Light breaks through eggshell-colored blinds. A dark room is bathed in sherbert light. Young man and young woman lie in a bed. Woman stirs in her sleep, man opens his eyes. Man looks at woman, then at the ceiling, drawing a deep breath. Man lies there for a long time, staring.
"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Woman says with coarse morning-voice, rolling to face man, her hair a mess, pillow crease on her cheek. She is the most beautiful thing on the planet.
"I was lying here enjoying the struggle my sense of sight was having with my sense of touch." Man says, rolling to face woman.
"Explain." woman says, in mock puzzlement, but intrigued. She loves it when he says this stuff.
"Well, from past experience, I know that your back is soft and warm and smooth and savory to touch. But watching you sleep is the definition of peace. So my sense of touch was dying to touch you, but my sense of sight feared waking you. And a struggle ensued. But now you are awake so it doesnt matter." Man says, reaching under the blanket and stroking woman's belly. "Touch thanks you."
Woman grins big. "That is the cheesiest bunch of crap I've ever heard, mister. And its not going to work." A trace of blush on her cheeks. She scoots closer to him. It feels like sliding into a warm bath. She lays her face on his shoulder.
Man smiles, satisfied. "Oh, but it already has."
Woman sits up quickly. "I want to make breakfast!" Big smile.
"Alright, I'll help" Man starts to get up.
"No!" Woman presses man's shoulders into the bed. "You stay here."
Woman stands up, wraps herself in a sheet and walks out.
Man settles back into bed. Thinks of his project at work that is going to be past-deadline and over-budget. Thinks of the stack of bills on the refrigerator and the two-digit balance in his checking account. Thinks of the strange knocking noise his car has been making for the past week.
Smells eggs.
Laughs.