Buffy recalled a conversation had just a couple days ago, where she had managed to get the point across, to a point.

"How 'bout a hand job?"

"Anya!"

"Oral in the bathroom?"

"No!"

"Fondling under the table?"

"No."

"Okay, does this guy hide a chastity belt behind that long leather coat?"

Buffy huffed. "Don't you like talking to Xander over dinner without worrying about getting naked?"

Anya paused, her expression growing thoughtful. "Well, we always do afterward. But I suppose... yes, I enjoy talking to Xander. Cuddling's nice, too."

"See? So how come it's so hard for you to believe Spike and I feel the same?"

She frowned. "I guess I can see it." A hesitant nod came next. "I really do like conversing with my husband."

"I should hope so."

"But there is sex later on, always."

"I'm happy for you."

"I just want you to know for sure that he's good in bed before you settle down."

"Believe me, I don't think that'll be a problem." Buffy smiled secretly to herself, then added, "Besides, we're going slow."

"There's a freakin' surprise."

Buffy rolled her eyes and laughed beside the dining sets. It wasn't Anya's opinions that bothered her; in some weird way on some deeper level, she could see her point. It was simply that Buffy didn't care enough to chance going fast. Hers and Spike's relationship was bound to be sturdy after everything, and growing stronger each day, but right now it felt delicate. Futures weren't destined, they were forged, and she didn't want to screw things up by stepping out of her comfort zone yet.

Besides, if there was one thing she had no doubts on, it was whether or not passion lurked inside the connection. Flames and sparks ignited every time she heard his voice.

Closing up the taper box, nearly empty now, Buffy strolled through a forest of furniture sets towards the front counter. How she once felt about Spike was similar to how Buffy felt about her old job. Tiring considerations seemed to follow what memories were obtained over a few months. It hadn't really been long at all since she sat in her office, yet it felt like years. The little things she used to do seemed monumental now, like writing notes for teachers on behalf of their students and talking Robin out of issuing a detention or two.

She told herself it was just a matter of time before the longing died, but with every hour she wondered if she really wanted it to. Then, doubt in her abilities would creep like a shadow up her spine and she would push every concern to the back of her head.

She knew Spike thought she should go back, even if he didn't say it in so many words. Robin had called once to check and see if she'd changed her mind. Even Anya said something about her willingness to handle the store singlehandedly twice a week, like before, should Buffy need her to.

These were the few signs capable of fogging Doubt's critical eye. If others believed in her, why was it so hard for Buffy to believe in herself?

She wished she'd had time to speak to more of the kids who came by the store lately. It was harder than anticipated, what with all the new business. Maybe she ought to consider hiring another employee for a while.

Buffy sidled behind the counter and stored the candles on a lower shelf. She opened the log book and began scanning Anya's newest entries when the front door opened. She looked up to greet the people carrying a February draft inside and stopped.

Penny stood hand in hand with another teenager Buffy just recognized. The girl in braids and lip gloss trotted up to the counter with familiarity and purpose, a smile on her face. It was mirrored by the one on the boy's behind her.

"Buffy, hi! How are you?"

"Hey, Penny." Buffy quickly looked all around the store and noted it was still for the first time in hours. She opened the mini fridge. "You guys want anything to drink?" she rushed to ask.

"I'm good. Nick?"

"I'm fine, thanks Ms. Summers."

"Please-"

"She likes being called by her first name, don't you remember?" Penny nudged her boyish beau in the arm and added, "It hasn't been that long since she left school."

Nick shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, I forgot."

Buffy cringed internally and took a cola for herself. "No big. So, what do you guys need today?" She wondered if she was about to play the part of shopkeeper again, and not the anticipated role she longed to dust off.

"Actually, we came to ask you something."

"It's sort've a favor," Nick added.

"You know the school's annual Valentine's Day dance is coming up?"

Buffy absently counted back the days, wondering when February had been cut in half. "Uh, sure. Is that really next week?"

"Yep!" Penny rested both arms on the glass countertop, dropping Nick's hand in the process. He followed her. "Nick and I are helping get things organized. We're on the committee, actually. My cousin Phoebe-remember her? -is kind of running it."

Buffy nodded, questions forming.

"The reason we came by is because we're short on hands for setup and decorations... Phoebe's getting a little hyper about it. I was kind of hoping you might have a little extra time to volunteer?"

Buffy's questions dimmed and she was hit with blinding uncertainty. Her instincts shouted agreement, immediately shunning all doubt desperately. Those other, less optimistic concerns however, fought without reserve. "Me? Are- Are you sure?"

Penny and Nick exchanged an odd look. The girl turned back and said, "Of course! You know the gym's layout, what needs to be done, and everyone helping pretty much knows you. Why wouldn't we want your help?"

"I don't- What I meant was, um, Robin Wood... might-"

"Phoebe already talked to him," Nick chimed in, earning an approving look from his girlfriend. "He seemed happy we thought to ask you."

"Oh." Buffy looked down, felt her heart pattering in her chest like an excited baby bird's. Shrugging, fighting her own smile for some unknown reason, she nodded and said, "Okay. Sure, I'll help."

Penny squealed and grinned from one chestnut braid to the other. "Thanks Buffy!" She grabbed Nick's hand and started backing towards the exit. "You've got to be at the school after hours tomorrow, is that okay?"

"I do? I mean- What time?"

"Six."

"Should I bring anything?"

The girl paused briefly, Nick's unattached hand waiting on the doorknob. "Maybe a planner, something to help with the list making. We've been doing a lot of it but keep getting overwhelmed. Ooh! And doughnuts, if you can."

Buffy shrugged again, holding back a chuckle. "Sure."

"Awesome. Thanks again!"

And the young duo was off. They seemed to disappear past the brick wall furthest from the shop's entrance, and when Buffy could no longer see them she looked down at her unopened can of pop. A premature list started scrawling itself out in her mind, from the biggest things to the most minor. A dance was a huge deal to high schoolers, this Buffy knew for certain, having been one herself. Nothing exciting happened without them. To have one in the gymnasium, well, there was a lot to be done.

She grabbed a nearby pen and paper and started putting her thoughts down with great speed. Buffy could barely read her own handwriting.

Vastly preoccupied, she didn't hear Anya trot up from the back of the store with a customer, carrying a seemingly ancient birdcage until the cash register dinged open. Buffy looked up, saw the cage, and another idea sparked to life. She checked the piece's price tag before rushing to the back of the store, looking for the much smaller but equally elegant cages ever busy gathering dust.

As she sped off, the distracted shopkeeper didn't notice two young, excited faces pressed up against the very edge of her storefront window. Penny and Nick exchanged satisfied smiles.





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