It was a cold morning and we were snuggled on the sofa under a blanket watching the ducks swim in the pond.
“Take this off,” he said as he tugged at the band on my ring finger.
He put his hand on my cheek and turned my face towards his. We were inches apart when he said, “Take it off so I can marry you.”
I stood up an handed him his pants.
“I love you so much,” I said. “But you know I can’t marry you. Besides, you need to get dressed.”
My husband works overnight shifts and I was expecting to hear his car pull in the driveway any second.
“Hurry,” I urged, tossing him his transformers t-shirt. The sun streamed through the window highlighting his bedhead and a smear of peanut butter on his cheek. I pulled him in and wrapped my arms tightly around him, knowing that we wouldn’t be alone together again for a long time.
He tugged on his jeans, jumping and spinning to get them all the way up.
“Can you help me with the zipper?”
I zipped his pants and tied his shoes. Tires crunched on the gravel.
“Let’s go,” I said urgently, grabbing his hand and dragging him out the door.
We ran to the driveway and met my husband by the mailbox.
I opened his car door and helped our three year old son climb into the carseat in the back.
“How was your night?” my husband rolled down the window to ask.
“Great,” I grinned. “Chapman asked to marry me again.”
My husband turned to look in the back seat.
“Back off,” he told our son before pulling out of the driveway to take him to daycare. “Your mom’s mine.”