(Enjoy this part of the story accompanied by this song that begins at 1:02.)
I sit at the table, finishing my breakfast, looking out at the rain coming down, a soft pitter-patter on the balcony. My mind drifts to the time Hubby and I made love in the rain in the backyard at the old house. The hedges all around the yard, taller than six feet, allowed for much privacy in the evenings and at night.
It had been a warm day, that time. Not a cold March like today.
I sigh, having only been awake a couple of hours and already missing Hubby like mad. I always miss him. I can get lost in my work, but I pine over him all the time. Sometimes I worry that I have too many needs…or unreasonable needs.
No, these are just my needs. A lot of intense emotions. And he’s always been more than happy to do his best to fulfil them whenever he can. Else he would have said something sooner. It’s been almost twelve years.
I much prefer it when he’s working from home, though, which he does a couple of days per week. I can see his face, hear his meetings (haha), and get a kiss and hug whenever I want. He beckons me with our sweet talk and we can exchange silly banter on the fly.
I sigh again. Well, these dishes aren’t going to do themselves.
(Enjoy the next part of the story accompanied by this song.)
I trudge away at the day, getting a few things done around the house and getting some writing done. I love that I get so inspired and lose myself in my characters. But I feel what they feel so intensely, and since there is romance in everything I write, whether for teens or my more mature stories, it makes me miss Hubby even more.
I feel a pang in my heart, in my stomach. Ugh. This is the fate that has befallen me, of being such a highly sensitive emotional writer. This pang is my character’s, but I feel it as though it were mine. And now I need Hubby to wrap his arms around me even more.
Finally, the day is through, a half-day for me (thank goodness), and Hubby has come home. He’s set his things down and washed up to prepare the meal, and I offer to assist him with some of the supper preparations. As we do this, Hubby shares his day with me.
It’s a lot of fun to hear the latest stories from work. I used to work there too before we met. I started there before he did. He’s been at that company for over ten years now. I know the president and vice-pres of the company. I know all of Hubby’s colleagues, or most of them, I know the clients, and the systems and software used by the company. I can follow along about the latest gossip or anecdotes as though I were there living it with him. It’s a lot of fun to hear about his days. I can imagine the people, their faces, their voices, their reactions. I know them, so it’s easy to picture it all.
We exchange more silly banter as we prepare supper and set the food to cook.
Hubby wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead.
(Enjoy the next part of the story accompanied by this song.)
‘It’s Mando tonight,’ I say.
‘I know,’ he replies.
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