That day was wet. She was due to return from a short business trip to New York. They had only recently started dating, but they were already living together. She had a drawer. She had a toothbrush in his sink. She had documents on his computer.
He was making lunch in the small kitchen with the groceries they had purchased last week. He smiled and remembered when they went shopping. He shook his head. He shouldn’t feel like this. Not this ridiculously happy.
He looked out the single solitary window. It was a hard rain. The sheets of water made everything look washed out.
The old house creaked and groaned and did a good job being disheveled and wet. It smelled like wet dog, which was remarkable because there was no dog. The house was definitely in disrepair, but the rent was cheap, and the location was convenient. He thought that maybe later they would move out and find an apartment together.
He thought about the meal, and decided that he would make something special for her return. The extra steps involved would make the time pass.
He was taking the quiche out of the oven just as he saw her car park across the street. He turned off the oven, picked up the umbrella and briskly walked to the front door.
She had already started walking across the street. He opened the door, unfolded the umbrella, and met her in the middle of the street.
She hugged him and rested her head on his shoulder. She squeezed him. “You’re warm.”
Even though she couldn’t see, he smiled and squeezed back. “You’re wet.”
Under the umbrella, they kissed.