This morning has the makings of a beautiful day. The sunlight shines softly into your bedroom, and you can hear the pattering of little feet downstairs. Your heart and house are full with Kyle home after a long mission.

However, once you descend the stairs, you realize this gorgeous day will be spent doing hard labor and taking multiple trips to the hardware store. Kyle is inspecting the backyard with a mug of tea warming his hands. He gives you a hum of acknowledgment when you say good morning and start breakfast for the kids. While you put a pan on the stove and preheat the oven, you glance at your husband. He's only in sweatpants, and he already has a five o'clock shadow. You can see his calculated gaze in the reflection of the window as if he's planning a coordinated attack.

You shake your head and focus on cooking instead of the bruises smattering his skin and the bandaged cut on his side. You want him to rest, but the way he's assessing his property tells you he's going to do everything but while on leave.

Once food is on the table and the kids are at the table, you call Kyle over. He sits obediently, decades of military training make following orders second-nature. He looks lost in thought as he cuts up the food on his eldest child's plate.

"Okay, I'll bite," you say after a sip of coffee, "What's got you so worked up this morning?"

"The bloody yard looks awful," he says, his morning voice rough and low. "I need to pick up a few things at the shops."

Then, as if reading your mind, he looks over the spread you've made for breakfast and winks at you, "I'll take the kids."

No less than three trips to various stores, five new plants in the ground, two new tools he had to have, and a few toys the kids snuck into the cart later, the yard is looking pretty good. Kyle is finishing with a much-needed mow, shirtless, sweaty, and grimey. The eldest is dutifully following him like a duckling, pushing along a child-sized plastic mower. Your youngest toddles over and proudly presents you with a fistful of dandelions before going back to bug-catching duties.

The mower's engine cuts off, and Kyle puts it back in the garden shed, ruffling the hair of his child who looks so much like him as they tuck their play mower in next to his. He looks sinful as he makes his way over to you, wiping his brow, spreading dirt across his skin. The sweat dripping down his lean, muscled body looks like liquid gold in the evening light.

He leans against the frame of the back door and smiles proudly. "Well?" He asks as he gestures to the yard, "What do you think of Garrick & Co.'s work? Up to your standards, love?"