Four walls done-double coated, a bed assembled and made, exactly twelve boxes unpacked, and Eva was finally finished her master bedroom. Rushing to pick up the girls from their programs, too exhausted to even contemplate dinner, Eva decided tonight was a night to order in.

And to the ecstatic cheers of the girls, she'd settled on Hawaiian Pizza with a cheesy stuffed crust, a couple of garden salads, because Eva was a firm believer that dinner should always be accompanied by some form of vegetable, and a bottle of ginger ale.

Scarfing down her second slice, the girls seated around the table, Eva answered the door to find Jenelle on her porch holding a bag, raincoat pulled over head as rain swept through the evening sky.

"Hey," she beamed. "Don't you ever answer your phone? I've been calling like crazy."

Eva wiggled her half finished crust. "Been busy all afternoon and only now jsut eating dinner. What's up?" Holding the door open, Jenelle walked inside, shrugging off her wet coat, skipped over to the table to give each of the girls a smiling, lip-smacking hug and kiss that left the three of them in giggles.

"Let's take this upstairs." Jenelle suggested, taking hold of the bag she'd discarded by the front door.

"Finish your dinner, girls," Eva said, following her up the stairs. "When you're done feed the pups, let them outside and you can have an hour of TV before bedtime."

By the time Eva had reached the landing, Jenelle was already down the hall and opening Eva's bedroom door. Whistling long and low, she spun, admiring the newly put together space. "Wow, no kidding you've been busy." Flopping back on the bed, she laid there, wine cradled at her side like a baby.

"Jeez-Louise woman, you should come redo my room, while you're at it. It's gorgeous."

"Not even if you paid me." Stretching screaming back muscles, Eva flipped a suggestive finger. At the sound of Jenelle's snorting giggles, Eva couldn't help but smile. "You're awfully chipper."

"I am." Shooting up to her knees, she flung her arms wide. "Because as of today we are trending on Twitter. Twitter, Eva! The whole world is talking about us." As Eva shut the bedroom door, Jenelle pulling out her phone and combed through tweets.

"Faces of Haven is changing the social media landscape. Uniting people across the globe in various pursuits of life, love and overall well-being." The article went on to highlight a photo Eva had captured of a young boy, not much younger than Hailey, sitting on a park bench, out with his older cousin. She'd kept his face out of the frame, and focused on the tightly clenched fingers wrapped around his knees.

He was crying. Worried about how to tell his parents that he believed, with all his young heart, that he was meant to be a she.

I'm terrified they'll hate me. My dad wants us to bond over boxing and girls and I don't know how to tell him. He's so happy to have a son. I don't know if he's ready or wants to have a daughter...

"Recognizing the youth as Jamal Ahmad, the boy's father stepped forward," Jenelle continued to read, "and made a statement about his love for his son, about his acceptance of the boy's thoughts, fears and feelings. I loved my boy from the moment I held him in my arms. And I'll love him always, dress and all. His parents are now taking him to speak with a gender transition counsellor to begin discussions about understanding transgendered youth and entering into the next steps for young Jamal's life."

She gave Eva a giddy shove. "The kid is scheduled to appear on Ellen next week, Eva. As in Ellen DeGeneres."

And it went on, as Eva listened, thoughts in a dizzy, from a homeless man she'd shot on the mainland; the image in bold, harsh colour of a faceless corporate type glued to his phone, stepping over him like he was a crack in the pavement.

Moved by the depiction and the man's compelling story, a college guy started a donation page to help earn enough for first and last month's rent to get him off the street. Donations quickly poured in from as far as Beijing, earning a staggering seventy thousand in only three days.

CNN did a teary interview where he vowed to only use what he needed and give the rest to the local shelter that provides clean beds and warm showers to the struggling homeless population.

Another woman who lost both kids in a horrible accident was creating a documentary on her laptop about the disease that killed them only to have her laptop and hard drive stolen from her car. Losing everything. Every photo and video. Every treasured moment. Gone. Fans of FOH banded together and spread the word. Thief's girlfriend, realizing her boyfriend was the culprit, and turned him in and returned the belongings to the grateful mother.

"Despite occasional 'trolls', the Faces are taking over the web, spreading messages of hope and inspiration, sharing their own stories and struggles, shattering barriers and shedding light on some of society's darkest secrets. Making this world a better place...a bright place...for everyone."

Sighing, Jenelle put down her phone, her own eyes shining with tears. "This is more than just art, Eva. With Marshall's help...you're changing lives. You're like...Batman and Robin."

