One of Each

A bit of romance from the past for Valentine’s Day…

William_Mulready_-_The_Sonnet_-_WGA16319[1]

Mulready, William. The Sonnet. 1839 via wikipedia.org

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“So… how long have you been watching me?”

Nora spoke directly to the steamy mirror then sunk in the water, submerged under a layer of bubbles. She popped back up and playfully searched for him. A cool, menthol-like sensation on the back of her neck made her shiver. She lifted a sponge and squeezed warm water on the top of her head before she slid back under, overcome with excitement at what she’d just learned: He was home.

I want to hear something prolific tonight, she thought as she wrapped up in her heaviest robe. “Yes, that would be the perfect way to mark this day,” she nodded.

Nora loved the lingering scent of the pear blossom soap she could smell on her skin. It was a gift from him; she knew he would like it too. She tied the robe’s sash then lifted the collar, reached down to pull on some socks, then hurried down to the living room still wet in her haste.

To her delight, several hardwood logs were already smoldering in the fireplace with a few papers strewn next to the hearth.

“Perfect. I get to choose,” she mused, “but I’ll take one of each.”

His words enchanted her. His words filled her senses. His words held unique meaning that made her smile, often blush — words that carried her for weeks until he came home again.

The fire blazed. She moved away and sat where she could still feel its heat. There was nothing that soothed her more than her husband’s presence and the sound of his voice as she curled up tightly next to his side on a cold, rainy night in Trieste.

“Into the secrets we go,” he laughed, with an air of pleasure as he landed on the sofa next to her and settled in. “You sure don’t waste any time.”

“I missed you James,” Nora whispered. “I always miss you. You touch me in places I never expect.”

She nuzzled her face close to his, rested her head softly on his shoulder, and loosened her robe. She was the only woman who could penetrate past his brilliant mind and shoot deeply into his heart.

And he began to read to her.

~

copyright © Kelly Huntson and findingwhatssweet.com 2015-2018. All rights reserved.

What kind of music, literature, and art do you like? Classic or contemporary?

~

RIP David Bowie

Thanks for reading!

 

*originally published Jan. 2016

 

 

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