I’m late, I know, I’m late. I was supposed to pick her up from her work an hour ago. I pull up to the large office building in my car, and from the look in her eyes she’s had it with me already. Her arms are crossed, and she’s shaking. It wasn’t supposed to rain today- she hates rain- and clearly she is not prepared for it. Her nice office slacks are soiled around the hem, and she must be thinking about how her shoes are ruined.

I take off my jacket and get out so I can walk her to my car, and I can feel her frown as I drape a leather jacket that has definitely seen better days around her shoulders. She’s an investigative journalist, and a good one at that. She grabs me by the collar of my shirt and plants a firm kiss to my lips. Even when she’s mad, she still kisses me because she knows there’s always a possibility I won’t come home from work.

I kiss back once it registers, wrapping her in an apologetic hug. She might be an uptight bitch, but she’s the love of my life. I kiss her fingers and admire the nails I paid for- I didn’t need to, but it’s the little things, right? I know she likes when I do things like that, because it makes her feel beautiful. She’ll never not be the centre of my world.

“We’ve missed or dinner registrations.” She says, and I pull her closer to my body. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders, and she heaves a little sigh. My hands are in her waist, calloused fingers catching on the silken fabric of her blouse. She pushes her glasses up her nose as she clears her throat, a little embarrassed with my staring. She always insists upon no to minimal PDA, especially in the workplace. Personally, she could sit on my face in the middle of a Walmart and I’d be just as happy as if she were doing it in a bed.

Despite her misgivings, she allows me this moment. Her arms wrap around my neck, mine around her waist, and I bring our lips together. I know I taste like cigarettes, and I can see her nose wrinkle before she closes her eyes. There are many things she endures for me that she detests or is afraid of, like smoking, the potential that I could be alive for breakfast and dead by lunch, and my dog- or Precinct’s Canine. His name is Rocket, she is deathly afraid of dogs.

She tastes like coffee. I like it. I lick the inside of her mouth like a dog, not thinking much of it. She clearly wasn’t anticipating my level of enjoyment, and breaks or kiss. I let her do it without complaint, already focusing on our cancelled dinner plans. It’s supposed to be our date night, and I know she was excited to go out. So I let myself get wet and hold the jacket over her head as we make our way to my car, and I open her door.

She sinks into my passenger seat, and I get into the driver’s seat. I glance over at her as she does her seatbelt, then as she reaches into her purse. She turns on the radio and opens a compact mirror, grabbing my favourite shade of lipstick and beginning to apply it. She likes to cook, so she makes me lunch when I stay over at her place, and whenever I open up a lunch she’s packed it comes with a note sealed with a kiss in that lipstick staining the paper.

I put the car into drive, one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh. I’ve fucked up our reservations, and it’s not like we can just show up an hours and a half late to the restaurant. So, I decide on this little Italian place near my apartment. I don’t tell her though- I decide to leave it a surprise. It’s more of a family-style restaurant, not the upscale “gems” she’s used to, but I had a job there throughout Highschool and college. It’s near-and dear to my heart, just like her.