Yoga Practice

Slowly...lift back and exhale...picture a string going in the top of your head, through your body and down to your toes. Now, the string is getting tighter...tighter...tighter--

"What're you doing?"

Without breaking the concentration it took ten minutes to find, she answers, her voice quiet and controlled. Hopefully. "Yoga."

Crossing his arms, he stands and watches. From the corner of her eye she see his mustache twitch as he tries not to laugh. Remembering the imaginary string, she straightens her back. Almost.

Then, a positon change.

Slowly...move into the posture, feeling your muscles relax...slowly...concentrate...feel the--

"What's that one called?"

"Cat pose."

Inhale. Exhale.

With a fast glance at the television screen, he says, "Her arms--"

"I know." Through gritted teeth, "My shoulder, remember?"

"Right. But her legs--"

"My knee."

Inhale. Exhale.

Concentrate on not smacking husband, she silently adds.

He shifts his gaze back and forth between wife and instructor. He murmurs, "Doesn't look comfortable. But not so hard, really."

Now, jump to your feet and prepare for--

"Pretty easy, to tell the truth." His brings his legs together, stretches his arms out from his sides.

She tries to ignore him, concentrating instead on her breathing and form.

Slowly...slowly...feel your body lengthen. Feel the muscles--

"What the...?" He raises his arms above his head, and lifts one foot.

A grunt, followed by a thud, brings a small grin.

"Tree pose."

Nowhere to Run

He whistled as he stirred the marinara sauce bubbling in the pot on the stove. Her stomach rumbled as the aroma of fresh garlic mingled with tomatoes and basil.

“How’s that eggplant coming? Should I heat the oil yet?” He sounded as hungry as she felt.

“Not yet. I’m almost done slicing them but—hey, who’s that in the driveway?”

They peered out the window. The car was unfamiliar, a dark blue sedan they hadn’t seen before. They watched as a tall, thin man dressed in a suit emerged from the driver’s seat. He paused, straightening his tie, before he retrieved a briefcase and, closing the door with his hip, turned to walk toward the back door.

Blurp—blurp blurp. Blurp!

“The sauce!” A large splatter hit the tiled backsplash as he grabbed a wooden spoon and began to stir.

“Here, stir this. I’ll go see who it is,” he said.

The doorbell chimed but she didn’t take the spoon from him.“No, you stir. I’ll be right back.”

The man smiled as she opened the back door. Then, his smile faltered.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

She watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple moving just behind his tie knot.

“I…I’m Bill Daniels. I’m new to the area and wondered if I might have a minute of your…” He glanced down and annoyance shot through her like lightning. Whatever was he staring at? He regained his momentum but his words held a wobble. “A minute of your time to discuss the policy options my company offers. Would that be…uh, would that work for you?”

She shook her head, waving her hands as she spoke. “No, thanks. We’ve already got all the coverage we need.”

As if chased by all the demons in hell, he turned and hurried away. Over his shoulder he called, “Oh! Okay then. Sorry to have—” He reached his car, opened the door and threw his case inside. “Bothered you. Good day, then.”

They watched him back down the driveway, his tires squealing when they met the paved roadway.

“That was odd.” She returned to the cutting board where the eggplant waited. “He practically ran out of here. I wonder why?”

He chuckled as he crossed the room. Planting a kiss on her temple, he said, “It might have something to do with that huge knife you waved at him. Maybe next time you answer the door you should leave the cutlery behind.”

Magic

The night was warm and sultry. Moist, from the cloudburst that swept through earlier. Now moonlight shimmered on the water's surface. Crickets chirped. Frogs sang, their haruumphing overlapping so it was a steady hum.

She slapped at a mosquito so hard the sting brought a tear to her eye.

"Shh!"

"I didn't say anything," she whispered, rubbing her skin where it still tingled. She turned and scowled at him but he was too busy scanning the treeline to notice. Perched on a wooden picnic tabletop beneath the low-hanging branches of an enormous maple tree they were nearly obscure. Or so they hoped.

"And don't 'shh!' me."

"Hush, then," he hissed. "It's almost time." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his side. When he spoke his lips were so close she felt his warm breath on her cheek. "Soon...it'll be soon. I know it."

Her eyes had become accustomed to the night. She reluctantly pulled her attention from the sight of his rugged good looks and focused on the meadow. A trail ran up the hillside, across the clearing and into the forest. She doubted the success of their mission but the adventure was enough to keep her from slapping the pesky mosquito again. It had found the only patch of unprotected skin on her ankle and seemed hellbent on biting her. Oh well, one small bite...what can it hurt?

