Coat on, hat on, ready to walk out the door to work, he wraps his warm, strong arms around her--she, still in her pajamas and robe, a sleepy look still in her eyes; the coffee hasn't kicked in yet.
They kiss once, twice, thrice, so sweetly. They smile and gaze into each other's eyes, unwilling to break the spell.
He: "When we look at each other sometimes... it's like we are kissing with our eyes."
Is it any wonder she can't wait for him to get home from work each evening?
