After a long night of cooking, I invited her to my apartment to watch Paris from the balcony up above with a bottle of blackberry wine. She came early, throwing her bag on the sofa and kicking her shoes off, observing the quaintness of the place. She said that this was something we could do every Saturday night, if I was game for it.
I poured her a glass and massaged the spot on my head that had been yanked all day by my rat. I rubbed my shoulder where earlier that week I had been whaled on for boiling the noodles a second too long. Again. Guess the pressure was really on.
She snuggled against me and I rested my chin on her head as we watched the couple down below chase each other and make out under the bright lights in passionate amour.