A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Shelagh stared out the kitchen windows at the back garden. Walled in by brick, it was private, but had little else to recommend it. Sparse grass, a small elm tree and a few over-grown bushes were all the greenery provided. The small shed in the back corner stored some old athletic equipment and a few odds and ends. She frowned. They never used the garden, and Shelagh hated to see anything go to waste.
"What do you think, angel girl? Would you like a little green-space for playing?"
Five-month-old Angela Turner squealed from her high chair, waving her biscuit in the air. Shelagh lifted her hand to the infant's pale downy hair.
Making a decision, Shelagh picked the baby up in her arms and headed for the back door. "Let's make a plan," she told her daughter, conspiratorially.
That night the stage was set. Having put the baby in her cot and negotiated Tim down to only fifteen more minutes before lights out, Patrick came downstairs to enjoy some quiet time with his wife. As he neared the sitting room door, a dim light from the back of the house caught his eye. The open back door beckoned him. "Shelagh?" he called.
The sight before him stopped him still. Two chairs, an up-ended wooden box adorned with a candle and a small vase of flowers, and a string of Christmas fairy lights transformed the dull space into a wonderland. Music played softly from the radio. Standing in the midst of this scene was his wife, smiling at him.
"What do you think?" she asked, nervously.
He walked slowly into what was formerly his dreary back garden. Bemused, he wondered aloud, "What is all this?"
"Isn't it lovely? I set it all up this afternoon. Do you like it?" Maybe he would think this was silly, she thought.
"It's wonderful. I can't even recognize the place!" He took her hands in his. He knew his Shelagh never took on a task to no purpose. "What's this all about?"
Shelagh stepped closer. "I thought, it's such a mild night, it might be nice to spend some time out in the fresh air." She slipped her hand to his shoulder and he instantly accepted her body's invitation to dance. He pulled her close and twirled her about the small space. Soon, Shelagh's head rested on his chest and they held each other tight.
"Patrick?"
"Hmmm?"he murmured in her ear.
"Wouldn't it be nice to do this more often?"
"Mmhmm. I love dancing with you." They turned again.
"No, Patrick, not the dancing. This. Out here, in the garden. In the summer we could take tea out here sometimes."
Patrick grumbled. Here they were, having a lovely dance, which would hopefully lead to a not entirely different activity upstairs, and Shelagh was talking about tea. Out here, in the garden. Certainly, the scene was lovely now, but its dullness would not be masked by fairy lights during the day. His eyes opened suddenly as an idea crept to the front of his mind.
"Shelagh, what are you up to?" he quizzed her.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She wouldn't meet his eyes.
He held her away from him and tried to see her face. "Shelagh?" he said slowly.
Shelagh could feel her skin flush. She slid her hand down over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm. "It's just, well, I thought it might be nice if perhaps we set up a wee garden back here."
Patrick shook his head, grinning. "Don't you "wee garden" me, sweetheart. You only use your Scots when you're trying to get something out of me." He looked around the garden. "What exactly are you thinking? A few plants, maybe a table and chairs?"
Shelagh lit up. "Oh, no, Patrick. We'll need to dig up those awful old bushes, and prepare beds for flowers, and of course we'll need to lay down grass seed. Timothy would love to read out here, and I can see Angela's first steps right over there. Oh, it will be lovely!"
"And I suppose I get to do the dirty work?" he groused.
Shelagh could feel him surrendering. To help his pride, she offered, "I have liniment for your back if it starts to ache. I am a trained nurse, remember. I could rub it in for you."
"Hmmmm..." his grumble became less convincing.
Shelagh slid her arms back up around his neck, pulling his head to hers. Standing on tiptoe, slowly she kissed him, increasing pressure of her mouth against his. She kissed him leisurely, each kiss parting her lips just a fraction more. Long moments of this went by before she pulled his lower lip between her teeth and tongue, eliciting a groan from low in his throat. She smiled knowingly as she sucked lightly on his lip before invading his mouth with her tongue. His arms crushed her to him as he revelled in the joy of her touch. Soon, they were breathless and she broke the kiss off, resting her head against his chest again.
"Where did you learn to kiss like that, Mrs. Turner?"
"Diligent practice, Dr. Turner. I observed once that you enjoyed that, and thought it might be helpful if I were to perfect it."
"Mmmm. Helpful for you to get me to dig up a garden."
When she responded, "Oh, it could be useful for so many things, Patrick," he knew was doomed.