“What’s for dinner?” he asked, knowing the answer.
She was already wrist-deep in her bowl of ice cream, her legs tucked carelessly under one another in her favorite chair.
She smiled, letting a gush of liquid ice cream run across her lips. She tried to slurp it back inside but the ice cream dripped across her shirt. She looked up at him, sheepishly, then smiled all the way across her face.
He shook his head. “What am I supposed to eat?”
“Duh!” she half-hollered. “Get over here.” She winked.
He walked across the floor and sat next to her chair, his arm draped across her legs. As she spooned another bite of ice cream, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide. She airplaned the spoon toward his face and put the spoon inside his mouth.
He opened his eyes and laughed, savoring the ice cream.
He said, “Yum” in a gravelly voice at least fifteen times, knowing she would playfully object to his exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Here, have another bite of MY ice cream, then.” She airplaned another bite into his mouth.
They both laughed.
As he stood up and gave her a peck across the top of her head, he said seriously, “What’s for dessert, though?”
She threw her head back and laughed, her voice dropping an octave.
He gave her the look.
The evening melted away.