"How do you know?"

He chuckled, softly. "I know."

"You're sure?"

"Mmm hmm." His voice was so low it was hardly loud enough to be heard above the rustle of the leaves that sheltered them. She felt it, though. Every word, rumbling from his body to hers, sending shivers of anticipation up her spine. Oh yes, she heard him. Loud and clear. "Two nights in a row. I thought the first one was luck. The second, a fluke. And tonight will be--"

Movement at the far edge of the path halted conversation. They stared as a gray fox stepped out of the shadows. It stood, sniffed the air, then walked out onto the trail. Surrounded by tall grass it must have felt secure because its stroll was casual, unhurried. They sat, transfixed, as the wild creature crossed the large meadow. Finally, with a last wave of its bushy tail, the fox melted into the shadows.

Together they exhaled. Neither had been aware they held their breath.

"Did you see it?"

She nodded, shaking her head in amazement. For once, words failed her.

"I told you it would come." Grinning, he squeezed her shoulder. "Three nights in a row! It's--"

"Magic," she sighed

Remembering the Dragon

"Where'd you get that scar again?" She pointed to the long, wide line just above his left knee. A fence? A piece of barbed wire? So many years, so many scars...who could remember?

"This one?"

"Uh huh, this one." Trailing her fingers over the line, she nodded.

"Well," he said, settling back against the lawn chair and grinning, "that's a long story."

A firefly flitted near her face. Swatting it away, she said, "I've got time."

"Well, I was walking in the wilderness--"

"New Jersey?"

"No, the real wilderness. New York."

"Okay..."

"And I came upon a dragon. And--"

"A big dragon? Or just a little, bitty pocket dragon?"

He scowled. "A big dragon, of course. Really big and--"

"What color was the dragon?"

"He was green, and he had shiny stuff on him. Silver, I think it was. A reddish green--"

"Reddish green?" Raising an eyebrow, she looked at him like she'd spotted a thousand dollar bill on a sidewalk. "Reddish green?"

"That's right. Dragons can be all kinds of colors," he insisted. "Now, do you want to hear the story or not?"

"I do. Continue, please..."

Covering her hand on his knee with his, he traced a lazy thumb across her fingertips. "All right. So, I was walking in the wilderness and came upon a dragon. A big, reddish green dragon."

He paused, turned and gazed into her eyes. Evidently her demeanor satisfied him because he turned back to face the mountains. She grinned, just a small twitch of her lips, but the growing darkness hid her expression.

"I startled it. It was sleeping, and when I walked into the clearing I scared it, I think."The challenge came on its own.

"You scared a dragon?"

"That's right, I scared a dragon. It didn't expect to see me but it did so when it opened its eyes it--"

"It what?"

He turned. Leaning close, he said, "It bit me." He stared into her eyes but her gaze didn't waver.

Finally, she nodded. Of course it bit him. Who wouldn't? In that instant she saw a flash of the little boy he'd been, rather than the man he was.

Sighing, he said, "So I did the only thing I could do. I pulled out my sword--"

"Weren't you afraid he'd bite that, too?" She snickered.

"No, of course not! I didn't want to hurt him, so I pulled out my sword and pushed him back a bit. Just a little. Just enough so I could pass. Then, before I left I--"

"You what?" With a giggle, she said, "Read him a bedtime story so he'd go back to sleep?"

Ignoring her, he continued, "I cut him on the leg, right above his left knee. So he'd remember me. With matching cuts, it's impossible for him to forget meeting me. Dragons live for three, four hundred years, you know."

"I'm sure they do."

"And that's the way I got the scar."

"Thanks for reminding me."

They sat quietly for long minutes. Stars appeared above them.

"That's a long time to remember someone. Think he still remembers? That dragon, think he still remembers me?"

She patted his knee. "I'm sure he does. How could anyone forget meeting you?"

Spellbound

"How about some grilled veggies with dinner? I'll toss 'em on the grill, then sit on the deck while they cook. It's nice out there...maybe you'd like to come out, too. What do you think?"

A grunt is his only answer.

A patient man, he tries a second time.

"So, that's a 'yes', right? You do want me to grill the veggies? Maybe some eggplant. Peppers and onions. A zucchini--definitely a zucchini, right?"

No answer.

He sighs, then heads to the kitchen. After a few minutes, he returns, and sets a glass of iced tea on the table beside her.

"Thirsty?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you thirsty?" When she lifts her gaze, he raises his own glass to his lips. Swallows, then smiles. "See? Yours is beside you, on the table." He nods, then smiles when she picks up the glass and takes a drink. "Good. That's a step in the right direction, anyway."

