The clatter of the front door tore her gaze away from a charming article about bridal shoes hand-dyed by blind monks. The magazine flipped shut and Buffy pushed it aside, along with her scribble-heavy notebook filled with wedding suggestions. Plans. Ideas. She found that it was rather fun to plan a wedding, so long as it wasn't her own. But she'd grown a dangerous habit of closing her eyes and secretly planning Dawn's wedding instead of Elizabeth's.

"So kind of you to rejoin us," she said in that quietly reproachful voice of hers. There was no wall between the living room and the path to the kitchen, and so she shamelessly stared after him.

After a moment, she stood. And followed. Her heart was racing at a more reasonable pace, now. She felt a little less threatened and a lot more confident.