because every meal is a present

We finished dinner tonight, curled up on the couch covered in blue fuzzy blanket and nearly suffocated with cat cuddles. Our plates were empty; the screen in front was full of football.

The best kind of Monday night, no?

And I looked I my husband, still slightly sweaty from his workout. I kissed his salty neck and immediately regretted it.

Then I asked him, “how was your dinner?”

My tongue still burned from the curry and he dragged himself off the couch to pour me a glass of red wine.

He brought me a cookie. I asked for two.

Two for you, two for me.

“I like to think of every meal like it’s a present for you,” I said.

He smiled.

Pumpkin pillows drenched in sugar and butter and just enough whiskey to make it interesting … just because I love him.

Tonight’s gift was a winner.

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