She snaps the book closed. "A step? What're you talking about?"

Grinning, he points at the book in her lap. "You're been under a spell for the past three hours. I don't think you moved an inch. What is it that's got you so hooked that you don't even realize what's going on around you? And aren't you getting hungry? You didn't eat any lunch."

Now that he mentions it, my stomach is kind of empty, she thought. Pushing aside the book, she stands and stretches. Her back feels kinked and her shoulders hurt, but it's all worth it.

She takes his hand and pulls him toward the kitchen. "Come on, I'm hungry."

As they walk away, he glances back at the book. Heart and Soul. It's finally forgotten on the sofa, but he knows it won't be long before her nose is buried again.

Better fire up the grill--fast.

Method to the Madness?

He reached for the scrap of paper but a shrill screech stilled his hand.

"No! Don't touch it!"

A scowl pulled his brows together. "Why not? What is it?"

She didn't glance away from the computer screen. "It's, um, the last..." Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "It's the last six chapters."

Leaning close enough to read the scribbles, he said, "This? Are you sure?"

"Um...yeah, I'm sure. Don't touch it."



Three hours later he walked through the family room. The computer was silent, its lid closed. She sat with her feet tucked up beneath her.

A nearly empty bag of M&Ms rested on top of the laptop.

He pointed to the wadded scrap of purple paper. "What is it now?"

A grin met his stare. She tossed another candy into her mouth and, barely suppressing the scream that threatened to escape from somewhere deep inside her, she said, "Done."

"You finished the book?"

"Uh huh." She swallowed the chocolate, then reached up and pulled him into a hug. Whispering against his cheek, she asked, "So, how do you feel about pizza and champagne for dinner?"

From the Forest

She shaded her eyes with one hand, searching for signs of movement.

"Do you see it?" Whispered excitement. His words, so near her ear, made her smile.

"Nope. Where?"

He moved, stood behind her and pointed. Following the trail from his fingertip, she looked, straining her eyes.

"Oh!" Success!

Chuckling softly, he pulled her close. They watched, lost in the magic of the moment.

"Do you think it's the same one we see every year?" she asked.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be. I wondered if they'd be around this year, after the harsh winter we had." He shrugged, pulling her still closer against his side. "I guess they did all right."

"I guess we all did." She said a silent prayer of thanks. Then, "So, how long do you think it'll be? You know, before the babies come?"

"Not long. We'll have baby foxes before you know it."

Life on the farm...who could ask for anything more?

The Best Part

The only sound came from the logs crackling in the fireplace. Then, he squeezed her hand in his and asked, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

She smiled into the darkness, nestled her head on his shoulder. "Um hmm."

"What part did you like the most? The food? Singing? Dessert?"

"The most?"

"Right. The thing that you liked best. What was it?" He pulled her close against his side, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gazed down at her.

She smiled, then shrugged. "Those things were all great but none of them was my favorite part of the day."

"What, then?"

With a sleepy sigh, she said, "The family. The family and the love...those were the best parts of the day."

A Tease

He tapped a fingertip against the windowpane. Then, he turned to her and grinned.

Uh oh. She knew that grin. It wasn’t a run-of-the-mill, harmless smile. Nope. This one was pure…teasing.

Scanning her mind swiftly for a source of his obvious amusement (at her expense, no less) so she’d be ready to face whatever he was about to say—hopefully with a witty, equally teasing reply—she struggled to keep her own features bland.

It was no use. As far as she could tell, the only thing outside that window was the thing she’d learned to despise. Well, if not totally despise—that was such a strong word!—at least dislike. Snow—and lots of it.

The window-tapping finger touched her cheek, tracing a cool line across her skin. He chuckled, the sound low and throaty. Then he leaned close, placed a kiss on her temple, and said, “You do know why it’s snowing again, don’t you?”

His mouth moved to her neck, trailing a line of kisses warm enough to melt anything. She swallowed hard. “A cold front?” A deep rumble sent shivers down her spine. How did he manage to kiss and laugh all at once? She ventured, “A warm front?”

The devilish grin on his handsome face grew as her skin tingled beneath his touch. He stood behind her, pulled her close and pointed the finger that had begun this madness toward the window. Her gaze followed his fingertip, connecting the empty distance between his skin and…ah, that was it. She spied the two white lumps on the deck outside the French doors.

“Oh…”

“That’s right. Looks like Mother Nature got annoyed by those patio chairs you hauled out of the barn yesterday. Ticked her right off, I’d say.” He put his arms around her, hugged her tightly against his body.

