She’s a dream. That’s all that I can think, when I look at her. I lay next to her in her sheets, my arms around her. My body is the one closest to the door, and I’m curled around her like I’m trying to shield her body from something. She stirs slowly as she wakes, stretching. She sighs, and one smooth hand comes up to rub across my back, shoulders, and eventually tangle in my hair. Her other hand comes up to cup my cheek, and I hold her wrist as I press a flurry of kisses to her palm. The wedding and engagement rings I put on her finger glint in the light, and it makes me smile. I’m rarely cocky or possessive, but I allow myself this small moment of self-pride at the fact that I managed to get this beautiful woman to fall in love with me.

I also feel pride at the fact that I’m the one she chose. She’s had plenty of past partners, and has plenty of options, yet she chose me. She chose to get married to me, when she has all kinds of men and women throwing themselves at her feet. I remember the first time I saw her, she was getting drinks at my restaurant with a friend. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone so beautiful, and the way she spoke was hypnotizing. Then I just kept seeing her, again and again, until I finally scraped up the courage to ask her out. I remember going to a club with her early on in our relationship, and how she danced. She’d never looked so good as when she was swaying against me.

She’s flexible, too, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s not important, really. But she’s so much more than her body and what she does with it. She’s kind, understanding, empathetic, and one of the most beautiful souls I think I’ll ever meet. I remember our wedding, too. We eloped. I didn’t want a big wedding, and she said she didn’t need one. So we just went to the courthouse and signed the papers, then we went dancing. She didn’t take my last name and I didn’t take hers. She offered, but I said that I would never ask anybody to give up their name and take mine.

We share a slow, sweet kiss. Her lips curl into that smile I would commit atrocities just to see, and her thumb strokes my face. I kiss it, and she giggles. I tickle her, and she shoves me off. She kicks out and tries to shove me as she laughs. I collapse all of my weight on her. Then, her phone rings. She reaches out from under me, and answers the phone as she places it next to her ear. It’s her mom.