Preparing for Dinner
“Red wine with dinner, Oliver?” Stella asks over her shoulder.
“Only if you’ll have a glass with me.”
“You know how I get after even a sip of alcohol…”
“And how’s that?” I tease, already knowing the answer.
She shoots me a look. “Hot. And horny.”
It was Saturday evening, and Stella was at the stove, finishing up dinner. I slip my arms about her waist from behind, drawing her close. Saturdays used to be our night out: cinema, dinners, or our favorite Italian place.
“Where’s the little one?” I ask, looking around.
“He’s stuck to the TV in the sitting room. Where else would he be?”
Marriage has a way of setting things into place, forming rhythms. Give it ten more years or so, we will have been married. How I always remember: our weekends suffocated us with movies and late-night drinks at the “Stars and Stripes” bar. In those days, we still had our individual houses—though she had already bought a double bed for us. How spacious we were then. And those long, romantic nights.
Now, I’m holding her in the kitchen while we prepare a family dinner. My hands slip up her body with very slow movements. Fingertips trace the familiar path from her waist to her breast. I give a light squeeze, and she leans her head to the side, exposing the delicate skin of her neck. An invitation. I kiss her there, softly at first, then with more intent.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks mock-scolding.
“Helping with dinner,” I murmur against her skin.
“Yeah, well, don’t let it burn.”
She wriggles out of my grasp, turning to face me, her eyes playful but with a hint of seriousness.
“I’ve got a parent-teacher meeting on Monday. What would the kindergarten think if I showed up with a massive hickey?”
“Hmmm, I dunno… wouldn’t bother me. Six-letter possessive pronoun—Hickey!”
She rolls her eyes and a smile pulls on the edges of her lips as she places two wine glasses on the table.
“Go get the little one. Dinner’s ready.”
I give her a light swat in the rear and head toward the living room.
“Ouch!” she yelps half-laughing, half-scolding.
