Perfection

         Her smile was contagious.

When she smiled, a dimple formed at the left corner of her mouth. It made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying when really he just wanted to watch the way her mouth moved, soft pink lips free of make-up. She never wore make-up. It would have been a shame if she had.

As he lay beside her, legs tangled with hers, he breathed deeply, nearly asleep as he wondered at the perfection of that moment. She smelled of citrus and sunshine—his love. His wife. In the darkness, he could not see the telltale gleam of the wedding band on her left hand, but he knew that it was there, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He allowed himself to sleep—he knew this was too good to be a dream.