Mother Nature can take a flying leap, she thought.

But he wasn’t done teasing her. Not yet.

“The way I see it, there’s only one thing for two snowbound people to do.” Ideas rushed though her head but before she could tug her sweater off, he said, “And since you got us into this white mess, I’m going to insist you take the lead in this adventure.”

She quirked a brow, the grin on her own face wider than the one he wore. You don’t have to ask twice, her inner vixen purred.

When he turned away she assumed it was to throw a log in the fire. Light a candle, maybe.“Come on, let’s get our gear on. I’ll grab our boots. You get the hats and gloves.”

“Boots? Gloves? Hats?”

He smiled above an armful of down jackets. “Of course. You wouldn’t want to take a walk in this stuff without your coat, would you? Come on, Snowmaker. You asked for this, so let’s get going.”

In the Post

A jerk of her head sent snowflakes flying. She toed out of the heavy bearclaw snowboots and shrugged out of the red down jacket. The jacket dropped to the sidechair, then slid and pooled on the terra cotta tiles in a crimson puddle.

The stack of mail hit the table with a thud. She pulled one item from the pile and opened it with a flourish.

He shook his head in amusement. "Anything interesting in today's mail?"

Waving a hand toward the assortment, she murmured, "Oh...the usual..."

"Nothing that catches your attention, then?" He swallowed a chuckle, but just barely.

"Umm...oh, you know. Uh, nothing much. Just..."

"The Burpee catalog?"

She nodded, her gaze glued to the glossy pages.

"I guess spring really is coming this year, then?" He laughed, the sound filling the room and finally catching her attention. She looked over the top edge of the catalog, a grin pulling the edges of her lips upward.

"It looks that way, doesn't it?"

Spackle

She looked up when he walked into the kitchen. His color was good but there was something about the way his gaze scanned the space that told her more than his appearance ever could. He was restless.

Dropping the cheese grater into the bowl half-filled with mozzarella, she crossed to the table and pulled out a chair. Indicating the empty seat with a nod, she watched while he sat. With a small smile, she dropped a kiss on his temple.

"Feeling antsy?"

"A little," he admitted.

"Need something to do?"

His arched eyebrow was her answer.

"I thought so." She pretended not to see the question in that raised brow, the one that told her just how hard it was for a strong, active man to remain idle. "If you don't mind, I could use some help here."

Without waiting for a reply, she brought two cake layers, a bowl of frosting and a red cake plate to the table. Then, she handed him a frosting knife.

There was just a small chunk of mozzarella left. She grated it quickly, tossing it onto the pizza that would be their dinner. As she stuck the pizza into the oven, she glanced over at him.

The first cake layer had a thick, smooth coating on it. She watched as he placed the second layer onto the first and took up his knife again. With slow, even strokes he swept the icing over the cake's surface.

She stifled a giggle, but not quickly enough for him to miss it. He looked up, and raised the eyebrow a second time. This quirk held a different question than the first one had, a question he gave voice to.

"What? Am I doing something wrong?"

Quick to reassure, she shook her head. "No, of course not. Actually, that cake is iced to perfection. I never take as much care with icing a cake as you do. It looks beautiful."

He grinned. "Thanks. No big deal, really. After all, I have had enough practice."

"Icing cakes?"

Taking a dollop of frosting from the bowl onto the knife, he chuckled. "No, not icing cakes. Spackling. This is just like plastering a wall."

Anytime is a Good Time

“Honey, can I get you anything from the kitchen? Something to drink? A snack?”

He pulled his gaze from the puzzle book before him. “What are you having?”

She smiled, knowing full well what his response would be. “Ice cream.”

As if on cue, he let his mouth fall open, his eyes widen. “Ice cream? You’re kidding, right?”

“You know I’m not.”

“But it’s about ten degrees outside. No one eats ice cream in weather like this.”

“I’m not going to eat it outside. So…do you want anything?” A smile, and a gentle tease. “A bowl of ice cream, maybe? It’s mint chocolate chip, one of your favorites…”

A low, throaty chuckle. “No, thanks. I’m not as adventurous as you are, I’m afraid. Would a cup of cocoa be too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all.” She spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen. “Want a splash of whipped cream on the top?”

“How about a small scoop of that ice cream instead? It’ll melt right into the hot chocolate, don’t you think?”

Swallowing a giggle, she poured milk into a saucepan and put it on the stove to heat. When they met he never would have considered having ice cream during the cold months—not even on his hot chocolate. She’d rubbed off on him…one scoop at a time.

