I had one of those “awww” moments a couple of nights ago. My hubby is a deep sleeper, very deep. He just swapped shifts at work and is getting used to being at home and in bed at night.
(I have slept alone five nights a week for the past three years. It’s just odd rolling over and finding him there.)
Anyway—this is the thing. I rolled over and it jostles him enough that he sort of, in a way, maybe, wakes up a bit. He’s just laying there on his pillow, looking up at me. And then he smiles.
I got this sudden punch of happiness so intense it made my stomach hurt. I mean, I cut my hair off short. I know it’s sticking up like porcupine quills. I wouldn’t have dared to open my mouth after being asleep that many hours.
(Despite what they (I) lead you to believe in romance novels, morning breath is alive and well.)
It just kind of struck me as one of those moments I would frame and hold up to the world and say, “See this? This is how it should be. This is how it will always be because I’ve known the greatest love I think is possible between two people and I will never settle for less. Not from him or me.”
So, there you go. I’m one of the odd ducks who writes and reads romance because I believe it does exist. I wouldn’t sell a product I didn’t believe in. I’m not wired that way.