Hey there...
aw, it feels so good to be back...
first of all thanks to all of you how have read my stories and of course special thanks to those who sent me an review each time...you guys are wonderful... .
Disclaimer: Sadly but true, I don't own...
Ok this is for my baby girl Cat, (so that's why it isn't beta-proof, 'cause that would be her, too and otherwise it wouldn't have been a surprise)...sweetie I wanna say thank you for being there for me, no matter what, for listening to my thoughts and fears without making fun of me, for understanding me, for discussing music and books with me (well, I think we can improve that a bit . ), for talking to me everyday even when we don't have anything to say to each other and for being one of my closed friends. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your world. Happy Birthday!
Ah, by the way, please don't flame me, 'cause I think this is not the right way to discuss any critical points. I don't do it, so please don't do it to me, either.
Sunday Morning
She loved their Sunday mornings when the sun was creeping through the blinds and was tickling her nose and she pulled them a bit aside from her side of the bed so she could look out of the window, to see that beautiful city she was living in. they both loved that city.
She loved to smell the fresh, soft, crisp white linen, to feel the soft fabric on her skin was wonderful. She purred with pleasure, like a small kitten.
She could almost feel the smell of freshly brewed coffee in her nose.
But the best thing was watching him while he was sleeping.
She turned her head slightly and waves of pride and happiness were swapping over her.
He looked like he's been dropped there.
Just perfect.
His messy hair, his softly closed eyes, his lovely nose, his cheeks and his gorgeous mouth, his soft neck, his strong shoulders, his well toned arms one wrapped around her waist, his chest and his belly were softly going up and down, while breathing, his legs tangled in the covers and around her legs.
He looked like a painting, a painting full of love and joy; you could almost feel the painters love for that person.
He was hers.
She felt so blessed.
To her he was perfect.
He was her lover, her husband, her best friend, her first reader, her harshest, her soul mate.
Now it was 6.47 a.m.
They would get up in about 2 to 3 hours and have breakfast in bed as always on a Sunday morning.
He would cook for her.
Then he would wake her with softly placed kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips and he would whisper: "Good morning, sweetheart. Breakfast is ready."
She would fake a yawn and would blink at him just like she would wake up right now. She never told him that she loves watching him sleeping. But he knows that she does anyway.
He would crawl back in bed next to her and she would snuggle up next to him.
While eating she'll tell him that she's going to have Monday off. He would say that he has off too, as always.
She would ask him if he'd love to go out tomorrow morning, for breakfast.
He says yes, as always.
He would ask her if she likes to go on a sightseeing tour through their city, because this week it's his turn to plan their Monday.
She would laugh and nod. "Like pretending we were tourists?", she would ask.
He would smirk at her and answer: "Maybe?!"
After they finished their breakfast she would ask him what book he's reading right now.
He would lean over to his night stand and he would hold up a copy of the latest book he was reading.
She would do the same.
Then she would say: "Tell me about it."
Of course he would do so.
After he had finished he would ask her to tell him about the book she was reading right now.
Of course she would do that without hesitation.
Then they would discuss their books in their usually manner.
They would not talk about their work.
He made this up right after their marriage and she was grateful about that.
Then they would get out of bed. He would bring the plates and coffee mugs back into the kitchen and she would watch him doing it.
During their routine there would always be a possibility for them to exchange kisses, some lovely words and touches. This wasn't something they would do only on a Sunday morning; this is part of their life, being close to each other. Feel, smell and see each other.
Then they both would shower and get dressed.
Now it would be around 2 p.m.
Both are smiling.
They are off to their weekly Sunday night dinner with her mom and her step-father, his uncle and his aunt.
She can't stop smiling, they would talk the whole evening and then at 11 p.m. her mother would ask them if they would stay overnight.
And they would say yes, as always.
They would sleep in that cosy flat above the diner. In the morning she would get up, finding a note on the pillow: 'Helping out downstairs. Love ya. Jess'
She would smile and grab her cell and would press her speed dial and after a grumbling noise from the other side a smile would appear on her face and she would say: "Hey mommy, how about coffee at Luke's?"
OoOoOoOoOo
She turned around in her seat and took a last look.
She always does that when they were leaving the city on a Sunday afternoon.
She looked at her husband, who drove carefully; still shocked from the accident they had 10 years ago.
She smiled.
He grabbed her hand and looked at her.
He didn't need to say anything.
She could see it in his eyes.
'Yes', she thought, 'we both love that city we're living in, but right now, we're going home.'
The End
...annnnnnnnnnndddddddddd????
Oh please everybody be so nice and tell me what you think.
I would love to get a review and as always I'll answer everyone. .
Please? Please!
Thanks so much for reading it. .-
peace,
glamourgirl2