O rnaments

"That's the last one." He dropped the large green-and-red plastic tote on the floor. It landed beside six identical boxes.

A fast mental calculation. "Um...I don't think so."

"What do you mean? These are all the Christmas colored ones in that corner of the loft. The only thing left are the boxes you've marked 'Outdoor Lights' and a couple of spares."

"The spares? Are they blue?"

"Yeah. Big blue boxes." His brow furrowed. "You don't mean...?"

"I do. Those are Christmas boxes, too." A glance out the window. Snow mixed with sleet had just begun to fall. "We'll get those another time."

Heaving a theatrical groan, he flopped down into an armchair. He reached for the closest box, pried off the lid and pulled out an ornament. It dangled from the end of his index finger. An elf, its long arms curled around its legs. Its holiday suit, made of green flocked fabric, was worn thin in spots.

He smiled. "This one was..."

"Your mother's," she said softly. Settling on the floor beside his chair, she watched as he laid the elf down with care before he dug in the tote again. Next he brought out a tissue-wrapped bundle. A delicate purple metallic teardrop. "And that's one of the ones my mom gave me. I remember picking that one out when I was...oh, maybe five or six. See the little tag dangling on the top? It's got my name on it. I watched her write that tag. Then I hung it as high as I could on the tree so it wouldn't get broken."

He placed the teardrop beside the elf. Then he pulled out a small box filled with red and silver balls. A grin stole over his handsome face. "These?"

"You know what they are."

"Um...maybe I do. Maybe I don't," he teased. A quick kiss. Holding one of the balls by its slender silver wire, he looked deep into her eyes. "Would these be the first ornaments we bought to hang on our--"

"First Christmas tree."

"I thought so. If memory serves me, they were the only balls we had on our tree, weren't they?"

"They were the only ones we could afford, remember?" She put her hand on his and together they held the simple ornament up to the window. The falling snow and ice flashed across its surface, sending dancing rays of light over the room. "We chose well, I think. They're--"

"Beautiful," he murmured, drawing her close.

Not Homemade

“Why don’t you let me make you a pie tonight?” They stood at the bakery counter, he eyeing the pies while she inhaled the sweet aroma of the place. “It won’t take long. I’ve got everything in the house already. And it won’t cost—” She glanced at the price board hanging behind the glass display case. “Eight ninety-five.”

He shook his head. “No. You’ve got too much to do already. The fig cookies and apple pies. And you’ve got to post an extra blog for Thanksgiving, don’t you? In case there’s no time in the morning?”

“No biggie. I’ve got time to do it all. No sweat. Come on, I’ll bake you a pie tonight.”

“Uh uh. I’m not going to add to your to-do list,” he insisted. He smiled at the tired-looking woman behind the counter. “A pumpkin pie, please.”

After dinner they turned to an old movie station and settled in to watch Cary Grant, a beautiful woman and several children in an old, leaky boat. Halfway through the movie he headed toward the kitchen. “Want anything?”

Her gaze stayed on Cary. “Nope, thanks.”

When the credits rolled she glanced down at his empty plate and fork. “How was your pie?”

With a scowl, he shrugged.

She knew that scowl. That shrug. “How was your pie?”

“Not so great,” he admitted. Disappointment shone clear in his deep, chocolate-brown eyes. “Pretty bad, actually. It tasted like…”

“Like what?”

“Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Yeah. That is the worst pumpkin pie I’ve ever had. Damn thing tastes like Ivory soap!”

She laughed. Leaning close and patting his hand, she met his stormy gaze and asked, “Want me to bake you a pie tomorrow?”

“You mind?”

“No, I don’t mind, darling.”

And she didn’t. Not one bit.

Nowhere to Run

He whistled as he stirred the marinara sauce bubbling in the pot on the stove. Her stomach rumbled as the aroma of fresh garlic mingled with tomatoes and basil.

“How’s that eggplant coming? Should I heat the oil yet?” He sounded as hungry as she felt.

“Not yet. I’m almost done slicing them but—hey, who’s that in the driveway?”

They peered out the window. The car was unfamiliar, a dark blue sedan they hadn’t seen before. They watched as a tall, thin man dressed in a suit emerged from the driver’s seat. He paused, straightening his tie, before he retrieved a briefcase and, closing the door with his hip, turned to walk toward the back door.

Blurp—blurp blurp. Blurp!

“The sauce!” A large splatter hit the tiled backsplash as he grabbed a wooden spoon and began to stir.

“Here, stir this. I’ll go see who it is,” he said. The doorbell chimed but she didn’t take the spoon from him.

