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I smile. “You really can read my mind.”
“And what a sweetly dirty mind it is,” he says, swooping me into his arms and carrying me out of the restaurant. He holds me all the way up the elevator and into our swanky suite, not putting me down until we’re in the bedroom surrounded by a dozen flickering candles my very thoughtful husband must have paid someone to light in advance of our arrival.
“The best,” I whisper as he lengthens himself on top of me on the mattress. “You’re the very best.”
“Right back at you,” he says, and then he kisses me and teases me and does all the things he does so well.
Things I know he’ll keep doing for the rest of our lives.
* * *
The End
