The snug warmth of him behind her granted her sleep. She hadn’t known how desperately she needed the sleep of trusting someone. Her hair spread out across the pillow behind her. She woke to him gently touching the strands. She shivered at the sweet intimacy of someone playing with her hair. It centered her in a way she did not realize she had been missing.
He leaned in to whisper to her, a game both of them loved playing. “I figured out the line you need to start your book,” he softly whispered. No one else could hear them. The absurdity of whispering amused them both. Now that they started the game, they wanted to play it out for a thousand innings.
“There are no tiny paragraphs. The smallest increment of spoken intimacy is the phrase ‘I love you.’ Yet it can contain the volume of a lifetime if spoken.”
She turned slightly toward him. “Aren’t you romantic? It’s barely six, and you’re already turning the page.” He laughed.
“I got a head start, watching you this morning.” He leaned in, kissed her quickly on the lips, and then sprang from the bed with his customary energy. He briefly touched her dress from the day before. It hung on the armoire. “Thanks,” he whispered as his fingers caressed the hem.
As he neared the bathroom door, he heard a subtle whisper. He turned.
She had pulled the cover off.
“We have more to talk about if you’re interested.” She winked and smiled at him. He jumped to the bed from where he was standing. She howled with laughter and surprise as his landing bounced her off the bed and back.
Another typical day and another neither one of them would take for granted.