"still writing?" you greeted your husband from the doorway of the rental home you, your husband, harry, and your daughter, cheryl, had been staying in. harry was a writer, an author, and a damn good one.

but recently, he'd fallen into a slump. a bad case of writer's block. he'd suggest a "vacation", despite the point of this town to drag up some sort of muse from the depths of his creative brain.

with a tired, hushed laugh harry would nod. sitting back in the chair before the desk he sat at, his head would turn to peer back at you. "what can i say? got the creative juices flowing. couldn't pass up the opportunity to get some much needed work done."

but he saw that look on your face. doubt, concern and a simple tenderness. with a sigh, he'd stand up and shuffle to your form in the doorway. harry pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, his nose nuzzling against your temple.

"but..." he clicked his tongue, "i could use a break." a tired yawn left his lips, "wanna make us some tea? there's that nice peppermint kind you like in the cupboard."