He was observing her. She was standing there preparing their supper, with the same enthusiasm she always applied to her daily tasks. Smooth and sculptural, grounded yet dreamy, soft and surprising. He knew he loved her still.
She looked unchanged. So unaware. How could she not notice the tension that was rising within him? He thought she knew him better than that, did she not? It was burning at his core now. He would not be able to hold it in much longer. Yet she was there, going about cheerfully. Singing softly. Improvising on the acoustic tune that was playing on the stereo. It felt as if she were a vision. She had come to visit him from their past. Transported. Transposed. Unaffected.
In his heart though, it felt like everything had changed. He felt heavy. Burdened. He wished he could just erase from his mind, what had happened last night. How useless! He could not even blame it on alcohol. He would not. He remembered everything. He was conscious of everything. He had felt everything. He was in control. He could still sense that foreign lingering touch on his skin. That scent. He forced himself to chase that residual image from his conscious mind.
He ought it to her, to them, to keep away from it.
He let his eyes wander over her body. A pang of guilt jabbed him at the chest. She was just as beautiful as she had ever been. She just seemed so far away. Out of reach. He could lay his eyes on her. If he just extended his arm, he would probably touch her. Yet she appeared almost untouchable, standing there in the hallow light of their kitchen.
She felt like a fragile piece of pricy porcelain. Precious. Delicate. Gorgeously carved. He was about to breach her surface, leave a mark that would forever be there, tattooed on her heart, imprinted upon their relationship as a precedent. He felt like it would change everything. Nothing could ever be the same.
He had slipped.
He could not hit rewind. He was not even sure he would if he could anyway. That is something you think or say, when you just want to make things simpler. Escape complications. Reality was though that he had enjoyed everything about last night. Every second of it. He had not thought about her for a second. Just about him. The moments he was living. The sensations he was experiencing. He had been drawn to that woman. That body. That perfume. He would probably do it again, if he were placed in the same situation.
He did not plan on making it an affair. The black haired temptress was clearly a one-night stand. They had nothing in common. He did not care about her. He just wanted her. Right there and then. And the creature was willing to offer it all to him no questions asked. So he just went for it.
“Sweetheart?” She murmured. She was now sitting on his lap. “You did not get much sleep last night with the boys, did you? You look spent.”
He could feel her porcelain skin on him. Soft, and smooth. Unnaturally fresh. Thanks to the fan that had been hitting her surface, as she was cooking. So familiar. He wondered if it was she who had triggered last night’s thoughts to come back to his mind so vividly.
How wonderful she felt. He could not let go and kissed her.
She smiled. “There you go. I prefer that face.” He realized he was now smiling.
“Dinner is ready, babe. We can let it get cold, and reheat it though if you prefer to hit dessert first, you know.”
“Roast chicken, or dessert… Damn! You don’t make it easy for me to choose, woman.” He grabbed her and carried her upstairs, as she laughed.
The moment felt right. Doubts and remorse were lifted up by her touch. Right there and then, he had made up his mind. Things did not really have to change, did they?