Epilogue

Beams from the truck's headlights cut through the darkness. The clouds Clark banished earlier in the day were rolling back in, making sightings of the moon sporadic at best and leaving the interior of the cab dark and shadowy. Chloe caught the occasional glimpse of Clark's face in the lights of oncoming cars and every time she did, he was wearing a wide, satisfied smile. The one on her face was a perfect match.

The night was balmy and the air, soft and light, so they had the windows rolled down which made regular conversation hard without shouting but the silence between them was warm and comfortable and filled with happy anticipation for tonight, tomorrow and the rest of the unwritten future. She closed her eyes and faced the wind, loving the feel of it lifting and twisting through her hair as they flew down the highway.

Best. Day. Ever.

Shelby rested his head on her lap; she gave the pooch some extra special attention and kept stroking and petting his silky ears. Every once and a while, Shelby groaned in contentment.

I know just how you feel old boy, she thought.

Later tonight, she'd replay every delicious moment that happened on the beach - every touch, every taste, every longing look - but for now she basked in every second as it came, still taking in her happiness.

They were almost back at the farm when her phone rang. Automatically, she dug it out and checked the caller ID. No surprise. "Jimmy," she said aloud. She made a quick decision, sent his call to voice mail and then typed out a text.

"What did you say?" Clark asked from behind the steering wheel.

"A variation of thanks, but no thanks."

Clark slowed down to turn onto the farm's gravel driveway. Recognizing home, Shelby lifted his head and thumped his tail against the back of the seat. As soon as Clark put the truck in park, he opened his door and let Shelby scramble over him. Shelby put his nose to the ground and immediately set out to smell everything new that had happened while he'd been away.

Instead of climbing out also, Clark closed the driver's door and then cut the engine. The overhead light went off, plunging them back into darkness. Sound seemed amplified without the wind and road noise. The breeze brought the low moos from a few cows out in the back pasture, the steady chirp of frogs practicing their mating calls, and the soft rustle of the wind through the leaves of the rose bushes planted next to the white picket fence. The Kent's house made for a pretty picture. The porch light was on, adding to the warm glow of lights coming through the kitchen window, the upstairs hallway and the double panes in Mrs. Kent's bedroom.

Lately, Mrs. Kent was in the habit of retiring early in the evening to her room to read or go over her notes or practice a speech for whatever event or cause she was researching in her role as State Senator. They'd have the downstairs to themselves again. Tonight, that knowledge was more intriguing than ever before. Of course, that meant they had to actually leave the cab of the pickup truck but she sensed they had some unfinished business first.

Clark shifted in his seat so he could face her. "About canceling on Jimmy – does that mean you don't think there is a lead anymore?" He sounded hopeful but she wasn't going to lie.

"Life would be simpler if I said yes, but honestly," she shrugged, "I don't know. I admit, it's a pretty big coincidence but Jimmy swore he'd picked it up off the hotline."

"And not checking it out goes against your journalistic sensibilities."

"To tell you truth, Clark, half the time the hotline is just feuding neighbors and crank callers. Hello, we have caller ID! Still..," she let her reply trail off. In Smallville, when things went bump in the night, pulling the bed covers over your head and holding your breath was not a long term solution and the town wasn't exactly teeming with Boogeyman fighters. Of course it might not be the Boogeyman, but just kids giggling over their hormonal siblings.

"You want to check it out," Clark said for her. It wasn't an accusation, just a statement of fact.

Chloe shrugged her shoulders and slumped back against the seat. "It's who I am."

"I don't want that to change Chloe and I definitely don't want to be the reason why it would. Isn't there something else you could still do? Can I help?"

Chloe felt warmth spread through her chest. If she hadn't already been mad about the boy, his concern that she stay true to herself would have sent her over the edge all over again. Excitement began to bubble and brew as she thought over her options.

"I could maybe make some inquiries about the source." She nodded to herself, leaning forward as she plotted her plan. "Jimmy said it came through the tip line so there should be a number to trace. Even if it's a disposable cell, I already have a program that would let me match up manufacture numbers with local sellers. If they paid in cash that could be a problem but most of these places have surveillance cameras and…I'd be completely trampling on Jimmy's lead."

She shook her head and sighed. "What I should do, is just find Jimmy a ride." On the other side of the cab, Clark fidgeted in his seat.

"I'm pretty sure three is way too big a crowd at make out point."

