‘You’re beautiful, you know.’
‘If you keep saying it, I’ll stop believing you, like the boy who cried wolf.’
He looked a little hurt then, and took a sip of his wine.
‘I disagree,’ he said. ‘The more I say it, the more profoundly I mean it. I mean, look at you. You’re the most beautiful girl here.’
I didn’t usually enjoy receiving compliments from him. It made me feel uncomfortable, all that attention. But tonight it felt different somehow. It was a perfect summer evening and we’d decided to go out for dinner at a little place by the river. They had outside seating and it was lovely with the water gently flowing by and feeling the evening sun.
‘Thank you, Darling,’ I said, taking his hand and kissing it with lips still wet with the wine I had just sipped. He raised his hand to his own lips and kissed it. This made me laugh, and also sent a little pang of excitement through my stomach.
My husband has the most beautiful lips for a man. They’re full and bow-shaped, but in no way feminine. I imagined kissing them and felt another pang in my stomach.
‘More wine?’ he said, the bottle poised above my glass.
‘Please,’ I said, and drank him in as he poured it.
(I started writing in this blog a year ago today and I’d like to thank all my followers and readers for all of your likes and your time and I thought why not write something about love and wine and kisses to celebrate my 1st anniversary. C x)