My Body Bathed in Moonlight


It wasn’t long after I’d graduated from high school and broken things off with my first fiancé that I began to run a little wild. I met up with G. at a party but I’d known him since he was a freshman in high school. He was a senior and a jock so we really didn’t run in the same circles.  That’s not entirely true, I ran in any circle I wanted to, seeing as I was a chameleon and all.

G. brought me a drink, a cheap brand of beer most likely. We sat and chatted while other party goers took turns doing lines of cocaine off a huge mirror that had been placed on a dining room table. I’m not sure if G. was into coke or not, but that drug scared the hell out of me. Our poison of the evening was alcohol, though we didn’t begrudge anyone else for choosing to snort lines off a mirror for five bucks a pop.

One beer turned into three and our tongues loosened. The conversation turned dirty and I saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. I gladly returned a devilish look and answered yes to his request to take me to bed. Walking hand in hand we quietly retreated to a friend’s apartment just a few doors away. We wasted no more time with pleasantries and innuendo. He produced a condom and I grinned from ear to ear. I’m pretty sure I rolled that condom onto his cock with my mouth.

It was a long time ago so I don’t remember all of the details, but I do remember having a lot of fun. I don’t ever remember laughing so much and feeling such comfort while completely naked. His body was beautiful, athletic and lithe. I lay underneath him enjoying the weight of his body on mine. The outstanding feeling of his hardness moving in and out of me. I arched my hips up to meet his thrusts when he stopped suddenly, and rolled off of me. There I was splayed before him, completely naked and vulnerable. My breasts and midriff were lit faintly by the moonlight streaming in a nearby window.

‘Fuck, you’re body is beautiful’, he said.

I was tongue-tied by his comment. No man had ever looked at my naked body with such reverence before. All I could manage was a smile that I hoped he could see in the moonlight of his friend’s bedroom. I pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist as I guided his cock back into me. Sweet Jesus, how he filled me completely.

Our bodies spent, we laid in bed and cracked jokes. I think we might have even shared another beer. As we dressed, we heard his friend S. come home. The poor boy was so drunk, I think he banged his arms and torso on every wall as he stumbled to his bathroom. S. threw up into his garbage can as G. and I walked out of the bedroom.

‘Hey Renee, how the fuck are you?’,  he asked.

‘Better than you’, I giggled.

G. and I helped S. into bed, he whined incoherently about something and passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. G. and I headed back to the party a few doors down. We didn’t exchange phone numbers and we never saw each other again. I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed, but sometimes sex is just that, sex. It was fulfilling and beautifully dirty.

I did see G. a few years later, at a little family restaurant in Saline. I walked in with my future husband and sat down in a booth. I looked up and there was G. grinning a devilish grin. The blood rushed to my cheeks and sex as I smiled back at him. I might have even said hello. I remember thinking what a delicious secret G. and I had.

I wonder, if I saw him now, would my body react the way it did 28 years ago? I’d like to think it would. I also wonder where he is now. I hope he’s happy. And I also hope he tells the woman he’s with now how beautiful she is.

Angel Kisses and Bette Davis Eyes


I slather Oil of Olay on my slightly wrinkled face. I’m fair complected, and my eyes are striking. I want so badly to look like Marilyn Monroe, but I’m a Bette Davis. As my fingers make delicate circular motions, the tiny wrinkles are quenched with precious fluid. They seem to disappear. I ponder my image in the bathroom mirror and grin. Laugh lines crinkle around my eyes, but I don’t care. The luminescence in my baby blues won’t be extinguished. Even with the passing of time.

I apply a dollop of eye cream on the translucent skin under the eye and then under the eyebrow. I notice that my brows are lightening with age. Someday, they’ll disappear entirely. My eye cream is nothing magical. There’s no placenta, seaweed extract or anything exotic. I like simple. A pure cream that will fill in the little lines and hold the tiniest bit of concealer under my eyes. I need to hide those Gucci bags that sometimes appear, for God’s sake.

My grin doesn’t falter as I trace my fingers across my cheekbones. I take comfort in my skin, though marred by time and flecked with age spots. I touch the Marilyn Freckle between my right nostril and the apple of my cheek. I chuckle because, it is a natural beauty mark. Some women want it so badly, they have it permanently tattooed on their faces. Mine, just comes naturally.

