He walked over the threshold of their house, together. Even though a moment ago, she walked away from him. They argued a lot, he hated it. This time, though, it was his fault, he knew that. He wouldn’t listen to her, threw a plate. He was still carrying her when he stepped over the shattered pieces of black ceramic she had spent months looking for. He kissed her on her forehead, his way to apologize. Words weren’t enough in this case.
She looked up at him, her eyes still clouded with discomfort and confusion. She tapped his shoulder to have him put her down onto the soft carpet, her feet burned from the cold and red. She walked a bit away from him, turning her back to him, her attempt to turn herself away from his charms. Her eyes flew to the broken plate on the ground, noticing that he hadn’t tried to clean it up before coming outside after her. That gave her some satisfaction. Until she remembered why he had yelled at her. Someone else? She frowned, shook her head, angry again.
She looked passed him at the food on the stove in the kitchen. The smell was intoxicating, engrossing, overwhelming. The roast was sitting, still steaming, atop the range, potatoes gleaming in the candlelight that also remained. The wicks were burning down low, red, white, blue reflected off the glass on the kitchen cabinets. The large table was half set, the plates on the wooden surface. She walked over to it, gliding her hand over the smooth oak. It had a bench on one side, two chairs opposite with one on each end also.
“Do you remember when you made this for me?” she asked in her quiet voice. She didn’t expect an answer, really, just wanted to ignite a memory that felt good to her heart.
He nodded slightly, hands stuffed back in his pockets, cheeks blushing, eyes dark. They had clouded over, just as they always did when she brought up his woodworking. The table had been her birthday present.
“You paid such close attention to the detail. Blue prints and everything,” she continued, dragging her hands over the edges where the he had carved their names in cursive. It was so beautiful, he had spent hours carving the script, sometimes dead into the night using candlelight, just like the bright flames that were flickering from the middle of the table. “You spent days, maybe weeks at lumber yards, looking for the perfect oak. Almost matches your eyes.” She looked up at him, smiling slightly. “You wasted almost nothing, didn’t you?”
Again, he nodded his head. He had been slowly walking towards the table, unbeknownst to her. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, moving it along the opposite edge of the table, his fingers covering more space than hers, knowing how much effort he had put into this table for her.
“You saw something similar in a magazine. I remember,” he smiled, in spite of the situation, his voice deep and husky.
“You always do,” she replied, a shy smile snaking its way to the corners of her mouth.
He followed her unhurriedly around the table, eyeing her trembling legs, shivering shoulders. He sighed to himself when she looked up at him, her lip tucked slightly in between her teeth, an innocent look that he almost couldn’t resist. He grinned at her, knowingly.
She giggled, shooting a look towards the door. She tried to play a right, but he saw her eyes, giving her away and ran on her opposite, after her. She laughed as he tackled her down onto the soft carpet, making sure that his body lay underneath hers, protected from hitting the ground. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pinning her arms down to her sides so she couldn’t shove him off. He held her as she lay on top of him, his breathing mimicking hers, his chest deflating as hers inflated. He put his face to her neck, her chin to her shoulders, kissing her soft skin. She turned her head towards him, her lips brushing over his. He moved his hands, swiftly, to her head, and kissed her, so deeply, so tightly. She turned over, facing him, her legs on the sides of his waist. She put her hands to the sides of his head, combing her delicate fingers through his hair. He ran his hands up the sides of her small body, taking her shirt with them. He flipped her over, a swift motion, startling her, making her laugh, the soft carpet against her back, her shoulders, feeling like clouds, her breasts moving like water in the motion.
He buried his face into her chest, humming as he went, goose bumps enveloping her. He pulled off her shorts as he moved downward, keeping one hand spread across her belly, palm pressed gently against it. He stood, awkwardly, lit by the candlelight behind her, the shadows playing against his athletic thighs, enhancing the muscles of his stomach. The shadows covers his face, she couldn’t read his emotions. He knelt beside her, kissing his way up to her mouth, settling on top of her, smiling into her lips.
“It’s getting kind of long,” she murmured, twisting a lock between her index finger and thumb. She leaned into him and kissed he again, a soft wisp of a kiss, just enough to taste his lips.
“How did we get this far? So quickly?” he said, running his hands down her sides, moving them in between her thighs. He leaned into her, causing her to arch, as he moved again, hands on the sides of his face, her mouth on his.
“Trust,” she whispered.
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