S is for Spring

She had taken her easel and paints to the backyard. The sun hadn’t quite come up over the horizon, but it would soon. It was supposed to be a scorcher with a chance for thunderstorms.

Photo by Valeria Ushakova on Pexels

He was still sleeping. She had been tempted to snuggle back in with him, but she was so close to finishing this painting. Another hour of silence and she’d be done.

The birds were starting to wake up with the sun and someone in the neighborhood apparently had a rooster. Was it new or had she just never been aware of it before?

She adjusted her hat to keep the rising sun out of her eyes and went to work. It was a birthday present for Max. He’d asked her to do a rendering of the place they had rented for their anniversary in the fall. It seemed funny to be painting such a threatening sky and bare trees with spring exploding around her.

She sat back and looked at the painting. It was done. The porch where they had sat all bundled up drinking wine was front and center. It was supposed to have been an outdoorsy kind of week, but the weather had other plans. She smiled. Instead, they had spent the week inside naked and reconnecting.

Standing up, she picked up her easel and turned to go back inside. Max was sitting on their back porch and smiling at her. “How long have you been there?”

“I came out just after you did. There’s nothing more beautiful than watching you create. Is it done?”

She nodded. “I even signed it for you. I was just remembering how wonderful that week was…” She blushed with the wave of desire that the memories had brought back.

He looked at the painting as she handed it to him. “This is perfect. And, yes,” he looked at her with purpose, “it was a wonderful week. Thank you for this. It’s the perfect thing to remind me of what’s important when work starts overwhelming me. How about I make you breakfast as a thank you?”

She turned a deeper shade of red. “I was thinking about something else to celebrate.”

He grinned. “I think breakfast can wait.”

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