/Interlude/

It’s almost three a.m. and I am in my office threading beads for jewelry for my friend’s wedding.

The radio is on at a muted volume, providing a soothing background to my labor. My husband is sitting in front of me in his swivel chair reading the morning papers from his tablet computer. I watch him during intervals of threading, surprised that he could still take my breath away after all these years of being together.

He looks up to smile at me. I stand up, stop my beading and stand behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

This is an unusually early start for us. I whisper, “I’m so glad we worked out.”

He kisses me, his right hand creeping up beneath my silk robe.

Then he sits me on the molave table, standing in between my bent legs.

“Wanna finish this in the bedroom?” he inquires.

“Bedroom? What’s wrong with the office?” I ask.