After I Do |H.S.|

A Sunday Kind Of Love

If there was one thing I loved, it was my wife in dresses. Though, if I had to pick, I think my favorite would be sundresses. Grace looked so beautiful bustling around the house, tidying things up as the soft yellow fabric swished around her thighs. 

"Sunflower," I called for her. Grace's head snapped up, the duster falling to her side as she watched me extend a hand towards her. She sighed lightly and laid the cleaning tool on the table before heading toward me.

She knew exactly what I wanted as she placed her hand in mine and climbed onto my lap, her free hand combing into my curls at the base of my neck. I hummed with pleasure and wrapped my arms around her to pull her closer. Satisfaction poured through my body at the perfect way we seemed to fit together.

"The house looks fine. You don't have to stress about cleaning," I murmured to her.

Grace huffed and shifted in my lap. "My brother will be here in a few hours with his new girlfriend. I want the house to be clean for a welcoming environment."

I looked around at the borderline pristine living room and the few lit candles giving off a lavender smell. "I think you're set."

Grace jutted out her bottom lip in an overdramatic pout. "I just want her to like me. I'm nervous about meeting her for the first time."

I leaned forward and kissed her pout once, twice, three times. "She's going to love you, baby. I swear it."  She opened her mouth to object but stopped short when she saw my widening smile. "She'll love you," I reassured her again, lifting my hand to cup her jaw. Her lashes fluttered when I rubbed my thumb back and forth over her cheekbone and my chest went tight with the overwhelming love and adoration I had for this woman in front of me. 

An idea popped into my head. Something that Grace and I haven't done in a while, something that always seemed to calm her down and center her racing mind. 

I hooked my arms under her legs and stood from the couch, walking over to where the record player was set up. "Here," I said, putting Grace down to stand and moving to our collection of records sitting in a milk crate. I thumbed through them until I found a favorite of mine: the Etta James At Last album. 

I put the vinyl on the record player and set the needle at the precise placement before looking over my shoulder at my wife. She wore a soft smile as she came towards me, arms open for a dance as the beginning notes of A Sunday Kind Of Love began to play. 

My arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head resting on my chest as her arms went around my middle. I placed a kiss on top of her head before resting my chin there while we softly swayed back and forth. 

Her hands tucked under my shirt and her nails scratched lightly over my skin, sending goosebumps over my arms and up my neck. I squeezed her tighter and began to sing the lyrics lightly to her. "And my arms need someone, someone to enfold, to keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold, love for all my life to have and to hold."

Grace pulled back and rested her chin on my chest, looking up into my eyes with a watery sheen. I pulled one of my hands away to thumb under her eye. "What's wrong, Sunflower?" I whispered.

She hummed softly and smiled even softer before lifting on her toes to press a gentle kiss to my lips. "Thank you for being my Sunday kind of love, Harry."

I ducked down close to her so our noses bumped and our lips brushed as I said, "Thank you for being mine."