“No, you stir. I’ll be right back.”

The man smiled as she opened the back door. Then, his smile faltered.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

She watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple moving just behind his tie knot.

“I…I’m Bill Daniels. I’m new to the area and wondered if I might have a minute of your…” He glanced down and annoyance shot through her like lightning. Whatever was he staring at? He regained his momentum but his words held a wobble. “A minute of your time to discuss the policy options my company offers. Would that be…uh, would that work for you?”

She shook her head, waving her hands as she spoke. “No, thanks. We’ve already got all the coverage we need.”

As if chased by all the demons in hell, he turned and hurried away. Over his shoulder he called, “Oh! Okay then. Sorry to have—” He reached his car, opened the door and threw his case inside. “Bothered you. Good day, then.”

They watched him back down the driveway, his tires squealing when they met the paved roadway.

“That was odd.” She returned to the cutting board where the eggplant waited. “He practically ran out of here. I wonder why?”

He chuckled as he crossed the room. Planting a kiss on her temple, he said, “It might have something to do with that huge knife you waved at him. Maybe next time you answer the door you should leave the cutlery behind.”

Ho Ho Ho

The sun had been up for about an hour. Light filtered through the window beside her desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, making a mad dash to finish the last paragraphs of Chapter 7.

She heard him stirring behind her. Time was limited. Her fingers moved faster.

Don't turn around. You know his eyes are open and he's staring at you...just waiting for you to make eye contact. Don't...turn...around.

There. The last sentence. Her fingers stilled; her shoulders fell. She pressed 'Save' and closed the file.

His senses were honed to perfection. Although he couldn't see her screen from his position snuggled beneath the covers, his song filled the room at the exact moment the file disappeared.

"Frosty the snowman..."

She turned, laughing. "Frosty the snowman?"

"Was a very happy soul..."

"Hello? It's only October. Pumpkin time. Scarecrows. Not snowmen."

"Hmmph." He burrowed deep, his sleep-touseled curls the only part peeking over the top of the quilt. From the bed's depths she heard, "It's too cold for pumpkins. Maybe even too cold for snowmen."

With a raised eyebrow she reached for her coffee mug. Drained the final inch of liquid. Grimaced. Blech. Ice cold.

The chair twirled as she leapt up and dashed across the room. With a laugh she jumped on the bed, pulling the edge of the quilt up and diving beneath.

Two off-key voices, filled with laughter.

"With a corn-cob pipe and a button nose..."

Heels or flats?

The scent of wood was overpowering. Enticing. Nearly intoxicating. Machinery whined in the distance. Every minute or so a thump jolted the floor beneath their feet.

Trees, some longer than the trucks that delivered them, made their way through the parking lot to the holding area out back. She could have watched the unloading process for hours had there not been pressing issues at hand.

She turned her attention back to the man behind the counter. He wielded a calculator and pencil with such flair she wondered briefly if he was related to Paul Bunyon.

"...sixes and eights but if you go with random widths or anything larger than eights you'll have to surface nail 'em."

"I don't want to do that," Hubby said, shaking his head. "Not even with the boards pegged after nailing. That looks good but it's a pain--"

"In the--" The wood man stopped, glanced at her, then colored. He was young enough to be embarrassed but old enough to find his feet. "It's just a pain, is all. Now, are you thinking hard or soft? Dark or light? You gonna stain 'em or seal 'em?"

She nodded politely, then strolled back to the open door. A truck pulled into the lot loaded with fresh-cut logs. The driver parked beneath a crane and the unloading process began. Much more interesting than listening to the two men behind her talking wood.

A smile made her lips twitch. The men were obviously compelled to discuss options even though the decision for the family room flooring had been made months earlier. She didn't point that out, though. Instead she tuned the men out, knowing full well their talk was similar to countless discussion she'd had in shoe stores.

When she entered a shoe store with friends it never mattered if they knew what kind of shoes they were going to buy. The real fun was in trying on things they had no plans to purchase. To discuss the merits of a heel or the unsuitability of suede. In short, the adventure of shopping for shoes held more excitement than buying.

So she let them talk wood. They needed to do it, and she found her own kind of adventure watching logs move from truck to conveyor belt. She wondered idly if all loggers had such broad shoulders and rugged good looks.

Shoes. Wood. Loggers. Yeah, life was good.

Pick a day, any day

Scented with apples, cinnamon and berries, the steamy air in the kitchen swirled when he walked in. Even with the exhaust fan roaring, the room felt as full of flavor as a homemade pie. He stopped and stared at the rows of canning jars on the table and countertops. Then, a grin.

