Love Came Just in Time by Lynn Kurland

standing at my gates. Every breath I’ve taken since then has just convinced me that life with you is infinitely more joyful than life without you.” He raised her hand to his lips. “My sweet Abby, how can you think I would offer you any less?”
    â€œOh, Miles,” she said. It was all she’d ever wanted to hear. She threw her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and let her tears slip down her cheeks. “Oh, Miles.”
    â€œI want you to stay,” he whispered, putting his arms around her and hugging her. “I’m half-afraid to ask you to give up the future for me.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Will you? I haven’t much to offer you, yet.”
    She looped her arms around his neck and smiled at him, feeling joy well up in her heart. “All I really want,” she said, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, “is you.”
    â€œYou won’t miss chocolate?”
    â€œI hear making love is a good substitute.”
    Miles laughed. “Perhaps in our travels someday we’ll learn the truth of it. Until then, can you make do?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd you’ll wed me?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFinally,” Sir Sweetums exclaimed, triumphantly. “Well done, Miles, old boy! Finally, someone to take care of my beloved Abigail!”
    â€œI don’t need to be taken care of—”
    Miles kissed her.
    â€œSee?” Abby mumbled. She made a concentrated effort to pull away so she could point out that such barbaric practices were most definitely not in the agreement, but somehow she found herself mesmerized by the feeling of his mouth on hers.
    All right. If he wanted to kiss her into submission, she’d let him. Now and then.
    â€œPerhaps, Sir Sweetums,” Miles said, when he let her up for air, “Abby might be more amenable to the idea of keeping me in line, rather than the opposite.”
    Sir Sweetums considered. “Well, Garretts do do that sort of thing.”
    Miles’s eyes began to water. “The first thing she might do is remove me from your presence, my good cat. No offense, of course.”
    Sir Sweetums drew back at Miles’s hearty sneeze. “Well, yes, perhaps that would be wise. I’ll be on my way now.”
    â€œOh,” Abby said, holding out her hand, “don’t go.”
    â€œBut I must, my dear. You are safely settled. My task is finished.”
    â€œBut,” Abby said, “don’t you want to see how our lives turn out? What if we have rotten kids?”
    Sir Sweetums smiled again, a cheshire cat smile. “I’m a permanent member of the Guardian Feline Association, my dear. We’re always about, lending a paw when needed. Now that you’re here, I daresay I’ll be popping into medieval England more regularly.”
    â€œAlways on Christmas Eve,” Miles said with another sneeze. “I doubt anything else during the year will give me quite the same start as watching you speak.”
    Sir Sweetums lifted a paw in farewell. “Until next year, then. God be with you, my dears!”
    Sir Sweetums vanished. Abby looked at Miles with a watery smile.
    â€œHell of a cat, huh?”
    Miles laughed. “Indeed, my love, he certainly is. Now, I believe you and I have some unfinished business below with a priest.”
    She followed him down the tight staircase to find the priest standing near Miles’s inadequate bonfire, shivering. Abby took one last look around the hall and shook her head. The place was a dump. It made her apartment look like a four-star hotel suite.
    Then Miles stopped, looked down at her, and smiled. He held out his hand for her.
    Abby put her hand in his. The floor squished under her Keds as she let Miles lead her to the priest. Maybe she would ask for a shovel for Christmas next year. Why hadn’t she thought to stuff a can of disinfectant in her jacket before she’d left the twentieth