I’m blessed with so many “Angel Kisses”. I told my children when they were young, that angels kissed their cheeks, arms, and legs while they slept. How else could one explain all those little flecks of melanin on the skin? They’d laugh and roll their eyes at me, of course.

I place the foam tip applicator on the skin under my eye. It provides a small amount of coverage for the dark circles that sometimes appear. Inserting the applicator back in the tube and grabbing a tad more on the tip, I add a few dots of it around my nostrils. Not to hide any flaws, but to shade the broken capillaries that have sprouted due to my bouts with alcohol abuse.

Next comes the wild hued eyeliner. What color will it be? Purple, green, blue, gold, hmmmmmm? I think purple will work. Liquid, dark, and sensuous. Jet black mascara is a must. Strange color I know, for a blonde haired and blue eyed bombshell. As my Adam Boy continually points out, I’m anything but conventional. So Jet black mascara it must be.

Wrinkles, age spots and a myraid of other flaws be damned! I’ve come to realize that life is so much better with a few miles under the hood, and lines on my face. It sure the hell beats being 20 years old any day. As long I don’t look like a truck ran over my face, I’m doing just fine.

A Split Apart

My Muse

I gazed at the photograph of her and knew Curt her husband, took it. He likes to capture her at moments when she is most herself. I remarked that she was beauty. Right there, in the simple shot of her glowing and thoughtful face.

Blue eyed.

Blonde haired.

Serene, yet the wheels are turning.

She flits from one thing to another.

Her heart is large.

Her vocabulary stellar.

She is mighty with the written word.

The spoken word.

She is an artist.

Everything she sees, she sees potential in.

She found beauty in me. In my heart.

We didn’t speak to each other for 30 years.

Audibly anyway.

Our words made us friends, sisters, split aparts.

Our souls intertwined.

She gave me confidence.

She gave me strength by loving me.

Her photos inspire me to write.

She inspires me.

We will love each other.

Till one of us expires.

Even then, when we are on that other vibration.

We will watch over one another.

The first photo prompt I ever wrote a story for was hers. I titled it West Virginia in the Summer Time. It wasn’t viewed by many bloggers. But it was one of my favorite stories. Fiction. Something I was new at writing. The journal entries were getting old. I needed something more. Tracy provided that. She still does. Words flow through me whenever I peruse her photo albums.


This Learning to Live Again…

Why this blonde haired beauty and I connected, I’ve no idea. I’m so glad we did though. Told her I’d write her a story to a photo prompt. Of course she looks like a model. Here you go my sweet Madeline. Hope you like it.

Photo courtesy of Madeline Walsh

Photo courtesy of Madeline Walsh from 1EarthNow.

Whoever said being pretty had its advantages was full of shit, Leslie said to herself as she gazed into her closet. She searched for a purple skirt that she swore she picked up from the cleaners last Tuesday. Her best friend Raven set up this damn blind date for her. She wanted to cancel. All she wanted to do was change into her yoga pants and fleece pull over and curl up with a good book. She’d have a bottle of sweet red wine too. No need for a glass when you’re alone. Who gives a shit if you swig it from the bottle?

She shook her head and wondered how the hell she got here. She thought, I have so many pretty things. A good life, but no one to share it with.

Leslie thought back to the last eight months. Her heart had been handled precariously by a man she thought she loved. He would tell her one day that he loved her, then the next day, he’d be indifferent. She tried to change. To get Brian to pay attention. To give her more. He wouldn’t. It didn’t matter that she was pretty. Thin. Smart. Made her own money. That she lived an independent life. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one for him. Her heart broke when it ended. Now she wasn’t sure if she was ready to start this roller coaster of serial dating again.

She knelt down and found the skirt on her closet floor. Stood up and pulled it snug around her tiny waist. Peered into the full length mirror in her bedroom. After a couple of turns she decided she didn’t look half bad. Whiskers, her fat cat, stared at her from his spot at the end of Leslie’s bed. He lifted his paw and gave it a lick. Settled his fluffy head back onto the bed and promptly fell to sleep. Leslie could hear him purr from across the room as she settled onto the chair in front of her vanity table.

