Carwood Lipton flipped on the light switch as he walked into the dark kitchen. The linoleum floor was shining, scrubbed within an inch of its life. He wasn't surprised by the immaculate state of the house. Vera wasn't exaggerating when she had said she had been climbing the walls the days leading up to his homecoming. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found anywhere in their small, two story.
It was a decent starter home but he was determined to get her a place of which she could be truly proud.
Opening up the mint green bread box, he cringed as the over used hinges squealed. He had forgotten how badly it needed greasing, even before he had left. He took out the last couple slices of the most recent loaf Vera had baked and winced as he gingerly closed the box.
"You know, one of these days that thing needs a good oiling."
He peeked over his shoulder as Vera walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"I thought you were asleep." He murmured.
Vera moved over to the counter and hoisted herself up onto it, sitting next to him as he spread a layer of margarine over the bread.
"I have been sleeping alone too long, I think." She mused, running her thin fingers though her wine red hair that lay loose on her shoulders, "It's a luxury having you next to me all night. I know that you are just thinking of getting up before you actually do it."
Carwood snorted, "That's just a nice way of saying I wake you up a lot."
"Not necessarily," She replied with a grin, trailing her fingers down his arm coyly, "What are you doing?"
"Getting that cold chicken," He walked over to the Frigidaire and pulled out the plate of leftovers.
Vera hopped off the counter and took the plate from his hand. Setting it down, she snaked her arms around his middle and tipped her head back.
"Vera, just give me a second," He smiled, gently trying to get past her, "I am hungry."
"Not so hungry that you can't kiss your wife first."
Carwood smirked.
"In fact," She pulled him closer, her hickory eyes blinking up at him and eyebrows lifting, "You are not allowed to eat until you kiss me."
She lifted her arms around his neck and backed up against the sink. He ran his worn fingers down her forearm, the sleeve of her cotton nightgown slid to her elbow. Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth against hers and patted her on the hip.
"Wait just one moment, Lipton." She protested, tugging him back by his bathrobe when he tried to make a move for the chicken, "That had better not be what you call a kiss or else I will be sending you right back-"
In one sweeping motion, he caught her petite figure in his arms and tipped her back. Greedily taking her lips, he felt her pulse pick up as he curled his fingers around the side of her neck.
He forgot about the sandwich.
Suddenly, he was back in his foxhole in the Ardennes Forest. In the drifts and dips of ice, bleary eyed and exhausted, he kept heart by envisioning the curves of his wife's bare body in those snow banks. The color of her eyes were in the branches tucking him safely away from the horror of artillery. Her fire bright hair lit up the night sky as the shells fell like the fourth of July.
She had been there with him the whole time, her presence clinging to him like the smoke of his first cigarette after that dud had landed in his foxhole.
"Well, I suppose you earned that sandwich." She breathed, trembling with the force of the moment.
At the sight of her swollen mouth and dilated eyes, he felt the familiar lurch of need in his gut. Propping her up on the kitchen counter, Carwood ran his lips down to her collarbone.
"Forget the damn sandwich."