Jocelyn Taggert groaned as she turned over onto her left side and felt the base of her spine crack because of the motion. The early morning sunlight was streaming through the thin muslin curtains that floated gently in the early morning breeze.

Samuel Taggert was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing and rolling onto her back, she glanced to where she had expected to see his morning face peering back at her as the six am sun shone into his eyes but saw only pillow. She used her elbows to prop herself up and looked around the barren room. There was literally no sign of him. She stood up and stretched, her forty two year old back cracking even more as she arched it. Padding towards the large bay window that offered a view onto the green at the back of their adequately sized home in Elgin, Jocelyn looked down to the patio beneath and saw Samuel sitting at the patio table with a glass of orange juice, a broadsheet and a bowl of muesli.

Sighing again, she moved the foot of the bed and picked up her dressing gown, sliding it over her shoulders. Holding onto the pine banister as she descended the stairs, she thought about the argument she and Samuel had had the night before that resulted in him sleeping in Sam's old bedroom. It had been about nothing really, and as the night wore on, she had felt guilty for over-reacting to him burning the dinner but her pride just would not allow her to be the one to apologise.

After making toast in the grill, she too moved out onto the patio and sat herself down across from him on one of the white plastic chairs. He didn't even look up. Shaking her head, she reached out to the jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and poured herself a glass. She was half way through it and staring at the mess of her rose bed when he eventually spoke.

"Sam called last night." Jocelyn looked at him over the edge of the glass and raised her eyebrow. "I was going to tell you last night before…" He trailed off, folded the broadsheet in the middle, and placed it down on the table.

"What was she saying?"

He shook his head and sipped on his own orange, his tanned arm bending awkwardly at the elbow. At forty-five years old, Samuel Taggert was suffering from rheumatoid arthritis that, on a bad day, had him crippled in bed. On a good day, though, it was nothing more than an annoying twinge in his joints that was curable with two aspirin.

He had managed to stay on the phone to his daughter for over three hours, catching up on all the gossip of their lives. She was – as Jocelyn would say – the 'peach of his eye' (although his new Taylor Made 200 Driver was a close second) and he would bend over backwards for her.

"She was just talking about Luka, her new apartment, getting her job back. She starts on Monday, by the way."

Jocelyn nodded. Despite Samuel's over-whelming love for his daughter, he was never over-zealous when it came to showing that love. She knew that he loved her and that was enough. He doted on her and would literally spin the world if he thought it would make her laugh, but he also never went into any great detail when he spoke of her. It was, as he called it, "father-daughter time".

"I was thinking of popping down to see her in a few weeks time. Spend some time in Chicago over the summer," Jocelyn told him as she picked up the broadsheet from the table.

Samuel nodded and leaned back in his chair. Clearly, whatever had been bothering his wife the night before had been washed away and she was, once again, the serene woman that he loved.

"Sounds nice. I might just come down with you."

Jocelyn looked up and smiled in affirmation, then looked back down and continued reading.

--

Sam stood atop her ladder, reaching with the roller into the corner of the wall when she heard the doorbell ring. Cursing, she set the paint soaked roller on the tray and descended, wiping away the beads of sweat on her forehead with her wrist. Walking past her open bedroom window, she revelled in the cooling gust that floated through, evaporating the sticky sheen on her face.

Clad in her old Nike gym crop top and a pair of faded dungarees, she padded through the hallway to the door. Opening it just as the person pressed the bell again, she smiled as he smiled sheepishly in at her.

He held up two brown shopping bags and offered his most apologetic smile. Sam acquiesced and let him in.

"Hey," she greeted as she reached out to take a bag from him and kissed his cheek.

"Hey," he replied and followed her to the kitchen. "I just wanted to apologise for being such an ass about all of this."

Sam turned to him and smiled after setting the bag on the worktop. She reached out and took his bag off him and set it down too, rummaging through them for something to drink. Victoriously pulling out a bottle of Pepsi, she opened the cap and glugged greedily at it. When she finally stopped gulping, she turned to Luka, who was leaning against her newly-plugged-in fridge with a mocking smile on his face.

"Thirsty?"

"Oh you have no idea," she replied after trying to discreetly burp behind her hand.

"I'll put this stuff away and then you can give me the grand tour." Sam smiled at his attempts at chivalry and sat back as he opened the doors to empty cupboards, his confusion growing. Finally, he turned to her, holding a loaf of bread in his hand, his other hand on his hip. "Where does everything go?"

Sam smiled again and didn't take her eyes off him. Black, she noted, was definitely a colour she would never tire of seeing him in. His simple black tee was sculpted perfectly around his frame, his faded denims falling around his elongated legs, held over his hips with a black belt with a silver buckle that had a tiny Croatian flag on the corner.

"Just put it all in the fridge and I'll show you the bedroom." She watched as he raised his eyebrow and tried to contain his smile. Smiling seductively herself, she pouted slightly and glanced away before coyly adding: "It's the only one that has any paint on the walls." He nodded his head and bit back his laughter and moved towards her, dropping the bread onto the worktop. "Ah-ah-ah Kovac. Fridge."

She pushed her fingers into his chest and he stepped backwards slightly, his eyes scanning her face. He moved quickly, pinning her arms to her side and dove for her lips. Minutes later, he pulled back and looked at her flustered face, her closed eyes, parted lips and smiled.

"So this is the kitchen and, if you'd like to follow me, I'll show you the bedroom…" She said finally in an air-hostess tone and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him down the corridor – leaving no room for objection to the contrary.