She laughed. "That's not what I meant but if the rumors are true, Jenny McCordy, Adam Boush, and Jared Jenkins would disagree with you." She couldn't see his face clearly but she was willing to bet it was stained an attractive shade of pink. "Don't worry Clark, I'm not volunteering either one of us, just feeling a little sorry for Jimmy. He doesn't have a car which makes scrounging up a cover date harder."

"I think I have the Jimmy problem solved."

"Ok, give it to me." She settled back into the seat and crossed her arms.

"Hear me out. Someone you could set Jimmy up with who would be perfect. Probably a guaranteed byline, has her own car, looking to prove herself in the business, flexible ethics about what goes into the story."

Chloe groaned. "Don't tell me you're thinking Lois."

"Why not? She needs her next great barn door. Jimmy needs windows to pretend to steam."

"You're killing me here. I can't even tell if you're joking anymore."

"I was but the more I think about it… It's a perfect match. A fake reporter for a fake lead."

"Ah, but what if it isn't a fake lead?" Chloe scooted around and leaned in toward Clark. "Am I supposed to let it just drop into Lois's hands? Professional ethics can be such a drag."

A mischievous smile curved Clark's lips. "How much would it be stepping on Jimmy's lead if you just happened to be at Make Out Point for say, some other totally unrelated purpose?" He reached out and took her hand. "Because I can think of a real good reason." Clark gave their joined hands a light tug. She half crawled across the seat toward him.

"Oh, and what's that?" She asked, kneeling next to him on the bench seat. Her knee pressed against the side of his thigh. He freed their twined hands and glided the tips of his fingers along the curve of her neck until he speared his hand through her hair and cupped the back of her head. Shivery tingles spread down her spine. He leaned forward and pulled her closer.

"I was thinking along the lines of…," he filled in the silence with a soft brush of his lips against hers. She rested a hand on his chest to steady herself. Most of Clark's face was lost in the shadows but she'd felt his grin in his kiss.

"Hmm, your argument has merit, but…,"

"You need more convincing?"

She licked her lips. "Try me."

A red spark flared in his eyes and then he picked up her challenge. He left behind the slow and hesitant and led them to a place deeper and hotter than she'd known and yet at the same time, their kisses came with an echo of familiarity, like they'd done this dance before. In her head maybe, but even her imagination wasn't this good.

Her thoughts broke into fragments as lips parted and breaths got hotter, exploring depths and contours. Clark's arms snaked around her waist pulling her half up on his lap and pressing a fascinating hardness against her thigh. Her hands skimmed along his neck and shoulders and his made circles on her back: skin heating, blood rushing, the cab silent except for the sounds of the night mingling with their soft sighs and gasps…and Clark hitting his head against the back window…and his elbow jamming into the horn…and Mrs. Kent's voice calling Clark's name.

Chloe froze. Please let that last bit be her imagination.

"Clark?"

Reality reared its ugly head. Inside the truck, Chloe comforted herself; it was dark. Mrs. Kent shouldn't be able to clearly see what was going on in the cab, but she would notice if one shadow suddenly separated into two, so Chloe stayed where she was, pressed up against Clark's chest. It was hard to think straight with his warmth and scent surrounding her and everything still tingling. Even with her ear pressed against his chest, she couldn't separate the pounding in her head from the sound of his rapid heartbeat. She was not ready to make small talk with his mother. Maybe Mrs. Kent would just go back inside.

No such luck.

"Oh, Clark, you are home."

"Hey mom," he answered from truck.

Chloe felt her cheeks flame and held her breath as she heard Martha coming closer, the sound of her heels reverberating against the wood planks with every step. Fortunately, her footsteps stopped at the edge of the porch.

"Before I go on up, Clark, I wanted to remind you the pot roast is warming in the oven. Also, a blueberry pie is cooling on the rack and there is a new container of ice cream in the freezer."

"Thanks Mom. Goodnight." Was his goodnight just a shade too eager?

"Goodnight Clark." A long pause fell, made longer Chloe was sure by anticipation but finally the dreaded other shoe dropped. "Goodnight Chloe."

Chloe cringed. Busted. "Goodnight Mrs. Kent." Her voice cracked halfway through. Clark - the rat - was silently laughing.

She remained frozen until she heard Mrs. Kent turn and cross back over the porch and open and close the door. Only then did she let out the breath she was holding. She sat up and scowled at Clark but it was hard to be mad when he looked so adorably pleased. She focused on the most important question. "Do you think she knew? I mean knew what we were doing?" He shrugged as if his mother interrupting his make out session was no big deal.

"Probably, but don't worry, if she doesn't," he snaked his arms around her waist once more and pulled her back against his chest, "I'll tell her in the morning."