"I think you're embellishing a smidge."

"And you can't imagine what this is doing to our sales! People are fighting-fighting-to snatch up every last piece. I even have bids on sold items in case the purchaser backs out. Can you imagine what would happen if you opened the next lot for bidding?"

"No. No, I priced the art for a reason." Why should some douche with access to daddy's trust fund be able to outbid the middleclass plumber who actually connected with the piece? "We're only auctioning the limited editions."

"I swear, when Marshall gets home, I'm going to kiss the bastard for making us look so good. When is he coming home?"

"Day after tomorrow," Eva said, and hated that she didn't sound like a woman who'd been silently counting down the hours. Because dammit she had.

Eva had all but leapt on the opportunity to be the one to pick him up from the ferry. A favour to his mom. Or so she'd told everyone. Truth was she couldn't wait to see him, and that scared her. How sad was it that he'd only entered her life and within a few short weeks made such an impact that his sudden absence had been so deeply felt?

Every night, when the girls were tucked into bed, she'd replay the taped segments on her PVR and watch him sitting up at the news desk of CTV with the evening anchors, alongside Catherine Clear, who was obviously jockeying for the position as well.

They'd cleaned him up in crisp suits, the most favourite of which for Eva was of deepest blue, forgoing ties, instead leaving the top buttons of a white shirt undone showcasing a strong, tanned throat and maintaining the barest hint of scruff that was so classically him.

When he spoke it wasn't with the stilted, robotic tones of a reporter, unlike Ms. Clear-so polished and professional and culturally London-he had a relaxed and natural cadence of a born storyteller.

Drawing you in with allure and mystery.

Marshall was born to be in front of a camera. The lens loved him. And if the recent polls on CTV's website were any indication, so did the audience.

"I spoke to him the other day. He didn't sound like himself. Distracted. Tense. I don't know, Eva. I want to be happy for him, but it's hard to be excited over a job that sounds like it's bleeding the joy out of his soul."

"He's a big boy and knows what he's doing."

Jenelle opened her mouth, a look in her eye that said she heartily disagreed, but held back the remark, assessing Eva instead.

"What? Do I have paint on my face?"

"No. I mean, yes you do-but it's not that. It's just..." those silver eyes narrowed, "You look different. Really different. I like this new you."

"I haven't changed, Jen. I'm the same person I always was."

"No. No you're not." Smiling, Jenelle lifted the bottle, gave it a wiggle. "Enough chit-chat. Let's pop this baby and celebrate."

#

Marshall's mouth hung open with a face-splitting yawn. It was only the back-end of eleven at night, but Jesus after the grueling week and half spent in Toronto, Marshall was sure he could sleep for a month and still wake exhausted.

Bone weary from the rush of an insane schedule, he hadn't had a decent nights rest the entire time he was gone.

In the face of LaFlamme's worsening prognosis, Catherine and Gervais had hoped to slip in ahead of him. But Danni had survived this long in the game because she was sharp, canny and could smell subterfuge a mile away. CTV decided to roll with the pilot pitch testing the waters, and viewer response, to their top replacement contenders.

Blowing what was supposed to have been only three days into a whirlwind media blitz of photo shoots and interviews and co-anchoring. His face blown up on billboards slapped in Dundas Square! The hot lights. The makeup. The producers and directors barking in his ear. The pressures of live on-air demand.

All of it, such a far cry from anything that was known or familiar.

Where Danni thrived in the high-energy pulse, he'd felt sucked dry to his very marrow.

And she hadn't been happy when, as the pilot stretch came to a close, Marshall announced that he was taking off a day earlier than planned. She'd tried to talk him out it, convinced the Execs were teetering and sure to make their move, any day now.

But he didn't give a damn.

Eva was a need that had sunk beneath the skin and lingered, a constant current of electricity, driving him almost insane with missing her voice and touch. They'd spoken while he was gone, a couple phone calls and one very interesting Skype session, but his schedule hadn't allowed for much. And now he couldn't wait any longer. He wanted to see her. Hold her, even if only for a moment.

And LeBron. He'd missed the crazed goofball, too. Danni had been right though. The hectic days would have made it impossible to care for him. Not much room for a dog on a news set...in fact, if he took the job, odds were he wouldn't have much room for a dog-period. A grim thought that pestered him during the flight.

Riding in the back of the cab, he was pleased to see that Eva's lights on the main level were on, as he'd hoped they'd be. Always working, he thought with a smile, doling out a twenty for the fare.

