**
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
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