Husband. Was that word ever going to taste normal?
In the midmorning sun, he looked older than his forty-one years, the laugh and sun lines making his unremarkable handsomeness seem well-earned. Life had carved grooves into him, and he’d thrived beneath the scars. He needed a haircut, and he had grease smudged along one high cheekbone. Her eyes went, as always, to his mouth as he stuck a cigarette between his teeth and searched for his lighter. There would forever be something magnetic about the shapes of his lean, tanned fingers cupping the flame around the Zippo. When his gaze fixed on hers, he seemed ages-old and inappropriately different from her. What business did a girl like her have with a man like this?
Just when she questioned her sanity, he called her “baby” and the way his voice shaped the word always sent shivers across her skin.
~From Keeping Bad Company