Just then her phone alerted her to a new text. It was him. The new guy, Robert. Two weeks ago, Raven sent her a picture of him via text. He was tall, dark and handsome. Such a cliche. Raven told her not to worry, he was a great guy too. He was in advertising or something. Leslie hoped that their conversation tonight wouldn’t be strained. She prayed she wouldn’t run her mouth too much. It happened a lot. Especially if she had a cocktail or three. She made a mental note to eat a couple of pieces bread before she drank. It would help soak up the alcohol and keep her from making an ass of herself. Damn all this prep work!

Robert’s text informed her he was in the parking lot waiting for her. Leslie replied and let him know that she’d be right down. She’d be damned if he found out where she lived before their first date. She looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Put the finishing touch on her dark but sparkly eyeliner. Painted her lips with a crimson and black lipstain. There was no need for lipstick that would spread into the tiny fissures around her lips.

Time for me to get a move on isn’t it Whiskers?, she said to her fat kitty as she walked past her bed and headed through the bedroom door. Leslie paused at the front door, grabbed her purse and coat. She headed out into the night hoping that Robert might be the right one. That he might love her, for everything that she is. And isn’t.

Sweet Child O’ Mine, A Meeting with an Old Friend

She was drunk. She had hoped it would help her sleep. She had hoped it would help her to be able to finally climb into the bed that she had shared with her husband of over 20 years with. She was so tired. So fucking tired. Her husband had been convicted of hurting a child. Her youngest son had run off in response, while her oldest stayed by her side. She’d been barely holding it together for too long. Living in a little cocoon. But at that moment of trying to get into bed, she finally broke down. Finally, she laid on the floor and wailed. Her oldest son, her child, her baby, had to see her in her weakest state. Drunk, and sobbing uncontrollably because she couldn’t get into the bed she had shared with a man who was now in jail, as he would be for years to come. She begged her son to call her mother. He did, while taking care of her as well. He waited for his grandma to get there and put his mother to bed, so she could get some rest after living a nightmare that actually came true.

She walks into the bar and I see her as she once was, when we were just teens. Striding towards me, she is statuesque, blonde, violet blue eyes, and wearing a huge smile. As she zips to the table, so many men turn their heads to look at her. Some of them appear to get whiplash as a result. She’s a ravishing beauty after all that she’s been through. We hug for what seems like forever. We haven’t seen each other in 26 years, but you’d never know it, by the sounds of our laughter and the constant exchanges of “I love you.” I think to myself, “Oh my God how did I ever let this light out of my life?” We were best friends at one time. But life pulls us in different directions. Even though we lived just a few towns away from each other, our lives were busy. She was married, and so was I. We’d each had two children. We were part of our community, and our kids kept us plenty busy.

I’ve already ordered her a Bud Light. I’m sipping white zinfandel and water, because I have to drive home after our meeting. We sit down and start talking. She goes first because she has a story to tell. One that is difficult to hold in. I let her have the floor. I let her go, and let go she does.

But this story is not about her ex-husband. This story is not about her sons. This story is about her. A beautiful woman, that was my best friend during our teenage years. She and I fell away as high school friends often do. We find lovers that we marry and plan on staying with for the rest of our lives. We have children that mean everything to us, that make us better somehow. That we in turn make better by raising them up right. We become involved in the places that we live, in our communities, in our children’s activities, in our lives. It becomes our lives and nothing else matters. But then the unthinkable happens: your husband is accused of taking advantage of a young woman.

She told me that she knew that the light had switched in his brain somehow. They’d been married for 20 years and he started becoming abusive – mentally at first, and then physically. But she had been living with the mental abuse, or as she called it, “passive-aggressiveness” for so long she knew how to diffuse it. For some reason though, this time she no longer could. He started hitting her. Why after so long? She has no idea. But he did hit her. He made her feel small, like she was inadequate. He turned into a stranger. Someone she didn’t even know. She stayed though, for her kids, for the idea that they were “pillars” of the community. They took good care of their kids and the kids of their friends.

When her husband eventually went to prison, she hid herself away. Her youngest son started his senior year of high school shortly thereafter. He told her that he was dealing with some aggression at a home football game. That was what brought her out of her funk. She said to her self, “no one is going to make my child pay for the sins of my husband.” So the next football game, she went. She dealt with the animosity, so that her son didn’t have to. She is one tough momma bear and she loves her boy immensely. While she was there she saw a good friend of the family who, taking her hand said, “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.” She looked at him and knew that he meant every word he said.

