You knew James hunted as a hobby, You weren’t happy he did that but you’d never change him for the world.

One evening, he came down the stairs in his hunting attire, the camouflage looking scrumptious on his broad frame, until he grabbed his car keys. You had made dinner, and you expected him to sit down and eat it with you after months of him being away.

“Where you goin?” you ask, already knowing the answer.