Flowers

He has been here many times during their years together yet each time he is struck anew by the size and beauty of her home.

She is outside, kneeling in front of the flowerbeds, weeding. She looks up as she hears the crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels of his rented car. Picking up the basket of flowers, she approaches him, a light smile adorning her lips.

"Hello, darling," she says, and he wraps his arms around her waist. He has missed her and he wants her now. The basket of flowers spill onto the green, green lawn as he picks her up and brings her into the house.

***

She traces the muscles of his chest with gentle fingers as he runs his hand along her delicate spine. She shivers in delight as frissons of pleasure spread throughout her body.

"I ought to bring the flowers in," she says as he lowers his mouth to her collarbone.

"Not yet," he replies, and she does not protest further as his mouth travels lower, lower, lower...

***

She is sleeping when he takes his leave, a single kiss to her forehead the only sign of affection. He has changed back into the untouchable, stern author and historian, the only hint of his other side is in that simple gesture of love. He leaves a note for her on her nightstand and then exits the house.

She wakes up a few hours later and finds the note of her nightstand, opening it. To anyone else it would be cold, but she knows him, knows the fact that he left her a note at all is a sign of his love.

"I didn't want to wake you. See you soon."

She pads downstairs and stops in surprise.

There is a single flower from her gardens on the hall table.