You hear keys jingling on the other side of your apartment door and sit up a little when you recognize your husband’s quiet trudges on the hardwood floors.

“I’m in here, Danny,” you call and you watch his frame appear in the doorway. With a quiet grunt, he joins you, sitting on the sofa.

“M’sorry I’m so late, sugar.”

You cup his face and press your lips to his in a gentle embrace. Your hand travels down his chest and begins to work off his button down.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmur, so soft Daniel can hardly hear you. He nuzzles your hair and gently caresses your hip.

“Well,” he begins, “I appreciate your grace, ma’am.”