"What's this?" He stroked a finger around the curve of her ear. Her hair had been cut, and recently, but this wasn't her usual hack and slash job. This was polished, professional and, dare he say, flattering.

"What? I prefer it short," she said, swiping a hand over her hair, everything from her tone to her stance said I-don't-give-a rat's-ass-what-you-think, but it was the subtle colour rushing into her cheeks that gave her away. And it pleased him to think that on some level his opinion mattered.

Hauling her off her feet, wrapping those glorious legs around him, Marshall smiled into a kiss.

"As it happens, so do I." I missed you, the words sat at the back of his throat, filling him with surprise at how intensely true they rang. She'd been a constant presence in his thoughts, a lingering warmth under his skin. The taste of her, the smell, the lush softness of her firm, agile body. He woke in the mornings thinking of her; fell into an exhausted heap at night wishing she was near.

And now that she was, now that he held her in his arms, Marshall doubted he had the strength to let her go. "Missed you. So much."

Her arms and legs tightened around him. A silent affirmation, or so he hoped, that she'd missed him just as much.

"You think...do you want to come upstairs?" Her lips slid across the skin of his neck and, jet-lagged or not, he was hard in a flash.

"Jesus, woman, like you need to ask."

Laughing, she pressed her mouth against his. Her hands raced over his shoulders, fingers diving into his hair. And when she moved to slither down, his grip locked around her, holding her in place.

"No. Let me. I just want you in my arms a little longer." Looping an arm beneath her legs, he adjusted his hold so that she was cradled against him, like something treasured and precious.

From the flutter of her lashes and the utterly abashed sort of way she looked at him made Marshall wonder if she'd ever been carried like this before? With this sort of care or sweeping romance? His gut said no, and his heart said he'd have to make a point of doing it more often. At the top of the stairs, his lips found hers again for a slow, searing kiss that was all passion and patience and need, breaking only long enough to open the bedroom door.

Inside he'd been prepared to skirt around the stacks of boxes scattered about like an obstacle course, only to find the room immaculate and not at all like he remembered.

"You've been busy in here," he commented, booting the door shut.

"I--" Eva frowned. "How would you know?"

Shit. Caught with his hand in the jar, Marshall looked down at her with a sheepish grin. "If I confess that using the bathroom was cover for snooping, would you be mad?"

"Why am I not surprised?" Sighing, Eva rolled her eyes, but to his immense relief, she smiled. Then got a devious little gleam in her eye. "Put me down," she commanded with a wiggle. "I need a minute. Just...one. Promise. It'll be worth it."

"One," Marshall agreed. "Can't say I'll be able hold out for two." Setting her down on her feet, she scampered off towards the en-suite, shut the door. While Eva did-whatever it was she was doing-hands tucked in his pockets, Marshall took a slow spin of the room.

Gone was the boring and beige in favour of rich, deep navy walls accented with bright pops of silver and cream. The bed elegantly dressed in softest grey, crisp white sheets and pillows. The sort that made a body want to dive in and sink into blissful dreams.

"So what made you decide to do the overhaul?" he asked, impressed by what she'd accomplished.

"Needed a change, I guess and, well, had...the time." And in some nondescript way, Marshall decided to interpret that as further proof that his absence had gone deeply felt.

Next to the bed was a blue vase holding a heavy bouquet of long-stem roses. All white save for one, a bold, rich red. Marshall stroked a finger across the blooms. Expensive, he thought, and not the sort of choice he would have expected from Eva.

And said as much, loud enough for her to hear through the door while bearing in mind that the girls slept down the hall.

"Well, I wasn't going to throw them away," she answered. "Flowers like that probably cost you a fortune."

Me? "Like to take the credit, but I didn't send them." Though he'd toyed with the idea and, through a process of over-thinking, decided she'd likely find the gesture foolish.

"That's...bizarre. They didn't come with a card so I'd assumed they were from you."

"Looks like you've got a not-so-secret admirer." Neighbourly Kevin wasn't going down without a fight, Marshall mused. Poor guy. Someone had to put him out of his misery.

"I guess if you didn't buy me flowers, than I don't need to go through the effort of thanking you, do I?"

Hearing Eva's soft footfalls exiting the bathroom, Marshall turned-inhaled air like a man about to take his last breath.

Brown eyes molten and fused to his, she wore something delicate and black and lacy, designed to kill in a thousand wonderful, wicked ways. His gaze slid over semi-sheer wisps fabric, strategically placed, leaving everything and nothing to the imagination, to legs encased in stockings that met sexy red heels.

All provocation, invitation and damnation.