I looked over at her as we were finishing up the last coat of paint. White primer was swiped across her forehead, tiny specks of forest green dotted her nose trying to blend in with her freckles.

"There," she announced. "We're done." She let out a satisfied sighed and turned to me with a bright smile. "Help me clean up." I watched her clean up around me and all I could think about was how adorable she looked covered in paint and sweat. I quickly picked up the rest of our supplies and followed her to the kitchen. She turned to me and punched my shoulder.

"Hey, what is that about?

"Why didn't you tell me I had paint on my face, Mister?!"

Laughing, I pulled her close, "Sweetheart, I just noticed it. But I kinda like the look."

She tried to push me away. "You jerk." I pulled her over to our plastic-covered couch. She happily tucked into me as we cuddled. Our eyes roamed our first home, our very own house and it's sweet new paint job. I felt her adjust a little so I looked down.

"What do you want for dinner?" She snuggled closer to me as if hoping she wouldn't have to get up right away.

"You know what, Babe, let's go out and celebrate." I held her tight.

"Celebrate what?"

"Well, we just finished painting our very first house. I think that is reason enough to celebrate, don't you? After all, you don't really want to cook." She laughed. "Let's go dress up I am starving and there is a fancy Italian dish calling my name."


The elegance that surrounded us during dinner was breathtaking, but honestly, I couldn't take my eyes off the beauty that sat across from me. Her incredible transfer from sweaty with paint on her face to America's Next Top Model had me baffled. She wore her special black vintage knee-high gown with white lace lining the scoop neckline and bottom hem. She pinned her hair back in a loose bun and besides the silver eye shadow framed by her glasses you'd never guess she wore makeup.

All through dinner I mulled over the different scenarios I had witness starring her in. Since we've been together I've seen her at her worst and her best. Looking like she just rolled out of bed and when she's lying about how long she spent in front of a mirror hoping to impress me. And in all of these scenes, I still couldn't decide which made her more attractive.

"Handsome, are you even listening to me."

"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm just contemplating something."

"Well you're staring at me, and it's kind of freaking me out." I just laughed it off and chose to stop thinking about it.


That night we stood in front of the mirror as we got ready for bed. Dinner had been delicious, the dessert was outstanding and both of us were bushed. The exhaustion from today's hard work and the paint fumes mingled together confirming our need to just crawl into bed and crash. But once again she caught me watching, but this time I had a satisfied smile on my face. I saw her flash me an embarrassed smirk.

"Okay, Buster Brown, what is it this time?" She put down her brush and looked at my reflection.

"Same as last time. I was trying to figure out when you look the most attractive." Her eyes got big, and her expressive eyebrows shot up in question. "Well I've seen you sleepy-eyed in the morning, sweaty from a hot day of painting, all dolled up for a night out, and now looking like a ragamuffin with no one to impress but a pillow." She turned quick and punched me in the shoulder... again.

I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her close. "Do you want to know what my decision is?"

"I am afraid. You might think it is when I'm ticked off and ready to kill anything with the misfortune of crossing paths with me."

I shrugged. "Though you're scary, it is pretty attractive." I pulled her tight before she could break free. "But that isn't what I chose."

"Fine," she sighed. "When is it?"

"It's when you're next to me with that goofy, priceless smile on your face as if nothing in the world could harm you. You could be looking at me with complete admiration as if I were too good to be true, or holding my hand while you are conversing with someone else. You are the most attractive when you don't realize the unmistakably beautiful impression you make on me and anyone around you."

"Wow..." was all she could seem to manage, a rarity for her and an accomplishment for me.

"You are always attractive... because you're mine." She laid her cheek against my chest and her arms wrapped around me.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I don't know what I did to earn such an honor," I tilted her head up to meet my kiss. "but I love you, too."