She did eventually call him, and they became inseparable. He brought her back to life. He helped her figure out her way, helped her figure out how to continue to take care of her boys, even though she was damaged. He helped her to realize that the man she had married all those years ago was no long the same man. He helped her figure out that the men that were contacting her with offers of help, were only wanting to take advantage of her. To fuck her, own her, hurt her even more, and then disregard her like yesterday’s trash. If she didn’t have this wonderful, flawed man in his own right by her side during this time, who knows what mistakes she might have made.

She finalized her divorce as quickly as possible. She lived in utter poverty for two years. Sometimes, without even electricity, warm water, heat, or food. In short, all the damn things that we normally take for granted. She had nothing. Every time she went to an interview, they would uncover her history and the job offer would disappear. She would think to her self, “They have no reason to judge me. I am NOT the sins of my husband. I am ME!”

Taking a break, we both look at the crucifixes around our necks. As our conversations have progressed, we keep touching them throughout. This recognition turns our conversation towards the topic of faith, and therapy, but mostly faith. We realize as we hold hands across the table and cry, that our faith is what’s gets us through. I told her I haven’t taken my crucifix off for 14 years. When I had to have an MRI recently, it killed me to remove it for even that hour. She told me that her original crucifix broke, and she found herself lost without it. She then acquired the one that she wears now, and she finds herself touching it daily. It’s her center, as it is mine. She says that without her boyfriend, her faith and her therapist, she would have never made it through this part of her life.

She’s grown. She’s changed. Yet she’s still the wonderful and fun girl she always was. With a twinge of jealousy, she looks at me and says, “You are so lucky. You get to grow old with the man that loves you. My ex-husband stole that from me.” She does tell me though that she has been redeemed with her new love. The man who simply took her hand at a football game, and said if you ever need me, call. God, she is so glad that she did.

I think she’ll make it, I do. I think she has found her happiness. She’s found it in her children and in this new man that accepts her for what she is – good woman, with a tough past. But then again, who doesn’t have a tough past? Who doesn’t have a broken road? Isn’t it astonishing when that broken road leads us to the right one?

As I leave her, we hug some more. We once again exchange our “I love you’s.” We promise to not leave 26 years between us again. And we haven’t. We talk almost daily. She is of my heart and one of the strongest women I know. I love her now and forever. What her husband did, doesn’t define her, or her grown up babies. I admire her strength and the ferocity of her love. She is a good woman, a strong woman. And she always will be.

***Edited by t from Read him. The man rocks my world, and makes my pretty words more beautiful with his touch. This may be my last post for awhile. I promise to come back. Just not sure when. Take care my dear readers and followers.***

Raindrops and Red Lipstick

Rain drops on the window

She touches it gently with her fingertips

She finds the window chilled by the Fall rain

Her mind wanders to warm summer days and warmer kisses

Memories of love

And him

Her mouth, close to the glass leaves steam on the window

She draws an over-sized heart

Then places a kiss in the middle of it

The cold glass is stained with her red lipstick along with the vapor

She draws an arrow  through it before the heart disappears

Then just like that, it’s gone

All that remains are her lip prints

And bitter sweet memories

I’m Not Sure Where I End and She Begins

Meggie said, “Momma, you’re cray cray.”

I told her, “I know that baby girl, but you are just like me, so watch what you say.”

She smiled and said, “I’m glad I’m like you.”

It’s eerie how alike Meggie and I are. She used to loathe it when friends and family would tell her that. Now she embraces it.

Friday, I got the joy of spending  24 hours with her. We took a road trip to Lansing/Charlotte for  Cato, her Husky pup to compete in his first dog show. We turned on Pandora Radio and sang the whole way there. Sara Barielles radio first and then Garth Brooks’ radio. The first lines of Gravity came on:

Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.
No matter what I say or do I’ll still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone.

Meg and I sing it together while we’re driving down I-96 in the rain. We’re feeding Cato pieces of Twizzlers strawberry licorice. I don’t know why, but the song by Sara Barielles always makes me cry. Meggie tells me I’m a sap, and then we harmonized for the rest of the song. I love singing with her. I miss her, but we get along so much better now that we don’t live together anymore.