"Busy this afternoon, were you?" A top on one of the dozens of jars pinged and he arched a brow. "Very busy?"

She lifted the final jar from the boiling water bath and deposited it on the counter. There. The day's work was done. Satisfaction swept over her as she twirled the dial and wiped her brow all in one efficient movement. The kitchen was closed for the day.

"Just a little," she answered with a small, albeit tired, smile. "And you?"

Running a hand through his touseled hair, he shrugged. "Just cleaning up the workshop some. Getting things moved so when the wood for the family room floor is delivered we'll have somewhere to put it."

"We're getting that next week, right?"

"Looks that way." He paused. Looked around. "So...what's for dinner?" He covered his head with his hands as if he expected to be slapped with the dishtowel.

A smile playing on her lips, she retrieved three small covered cups from the fridge, along with two bottles of iced tea. She handed them to him, waiting while he arranged everything so nothing would crash to the floor. Silently she grabbed a couple of knives. A jar of peanut butter. A towel-wrapped bundle from inside the oven.

"What's that?" he asked, motioning toward the bundle.

"Bread. I made it this morning before I started the preserves. And in your hands...strawberry jam, blackberry jam and spiced apple butter. Leftovers that wouldn't fit into the canning jars. So," she walked across the room and, using the only two fingers she had left, opened the back door. "are you ready for a picnic?"

He followed. "You bet I am."

"Good," she said, laughing as she dashed out the door. "The last one to the dock's a rotten egg!"

Going for the Gold

He shook his head. "How did it happen?"

"Who knows? It seems like..."

"...Just yesterday. Doesn't it? It feels like we just..."

Nodding, she said softly, "Met."

They sat in silence and watched the morning sky grow lighter. Birdsong and the chatter of branch-to-branch squirrel gossip filled the air. Shifting his coffee mug from one hand to the other, he reached over and took her free hand in his. Threading his fingers through hers and giving a gentle squeeze, he said, "It's been beautiful, hasn't it?"

Her throat was tight. "It sure has been."

With a philosophical shrug, he said, "Oh, sure, we've had our tough times. Not many, but enough."

"Enough to make us appreciate the good ones."

"Mmm hmm. That's right. Every marriage has 'em, I think." He turned, meeting and holding her gaze. "Don't you? Think that every marriage has tough times?"

"I do. We've been blessed; ours have been few and far between. And we've always managed to get through whatever life throws our way."

"That's right. Together, we get through it all together." He leaned close, so close their noses were almost touching. "So, what do you say?"

A shiver shot up her spine. They were older and grayer than they'd been on this day so many years ago. But not much else had changed--not where it counted. "Say about what?"

"I thought it'd be obvious. Today we celebrate the silver. Want to go for the gold with me?"

Her answer came instantly. "Of course I do. There's no one else I'd rather team up with, darling."

"I hoped you'd say that..."

Unforgettable

"Bubbles? Do you remember that?" He chuckled, shaking his head.

A giggle escaped her. "How could I forget?"

Balancing his glass on the wide wooden arm of the Adirondack chair he occupied, he shifted to put his feet on the gazebo railing. She followed suit, and crossed her legs at the ankles. They sat like that for a long moment, smiling at the sky and listening to the rumbling. The thunder seemed louder than it had just a few minutes earlier. She wondered if the storm would cool things off.

"You were so cute that day."

"Just that day?" she teased.

“No, not just that day. But there’s no denying those bubbles were something else.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she sighed. The years hadn’t dulled the memory; it was so real she closed her eyes, put her head back and saw it all. “It was our first house and I was—”

“So young. Just out of college,” he said softly.

“But I felt so grown-up. Those new appliances…when the delivery guy hooked them up I figured I was in business…”

Black clouds skittered across the sky, bringing the storm ever closer. They paid Mother Nature little attention, they were so intent on their stroll down Memory Lane.

“Oh, you were in business, all right.” He pulled her hand into his, wrapped his fingers around hers and gave a gentle, teasing squeeze. “Leone’s Laundry—oh! And let’s not forget the Italian Kitchen part of it. That’s right, Leone’s Laundry and Italian Take-Out…or was it Italian Blast-Off?”

“Stop it!” She smiled, raising her eyebrows and giving him a fast stare. “Oh, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew you’d be home from work in a little while so I started a big pot of marinara sauce for dinner.”

“That’s right…in that old farmhouse the kitchen was right next to the utility room, remember? Sort of connected, wasn’t it?” He squinted, gazing off at the hills. She knew he didn’t see the scene before him, but the one in his mind.

