Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Keefe scooted forward to examine his rough sketch. He scrutinized the shading, unconsciously swaying in his swiveling chair. The painting would be outlined and painted later, but for the time being it was restricted to smudges and graying lines.
Still, despite how messy his work was, Keefe smiled. He was drawing his wife. Or rather, the prettiest girl he'd ever laid his eyes on. He sighed softly. There was something incredibly calming about sketching her — especially when he'd taken the very photo he was basing it on.
Maybe it was her shy, unassuming eyes, her golden irises, or simply the way her delicate posture rivaled a princess.
Smiling to himself, Keefe began to fold his artwork into a folder to set aside. It was well past midnight, and he doubted Sophie would sleep well without his arms around her; tomorrow was her first day of college.
Filing his work into the top drawer of his desk, Keefe spared one last glance at his office, at the inviting art supplies, the comfortable furniture, the vivid green walls. The temptation to go back was strong, but he knew his wife was more important.
He stretched. Snatching his sweatshirt from the back of the glass door, he switched off the lights and headed into their bedroom. The curtains elicited nothing more than a sliver of moonlight, but it was enough for Keefe to see in front of him. He shed his socks and sat on the edge of bed, wondering whether it was worth washing the gel out of his hair.
He was still contemplating when a sweet, angelic voice whispered his name. He knew Sophie's voice anywhere, but there was always something alarming about it when she was scared. Keefe reached over blindly and, finding her waist, pulled her to his side of the bed. Clearly, she hadn't slept at all in the past two hours.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
He could hardly see her, and yet Keefe was certain she was pulling out an eyelash as she said, "I'm nervous for tomorrow."
"What about?" Keefe ultimately decided against removing his hair gel, and instead lay beside his shaking wife.
"Everything. The campus, the professors . . ." Shame surfaced in her voice. "I can't believe I waited this long to start."
"You're only twenty-three, my love."
"But you already graduated."
Keefe nodded — a little guiltily — because she was right. He had graduated with his bachelor's degree last year. However, if there was anything he didn't want his wife to do, it was compare their completely opposite skillsets.
"So? You're going to graduate too. It doesn't matter when it happens as long as it does."
"I guess." Regardless of how exasperated her words were, Keefe knew he was helping. Sophie's shoulders had visibly relaxed, and her fingers had abandoned their pursuit of wrinkling her nightgown.
He pulled her closer. In the faint moonlight he could make out the curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her jaw, the adorable sprinkling of freckles along her nose.
"What can I do?" he asked, cupping her face in his hands. "Need a back-rub? Some cuddles?" His smile tilted into a smirk as he leaned in close. "Someone to make out with?"
Sophie shoved him for that. Clearly, she was opposed to the idea. But he knew he'd wear her down eventually.
Keefe pulled her back. "You're missing out."
"On what?" she teased.
Keefe's jaw dropped open. "How dare you."
Giggling, Sophie turned herself away from him, angling herself so that he couldn't reach her until he crossed to the other side of the bed. Keefe sighed. He swore all she did was taunt him these days.
Out of spite, he almost left her there alone.
. . . But her blonde hair was so pretty when it spilled over her shoulders like that. And her angelic breathing didn't help the matter.
Finally, Keefe swallowed his pride and walked to her side of the bed. He sat on the edge, just for a minute, and studied her peaceful expression. He couldn't believe that, just moments ago, she'd been worried sick.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
She nodded, her big brown eyes watching him intently. But Keefe knew better than to believe her. From the quiver of her lips to the sweat beading on her brow, it was obvious she was suffering in silence.
No wonder she'd been teasing him. After years of marriage, Keefe's coping skills had apparently rubbed off on her.
"C'mere," he whispered, holding out his arms.
Sophie obliged. As Keefe placed a protective hand at the back of her head, Sophie crawled close and whimpered into his shoulder. Her body shook with repressed tears.
He kissed her temple, just where he suspected a headache was forming.
"You're going to do great," he promised alongside a kiss to her forehead.
"How do you know?"
"I just do, Foster. I know you better than you know yourself." He waited quietly for the sweet words to calm her breathing, then continued. "By the way," he added, lowering his voice, "I envy those boys who get to go to school with you every day."
A small laugh escaped her. "They won't be interested in me, Keefe."
"Don't speak too soon," he said. "You're even prettier than you were as a teenager, and I didn't think that was possible."
Sophie ducked her head, clearly blushing. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, her head settling just above his heart. Keefe knew, from their three years of marriage, that this was her favorite sleeping position. He loved it too.
There was something special about knowing she was there, between his arms, safe and protected.
Just when Keefe suspected she'd fallen asleep, Sophie lifted her chin and whispered, "I love you."
"I love me too."
Her pleasant smile faded to a glower. "You know what? You can sleep on the couch."
Laughing, Keefe wrapped her up in his arms and held her hostage. "Sorry. Bad joke?" When she nodded, and he kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, beautiful girl."
The faint moonlight slipping through the window provided just enough illumination for Keefe to catch her smile. As he wrapped her up in a warm blanket, he gave her a soft kiss goodnight.
"Feeling better?"
She nodded against his chest. Her face lapsed into peace as she settled her hand just above his heart. Smiling, Keefe leaned in close. "Foster," he murmured.
"Hm?" Bliss eclipsed her voice.
"Sweet dreams, my love."