She switches to Garth radio and I’m transported back in time to when she was young. Whenever we were on a road trip, didn’t matter the length of time or distance, we always played a Garth cd. The song Unanswered Prayers comes on and she says it reminds her of Daddy. I tell her it does me too, and then I tell her about the time he and I sang it at some bar on karaoke night. She laughed.

Sometimes I thank God, for unanswered prayers
Remember when you’re talkin’ to the man upstairs
That just because he doesn’t answer doesn’t mean he don’t care
Some of God’s greatest gifts, are unanswered prayers.

We talked about life. About her upcoming wedding, school, and work. She also told me that she didn’t want to hear about my writing all the time. She knew it made me happy, that I was good at it, that it was my passion, but it got annoying to hear about it all the time. I said, excuse me? You’re the one that has to tell me all about the stupid raw food diet that you give your dogs. And you have to tell me about how smart your dogs are. And the fact that you’re going to learn everything there is about showing Cato because you want him to be a champion. That’s the thing about us, when we’re passionate about something, we talk about it incessantly. It annoys the fuck out of everyone around us. But we really don’t care.

We grabbed food at the Cracker Barrel before heading to our hotel. We figured what the hell, we might as well eat good food that was bad for us. Take out of course because of Cato Potato. We couldn’t leave him in the car. Meg was like a worried momma, she had to keep looking out the window of the restaurant to make sure he was okay. We had fun shopping while waiting for our food to be prepared. Finally with the food packaged up and paid for we headed to the car. I said look Cato is sitting there being a good boy. As I opened the car door I realized why Cato was being so good. He had opened the bucket of Twizzlers and was chowing down. Meg and I laughed hysterically. It was so fun to be with my girl and laugh about her silly dog.

We didn’t get much sleep because Cato was anxious and wouldn’t settle down. Me being the good momma, got out of bed and took him outside every half hour while Meggie slept. He finally settled and cuddled up with me on my bed. I got about four hours of sleep but figured I’d sleep when I’m dead. It was a big day for Meg and Cato.

She and I got ready without killing each other. It was nothing like when she was a teenager. It’s a wonder we didn’t beat the shit out of each other when she was a kid.

All in all we had a great day. Cato did well and I got to see Megan feeding her passion. She did great and so did he. A friend of mine from high school is mentoring her and teaching everything she knows about showing dogs. I hadn’t seen Linda in 28 years. It was good to reconnect and see her interacting so well with Megan. Linda treated Meg like a daughter. That made me so very proud.

Meg told me thank you for all the help and that she loved me. Said it was so great to spend time with me. She missed her “Mommy” time because now she’s so damn busy. We loaded up the car and the exhausted Cato dog and headed home. We turned on Pandora and listened to Garth radio again. Sang songs all the way home and then laughed our asses off when I picked up my ice tea and proceeded to spill then entire cup into my purse. I spilled it on my pants too. She looked at me, laughed and said I look like peed on myself. I was laughing so hard I told her I might have, but I couldn’t be sure because of all the fucking ice tea everywhere.

Cato slept the whole way back to Livonia, Meggie and I sang and talked. She told me to stop drinking so much coffee because it was going to give me wrinkles, and that I had to re-hydrate my skin every day. I told her to shut the fuck up. She then got on Google found an article about it and gave me hell. I told her I would only drink 40 oz. of coffee a day instead of 80 oz. She just shook her head at me and told me to wear moisturizer. The she said, Mom you’re beautiful and you have no wrinkles, you want to stay wrinkle free for as long as you can. I looked at her and asked, how the hell did you get so smart? She said, Google Mom. Google is Goodle. I told her she was a dork.

We got back to Livonia in record time. Unpacked, hugged, kissed and said our goodbyes. Had to give hugs and kisses to Cato and Delilah the Wonder Huskies too.

After I dropped her off and headed back to Tecumseh I realized that she was one of the best things I’d ever done in my life. I thought back to the day she was born and was laid on my stomach. I was scared to death of what kind of mother I would be, but by God I was going to do my very best to love and raise her up right. I remember the feel of her in my arms that first time I held her. I remember Roger Darling carrying her around the delivery room and calling her his little girl. And then I snapped back to the present and realized that I got my wish. That I did raise her up right. That she may be quite a bit like me but she ultimately is her own woman.