“Uh huh. There was a doorway between them but the utility/mudroom led from the back door right into the kitchen, remember?” She paused, took a sip of her iced tea, then continued. “Then I figured I’d give the new washer and dryer a test run—”

“Oh, you ran it, all right…”

Pretending she hadn’t heard him, she said, “I dumped the clothes in the machine and set the dial. I remember the tomatoes and garlic were starting to scent the air…oh, I thought I was so smart, right on top of it all—”

“That’s one way to put it.” He chuckled and gave her hand another squeeze.

“Then I put in some detergent and some of that stuff—remember the stuff? That hard water softening junk?”

“Because we had well water,” he said, nodding. “The appliance salesman said we needed it to soften the well water. Who knew he didn’t know what he was talking about?”

The image of the label on the little blue bottle was seared into memory forever. She’d only added one capful—just one!—and before she knew it—

“I turned around, stirred the sauce and put a pot of water on to boil. Before I could pull the pasta from the cupboard the machine started making noises. Weird, scary noises.”

Glub…Blump…Glargle…

Lightning flashed in the distance but he turned to her and, smiling broadly, urged her on. “What’d you do?”

“I opened the lid.”

“And what’d you see?”

“Bubbles. Lots and lots and—oh, I’d never seen so damn many bubbles. And they were multiplying—fast!”

He’d heard the story countless times but it didn’t matter. He laughed, the sound low and deep, like it came from the pit of his stomach. “Then?”

“I slammed down the lid of the washer, but the bubbles pushed it up. They actually pushed the lid open! And the bubbles—they came flying out of the machine in big, puffy blobs!”

“What’d you do?” The question sounded strangled, he was laughing so hard.

“You know what I did—I did what any young housewife would do! I called the GE hotline, the 800 number. I figured they’d know how to stop the bubbles. The machine was obviously possessed—they had to know how to deal with demonic appliance possession!”

Blump…Glargle….Glub…

“And what did the lady say? The 800 lady?” His laughter masked the thunder’s rumble. The sweltering heat was forgotten as they saw the mountains of bubbles, smelled the clean, flowery detergent scent of the soap. “What did the GE hotline genius say?”

“‘Oh my!’ Can you believe it? I called asking for help and she said, ‘Oh my!’ By then the bubbles were up past my knees! I couldn’t see the floor—at all—and the machine was jumping around, just spewing big—I mean they were really huge—blobs of bubbles. Blurping and burping—and the lady had the audacity to say ‘Oh my!’ Oh my my foot!” She wiped away a tear with the palm of her free hand. They doubled over, their laughter so loud finches flew out of the tree branches above them.

“What—what—” He gasped, trying to talk around the laughter. Finally he asked, “What did you say?”

“I said—oh, I’ll never forget this—I said ‘Oh my, my behind! My husband is going to be home any minute, and I’ve got a houseful of bubbles! Help me—please, help me!’” She remembered the moment as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. The feel of popping bubbles on her calves, the horror of being such an inept wife. Now, it was funny. But then? It had been—

“Priceless! That’s just what I heard when I walked through the door. I saw you with the phone in your hand, yelling ‘Please help me!’ and I ran toward you, never even seeing the—”

“Stupid bubbles!”

“And I slipped and—”

“Fell,” she said, laughing and clutching her middle. “And I saw you going down so I—”

“Dropped the phone—in the bubbles!—and—”

“Reached for you and—”

“Fell—right on top of me!” He pulled her into an embrace. A quick slide across the chairs brought her right onto his lap. With a tender thumb he wiped the joyful tears from her cheeks and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “We were on the floor, surrounded by bubbles, remember?”

“How could I ever forget?” She smiled, shaking her head.

“You looked so sweet, covered in bubbles,” he murmured, gazing deep into her eyes. “I was so glad you were all right, so happy to have you in my arms, that I couldn’t help myself. Remember?”

She nodded. “Mmm…kissing in the bubbles…how could I forget? It was wonderful…until—”

“That damn smoke alarm went off. I could’ve stayed there forever, right in those bubbles with that machine dancing away in the corner, if it wasn’t for that smoke alarm. What a horrible noise!” He shook his head in disgust.

“The noise? What about the mess in the kitchen? Sauce everywhere! On the ceiling, the floor, the cabinets! Remember?”

A fat raindrop hit her bare thigh, sending a ripple of coolness over her heated skin. A second, then a third, drop fell. Thunder boomed, but still they lingered.

He kissed her. “How could I forget?”