It was time. He pulled into the
driveway just as the streetlights were warming up the darkening skies, and her
rouge was countering the dark circles under her eyes from another long and
stressful day. He watched her walk out the front, flipping on the porch light
and calling goodbye to the cat, before she glided to the passenger door. They
exchanged warm tidings, though swift after four years of love and five hours
since their last meals. Turning down the radio and warming up the car, he
turned to her, adoration in his eyes and hesitation on his lips. She knew where
this was going. Where it was always going. At first he faltered, knowing the
forthcoming battle, but after a few excruciating seconds, he gathered himself
and mustered the courage. Turning to her slowly, trying to meet her furtive
glance, he asked, just above a whisper, “So, where do you want to eat?”
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