There She Stood, A Vision in White

“No one is as beautiful as a daughter talking about the man she’s going to marry.”

Author: American, Somerset, Pennsylvania (Newspaper)

I corseted Meggie into her wedding dress a couple of days ago. We laughed so hard during the process. It seemed to take forever. We began lacing it upside down.

I screamed, “FUCK!”

Meg laughed and we pulled the silk ribbon out and started over. I almost had to put my foot in her back to draw it tight enough to keep her boobs in the dress. After it was tied, she turned around. I lost my breath. There she stood, my beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed daughter in her wedding dress.  She looked exquisite. I think my heart skipped a beat or two.

She smiled when she looked at me, and said, “Mom, it’s okay, don’t cry.”

How could I not? Here was a beautiful woman standing in front of me. I bore this child 22 years ago. And she’s wearing her wedding dress! She’s going to get married in less than three months to the love of her life.

Meggie had on not one stitch of make up, no shoes, and her hair was straight. But to me she was the most beautiful that I had ever seen her. Her smile alone cinched my awe of her.

When she started flitting around looking for the full length mirror, she reminded me so much of myself at her age. I had to step back, and take in the sight of her. She was wandering all over the bedroom trying to get her boobs to stay put, all the while talking too damn loud about the fact that her boobs were all over the place.

I asked, “May I take your picture?

She said, “Of course, but no posting it!”

I told her, “No way would I do that! I share a lot, but your wedding dress is sacred.”

She stood in front of me, then turned on a slight angle. She looked up and smiled at me. Perfectly content.  I took the picture, looked at the result and sighed. My baby girl is getting married, and I couldn’t be happier and more scared for her. What will the future bring? There’s no way of knowing until we’re in it. I pray that it’s good for Chris and her. I really do.

That Light, That Chaos, That Beauty

Stopped on the side of the road.

Camera in hand.

Wind whipping in my hair.

Lightning bugs no longer adorn the fields of this late summer night.

I’m giddy with delight at the sight of lightning.

Not sure what it is about it, but it makes me smile.

Makes me calm.

Makes my Spidey Senses tingle.

Makes me, me.

I lean against my pretty blue car.

Feel the bass of a song by Super Tramp beating through the steel.

I hold the camera up and giggle.

I keep snapping away.

Hoping for the light, the tingle, the electricity.

Then, it happens.

I capture it.

I laugh out loud as the shutter clicks.

I check the camera roll and see.

That light. That chaos. That beauty.

I think, that’s me.

That light. That chaos. That beauty.

It is me.

Daddy’s Little Girl

Daddy, I need another color, she says as she rummages through her ditty bag.

He says, Why Princess? We already have two different colors painted on your toes.

She says, I know, but I need at least three different colors on my nails.

She smiles at her daddy, surprised that he’s painting her toes. She thinks to herself how much she loves him.

As he paints her nails, he thinks, How did I get here? How did I fall in love with such beauty? How did her mother and I make such a wonderful, precocious creature?

He thinks about his past. The drinking, the drugs, the promiscuity. Then he thinks about finding the “ONE”. His wife. After finding the “ONE”, came love. After love, came commitment. After commitment, came the Princess. The Princess of Three Different Color Nail Polishes. He thought, that’s quite a title for her.

He knows that he would do anything for her. He will too. Because he’s the Daddy. The White Knight. And the King. She looks up at him as he paints her nails. His heart melts. She looks at him and he sees himself and his beautiful wife. Their features melded together.

He looks into her mischevious and dark eyes. Thinks about how damn smart she is. She’s ten and she’s already smarter than him. He wonders how anyone could look at their child and not love them. Want to be a part of their lives. He thinks that some men are incredibly stupid to miss out on this every day miracle. This miracle of watching their future, grow, shift and change in front of them. There’s nothing better than this. Nothing better than her.

She tells him, Hurry up Dad. We have to let my toes dry before we can walk the dog. And we need to get something for lunch. I’m starved! Maybe we can color later. Or draw.

He looks at her, says, Of course Punkin. We’re almost done. Did you find another color of polish you wanted?

She says, Yep. It’ purple. You know, purple is my favorite.

He smiles at her. Finishes her nails. While they dry, they talk about what their next adventure will be.