She looked across the table at the man sitting before her. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes fixated on the newspaper in front of him, nibbling a bit of toast, unaware of her stare. She cocked her head to the side and smiled a small smile while thinking of what a son of his would one day look like. She imagined he would have his father’s curly dark hair that she loved to run her fingers through. The hair that was always awkwardly tousled in the morning after he woke up. She would laugh and try to smooth down some of the strands that would try to defy gravity and adamantly stick straight up. She hoped his son would have his father’s brilliant green eyes. Eyes that she told him reminded her of the summer leaves that he liked to photograph so much. She wished for his future child to have his father’s sense of calm and balance. Even when they were in the darkest of times, he was always her rock, her center. She relied on him heavily at times and he never let her fall. His calloused fingers turned the page of the newspaper and he finished the piece of toast he was working on. She fixated on his hands. When they met, he taught her to play guitar with those hands. Those hands dug a grave in the backyard and helped piece together her broken heart when their Irish Setter passed away. Those hands were the gentlest when they were touching her, caressing her. Those hands made her feel like the only girl in the world.
As he read, his eyebrows furrowed together and he nervously bit his lip as he concentrated on absorbing the story before him. This was an expression she was used to seeing on him: whether he was concentrating on making her morning coffee or looking over their monthly budget, his furrowed brow revealed the deep attention to detail that she so admired in him. He reached for his coffee and finally looked up. He gave her a quizzical look, wondering why she was staring, but she smiled at him and his expression changed to one of amusement. He gave her a smile that lit up his eyes. A smile that he reserved only for her. It was one of the first things she noticed about him, how his smile not only lit up his eyes, but could light up a room as well. Infectious, one would say. She returned his smile with one of her own and looked down at her breakfast, gently tucking a piece of hair that slid into her eyes behind her ear.