So I received this wonderful prompt on tumblr:

I fear I may be taking advantage by making such a request and perhaps you had a reason for leaving it unwritten but would you give us a glimpse of Matthew asking Mary on their first date in Play Dates? If not it is totally understandable, I've just been re-reading and got intrigued as to what their body language and moods were like in that moment.

Here is my response. Thank you for this, resembling-gumption. I had a wonderful time writing this moment between them. :) I hope to post the next actual chapter sometime in the upcoming two weeks, after I complete and post the next chapter of "The Hungover Games".

"Well, then."

Matthew sneaked another glance in her direction, itching to hold her hand, wondering how she would react if he tried. They strolled behind an exhausted trio, both smiling as Isobel kept encouraging the girls towards their cars.

"Well, then," Mary echoed, walking closer to him than was necessary. "I think the Fall Festival was a bonafide success."

"Especially the Ring Toss Booth," he grinned, nudging her gently, rewarded by a laugh.

"How could it not be with the two of us in charge," she returned, gazing at him from under thick lashes. "The only downside of the evening was that I didn't get to tie you up."

A coughing spasm made him stop in his tracks.

"Are you alright?" she inquired, tapping him on the back, the scent of her perfume tickling his nose.

"I will be," he managed through sporadic coughs mixed with laughter. "As soon as I can breathe again."

His mother had paused, their daughters gazing back at them with no trace of amusement.

"I'm fine, mother," he attested, watching Isobel roll her eyes before setting off again, Belle and Anna nearly skipping to keep up.

"Sorry," Mary quipped. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

His chuckle made her insides flutter.

"If that's what getting in trouble with you feels like, you have my full permission to toss me into the dog house any time you wish."

Her gaze dropped to the pavement as her teeth nipped her bottom lip.

"Is that an invitation, Crawley?"

His feet halted under him, an unsteady hand reaching out for her arm, turning her in his direction. God, was he really about to do this? Had he lost what was left of his mind?

"It could be," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it suits you, that is."

Her eyes flickered in confusion, and she tilted her head as she stepped in closer.

"Wait," she breathed, trembling in spite of herself. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

His face was so hot he would swear it could glow in the dark.

"If you have to ask, I suppose I'm not doing it very well."

Her breath was unsteady, her mouth suddenly dry as she stared at this man winding his way around a heart she had feared untouchable.

"You're doing splendidly," she affirmed, giddy as a teenager being asked to the prom. Then reality hit…this was more, this was impossible, yet here they were, and he was…he was…

"Yes," she blurted out, her eyes widening in a half-panicked state.

"Yes—you'll go out with me?" he questioned, the side of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Yes," she repeated, laughing at her own absurdity. "Yes, I'll go out with you. Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't sure…," he broke off, licking lips in an attempt to untwist them. "Do you like food?"

She couldn't contain her giggle as he ransacked his hair in frustration.

"Of course you like food, I mean, who doesn't?" he asked, shaking his head immediately as she tried to stifle her laughter.

God—he was acting like a complete idiot. It was a wonder she hadn't run away screaming.

"I'm quite fond of food," she mused, tossing a glance towards their cars where three figures stood impatiently. "It would seem we have something else in common."

He laughed in spite of himself, daring to reach for her hand, feeling something akin to a jolt when he took it within his own.

Her breath hitched at his touch.

"What I meant to ask was if you would like me to cook for you?" he managed, rubbing his thumb over silken skin, noticing stirrings in places he couldn't think about now, wondering if he had truly felt her shiver.

"That depends," she replied with a coy grin. "How good are you, Crawley?"

He wished he had worn boxers.

"Good enough," he hummed, relieved his mother was clearly out of earshot.

She clutched her jacket tighter with her free hand, needing it to cover the immediate response of her breasts.

"How could I possibly turn down such an offer?"

There it was—that lopsided grin that did things to her, that made her crave contact, that made her want to let him in. How in God's name was she supposed to resist that? Resist him?

"You can't," he returned, intertwining fingers with hers as they resumed their pace. "That's what I was counting on."

She filled her lungs deeply, relishing autumn's bite in an attempt to cool parts overheating.

"How is Saturday?"

She closed her eyes at his question, already counting down hours until the next weekend arrived.

"Saturday is fine," she replied. "But I'll need to find a sitter."

"I'll check with mother," he offered, warily eyeing the very woman of whom he had just spoken. "Perhaps I can convince her to have the girls for a sleep-over so we can enjoy a night in together."

The implications of what he had just uttered hit him as a snort of laughter flew out her nose.

"God, I didn't mean…"

"Seven?" she asked, making an ordinary number sound ridiculously sensual.

"Seven," he returned, feeling a lightness in his step that was most unexpected.

As always, I would cherish your thoughts!